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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
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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
Already Home
Already Home · Erotic Couplings · She's already home when I get there still wearing my favorite 2 pieces of a 3pc skirt suit. There's just something about the easy access of a button down dress shirt and with her, the inevitable fact: there's no panties under that knee length skirt.
She's sitting in our old wingback chair. Her back straight, elbows to wrists resting on the old chair's slightly worn arms, shirt unbottoned down to a risque depth, skirt hiked up just enough for legs to cross, resting on just one of the heels she's still, to my absolute excitement, wearing. A'la 1992 Sharon Stone, fingers crossed for the mid leg switching beaver shot.
"Hey babe!" I offer as greeting while walking toward her.
"Shut up, Sit down!" She replies sternly. While nonchalantly pointing with a flick of her wrist before returning her hand to it's previous position, dangling carelessly off front of chair arm's fillagree carved wooden edge. Her long index finger casually directed me to the dining room chair sitting ominously center square of the living room.
"How did I miss that?" I pondered as I thirstily followed her command and nervously sat.
I Began to lean forward intent on taking my work boots off...
"Be still!", She says in a calm yet authoritive tone.
I quickly resume good postured seating.
"Good boy, stay." She says with narrowed eyes and widened smirk.
She then stands and turns 180°. Those heels splendidly tighten her calves, thighs and ass to an undeniably sexy tone. She slowly tugs at her skirt working It's hem up one or two inches per side. Until barely exposing both of her beautifully bubbled ass cheeks.
"I've got a few things here that I'm in the mood to put to use." she follows with, "How's that sound?" Then, as I begin to draw a breath to respond, "Shut up!" snaps across the air. All delivered without so much as a glance in my direction, in a tone resembling a grade school teacher, "That was a rhetorical question.
Boy.
It doesn't matter if you're in mood or not does it?"
" No Ma'am.)
Methodically she bends forward and removes the chair cushion, obviously being mindful to only bend at the waist.
I can see her little pussy, resting like a treasured jewel carefully placed atop a pillow of her creamy thighs, it's lips just wet enough to glisten, beckoning to me like a watering hole mirage to a desert lost wanderer.
My pestilent inner child wants to scream, "It's mine! Give it to me!" Silent though, happily obedient, I stay.
She picks up a bag, replaces the seat's cushion, straightens her body to upright. Then slowly shimmies her skirt's hem back to it's designer's intended length.
She turns, and despite the *click* *tap* *click* *tap* cadence of her heels, it's as if she glides to a point just out of my reach. Poised beautifully directly in front of me, hands on hips, intrigue laiden bag hanging securely from one elbows inner crease. She then extends her arm, bag in hand, raises it to parallel with the floor then abruptly drops it.
Kneeling down directly in front of me, her knees in line with my heels. My eyes, like that of any man's eyes begin taking in the down buttoned view. Voluptuous blanched breasts with lucious Lemonade Pink shaded and gum drop shaped nipples.
She pulls the bow from the first boot's laces then quickly and a bit aggressively tightens the remaining knot. Criss crossing the two ends as she wraps them around chair's leg and boot's ankle top, pulls a quick knot then, a bow then, a second.
"Great move!", I think to myself while she repeats the clever process on the other boot.
Still kneeling there before me she reaches into her bag and retrieves what looks to me like roughly 25' of nice three cord braided hemp rope.
I am rock fucking hard already, my excitement is brimming, damn near uncontainably.
I show nothing though.
Fuck, I love her!
She takes hold of my right wrist, gives it a little outward twist as she slides it in her shirt and places it on her tit, palm over nipple and releases it.
Before she can reach other wrist I'm squeezing and pulling on left tit.
Quicker then I could react she smacked my hand, barked, "Be Still" and was now poised, pimp hand raised, threatening to smack me across the cheek. I feel the warmth in my face as it flushes to red.
For her sake I flinch a little extra careful to keep mostly still though. She then gives my left hand the same treatment as my right.
Both hands now on beautifully baroque breast she leans in applying enough pressure to excite us both and begins to wrap figures eights around my wrists and up my firearms.
Though I'm starring only at her face she refuses eye contact. "Damn she's good at this." I take mental note.
Twenty something(I lost count somewhere around the 5th fabulous friction burn) wraps over right and left forearms. Slack splendidly pulled across my flesh at varying speeds. Coils covering from wrists nearly to elbows. Six loops between forearms to cinch the coils, terrifically tightening their hold.
Now I sit, rope cuffed and bound forearms resting in my crotch, ankles tied, boots and all to the chair. Not sure I've ever been this turned on before. As much as I've fantasized about this type if thing. She's the only one I'd want doing this. She is a natural for sure.
She's standing now, directly in front of me and again hiking her skirt up, alternating sides just a little at a time. Only difference from her skirt hem line's last tumultuous climb is the distance hiked. This time the skirts hem climbed to hips tip tops before it stopped.
That shaved slice of glistening pie there in my face. I was leaning in to steal a quick lick when again, bitch moved quick. Asserting her dominance in an instance.
Grabbing hold of the hair atop my head she forced my gaze to the skies. Stepped forward, straddled me and slapped my face. Now, with that delectable pussy damn near touching the bottom side of my chin her looking straight down at me using the narrow sight line just beyond her tits and the protrusion of their nipple's, her eyes grip mine for the first time since the start of this fantasy and says, "Stay, Boy."
I try to tip my head forward, dying for a taste of that twat. She pulls harder at my hair. I shake my head and struggle a bit, mostly for the fun of it. She's serious though and doesn't relinquish grip, just waits for me to quit.
"You done Boi?!" She asks with a heavily accentuated finish and shockingly aggressive tone. I use the miniscule range of motion left in my neck to timidly motion yes. She released my hair and I didn't move a muscle.
