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Game On!

I wasn’t prepared for sex that night.  I was having a period and we had agreed before the date that it would simply be time spent hanging out, enjoying the easy conversation that had marked all of our dates thus far.  I was disappointed of course, having formed some seriously erotic intentions since the last time we were together.  But I had resigned myself to an evening of companionship with clothing on.

The last time he came to my place, he brought a black duffel bag that piqued my curiosity to no end.  When I finally worked up the nerve to ask about it, he gave a coy smile and uttered one word that left me dripping into my black thong:  “Toys.”

He came prepared.  He is a former Boy Scout, after all.

Our first encounter had left me teetering on an unfamiliar edge: satisfied for the moment yet still craving more.  My nipples, tingling and sore for three days afterwards, were a constant reminder of his firm touch, his surprisingly devilish ways.  I was as eager for my next taste as a fat kid allowed to lick the frosting knife.

We enjoyed a leisurely day together, retiring to my place for an impromptu meal.  As we sat on the couch talking, his eyes wandered over my body while I pretended not to notice.  They lingered on my breast and I could tell from the gleam in his eye he was remembering the feel of my tiny, hardened nipple in his mouth.  We continued our conversation, both of us acting normally in spite of the heated tension building between us.

Finally the tension was more than he could bear and as he made a casual comment about god-only-knows-what, his hand reached out and began pinching and rolling my nipple through my shirt.   My thoughts, incoherent and disjointed as they were, evaporated in a steamy cloud of lust.

He was not going to make it out of my house without giving me an orgasm.

My eyelids fluttered involuntarily and I sighed as the pleasure zinged between my nipples and my clit.  “You are going to cause trouble.” I told him.

He smiled, revealing his intentions with the hungry look in his eye.  “What are you going to do about that?” He asked me as his fingers tightened around my nipple.

Oh yeah.  Game on.

I reached over, tracing his crotch until he sucked in a breath and stifled a groan.  “You have no idea how bad I want you in my mouth.”  I told him.  His cock swelled in response as he flashed back to our last encounter:  his hands holding my head as he fucked my mouth with vigor.

“Duffel bag is in the car!” He declared buoyantly and jumped up to retrieve it.  I raised a brow and asked the obvious question, “But what about my -”

He cut me off with a finger over my lips and a boyish grin that stood in stark contrast to his words:  “I think I’ll fuck your ass tonight.”

Game most definitely on.

He took me to the bedroom and undressed me.  Then he took out an enema kit from his bag.  Umm… a what?

Yes folks.  He came prepared.  He is a former Boy Scout, after all.

He explained, almost clinically, what he would do.  I nodded and decided to just go with it.  After all, he seemed to know what he was doing and you don’t wait until the first drop on a roller coaster ride to decide you’d rather be on the ground.

We went to the bathroom and I followed his instructions, fighting back the incredible shyness that was overtaking me.  I waited until I needed to use the toilet and announced I was ready.  A brief pause and I firmly instructed him to wait outside while I took care of this most intimate business.  I mean jeez, there are a few things even I won’t do on a date!

I reminded myself that an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure and waited for what seemed an eternity.  I silently prayed the sound would not carry and my cheeks flamed red at the thought.  At one point, I thought I was finished only to discover that no, standing up shifted things around.  I sat back down and that scene from Austin Powers ran through my head, complete with computer voice:  “Evacuation compl-“… “Evacuation com-“… “Evac-“…you get the picture.

Pretty soon, I could not stifle the laughter any longer.  A serious bout of hysterics ensued.  Giggling and making farting noises on the toilet is not exactly what I would consider erotic foreplay, but when I considered the fact I let my date give me an enema, I figured he brought it on himself.

Finally, I emerged.  Refreshed, carefully cleaned, wiping tears of laughter from my face and trying not to think about what was going through his mind.

“All ready?” He asked with an amused grin as I walked into the bedroom.  I nodded.

My laughter and embarrassment faded when his hands touched my skin.  His cock was already rock hard, straining toward me as he led me to the bed and put me on all fours.  He was, of course, prepared.  His hands began stroking me, spreading the copious moisture that even with a tampon in, was seeping out of my pussy.  He stroked the outside of my ass, tracing lazy, sensual circles that mirrored those his other hand was tracing over my clit.  How he managed to erase the previous 15 minutes of cringe-worthy moments from my mind with two small circles is beyond me.  But he did.

