Sunday, March 23, 2008

Her dirty little secret. My weird little adventure.

Sometimes Aphrodite's gifts can be pretty interesting.

Last autumn, completely on a lark, I posted on Craigslist. I wrote seeking to exchange body massage and possible oral with a laid-back partner whose schedule was as crazy as my own. I wasn't really expecting a response. A long while later, I got a response from Stacy. We arranged to meet over coffee.

We never got to the coffee.

Stacy came to my place to see me three times during this past winter, and I quickly figured out that things were going to be a little weird. We would only meet when she contacted me first, and that could be on the spur of the moment. She didn't tell me her last name, or even her age, until our last meeting. She was very hush-hush about most of her life and world. Generally, I was encouraged to not call her, but textmessages and emails were fine. By our second meeting, I figured out that I was supposed to be her Dirty Little Secret. She agreed.

As it turned out, Stacy was a grad student with a very troubling life. She was living with the after-effects of beating a major illness. She lived with terribly ill parents, had a workday full of crisis and strain, and grad school. Stacy responded to my ad because she sought straightforward, no-strings-attached escape. She wanted to fuck, pure and simple.

At age 29, she was almost totally sexually inexperienced. She had never had an orgasm. I know she came close at least once when we were together, however. I would have enjoyed ushering her through that completely.

During our first time, she showed almost no interest in kissing. She enjoyed my oral, and I enjoyed the sweetness of her completely bare pussy. She eagerly sucked my cock, but her technique was mechanical and dispassionate with one very bizarre exception.

Apparently Stacy really wanted to learn how to deepthroat dick. However, her way of accustoming to the technique was by forcing herself to take as much as she could, reach the point of gagging, push a little further... and then suddenly leap off me and speed herself to a sink where she would spit and probably puke. And then she would come back for more. Over and over again.

Now, maybe with thanks to pornstars like Anastasia Blue and sites like Throat Gaggers, "forced blowjobs" seem to be a thing. (Shayne recently told me about an encounter she had with Don, a Top who did the whole fingers-in-mouth, gag-on-my-dick thing with her, and apparently she found it really hot.) Me, I appreciate how that kind of rough cocksucking fun could have a place in d/s play, but as far as being blown is concerned, the act of having one's cock sucked, the sensation isn't anything particularly special.

Give me wet, wanton slurping. Give me intense suction. Give me your moans and groans. Tell me how much you're liking it. Grasp my shaft and stroke me while you suck. Hold and caress my shaven, full balls. Caress my legs. Let me tap my cockhead on your face, making your face glow with your spit.

But have me actually try to gag you? Hrm. I'll experiment with Shayne (hear that, baby?) sometime. All in the interests of science, of course.

But when Stacy repeatedly forced herself and ran off to puke, it kept me from enjoying her sucking enough to cum. I just don't respond well to start-and-stop nonsense. Then she'd get frustrated because I hadn't filled her mouth with my load. I'd be frustrated too. This is all a big real shame, because she otherwise really enjoyed sucking my cock, and I love it when a woman really enjoys sucking my cock.

I gave Stacy her first anal fuck during our second time together. To my amazement, she took me in with much less preparation than I'm usually expecting to give an anal virgin, and she was both confused and thrilled that she liked it so much. Her ass was exquisite. She was full, very round, and while she was a little (and charmingly) self-conscious with how big it was, she was shaped in such a way that it was a beauty to behold. A real booty. Her anus was delightful to see: crinkled and pale, readily winking at the slightest touch. I'd really been looking forward to fucking her lovely ass again.

She opened up that she had rape and bondage fantasies. We touched on this during our last time together, with me hoisting her wrists far above her head in my grip as she stood against the wall, her toes barely on the floor.

"I've been watching you," I whispered huskily into her ear. "I see your comings and goings. And I know what you're really about. Everyone else thinks you're this prim and proper woman, this sweet grad student, the perfect daughter... but you and I know the truth about you... that you're really a dirty, whorish little slut who craves sucking thick cock and getting fucked in your tender little asshole. Isn't that right, you little skank?"

She would swoon and nod her head.

"I'm going to fuck you. There's nothing you can do about it. Do you fucking understand?"

She got very wet.

"You have only one decision to make, slut. Am I going to take you hard and rough, force you and leave you bruised and battered? Or are you going to be a good little cocksucker and yield to me? Either way, your fate is sealed: I will fuck you, no two ways about it. Or would you rather accept your fate and start sucking my dick like a good little whore?"

She dropped to her weak knees then and started sucking. But, again, something intangible was amiss.