She then took a seat on my lap first close then she slid back to release my arms which for a brief moment had been happily held captive there beneath her twot, taint and tail. She guided them over my head bent my elbows, taking my hands back and with the texture of the rope slighty scratching at the base of my neck she began tying the leftover bit from the cinch to the steel frame rail at the top of my chair's back. Blatantly brushing her beautiful breast across my face multiple times in multiple direction till knot was securely tied.
I'm now, biceps over ears, elbows to the sky, wrist bound and chair rail tied. Feet still tied to chair legs.
She starts grinding.
Hard.
Side to side, back and forth.
Hard.
Circular motions now, all with brute force. Doesn't take long and I can tell she's getting close.
Harder.
She grabs the sides of my neck puts her hands beneath my ears.
Harder yet.
Her thumbs meandering jaw line towards chin.
Harder.
She's grinding so vigorously the chair is sliding and shifting. Her thumbs slip down to my throat. She begins to squeeze, closing my throat and my corodit simultaneously.
Nervous excitement, finally, someone gets it. Hopefully she sees all I do to others is what I want done to me. Her hands are cold against my neck. I close my eyes. Then in the darkening darkness I hear her,"Open them, look at me!" I open them but can't focus, "Look at me! Loo..." cut to black...
I awaken to the sound of a clap and a curious sting across my face. I'm back, euphoric about to orgasm but not cum. She is still straddling my lap barely moving, then her sigh gives her away, she has cum.
She moves back, her ass now on my knees. She grabs a fist full of my hair with one hand forcing my head down, as if I wanted to look anywhere else.
"Do you see that?" She asks calmly in a sweet voice. Still groggy from the black out I barely muster an inaudible mumble. Using that fist full of hair she shakes my head wildy.
"Asshole, Do you see the cum on my pussy?" She asks harshly.
"Yes ma'am" I say while trying to shake my head. But she's giving me no room to move.
She slides 2 fingers up her pussy, barely penetrating. I blink and it's admittedly long but my heads still foggy.
Well, it apparently took too long, she slaps my face.
"Open your mouth, Boy" She says, sliding her fingers up her pussy again.
I open my mouth, saying, "ahhhhh" audibly with quivering in my tone.
I can see her cum dripping from one as the two make their way like a child's feeding spoon towards my face. The moment I feel her finger tip on my tongue, I close mouth and suck, I use my tongue to lick her fingers clean of her cum.
She tastes so good.
I want her so bad!
I needed this.
She slides her long fingers back and forth, trough my lips and across my tongue, taking care not to let finger tips pass my puckered lips and leave my mouth.
I close my eyes. I moan at a rate commensory to her pace. I groan. There's true passion in my tone.
I moan.
I groan.
It's a lust filled, desire to satisfy, moan for the in stroke with a desperate plea not to stop, fuelled groan on the out stroke.
She moves her other hand to the back of my head again acquiring a fist full of hair. She stops moving the fingers in my mouth. Holding that hand steady she's now pushing and pulling my head. First slowly then faster then she slows way down forcing me further on to her fingers with each slow repetition.
I gag slightly.
"There it is." She triumphantly says then, forces it again.
I gag again.
Not sure when she started but she's grinding again.
Again I gag.
This time she holds it there
I'm gagging, trying to shake my head, trying to pull away. She wont let me. My eyes are watering now. My mouth is full of saliva and I'm drooling a bit.
She's grinding.
She's pushing and pulling again when she says, "Don't fucking swallow that spit, hear me asshole? I want that mouth messy and wet while I'm finger fucking it."
She's grinding.
I'm trying to nod yes but she's still giving me no room for motion. "Mmhmmm" I offer as it's all I can do.
She's grinding hard now, tight to my pelvis, her hips rolling back and forward opposite the direction of my forcibly directed head.
She slips a third finger in mouth. Slowly she pulls them back to nearly out, rolls her hips back to my thighs with matching pace. Unexpectedly she begins forcefully poundinh her crotch into mine, thrusting my head, her fingers travel deep down my mouth to my throat, over and over.
I'm gagging every two or three thrusts, I can feel my pelvis and hips bruising. I'm crying now but, God Damn if I'm not close to cuming. I'm unsure if it's because of pleasure from this treatment or from pleasuring her by being a good Sub.
With a final thrust of her hips she arches her back dramatically Simultaneously she was wildly throwing her head back. Suddenly she grabbed my crotch with both hands one on either side if my zipper and squeezes, hard then pulls harder. I twitch and bounce in reaction to the pain felt by the single unlucky nut to
suffer the force of the orgasmic rip and grip just shown by her.
More motivation for the tears streaming down my face. "Are you crying?"she asks with a touch of distain riding the words.
"What a fucking bitch boy!" She says harshly as she slaps my face.
Placing a cupped hand under my mouth, she commands me, "Spit, dumbass" I told you not to swallow it, I'm frantically nodding yes while I nearly fill her hand with hot sticky saliva.
She steps off me and back with the assistance of a forceful push off my chest. She steps once more before using her empty hand to unzip that skirt it falls to the floor with ease. She reclaims her spot in the wing back, unbuttoning her shirt's last few buttons as her ass finds the seat cushion.
With one foot up on chair's arm she places her cupped spit laiden hand over her crotch roughly, basically slapping her pussy lips then, rubs it all over her fucking hairless pussy.
I can feel her staring at me. I keep my eyes fixed on her pussy. Excitedly watching her spread her pussy lips and fumble at her clit. She looks down and gives her pussy a couple easy slaps.
To which I blurt out, "Harder! You bitch. Like you've been slapping me." Slowly her head rises just enough to make eye contact and for me to see the menacing smile now wide on her face.