He applied the lubricant and slid his finger inside me in slow motion.  Easing into me, breaking the seal of my virgin ass and beginning to finger me with long, smooth strokes.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out this guy knows a thing or two about ass play.  He inserted a plug, again easing it in gently and slowly, letting my body adapt to the intrusion as his fingers coaxed yet more longing out of my swollen clit.  He clicked on the plug and the vibrations made me groan.  He instructed me to remove my tampon and I grabbed a kleenex and obliged.  I didn’t think he was going to go there but he slid his fingers inside my drenched pussy and my last thought before my brain stopped functioning was gratitude that my flow was very light.

He fingered my pussy, stroking my g spot and I took over massaging my clit while he worked the plug in and out of my eager ass.  I felt the orgasm building and knew it would be epic.  He teased me to the edge, pulling back, stopping his sensual onslaught and leaving me moaning, begging for more and pushing my ass back against him like an eager slut.  He laughed softly and decisively filled my holes again, this time stroking faster and harder.  I came so hard I saw blinding, white stars behind my eyes, my entire body shaking as the sensations overwhelmed me.

He removed the toy from my ass, kissing and stroking my hot skin as I shivered and twitched in the aftermath.  He pulled me to the edge of the bed, one hand pushing gently down on my low back to position me to receive him.  As my body continued to twitch from the first orgasm, he filled my ass with his cock and began to fuck me just as he had promised.

I loved it.  I loved the fullness of him inside me.  I loved the way his cock sliding in and out of my ass made me feel like the dirtiest little whore.  I loved the fact that when he came, he thrust balls-deep inside me and I took every inch of him.  I loved the fact that I barely touched my own clit and went off again, cumming like crazy for the second time, squirting my pleasure across his pelvis and down my thighs.

As I lay in his arms, feeling his hands stroking my soft skin as we talked, I realized there were very few lovers with whom I could have had this experience so comfortably.  That thought led me to wonder what other aces this Boy Scout has up his sleeve.  I stifled a giggle against his chest, impishly flicking my tongue across his nipple as two words ran through my brain:  Game on!

 

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Filed under Erotica

Cum Like a Whore

Can you do it?
Do you have the power?
Can you bend me to your will?
Grind deep?
Pump hard?
Can you make me feel like
You possess me?

Tongue lashing, flicking, swirling, lapping,
Creating a juicy cocktail of desire.
Will you drink me in and taste my essence?
May I sip from yours?

Fuck that.
Sip this.
On your knees and listen up.
Open your mouth,
Stick out your tongue,
and flay my pussy now.

Grab it.
Grab that cock.
Squeeze yourself for me, Little Bitch.
Show me how you like your nasty.

I’m going to taste you, tongue you, finger you.
I may even grab a dildo and fuck you.
And you will thank me.
Pumping hot loads of cum into my palm,
Across my tits and on my ass,
You will thank me.
As you lick yourself up off my skin,
And feel your cock get hard again.

You growl and roll me, now control me.
You press me down beneath you.
Spread me, fingers deep, fuck that spot,
The one

That makes me

GUSH!

I dribble and shudder, you finger and sip,
I quiver and moan as you drain me.
Then you rear yourself up,
Jerk my hips to yours,
Bend me back,
Fuck me deep.
Deeper.
Deep and hard.
Harder.
I clench, scream writhe, twist, moan, laugh, twitch.
I cum like a wet, fucking whore for you.

And you love it.

 

 

 

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Filed under Erotica, Poetry

A Pivotal Act

“Come here, Pet.”

The deep baritone of his voice summoned me.  Without question, I set my e-reader aside, rose from my chair and went to his side.

“Kneel.”  I complied.

He gazed at me silently, his dark eyes hard to read.  There was a pensiveness about him I could not put my finger on, but I knew better than to question him.  I simply waited.

He leaned forward and gently removed my reading glasses.  His thumb a featherlight caress on the high arch of my cheekbone.  Finally, he spoke.

“You will remove my pants and pleasure me with that sweet mouth.”  My mouth watered in response.

“Yes, Sir.” I replied, eager to begin.  I could feel the warm rush of heat coursing through me at the mere thought of his hard cock in my mouth.  I reached eagerly for his belt.

His hand stopped me.  “I’m not finished,”  he said firmly.