I'd like to say that sex with Stacy was the hottest thing ever. It had all the hallmarks of a man's fantasy: a young, very attractive, very inexperienced but eager woman with a fantastic body seeking no-nonsense NSA sex. But the truth is: it was an effort, and sometimes my gentlemanly skills had to be called into play. Stacy approached sex like she had something to prove and had to do it this instant.

Maybe it would have been better if I were an uncaring, inconsiderate prick and just fucked her senseless without regard for her. Great fantasy and d/s play maybe, but you know, so sorry, just not my style.

I did everything I could to escort her through a rewarding experience, but somehow I just couldn't overcome the fact that her inexperience and lack of sensuality kept me from my orgasm. Part of the challenge was how our arrangement was so skewed, with me almost being expected to drop my world to be available for her, or how she always seemed to be in a huge hurry to fuck and leave. Positions happened staccato, rather than fluidly and with shared pleasure.

Sometimes sex with Stacy felt like what I'd imagine sex with a hooker would be like, dependent on my pleasure but also hurried and without sensuality, except that it was free.

In the end, the fact I hadn't had an orgasm with her distressed her so much that she would email me to cancel our occasional get-togethers. To her, that I hadn't cum indicated that something was wrong with her. In her mind, a man should be able to get it up and get it off in no time, no muss, no fuss.

Maybe when I was 18 that could happen, but that wasn't because I was more of a stud then than I might be one now. It's because I didn't know better, because I was less sophisticated about my sexuality, my cockwants, women's bodies.

While she definitely had some issues, I also think I could have nurtured her more, and certainly could have shown her more about what it takes for get a man to cum. (Like, stop hurrying. Like, have some fun yourself, dammit.) It's unfortunate because I had begun to plan something more no-holds-barred for her, but hey.

Sometimes I associate certain drinks with specific lovers. Shayne is dirty martinis and Wiser's whiskey. The Grrl was Frangelico. Diva was Bailey's. Stacy introduced me to frozen Limoncello, which I would later discover was even better with a fresh raspberry. It seems fitting to me that as I write this entry, I've taken the bottle of Lemoncello from my freezer and nursed it. I had saved it mostly for Stacy's visits, but now it's appropriate that as I conclude this, it, this post, and my fucking Stacy, is finished.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Among the rambling wood.

With spring in the air, I'm reminded of an annual gathering held in a southern US state that I used to attend regularly. It's a sensual, relaxed, clothing-optional camping retreat of sorts, where a variety of sex-positive workshops would often be held in addition to whatever else was going on. It was family-friendly, but that doesn't mean that the grown-ups didn't have their fun too.

Like the time Diva and a BBW friend took turns sucking my cock in an old Ford van. Like the time I shared Diva with a young stud in one of the unused cabins, giving him his first threesome. An unused cabin was also the scene for an excellent blowjob I received from a nymphomaniac schoolteacher, and when a friend walked in to have a conversation with me, she smiled as she watched schoolteacher casually blow me. Then there was the lithe, amazing creature who escaped the heat with me in a basement, where she sucked my cock nicely before we would slip to a friend's space to fuck doggystyle on the rough floor.

I met the Grrl during one of these gatherings. There was only one proper house-like building on site, and I fucked the Grrl there as she bent over a stairway railing, the echoes of her cries resounding in the empty halls below. Everyone else was dancing around a distant fire and we had the entire building to ourselves. She and I bedded a darling tart who's name I never knew in the "Presidential suite" of that house.

Then, of course, there was the year of the orgy. We all got in quite a bit of trouble over that one, and the regime that controlled the event slapped our collective wrists and banned sex-positive happenings for a few years. Oopsie. But then came their own political upheaval, and later a full-out bondage party was held in the main hall at the site. Go figure.

That's where I found Tari again. I had known her when I lived in New England, and she was a good friend with whom I had flirted often. It been a few years since we had seen each other, and the reunion was excellent. She had more tattoos now, and as she would show me, some new piercings, since I had seen her last.

"Wanna see my new piercing?" she asked me excitedly, bouncing and girlygiggly. We were barefoot on pine needles as she walked me toward a nearby bench and sat down. Lifting her feet to the bench, her orange sarong opened like a curtain as she parted her legs with all the casual nature of someone asking for the time of day. Her smile was wide and her dark eyes sparkling as I squatted down before her, enjoying the shimmer of the ring decorating her labia. Tari's pussy was exquisite. Her inner labia was a tight, russet seam with the faintest of curves as it curled upward to the completely shaven mound above.

"It's gorgeous," I replied with a smile. It was. The jewellery was nice too.