*SMACK*
The sound is crisp in the air like that of a celebratory high five. "She's so amazing." I say to myself. Upon contact she nearly screams but her head doesn't move her smile remains the same and our eyes stay locked.
Again without thought I blurt out, "Harder! Let's see it, you fucking bitch."
She chuckles a bit tits bouncing in response to the laughter as if they too are snickering at my request.
[ ] "Is bitch boy done crying now?" She asks, standing, stepping towards me she places one foot across the crease atop my thigh with her heel narrowly missing the head of of my dick. She slaps her pussy hard again then my face. Before I can react she asks.
"Harder? Or is that gonna make you cry?"
"Come on then, let's see slut. I say calmly and finishing with a head nod and a smile. This time I hold eye contact. I hear the loud smack of palm to wet pussy, out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of flesh in motion then, nothing, blackness.
Interrupting the silent darkness, I hear the sound of wet pussy being penetrated repeatidly, quickly, clapping a bit.
I raise my head to see her finger poppin that tastey twat just inches from my tingling face.
I smile wide.
Seeing my smile she grabs me by the chin, leans in and kisses me. It's a long deep, tongue kiss, the kind that's so frantic it's like your struggling to occupy the same space, noses grinding, foreheads bumping, nostrils flaring, oxygen obtained in quick sharp inhales as if drowning and breathing in the tiny moments your head bobs above waterline.
She pulls away.
"Fuck me. Fuck me like the cock I am, please." I say in a wanting but not quite desperate tone.
"No." She replies as plain as plain could be.
"I won't fucking beg. Fuck me damn you!"
Again a blase, "No."
With her backside to me and again only bending at the waist she rummages through her bag.
She fucked up though.... Seeing my opportunity I lean forward chairs backegs off the floor. Quickly getting pussy lips in my mouth I suck, my nose tickling at taint. Her first reaction is to pull away but I'm already licking the pussy like a dog on a dropped ice cream cone in August.
But, she pulls away again, th
walks out of room....wth...
Quickly she returns. Carrying two more dinning room chairs placed one sideways in front of the other which faced me from the other side of the first chair.
She says nothing as she crawls across the chairs, first away from me then backing that thing up til her knees were on my chair, her twat, taint, and tail all up in my face.
Her face down on furthest chair she reaches back and spreads her beautifully bulbous cheeks.
"15 minutes. Do what you want you've been a good boy, you earned it. Show me what that mouth do, fuck boy!" All of it was said kinda rough and tough like.
I waste no time quickly starting with a playful bite of the bigger cheek, then another nibble this time at top of thigh, ass cheeks bottom crease. I then lick across crease to pussy. Already so wet and tasting wonderful.
I get my face just deep enough that my fully extended tongue's tip barely slides over clit. And that is what I'm ecstatically doing, licking from taint through labia over clit and back again stopping occasionally to suck on pussy's lips, ok maybe a slight bite or two also. I feel a little twitch. My tongue outstretched I start shaking my head as if urgently saying No. Another twitch, another, she's close. Im mixing it up now side to side, back and forth, fast and hard. Then with a massive inhale and slow shakey exhale, shes cumming. I'm doing my best to lap it all in, sucking and licking frantically fillng my mouth with her juices and cum.
I pull my head back and immediately following her next quiver spit my collection of her orgasms drip at the top of her ass crack. She moans in response as I watch the load slowly dripping down her crack.
Just as that drip covers that starfish I dive in, my tongue catching the load as it barely reaches taint and spreads that lust filled load back up to the top of her ass crack. Licking my way to starfish again, once there, I slip my tongue in and push.
Beginning with tongue at maximum protrusion. I start face fucking that ass. Slowly at first, in and out, in and out, each stroke gaining speed and force. My chin beating against taint, forehead spreading ass cheeks till i hit tail bone on every down stroke.
"Oh Fuck!" I hear her say as she spins away.
"Times up bitch boy." She tells me, her over pronounced smirk now irritatingly visible. Resting her back against the farthest chair. Her legs are spread to either side of the middle chair.
I wish I could take a picture right now.
Right now she epitomizes 'Woman' to me.
Pure, raw sexuality.
Her hair in beautiful disarray, a few wisps, sweat soaked and stuck precariously to her forehead. Chest heaving, eyes blinking slowly as if they don't know weather to stay open or closed. Sweat dripping sensuously from her chin to her breasts to her thighs, the cascade of lustful liquid pooking on the chair's seat, nuzzling the soft soft flesh of her inner thigh.
Her luciously flirtatious lips curled upward ever so slightly at there ends almost as if fighting back a smile.
Her petite yet perfect breast adorned with tiny droplets of sweat shimmering like lickable stars.
Mmmm, I can damn near taste the salty passion filled elixir from here.
Her milky white thighs tapering from knees to hips like flesh covered guiderails directing my sight to the gloriousness that is her pretty little, perfectly sculpted, lusciously pink, shaved slick, glistening pussy.
My God what a picture that would make.
"That was nice, Boi." She says her voice stale and monotone.
"Why does she have to call me boy in that way? "Bitch", I say to myself.
"Yes Ma'am. Will you fuck me now? I so badly want to be in you!" I say in my most innocent tone.
Really I want nothing more than to scream,
"I'm so fucking turned on! Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me! You devilish angel you!"
Her reply...
"No."
This cocksucker, my arms are numb from pits to wrists, my earlier struggle definitely caused the rope to break skin. I'm bleeding. I could feel it dripping in my hand before the numbness set in. My fucking face is covered in pussy juice and ass sweat(ok, i kinda like that, so what... Don't judge me.)
My dick hurts from being hard as fuck this whole time but twisted a bit inside my jeans and no way to adjust it. All that and this bitch, this amazing, loving, caring, ride or die, I love her more than I love I, fantasy cunt just says...
"No."