“Yes, Sir.” I replied and dropped my hands back into my lap.  I crossed them, my hands forming a V of overlapping fingers, just as I had been taught.  His preferred pose of supplication.  Hands in lap, eyes down, back straight.

“When I am ready,” he continued in a voice tinged with steel, “I will cum on your face.”

My heart skipped a beat and I gasped involuntarily.  He will what???

The words alone made tears spring to my eyes.  The thought was like a fist grabbing my entrails in a cramp of pain.  I did not understand how my beloved Sir could defile me that way.  I mentally flashed through the last several weeks, grasping blindly for anything that I had done wrong to warrant such punishment.  I could come up with nothing.  A sob bubbled to the back of my throat, where I held it fiercely in check.  I could feel his eyes on my face, gauging my reaction.

I struggled with the revulsion, the horror that accompanied the mental image of hot, sticky cum squirting onto my face.    I struggled to maintain my composure, to be the dutiful, obedient submissive.  I fought for control of my disgust.  I fought and I lost.

The sob burst free as I reeled back, rising to my feet and backing away quickly.  I tried to scramble to the safety of the sofa; I wanted to run.

He anticipated my move and sprang out of his chair.  His large hands gripped my arms tight and he jerked me towards him.  “You will kneel!”  He commanded darkly, his iron grip on my arms pushing me to the floor.  ” You will kneel and you will listen.”

I had no choice but to kneel before him.  His hands released my arms and one wound tightly into my hair.  I cried out, more from fear than pain, and my breathing began to edge toward hyperventilation.  He pulled my head back, forcing my eyes up to his.

“You must accept this.  It is my command and you will do as you are told.”  He said quietly.  “I have waited long enough.  You will never experience the true freedom found in submission unless you embrace it fully.  I can’t call myself your Master without placing my mark upon your beautiful face.”  His voice softened then, and one hand released my hair and cupped my chin.  “I know you are frightened of it, of your reaction to it.  I wouldn’t demand it unless I thought you were ready.”

I felt my near-hysteria ebb slowly as his words sank in.  His hand caressed my face as he waited and watched the struggle of emotions play in my eyes.

Was I really ready for this?  Could I handle it?  It was my hard line, my absolute boundary.  And now, he was ordering me to cross it.  I took a deep breath and tried to stop myself from shaking.  The fear licked at my insides.

“It is time.”  He said, loosening his belt.  He settled himself in the chair and crooked a finger at me.  I hesitated then crawled to his feet.

“It is your most pivotal act of submission.”  He acknowledged with a smile.  The smile faded.

“Now suck, my little slut.”

I placed my hands at the small of my back, forming the reverse V he preferred.  My body began to shake again as I leaned over his hips and opened my mouth.  His cock was already nearly hard.  He exhaled softly and his head fell back against the chair as my mouth performed a pleasure-filled dance across his cock.

In s pite of the ending, which I was not looking forward to, I could still feel myself getting wet.  My body responded to the sensation of his hard flesh in my mouth just as it always did.  The act of sucking him was both thrilling and terrifying.  Yet even as I savored the feel and flavor of him, I was not sure I could do it.

As he neared his orgasm, I could feel the fear pulling at me.  With every masterful stroke of my lips and tongue, I knew I was one step closer.  His hand fisted into my hair and he drove himself deep into my throat, holding me perfectly still for a moment while he struggled for control.  He pulled out of my throat with a groan and I shut my eyes as my stomach began to churn.  In an instant, I knew I was going to submit.  When I realized it, the feeling was like that moment at the crest of a roller coaster, just before the earth falls away beneath you.  Suspended, terrifying bliss.

Hot liquid shot across my mouth and cheek and I flinched reflexively.  As the second and third streams poured across the same path, my face remained upturned.  The rush of emotion was unlike anything I had experienced before.  Somehow, he had managed to avoid coating my eyes and I opened them fully when I realized it.

The look on his face was complete joy and satisfaction.    As his cum oozed down my jawline, dripping onto my tank top, he reached a hand forward and wiped a thumb across my cheek.  He smeared a dab of his cum on my forehead, then another smear across my other cheek.  He repeated this over and over, until my face was carefully and lovingly painted in his cum.  As he anointed me, his joyful expression turned solemn.   He leaned forward and kissed me.

“You are mine.”

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Security

He’ll only break your heart.