There was a bondage playparty scheduled for that evening. When we knew each other in New England, I had never played with Tari, and I didn't want to pass up on this opportunity. She smirked and nodded when I asked her if she'd be interested. Later, in a crowded hall full of other players and their voyeurs, I had Tari bent over a long wooden dining table as I applied clothespins to her thighs and spanked her beautiful, boyish little ass. A female Top had strolled by with her male sub, asking politely if they could share the table. She set her pet directly across from Tari, and she and I smiled to one another as we had our partners hold their outstretched hands as they each received their spankings.

The next day, we saw one another again while seperately wandering among the event's vendor tents. Talking, catching up, strolling together, we eventually found ourselves near the outskirts of the camp, where the foliage was heavier and dense with bracken. Smirking to one another, we climbed over a series of fallen trees and through the brush until we found a measure of privacy.

She grasped for my thickening cock, squeezing it under my khaki hiking shorts, as I held that boyish bubble butt of hers while we embraced. On a lithe woman, I really like boyish butts. The wind swayed the pine and birch trees around us as we enjoyed each other casually. I was eventually tempted to bend her over a nearby stump, but she had other ideas.

As I leaned against a fallen tree, she squatted before me and undid the buttons on my shorts. I remember biting my lower lip as I ran fingers through her short punky hair, and the warmth of her mouth when she slurped me in. As she started bobbing her head before me, she turned her head from side to side, circling her mouth clockwise-then-counterclockwise around my shaft while she sucked. Her brief moans, the tightening of her mouth, the way she held my ass and forced me forward all told me how she was enjoying herself. By the time her hand was pumping me at the base of my cock, I was straining. When I finally let loose, filling her wet mouth with a torrent of my cum, she was rapidly jilling herself.

This happened years ago, long before Shayne, long before the Grrl, long before my ex-wife. Sometimes I wonder how Tari's doing, and feel certain that she's likely still the punky, funky, cool woman she's always been.

Fellatio Friday 13

I'm pleased to say that this week's Fellatio Friday, sponsored by the Fellatrices, features a sordid story about a lovely blowjob from the Grrl when we were together. We've been apart now for about two years, so it's a nice memory for me.

Other sexbloggers include Dirty Filthy Princess, talented Blowjob Babe, Cam Lover, and Slutty Wife.

Friday, March 21, 2008

A partner in crime.

It's nice to be added to someone's blogroll. Thank you, Omnivore.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Postmodern lust.

Shayne texts me with the most delicious notes. I love it when she's thinking of me, telling me about she's relaxing in her bed as she slides her favourite dildo inside her. She's sensual, loving, and fun. I threaten her with spankings. She sends me images as we talk on the phone. It's decadent.

Since reconnecting with Alix through the net, she sends me tawdry texts as well. True to her nature, she's direct and straightforward with them. It's pure flirtation, but its suddenness is enjoyably arousing to be sure.

And in the last few days, I've "met" Dree when she contacted me through a dating site. No explicit sextalk has happened (yet?), but it's clear already that she's deliciously open and interested in experiencing something. She tells me she dropped her cell like a bad habit, but implies that she might reconnect with it if only to be sending sexy texts again.

All of these women live far from me. Also, for some odd reason, the dating scene in my own city has slowed to a crawl lately. It's odd, really. Sometimes I think Aphrodite simply wants me to explore new venues of love, lust, and relationships, where I'm not engaging in something with a live-in, or even local, partner for a while. Maybe this is so I can actually put more emphasis on my own day-to-day living and goals as I continue living on my own.

Most people are used to that paradigm, I think. Me, I'm more used to having a live-in primary partner with consensual friends-with-benefits.

Me: Hi. Wanna fuck?

My cellphone has essentially become a new sex organ for me. Has it become an extension of my cock? Am I some psychosexual cyborg whose experiences with women are being enhanced through the use of a Samsung a920? Or this MacIntosh as I share this thought with you through a blog?

I've heard it suggested that the boom of the computer age owes a great deal to the human animal's desire for sex. I remember science fiction stories that I read as a kid where, in some post-cataclysmic world, social interaction would become wholly dependent on computers and machines. If Naomi Klein has anything relevant to argue, it's worthwhile to consider that this shift in social interaction has already begun. Many of our relationships to things, and to people, are increasingly becoming dependent upon media modalities.

Shayne: You know it sexy

Sure, it's fun. But how is it also affecting social interaction on the cultural scale?

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

She likes it. I knew she would. Don't you?