I decide I'll try a different approach. Head high and turned to the side I collect what ever funk and saliva is available in my mouth and spit it to the living room floor then quickly turn back to deliver a glare in her direction, her head snaps to make eye contact as well. Now with scowls on our faces we're locked in a staring contest so intense it's nearly blinding.
I aggressively say, "I'm not fucking around whore get over here pull my God damn, rock hard, cock out and fuck me. Or I swear to..."
"Oh my gosh." she interupts in a mildy childish tone "I'm sorry, let me do something about this situation, gimme one second. I'll make it all better, you'll see."
"God damn right! Maybe my little whore should suck it first." I say attempting to take control and in hindsight pushing my luck a bit.
She picks up her bag and steps behind me. Out of site. I hear her rummaging in that bag.
"There it is..." She says with a sense of accomplishment.
"There's what?" I ask with nervous vibrato in my voice.
"Just what we need to proceed" she replies in an overly sweet voice.
Then something slips quickly past my eyes, ouch, fuck pressure at my lips. Opening my mouth to speak and,
"Mmm mmmm m mm"
This Bitch just... just ball gagged me! Mother... Fuck... I love her!
"So much for taking control." I think to myself while laughing in my head.
She's talking, well ranting, mumbling, but mostly to herself I catch things like. "I got your little whore... Feelin fucked now I bet..on the God damn new carpet..."
She steps around my side. Now wearing a short little silk Kimono she knows I love, it's loosely tied and completely sexy. She's carying the bag in one hand and moving hair from her face with the other as she aggressively kicks the two chairs in front of me aside they both tip over, the second teetering on the first.
"Now. Any more orders? Sir." She asks, sharply, as she slowly turns to face me. Her demeanor Is calm and polite as if she's innocently just started a new soring day
I offer no sound, being as sounds are all I could offer. I am however doing my best to say, "Fu-ck Youu." sarcastically with my eyes.
I've never wore a ball gag, it's not as uncomfortable as I would have guessed though swallowing is a bit tough.
Damn, she's sexxxy!
She reaches into her bag and retrieves a pair of scissors. Looks at me and holds the scissors in our shared sight line and demostrates there function with a *SNIP* *SNIP*.
Oh Shit, the nervousness, the thrill, the sheer (no pun intended) fucking anticipation!
She reaches down and pinches a bit of my T-shirt at the center of my chest pulls it away from my body forcefully till the material tugs at my back, with a *SNIP* it snaps back minus a hole now residing middle of my chest. She then pinches my nipple, hard, I flinch and groan. She pulls till my nipple can't be pulled anymore, then pulls fabric till again it tugs at my back. *SNIP* shirt snaps back with my nipple now sore and exposed.
Grinning she repeats the process in random spots and of course my other nipple.
She stops abruptly, admires her work for a minute before carelessly tossing the scissors over her shoulder and disappearing to the back of me again.
By the sound of her breathing I know she's behind me. But nothing happens for a few minutes. My mind steadily racing with possibilities and the thought of her fucking me.
Suddenly her hands are my shoulders and sliding over my chest. Both sides of my lower rib cage are given a little squeeze. Her left hand finds a Hole on my side just below my ribs soon her other hand is there too. Caressing my flesh tracing the upper part of hip bone then with the sound of tearing fabric the pre-cut hole increases ten fold.
Her hands find my sides and slide up to my armpits, then follow my clavicles to my chest's center and the first hole cut.
No caress this time, no pleasurable prelude.
Nope, this time I immediately feel eight fingernails damn near puncturing my flesh. I twitch at first, the pressure increases.
I *squeal* for lack of better term and struggle.
To no avail so,
I sit still,
breathe slowly,
basking in the pain.
"I can endure because I enjoy." I repeat over and over Inside my head.
About the time I'm centered the nails start seperating... 2 inches... 4 inches... Ow... shit... fuck my... GD... nipples.
"Oh you Fucking CUNT" I try to scream but, "oo yyuuffuuu uhh" is I'm sure all she heard.
The shirt tears as she goes, she makes much quicker time the final few inches.
Looking down I can see two of the four horizontal stripes now carved in my chest. Flesh only tore enough to bleed in a few unpatterned locations.
She steps back around, the shock can be scene on face.
Before sympathy or regret can kick in, I rock the chair a bit and mumble in attempt to change focus.
She looks up and I give her a quick *wink*. She kneels down in front of me and slowly licks the blood from my skin delicately kissing each wound while also unbuttoning and unzipping my pants. As she addresses my last wound her finger tips are nestled in my waistline on both my sides. The moment last kiss is planted she begins pulling forcibly, roughly trying to remove my pants. I thrust my hips and squirm in attempt at easing the process.
Once passed my knees she gives one final tug. With an exhale that proclaimed job well done.
She slapped my balls a couple times, with two fingers on the head of my fully erect dick she pushes it down to the seat chair and lets go, it snaps back and slaps against my stomach.
She snickers a bit and as she pulls it down again I roll my eyes *Slap*. She stands up, seeming pleased with herself. She looks at me and winks as she bends down, beautiful tits dangling there before me, nipples rubbing silk, acquiring what seems to be 35' or so of rope from her bag..
She has a seat on my lap as far back towards my knees as she can. Ohhh, my desire peeked imagination can almost feel her pussy on my dick.
She looks me in the eye and asks,"You wanna fuck me?"
I shake my head yes, yes, yes.
"No ." She sternly says.
She holds the rope up, makes a loop at its middle, just below the loop she grasps the two lines pulling them through the loop and creates a simple lashing loop.
She looks down at my dick, then up to my face, then back to the rope and back to my dick.
"Son of a bitch." is all I can say to myself.
She slid the lash over the head of my dick carefully, as to avoid pinching she pulled the two strands in opposite directions. Then up and around my neck with both lengths going in taking seperate but equal routes.