You don’t see it yet, but perhaps in time you will. He will use your firm body as his fuck toy and when he is done with you, he will cast you aside. You don’t see it yet, but I have seen it many times before.

Most people don’t stop to think about the things I see from my lone post; the security desk in the lobby of a large commercial bank building. They don’t realize I hear their cell phone conversations as they wait, feet impatiently tapping for the elevator doors to open. They forget I am there when they walk by, gossiping about their co-workers, lovers, spouses. I have borne silent witness to the comings and goings of the occupants of this building, five days a week for 17 years. My job is to keep watch, and watch I do.

I watch the cubicle drones shuffle past, clutching their Starbucks in one hand and last shreds of hope in the other. I quietly observe the power players who parade the halls as if every square inch of marble and polished wood is their birthright. I watch the eager young faces showing up for work each morning, hungry to carve their niche in their industry. I let my gaze roam over the figures of the women in their pencil skirts, daring blouses and tight pants with unimaginably high heels. The kind of girls he tends to favor with his sleek attention.

But you are different.

When you enter the building each morning between 8 and 8:15 a.m., you smile warmly at me. Some days the smile is stretched thin, like a sheet of pressed, pink fruit being strained. But most days your smile is luminous. I envy the raindrops that cling to your hair in the winter, just as I long to be the sunlight that warms those glossy strands in the summer. Those silky strands that he runs through his fingers. The dark satin he wraps his fist around when he pulls you tightly to him as he fucks you.

I don’t know when it started. But I caught the all-too familiar exit strategy: he leaves via the stairwell exit, you follow a minute later, flushed and slightly disheveled. I have worked here longer than he has and I know his game well. Though he sickens me, there are times when my curiosity is too much and I stand just inside the stairwell door and listen. I listen to the soft grunts, the breathless moans, the disgusting names he uses on the most beautiful of women.

I have also heard their sobs, the ones he sheds like a dry skin, sloughed off on the stairs when someone new has caught his eye. I have seen the dull expressions on their faces for the weeks and months afterward as they mourn the loss of their own private poison. I have even gazed carefully aside, holding the door as they fled out into the street, dramatically streaming tears and leaving behind good jobs. I have watched them throw their careers on the altar of lustful disgrace.

Other than a general disregard for him and his wanton partners, I have never cared before. Other than the odd twinge of sympathy I have not been moved by these brief little displays.

But you are different.

When it comes to you, I can’t help myself. I ride the elevator immediately after you disembark, just so I can breathe in the scent of your perfume. I ride up all 23 floors, inhaling the scent and imagining the taste of your skin. I linger in the stairwell, my cock finding its way into my hand, my cum finding its way onto the floor, gripping myself tightly as I listen to him fuck you. I can tell the difference between your orgasms. I know the nuances of them, from the ragged sounds of vaginal release to the ones you have when he takes his mouth to your dripping bud. I know from experience the sedate brutality of his kiss. I can see how swollen your lips get afterwards. I watch you walk on unsteady legs, knowing your ass is bright red from his spankings. I know the effect he has on you: how wet he makes you. There was that day in April when he fingered you to orgasm as the elevator descended. You were so shaken you didn’t realize you left your panties on the floor of the elevator. They were damp with desire. They are mine now.

I never say a word. I just hold the door, push the call button for the elevator, greet you, talk about the weather, tell you to have a nice weekend. You have been here three years and have no idea how long I have worshipped you. You are in love with him. In that way that all young, inexperienced women have of falling for the wrong man, you have decided he is your very own Prince Charming. I know differently. And one day, when his sweet attentions are turned towards another, you will know too.

He is going to break your heart. And when he does, I am going to break him.

*****************

Leslie and Tina bustled back toward the elevator with their expensive, flavored coffees in hand. As they walked Tina gestured toward the elevators with her coffee. “…It was almost a year ago. Yeah, he worked for the investment firm up on the 19th floor. He was working late one night and the next morning they found him at the bottom of the elevator shaft.” Leslie gasped in horror as she turned her wide eyes to Tina. “No way! I heard about that on the news!” Tina nodded sagely. “Yup. Sad too, he was only 28 and such a hottie.” Their conversation was cut short by the bell that signaled the arrival of the elevator. “So what are you plans this weekend?” As Tina began her answer, she nodded a greeting to the security guard at his desk nearby. They stepped inside and Tina punched the button for their floor.

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Filed under Erotica