Shayne: You know... i like having that pic of my heiney & lips on your blog. I like that thinking that people i can't imagine see it and enjoy it.
Me: Every time I look at it - like right now - Im torn. Do I want to spank you, fuck you, or dive my face in and feast on your gorgeous wet pussy?
Shayne: Maybe (c) and then (b)?
Me: You want my cock, dont you?
Shayne: Yes. I do.
Me: Men, and likely women, around the world get hot over your ass. Their breath quickens. They cum. They want to know what will happen next.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Fellatio Friday 12

I'm pleased again to share that a recent post, where I recounted the fabulous memory of Alix's blowjob some years ago, was also accepted by the lovely Fellatrix in her weekly compendium, Fellatio Friday.

And, no, the sexy vixen displayed here isn't my Shayne... but dayum is she close. (Or maybe it's her enthusiasm for dick that makes the resemblance? ...Hrm.)

Shayne? I miss ya, baby. C'mere.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

What if the men had simply said, "Yeah. So what?"

Ashley Alexandra Dupre. Monica Lewinsky. Donna Rice.

Political sex "scandals" are nothing new or unusual. Perhaps a strong argument can be made for how one's partners are affected, but isn't this all part and parcel of the same post-Puritanical, hypocritical, sexually repressive message that is too-frequently forced down our collective throats? There are countries in the world where the sexual proclivities of politicians are reserved for the gossip columnists, if that, rather than being national front-page news.

Will North America ever achieve that level of sexual sophistication? Perhaps, so long as hand-holding same-sex couples and breastfeeding women are harassed, that's sadly unlikely.

Monday, March 10, 2008

An autumn morning in Pennsylvania.

Alix: Wanna play now? lol
Me: Yes. Now. I want you with your jeans and panties around your ankles. Now spread em and bend over this table. I'll be kneeling behind you. Give it to me. Yield.
Alix: God you are hot...
Me: Does that mean you'll enjoy my tongue at your delightful, crinkled anus as my fingers twist in your beautiful cunt? Let me suck you.
Alix: How could I not? I am damp and swollen thinking about it. *sigh* you are far too far away
Me: I enjoy swelling you, making you flush and throb, from this other coast. One day, we'll see each other again, and when we do, I'll expect your cum in my mouth.
Alix: Over and over again. i miss sucking your cock!
Me: Mm.. I'd love to be tapping it on your face. Have you any idea how sexy you are? Mmmeow... I have nice memories of your mouth. That's so rare.

It's interesting how the Fates weave their skeins. More than fifteen years ago, Alix was with Mike and living in a rustic county of Pennsylvania. I was with Diva and living in New England. Now we're on seperate coasts, mostly with entirely new people in our lives. The internet gods saw fit to reconnect us in the past year or two, and while we almost caught up with one another during a flight layover as she made her way to Italy, we haven't seen each other in a long, long time.

I was the best man at her wedding to Mike. I received a wonderful Edinburgh crystal brandy glass that I treasure to this day.

Her blowjobs were among the most memorable I've known.

There was a time when our circle of friends was a deliciously scandalous group. The lot of us, dispersed as we all were over several US states, were an in crowd of sorts, the kind that becomes the subject of jealous rumour and nasty commentary from the secretly envious. We weren't all swingers exactly, and this was before "polyamory" became a sophisticated word, but among some of us there certainly was some excellent, enjoyable fucking going on in addition to whatever else we were doing. For some of us, playfully consensual between-friends sex just sort of... happened.

It was very nice.

With our respective partners, we were attending a weekend gathering of close friends in rural Pennsylvania. It was October, and the coloured leaves made for a sensual, musty scent in the chilled air. There had been a feast one night, with those of us who stayed over "puppy puddling" on the various floors or bedrooms of the house. Most of us woke late, groggy, groaning in that morning way. Autumn in the country makes me incredibly horny.

I'm usually an early riser, and had already spent some time tiptoeing among my more comatose friends, or spending some moments of meditation on the dewey grass outside. I had secured some coffee, and when I knew it wouldn't disturb people, made my way through an empty bedroom to the private shower stall adjoining it.

I had been in the shower, my coffee on the sink nearby, for only a few minutes when I heard a knock on the door. Alix poked her head in.

"Hey," she said, beaming a smile. Her short black hair was tousled from waking. "Can I come in and pee?"

I laughed, turning away from the clear glass shower door. Of course, I replied.

"Nice ass," she said. "Can I have some of your coffee?" Of course, I replied.

We chatted as she shamelessly checked me out when I faced her again. I had just finished scrubbing my cock and balls, and was holding myself as the steaming water cascaded down my body.