She gently pulls it tight so now my dick is being stretched to painfull but nothing to be done, no way to escape.
With about 15 foot of rope remaining she starts wrapping coils around my torso. The coils start one turn above my nipples and made it just past my lowest rib.
She wraps them through the chair's vertical rungs pulling them tight as she goes. My breathing labors under the pressuree.
Stopping at mid front she tied them off to the vertical strands holding my cock up. With maybe 2- 1 foot lengths remaining, she whips at my thighs as if holding drum sticks and reenacting a Travis Barker solo, contemplating a use for left over length I believe.
With a final, wince and moan inducing drum roll, this time including my cock and ending in a double handed symbol crash on my ball sack. She gets to work bringing her idea to fruition. She isolates my balls and begins wraping the rope about three coils, pushing my balls about five inches from body, ends double knotted to secure it all.
While looking down and admiring her work she said, "Still wanna fuck me?"
Yes, yes, yes I vigorously shake my head.
"No." Of course is her reply.
She interlaces her fingers behind my neck, arches her back, places her pussy on the rope coils above my captive cock and slowly slides twitching a bit when she slides over the knots. "Wanna fuck me?" She asks with a shocking amount of innocence in her voice.
In protest, I make no movement an utter no sound. Not that I could do much of either at this point.
Six or seven repetitions in she's grinding and thrusting quicker and harder.
"DO You wanna fuck me, boi?" No innocent tones this time, No, this time the wordswere almost growled.
Still I offer no reply.
She grins, moans and carries on. My cock is wet, my balls are wet, the rope around them is wet.
I close my eyes and throw my head back, I'm about to cum.
"No!" She hollers as she slaps my face, her hips jerking the uncontrollable, unmistakable spasms of an orgasm.
"Damn..." she says smiling wide as she slaps me again. "...didn't plan on cumming like that."
I'm so fucking horny. So GD turned on that my hips involuntarily try to pump.
"I said, No! Asshole!" She says obviously annoyed as she back hands my now blue almost purple sack. Resulting in a gringe and pain filled moan from me. Fuck, My eyes are watering too.
"Don't cry, bitch boy, I'm almost through." Her voice soft, gentle almost sleepy.
"You do still wanna fuck me, wanna feel that hard dick balls deep in my wet pussy, right?" She says while standing up and dropping the kimono to the floor. Casually she turns away from me.
She picks up her bag, between blurry, watery vision and her beautiful backside, my view is blocked. She places something on the arm of the living room chair she first sat in.
"Right bitch boy, You wanna fuck me real badly, don't you?" she moving closer and nearly whispering.
Again, I'm a rock. No motion, no noise.
She grabs the the vertical leads to my aching, throbbing, fading heart-on. Causing my entire body to convulse.
She slowly takes a seat on my knees, "Don't you? bitch!" She yells. Her eyes fixed on the stretching of my dick the whole time.
Slowly, I nod yes, as she redirects her eyes toward mine. Contact gained, she adds yet more tension to rope in her hand.
She screams, "DON'T YOU? YOU FUCK!"
Ignoring the the pain from my cock, I frantically tried nodding, simultaneously tried to say Yes, yes, yes...
"Yhmm, hemnn,yaua" is how it came out after curling round black leather bound Teflon ball still in mouth.
"You wanna fuck my mouth?" She asked loud and sternly then, displays the prize. Opening mouth wide, tongue out, curled down, she moves in toward my face cocks her head back and forth arrogantly. Mocking me.
Slowing down, I nod yes, as she barks another inquiry aggressively in my face.
"Wanna fuck my ass?'
I nod yes, as she walks past me.
"Wanna fuck my wet pussy?" Calming some.
I nod yes, then pause as I realize she set-up a camera and small tripod on the arm of the chair. I remember thinking, "Shit, must be a hell of a finish she has planned."
"I'm going to do a couple things, don't you dare move boi. Stay boy, stay" she cautions softly double slapping my cheek then squeezed my face roughly to a pucker with her index finger and thumb.
It's quiet, except for the slight panting sounds my labored breathing is producing.
I think she untied my coil cuffs from the chair back. Ok, now she's undoing the cinches that tighten the rope coils around my fore arms.
"How bad do you wanna fuck me, bitch?"
"Boy, *slap, slap*You wanna Fuck me?"
I'm staring, I slowly nod yes.
"Good...
I'll be upstairs waiting. Get yourself undone, if you can. Then, come fuck me, if you want." Her words trailing off as she in all her naked Splendor heads up the stairs.
Hollering from the second floor, "And clean that fucking spit off the floor, you asshole!"
My arms are so numb I struggle for a few minutes just to move them to my lap.
Waiting for some blood flow to return, I'm staring straight through the camera.
My dick is starting to go limp the rope still refusing to do so, pulls unforgivingly, forbidding my cocks retreat.
I push back the pain and focus on freeing my arms. I go at the rope puzzle backwards according to most, I shimmy my arms back and forward till I have sufficient slack to slip the original loop then rubbing wrist to wrist for a minute, bending elbows and snapping arms straight the coils swiftly slide past my hands and add to the floor's clutter.
I immediately reach to unbuckle the fucking ball gag, throwing it at but past the camera.
Looking at the camera every second I can. I take the pocket knife from my jeans, slide it's blade between laces and chair leg. With one swift pull, one leg is freed. Same steps on the other side and my legs are both liberated. Leaving only my well coiled torso to free.
The knots are easily reached but they are tied inches from softening dick, which was being pulled so taunt by then It felt like it could tear in half. I got to my feet, bent at the waist, chair legs and chest parellel to floor.
I back up to one of the rooms arched entry ways twist and bust chair bottom to pieces. Still not enough slack I have to get hard. I step to the front of the camera holding chair.