She smirked. "How about some company?"

I smirked back. Of course, I replied.

She slinked out of the thin bathrobe she had worn and pulled me close for a kiss as she came into the shower.

Alix was one of those women who truly wore her body weight well. She was thick, but toned and strong, and her short stature made her just that much more sexy. She was like a fire hydrant: short, wide but consistent, and hard enough that you'd hurt yourself if you poked her the wrong way. Her confidence exuded in her fiery wit and rapid gestures, and when she didn't speak in quick machine-gun utterances, she slurred her sentences like a purring lioness. Her face was so expressive; she had mastered the eyelash-fluttering Who, me? look, easily shifting it to the You know I want your dick, don't you? look.

Her kiss was deep and passionate, and she groaned in that way that instantly makes me hard. We held each other's asses as we came closer in our embrace, the steam filling the room. I gasped when she casually, but confidently, reached under to cup my sack in her small hand. She squeezed me gently, making me groan in reply.

And then she was on her knees. I pushed the showerhead to the side to keep water off her face and leaned against the tiled wall. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open in pleasure as she gripped me by the base and rubbed my cockhead against her lower lip. She looked up at me with her dark eyes and licked my frenulum. All I could do was submit to her ministrations.

Her mouth suddenly engulfed me then with an audible gulp, muffled as her lips wrapped tightly around me, and then she slid her mouth lower. As she bobbed her head slowly, she strengthened her suction as she pulled upward. Feeling heat, moisture and her tongue as she took me in, suction as she withdrew, I screwed my eyes shut and enjoyed her.

I love caressing a partner's head when she's sucking me. Unless I'm dominating, I'm not much of a tugger. Feeling her bobbing head, the way her cheeks hollow as she slurps, the widening of her lips, the hair at the nape of her neck all excite me in resonant ways. I did all this, and her groans and moans told me how she enjoyed my touching her head and face as she blew me.

Taking me from her mouth, she tilted her head to rub her lips on the length of my dick. Her face glistened with water, but I could see how her mouth was surrounded by her saliva. Gripping my shaft in her fist now, she looked up at me as her mouth covered my head and she simply sucked on it, jacking me off. I started to get close. She could tell.

It was probably my gasping as I looked down at her that cued her when to resume sucking my shaft. When she did so, she met her hand to her lips and pumped me simutaneously, slurping and snaking her tongue at my cockhead while she did so. For me, it was just a matter of time.

I was holding her head in place and fucking her mouth fast when I felt my cum build. I held it back for as long as I could, building pressure, and when I let loose I'm certain that she felt me splash the back of her throat. She groaned, gripping my thigh with her nails as her other hand continued to jack me in her sucking mouth. I saw stars. I felt my dick throb with my heartbeat, pulsing in her fantastic mouth as she completely drained and swallowed me.

Every shower should be like this.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Shayne goes to class.

Having spent the early evening submitting my newfound pet to a variety of subtle humiliations (she looked particularly cute skipping to the car as her tartan jostled above her thighs), I parked the car. Reaching inside her skirt, I confirmed that she was as wet as I suspected, then undid the restraints securing her to her seat.

Her ass peeked deliciously from under the skirt as she stepped upstairs. I smiled to myself as I randomly pinched her bare bottom. After the door was opened, she stopped in her tracks.

Earlier in the day, I had arranged a lovely little playspace. The shrine to my own pleasure that I had erected featured a variety of my tools and toys: floggers, paddles, leather restraints, coils of rope, non-latex gloves, nipple clamps, blindfolds, earplugs, candles, vibrators, cuffs, police-issue plastic restraints, and more. Incense and candles lit, I poured myself a small whiskey and set it aside.

"On your knees." She obeyed. With extreme lenience, I gave her this one last opportunity to ask any questions she might have had. She had already misbehaved far more than my tolerance would have otherwise accepted, but she was still a wee kitten and I didn't want to scar her for life.

A nice bruise, maybe. But some other time.

I stood behind her as she knelt on the unforgiving wooden floor. I caressed her head. I reached down to cup and squeeze her tits under the crisp uniform shirt. I tugged the tie around her neck to force her head back for a small kiss, and a bite.

"You are here for my pleasure. Do you understand? From this moment forward, everything you do, everything you do not do, everything you say when I permit you to speak, everything you feel is entirely because I wish it so and for my pleasure. I wil kiss you if it pleases me. I will spank you if it pleases me. I will fuck you if it pleases me. I will leave you standing in a corner for an hour if it pleases me. You are mine. Do you understand?"

She already had her safe word. A lot of time had already been invested in small lessons and clarifications. She was not being surprised... other than now actually having to face the experience. She tried to clear her throat as she nodded. I gave her another kiss before I caressed her hair and then pushed her head down to the floor.

"What a lovely ass this is," I said as I stood behind her again, raising the tartan. "Look how smooth and white you are. My, my. Well, we'll see that turning shades of red soon enough, now won't we?"

I began with some gentle smacks as she squirmed in discomfort. Her knees were already asking for relief. I was unconcerned. Alternating between increasingly firmer smacks and soft caresses, I smiled at how her skin shook very slightly to my touch. The tartan skirt had bunched itself around her hips in the naughtiest way. I eventually struck her lovely ass with a leather slapper, causing her to jump.

I tugged her head back from the floor. Her face was flushed, her breathing quickened. I pressed her face into my crotch before tugging her on her feet with my fingers in her hair.

I sat on the wooden chair I had placed in the center of the room and yanked her over my lap. Instructing her to count, I began a pleasant assault on her ass with my bare hand as she yelped and squealed and squirmed like the bad girl she is. My strong arm constricted around her waist and held her across my lap. I enjoyed hearing the tapping of her shoes on the floor as she kicked her legs. I enjoyed how she shook and whimpered as I made her white ass glow several shades of pink and crimson. I enjoyed how her pretty little anus winked and winked again between each smack. Her cunt was dripping.

Sated for the moment, I let her slide off my lap to collapse in a heap on the floor. I stood, walked to my shrine, and sipped my whiskey. In a moment of reward, I allowed her the smallest of sips. In a moment of mercy, I asked her a question.

"How do you feel?"

She nodded as she gasped, crumpled on the floor.

"Not for long." I removed her tie and uniform shirt. I lifted her up by her chin and set her on her knees on the chair, facing its high back and the large glass window across the room. I pinched her nipples while I secured her ankles and wrists to the chair with rope. I slipped the another coil of rope, this one knotted in the center, into her mouth and secured it around her head. I gave her a kiss.

All she wore were her bobby socks and the tartan. I resumed spanking her, this time parting her asscheeks widely open for my viewing pleasure. I subjected her to hand, leather slapper, wooden spoon. She whimpered, cried out, gasped.

It was time to subject her to a taste of my wrath. For more than twenty extra minutes, she delayed my pleasure by failing to return to me in her uniform when instructed to. I strolled to my shrine and lifted the thin wooden birch.

It was a small cane, really. Very flexible. But how it hissed when stroked through the air. Ominous. Something to shake one's knees over. I watched her breathing quicken as she listened to the birch, and then she received the first strike directly across both distended ass cheeks. A lovely hiss. A lovely ripple across her skin. A lovely pale, red line.

One. Then another, and another. More. Harder now. Faster. One stroke for each unauthorized minute, and all concluding with the hardest stroke yet. How she suffered for her transgression. Probably not as much as she could have, certainly not, but for her reddened novice's ass, definitely an experience.

She submission pleased me. She moaned when I gave her another small reward: a few too-brief moments of the vibrating knob at her delicate pussy. She had earned it, and so my tenderness was hers. For the moment.

Bent over the backrest of the chair, now her bare back was my canvas. The black candle was already lit. The bowl of ice was standing by. I blindfolded my pet as I whispered into her ear how she would find this so amusing.

The excellent thing about fire and ice is how, with the right candle, the sensation blurs itself. The look on my pet's face was adorable as, in her blinded state, she pulled so slightly away from the heat of molten wax and shuddered with the dripping frozen water. In time, she simply squirmed, gasping more, feeling so many temperatues from so many rivulets of liquid showering upon her. I stood above her, smiling, the ice in one fist and the candle high above her in the other, occasionally returning to squeeze and pinch her cute little tits.

Time passed, and soon it was dark outside. Our room was golden from the glow of so many candles. My poor pet had been subjected to so many sensations and experiences before it was time she pleased me to my full. On that dreaded wooden floor again, her knees ached as I opened my pants before her face and fed her my cock.

"You will suck it expertly," I intoned, "or my punishment will be severe."

She obeyed me. Hungrily, she was relieved, although whether it was because she had escaped my clamps and paddles, or because she had her keeper's thick dick in her mouth, or both, was only known to her. I suspect both. I enjoyed how she forcefuly breathed through her nose as she serviced me, sucking my cock. I thought about the cocksucking training I would give her to amuse myself with (why else her school uniform?), but soon I was ready to finish the evening's entertainment with something more penetrative.