Standing directly in front of it a carefully start stroking my cock from base to rope just above head and back again.
"You fucking dirty slut, the way have treated me tonight... You fucking tortured me, abused me, teased me and I swear to christ...I love you! Thank you! And as soon as I get hard again...to slip this cockholding rope... I'm coming to fuck you, Im gonna plug the camera to the TV so can watch my escape while I hate fuck all three of your fabulous holes." I rant knowing full well the camera can probably only see the stroking of my cock as dark as it's gotten to be.
The rant did it I'm getting hard on a random up stroke the lash slips over and off my cock's now purple head.
I easily untie the coils around my nuts.
Then the knots securing my torso coil after coil, after a few minutes of uncoiling... I'm completely free.
I step outta the jeans remove what's left of my tattered shirt. Standing naked in front of the camera I turn a slow 360° so she can admire her handy work.
Taking little more than a minute to recoup, I snatch the camera, head upstairs to claim my reward's and pine over my lovers ultra high level of kinky awesomeness!!
JCHSingleAcct
Male · Burlington, United States of America. 46 Irish/Italian not new to online dating (met ex wife 10 years ago OK Cupid) but new to all these casual sites choosing best - I work in finance midtown/ home in heights. looking to get back to dating and finding someone to go out with, dinner -brunches -plays -concerts etc and have fun. Incredible cook - red /white wine selector. Dress well - have Tattoos long hair / occasionally an actor
Post by JCHSingleAcct
46 Irish/Italian not new to online dating (met ex wife 10 years ago OK Cupid) but new to all these casual sites choosing best - I work in finance midtown/ home in heights. looking to get back to dating and finding someone to go out with, dinner -brunches -plays -concerts etc and have fun. Incredible cook - red /white wine selector. Dress well - have Tattoos long hair / occasionally an actor
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I was going to get the ID and I'm looking for people to share it with
Nashville, TN (USA) · Casual Sex · Any lovely ladies have an age they need to scratch but but I'm tired of dating website social media and the effort it takes to find somebody compatible when basically all you want is your H stretch I'm your guy, I don't judge I'm into a lot of things as far as Kinks and not afraid to try others plus sign very gifted and attractive, personally I don't like dating myself and not looking for and I guess I'm too usually shy to approach people, I'm not trying to buy or sell anything I'm just somewhat of a nympho I guess, only thing that's is required is you're STD free, born a woman, and you must pick me up and provide the location, I'm not picky about when or where but that way you're in control and safer, you can turn off my cell phone and blind fold me if it makes you feel better lol I just want to be the stud you brag to your girlfriend's aboit, I can, without a doubt, assure you 100% satisfaction, I don't know how rare this is or not but my pleasure only comes from how your pleasure, like it Yar, fast,and rough, slow, sensual and romantic, dominated, disrespected, and degraded, want to try something you're too shy to admit, is your current partner not giving you need, maybe you just need something different from what you're used too, are you a couple looking for a 3rd wheel to fill a position you have open (that's code for
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One Strange Night
One Strange Night · Non Consent · I have a friend named Anna, who is single and lives alone. She is a normal middle-aged woman, or I thought she was until a few days ago. Then something strange happened. I accidentally found her naked picture online. When I asked her about it, she told me a strange story. I couldn’t believe her story. However, since it was very erotic and interesting, I’m going to write it down the way she said it happened. You can judge whether it’s realistic or made-up for yourselves:
One Strange Night
Anna was sleeping one night. She heard a voice like a door opening, which woke her up. She was just out of bed, when suddenly a masked stranger entered her room and pointed a gun at her. She was terrified and thought it’s a robbery, but the man shouted something she was not expecting: “Take off everything you are wearing right now!”
She was shocked and started begging for mercy. She even told him where her valuables were, but he kept ordering her to strip naked with an angry voice.
Anna was very afraid and submitted. She took off everything she was wearing. But to her surprise, the masked man ordered her to tidy her hair and pose for a camera he had brought, which she did. The man took several naked pictures of her. He carefully ordered Anna to pose in certain ways and fix her face expression, as if she was voluntarily posing for a naked picture, and took pictures of her like that.
Anna had no idea why he made such demands, but every time she asked what was going on, or begged for mercy, the man pointed his gun at her and ordered her with a terrifying voice, which forced Anna into submission.
After the pictures, he ordered Anna to do jumping jacks in front of him. By this point, he had threatened Anna so badly that she had stopped asking questions and begging for mercy, and just did what he asked. She had some overweight which made doing jumping jacks a hard job, but the man ordered her to do it fast and nonstop. She was forced to do it for a long time, maybe 10-15 minutes, during which her whole body was exposed and her large breasts swung in the air.
She was losing her breathe and sweating like crazy when the masked man decided that was enough. He ordered Anna to lie on the bed, spread her legs and hold them in the air, exposing her pussy completely. After she did it, he took out something Anna wasn’t expecting at all: A vibrator!
He penetrated Anna with the vibrator. She was afraid and crying, but he didn’t care about that and turned on the vibrator. Anna had never used a vibrator in her life (of course, that’s what she says, not what I believe!). The feeling was very strange for her. On one hand she was afraid and felt humiliated, on the other hand, it felt good, eased her pain and made her forget the fear. The man ordered her to moan. Anna began moaning. At first it was a simple submission to an order, but after a minute, the moans became real. Her body was enjoying it against her will. After a few more minutes, she reached an orgasm.
Seeing that, the man called her a “juicy fat bitch” and ordered her to sit on her arms and knees on the bed, like a quadruped. She did that and the man grabbed her large breasts and began squeezing them, as if he was milking a cow. He ordered Anna to moo for him. When she refused, he spanked her hard. Anna submitted to his will again, but she needed some more spanking in order to raise her mooing voice to his desired level. She was “milked” like that for several minutes, until his master decided that was enough.