Her suckling mouth pulled from my cock, she was tugged by the hair to the nearby bed where I set her on her hands and knees. She still wore the white bobby socks and tartan skirt, which again found itself raised and draped across her lower back. I pressed her head down, raised her scarlet ass, parted her cheeks open, and slowly slid the entire length of my thick cock deeply inside her aching, dripping pussy. She squealed as I took her, pumping and gripping her hips as I pulled her against me. She begged for me to fuck her, aching to please me, crying out as I rammed myself deeply into her submitting body. All this afternoon, all this evening, and into the night she had been subjected to multiple sensations, tortures, and humiliations, and now finally she was being taken like the slave pet she was. Her tight pussy suckled on my cock in quivering waves as she felt herself being completed as my playtoy and property. Her cunt was mine, and I had her to my fullest satisfaction.

... I held her as she came down from the energy of things. I smiled, kissing her head. I removed the leather bracelet from her right wrist. Our play had ended. We cuddled through the night, and had much to talk about the next day over breakfast.

She's delightful, and I love her very much.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Fellatio Friday 11

Since the entire point of this blog is about what pleases me, it pleases me to share that a recent post here was accepted by The Fellatrix in her weekly carnal compendium, Fellatio Friday. Apparently, the post earned an Honourable Mention. Nice.

Other selected participants included:

Dirty Debbie's Debbie Does CJ, MJ's Slave's More Cock Worship, The Cam Lover's First Blowjob Porn Film I Ever Made, the delightful Blowjob Babe's Where I Like Cum, and Blue's Suck Or Blow.

Kudos to the Fellatrix for building community among sex-positive blogging folk.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Shayne enrolls in school.

My waiter, dressed in a smart canary yellow waistcoat, had arrived with the coffee. I enjoyed his attentiveness as I crossed my legs to relax, casually looking across the street to the building she would soon emerge from. This elegant Italian bistro couldn't possibly have been situated more appropriately.

I wore my favourite black suit, the black silk tie flowing down my cobalt-blue shirt like a river of exquisite anguish. I relished the sensual fusion between the fresh air, my excellent coffee, my evening's attire, and the knowledge that this new, endearing, lustfully wonderful little tart I had discovered was about to get a hint of what she had been asking for. I was especially looking forward to spanking her womanly ass. I smiled, pleased with myself, as my hand patted the package I had set on the chair beside me. She wasn't expecting this, not exactly all of this, tonight.

She came from the building. I made eye contact with her, and with a slightly bemused smile, she came across the street toward my table under the scarlet canopy. My waiter returned to refill me as she set herself down. Asking me if she would like some coffee as well, I enjoyed seeing both his and her faces briefly contort with confusion when I replied that, no, she will not be having any. Like her, the coffee was singularly my pleasure tonight.

In time, I pushed a small white plate across the linen to her. On the plate was a black leather bracelet.

"This is the time for you to ask your questions," I said to her. "If you choose to pursue what I'm offering, what you have asked to share with you, then show that acceptance by placing this bracelet on your right wrist. This is very old-school. But also know that your placing the bracelet upon yourself will also be your final independent act, until it is removed, and then by me. Once you've worn this, everything you do and say will be prioritized with my pleasure in mind. You will be my pet. You will behave accordingly. Do you understand?"

She tried to be coy, but I saw the swallow and the slow nod that followed. She asked her questions. She received her safe word. With a silent pause, she lifted the bracelet from the plate and snapped it upon her wrist. I finished my coffee and stood.

"Take that package," I instructed, motioning to the other chair, and walked away. She followed.

As we walked through the crowded downtown streets, I gave her a crash course of all the basic expectations I would have for her if she wanted to pursue this sort of experience with me. She listened attentively as she tried to keep up with me. Soon, I had taken us into the elegant lobby of a corporate building. Guiding her past the sumptuous couches, I stood her next to the door of the women's room. I gave her a kiss, looked at my watch, and then looked directly into her adorable eyes.

"You have ten minutes. You will change into the contents of that package and you will place what you are wearing neatly folded in it. For each minute that you are late, you will receive one stroke. Do you understand?"

Her eyes widened as she nodded, trying to stifle a nervous laugh. Around us, businesspeople wandered. An old man turned the page of his newspaper. I smiled at her and relaxed on one of the elegant couches as she disappeared.

I waited. I waited a little longer. My my. I waited some more. Oh, dear me. The poor thing, thought I to myself.

Some 33 minutes later, she emerged with a blush and look of confusion. The blue tartan skirt and the white bobbysox were charming on her and fit her well. The crisp white shirt had the proper cut to accentuate her waist and ensconce her breasts. I had also selected proper shoes and underwear for my little tart.