He ordered Anna to sit on the bed and masturbate, and also moan and play with her breasts. Anna began following that order and the man started filming Anna like that. After a few minutes, the masked stranger closed her eyes with a piece of cloth and ordered her to continue masturbating while moaning loudly. He said she is not allowed to stop until she reaches another orgasm, after which, he would leave her. Anna, being blinded, blindly did what he asked.
She masturbated for a long time. Since she had already reached one orgasm, reaching a second orgasm was harder and more time consuming. During this time, the man said nothing to her. It took her a long time to reach another orgasm.
Anna was very tired now. She had used almost all of her energy. She was soaking wet with sweat and her pussy juice. She was waiting for another order, but there was only silence.
Maybe it was the result of multiple orgasms, or maybe she was threatened with a gun so much that the threat couldn’t cause any more fear, but at any rate, she was no longer afraid. She asked: “are you done yet you fucking pervert?!”
There was no response. Anna felt a little silly. She had done what the man asked her all night long because he had a gun. But a gun shot would have alerted the entire neighborhood. Besides, why would he shoot? Was a “juicy fat bitch” worth it?! She realized that she was submitting to empty threats all night. She removed the piece of cloth from her eyes. It was almost morning and the room was getting lit by sunlight, but there was no one around.
The man had left while she was masturbating and moaning loudly for herself. To her surprise, he had left the gun. But upon a closer inspection, Anna realized that the gun she was threatened with all night long was just a plastic toy gun!
It took her some time to gather her thoughts. She thought about calling the police, but what could she tell them? There wasn’t even any evidence to prove the story had actually happened. Nothing was stolen. Besides, it was very embarrassing to admit what she had done merely because someone threatened her with a toy gun which didn’t even looked too real! So, she decided to keep everything to herself.
Sometime later, one of the naked pictures that man took ended up on porn sites. She looked a little nervous in that picture, but no one could have proved it was taken involuntarily. I accidentally saw it and talked to her about it, and she told me this amazing story as an explanation.
Although she showed me a toy gun as a proof, I personally think there is a much simpler explanation: She was lonely, horny and perhaps a little drunk one night. She needed a man, she needed to demonstrate her beauty, so she took the picture and posted it online. To be honest, aside from the nervous look in her face, she actually looks very good in that picture!
I believe there is nothing wrong with what she did in any of the scenarios. In the first scenario, I would have done the same if I was threatened with a gun. Besides, considering her good description of the details, her two orgasms and her unwillingness to call the police, I say if someone actually did that to her, he did her a favor! In the second scenario, there is nothing wrong if an adult woman wishes to demonstrate her beauty. There is nothing to be ashamed of in either of these scenarios.
I hope you have enjoyed her amazing story. I certainly did. I found it so arousing that I had a little role playing with my man and put myself in that scenario! It was fun.
Do you think Anna is telling the truth or something else has happened?
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Love love love loooovveeee anal sex
Love love love loooovveeee anal sex · Anal · I have always enjoyed anal sex since I was 14 all through high school and college, especially college. In college I saw girls with girls for the first time and it was the first time I had ever been there live while other people had sex. Anal blew my mind to watch. I love watching anal even more when am also getting taken anally. I have never had better anal though than when the person giving had also experienced receiving. I did not put two and two together until my third year. I begin asking why some people were so good at it and others were either just ehhh or bad at it. I was surprised to find that the guys who were very good at anal were of course bisexual or gay leaners and all of them took it as well as gave it. Same for the girls. So when I begin dating more seriously It became a criteria for me, if a guy I was dating wouldn't do the same he asked of me then he was not the guy for me.
I finally fell head over heels for this guy and when we were getting close to having sex I blurted out, hey – have you ever sucked a cock, or gotten fucked by one? He was like, whhhhhaaaa the heck? I repeated. He asked why the out of left field question? I told him I loved having sex with biguys because they better appreciated cock sucking, cum swallowing, cum kissing and eating, getting one’s ass fucked, and fucking the, AND they were very good at it. He told me he didn’t mind getting played with back there but had never been even fingered or toyed much less what I had blurted. As for the whole cum thing, he said if a girl is willing to suck him off he has no problem whatsoever kissing her afterwards and that he even enjoys eating cream pie if it turns the lady on.
So I was getting the sexual vibe from this guy and decided to have at it with him. We sexed it up for a few months with some anal play here and there. Lots of cum play since I also love to suck cock and cum kiss. My man was amazing at eating me out after cumming in me even tonguing me anally on occasion which eventually led to me giving up my glorious ass for him. He was pretty good so I told him I wanted to try him out. A few days later we were showering and I wound up reaming the heck out of him. A few months more and we were full on sexing it up every hole with fingers, toys, and the occasional tonguing.
Before we married we had our first three male anal fuckings. He took the entire length of a toy, the 2nd time he took a nice sized wall toy for me, and the third was a rather large toy. I was so proud of him I let him ravage me anally for the next three days. He was getting VERY good now. Grrrrrrrr!
On our honeymoon we had two weeks of sex, sex, sex, and more sex, we barely left the room. Later we discovered the staff had sex nicknames doe us and placed bets on how long we’d go through the night each night. They even emptied the rooms next to us since no one wanted to hear us almost nonstop.
The few times we were out and about my husband got hit on as much as I did. He is very loud when taking it anally and the men knew he was got for it. I love that he gets so hot for it, as much as I do. So that’s my brief story. I truly still believe that anything a guy wants of a girl he should be willing to do as well with all the enthusiasm he wished of her, what a precedent to set! I know I’d follow my man into anything he wanted to do. A nice gang bang of gorgeous cocks full of loads and loads of lovely cum would be a nice one. Here’s too hoping ….
The Nice Guy who wants to be BAD
Regional NSW, NSW (AU) · Casual Sex · I am the nice guy who was the "Invisible Man", the guy who never got noticed by sexy women...the guy who in primary school never received a single St Valentine's Day card, the guy who's first girlfriend cheated on him, but became the guy who joined a dating agency and found that there were 35 attractive slim to medium women with lovely personalities as well in the first two years of membership who adored him, all of whom had consensual sex with him on the first date and continuing until he grew short of money for dating...now of course a little slower, little wiser I am looking for a friend living near me in East Maitland NSW to be on tap for my needs and for mutual satisfaction - of course I admire beauty (all though I admit I am no oil painting), and although I have had so much experience with those sexy, attractive, good looking tall women, I have never had such fun outside of such an agency...I seek your help ladies...
Close Call
Close Call · General · Ok‚ this may not be so funny‚ but I think it is pretty funny.
Me and this blonde girl were dating on and off‚ and I was 15 when this happened. She snuck over to my house every night and we fucked 3-5 times a night for a month or two straight. Luckily my dad never walked in on us in the middle of the night fucking... or I'd be fucked. In good news‚ I was fucking and getting some good exercises (And the crowd goes wild). Anyways‚ she was out of school‚ and I had a few weeks left. This may sound weird‚ but sometimes I slept in my closet because it's small and actually comfortable... On to other levels‚ I slept there because I could put a blanket over because it was an open closet with no doors. Me and my girlfriend (at the time)‚ we fucked and cuddled after and we cuddled naked because we were too tired to put on our clothes. This happened twice... we fell asleep on a school night... my dad came in to wake me (remember me and my girlfriend sleep naked together)... The blanket covering the closet was over me and her and we were sleeping under blankets. My dad just woke me up by talking but not moving the curtain blanket over the closet opening (luckily). She almost responded out loud to my dad's voice because our voices were deep and sound alike‚ luckily she didn't because I would be fucked. But I said alright‚ and he walked out and closed my door. She asked what time is was‚ and it was 6 in the morning. She was scared because she lived a few miles away and her parents wake up early and check on her. So‚ she got dressed quickly‚ and then I turned on my morning shower‚ and went to my room and saw her dressed and alone waiting for me‚ I just went up to her and first thing... grabbed her ass and boobs and sexually used my tongue deep in her mouth‚ and then we ended up getting horny‚ I bent her over and licked her pussy up and little booty too. I fucked her really quick which lasted 10 minutes. Then after like usual‚ she sucked and swallowed it. Then she had to go before my dad woke up or her parents walk in to her room and discover she is gone. She hopped out my window‚ flashed her boobs‚ and then ran home. I hopped into my shower‚ and thought... the was a close call.
One Night Stand With a Nigerian MILF
One Night Stand With a Nigerian MILF · Mature · I was a young lad just out high school. I had lived all my life in the South. Then‚ I went to the North to check out a university for admission. When I was done‚ I checked into a cheap lodging house to pass the night and return to the south the next day.
I had a restless and lonely night. I badly needed some sex but could not get any. If you have ever endured a long night of wet dreams‚ you would understand my situation. I was only glad when daylight finally broke.
Now the lodge had no bathrooms ensuite. You had to go to a block of cubicles in the middle of the fenced compound to get your bath. I had just finished bathing and was going back to my room when cupid struck.
A tall‚ black middle aged woman met me and requested to use my bathing soap. I obliged her and told her my room number so she could return the soap.
I still had my boxers on when I heard a faint knock on the door. I ushered her in‚ my heart racing a little. Her black‚ oval face was still dripping clear beads of water and she had a towel body up to her chest.
"You are very beautiful‚" I said
"Thanks for the compliment . . . and the soap " she said‚ smiling.
"Oh‚ never mind the soap. What are friends for?"
"Friends already?" she asked.
"You can say that again‚" I said‚ slightly squeezing her right hand.
"You?" she said‚ gazing into my eyes.
I pulled her closer and kissed her lips. "You are so beautiful."
"Are you sure? I'm already a granny."
"It doesn't matter. You are irresistible‚" I replied as I undid her towel.
Her long‚ flat breasts had obviously seen better days but they looked sexy in a strange kind of way. One after the other‚ I began to suck and massage her nipples. She moaned softly as she put her hand inside my pants‚ masterfully rubbing my erect penis.
"O‚ how you remind me of long-forgotten pleasures" she moaned‚ her tongue roaming my mouth in a passionate kiss.
We collapsed into the bed in a tight embrace and I entered her deep‚ wet and tight pussy‚ pounding away the missionary style.
"Give to me boy‚" she moaned. "It's been a long time I've felt like a woman.
"Strike it deeper‚ boy. O yea. There. Right inside. Just the way I want it. O boy‚ you're so good."
Her hands were all over my back‚ clasping and scratching. When she sensed I was about to cum‚ she clamped her legs tightly behind my buttocks‚ pushing my dick deeper into her pussy. I felt a strong sensation and in a loud moan‚ shot a huge load of cum into her now throbbing pussy.
"Kai! You're a rough rider‚" she said as we dressed up.
"Thanks for making my day‚" I replied in appreciation.
"Hope I meet you again?" she asked‚ holding my hand‚ looking into my eyes.
"My pleasure‚" I replied‚ kissing her forehead
Just as I was shutting the door after she had left‚ she came right back inside.
"I want to show you some old tricks."
Before I could say wow‚ she pushed me down on the bed and started to suck my dick. I soon got hard again and she got on top of me and started to ride my cock. I rubbed her waist as I watched her flat tits flapping up and down. When she leaned back and started making grinding circular motions around my groin‚ we both were moaning madly as my fingers found her hardened clitoris.
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