But the poor wee thing just couldn't manage the tie. I laughed when I pictured her, bent over the washroom sink under the mirror, frantically doing and undoing the tartan tie, sweating over how much time she was taking. I lwas amused.

Helping the poor distressed baby, feigning a supportive pout, I did the unfortunate thing's tie up for her. Oh, the price she'll have to pay for that. But then, that's what daddies are for.

On our way to my car now as we continued our walk among corporate alphas and betas. To amuse myself, I had her skipping towward the car as she obeyed my instruction to open the door for me. Once inside, I reached under her seat for the chain I had set there, and affixing the handcuffs to a link by means of handy clasp, I cuffed her in such a way that her hands were held low and between her legs. I was amused.

From another compartment, I produced the brown leather collar and the leash. I showed them to her.

"Earlier, I explained that the bracelet, and its being on your right wrist, is old school. So is this," I said, gently shaking it. "The leather is brown because, as a pet, you are inferior. You are untrained, and to wear black, or steel, or lace is a privilege that you have yet to earn. And yet, to wear any Top's collar, no matter the make or style, is your reason for being and the most important honour. Your bracelet reminds you that you are in playspace. The collar reminds you, and shows all, that you are the property and pleasure of your Top. Do you understand?"

She nodded as I buckled the soft brown leather around her neck. I smiled as I affixed the leash to the D-ring and tugged her head closer to me for a kiss. A few teasing smacks on her bare thighs, a gentle probe under her tartan, a random squeeze of her tit over the crisp schoolgirl shirt, and I started the engine.

"All learning should be sweet," someone told me once. So, simply for the contrasting debauch and the humour it brought me, I began Shayne's training experience with a visit to an old-fashioned soda shop where she, in her authentic Catholic schoolgirl uniform, enjoyed a root beer float.

Me, I had more coffee. Not much later, coffee wasn't all that continued to stimulate me.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

As I stood nekkid in my kitchen.

It's my day off. I'd just finished stripping and making some tea when Shayne texts me from the midwest. I love getting her morning texties.

Shayne: :) morning baby. I miss your voice. Its sunny here. gettin ready for work.
Shayne: (as she's taking transit) Oops! A mustachioed lady reading a Laurel K Hamilton novel! I miss you dammit
Me: New major snowstorm here, will make tasks challenging. Miss you tons. Am naked - join in shower?
Shayne: Perfect! I skipped mine. Mind if I suck your cock a bit while we're in there?
Me: Mind? I need it, babe. I miss your mouth.
Shayne: Mmgood cause i want to suck you. And then (maybe the shower can wait) i want you in my ass
Me: Meow! :) Keep licking my velvety head and Im sure Id be bending you over soon enough!
Shayne: Ah ::sigh:: have to leave happy loverland for filing. (hiss!!)
Me: File away, you bad office girl. I'll be sure to check out your lovely ass as you do.

If I plan well, I should be able to see Shayne again later this month.

She was with Brent last evening, although things may have cooled off some between them. Sometimes I'm still working out the balance between being wary and being turned-on when she's with another man, but I'm thinking that most of that is about context of where we are at a given moment. I should write more on this.

But first, that shower. And then dealing with more of this snow. Joy.

Glove love.

I acquired a new box of gloves lately, and it elicited a fun memory:

I was maybe in my early 20s. I was with Diva then, in Boston, and there was this evening when a gorgeous, shorthaired, Irish lesbian woman decided she wanted to have fun with us. We met her through lesbian friends who, like Diva and me, were active in the Boston bdsm scene of the late 80s.

This woman had the most racy, larger-than-life-size woad-blue tattoo of a vulva on her thigh. Really, it was impressive.

We were at a playparty with friends. There were numerous playparties for me in those days, usually casual ones that happened after a group of us had been in one of the leather clubs, or meeting in the gay or lesbian bars. I was the token straight-but-cool-guy then. Irish had had her eyes on Diva all night, and we were all at someone's house, it wasn't long before Diva splayed her charms as she relaxed on a couch. Irish was on all fours before me, feasting happily on my partner who made eye contact with me between her gasps. Other friends were doing other things elsewhere that I can't recall because I was riveted on the heart-shaped lass' ass (and that tattoo) before me.

I was lazily caressing Irish's back, but I wasn't trying to "join in." Really. I don't make that assumption when I'm among the grrls. But Irish, bless her shameless heart, eventually looked over her shoulder and, with her face glistening, casually asked me if I'd like to fuck her.

"Whoah, hey, wait," I said. "You sure? I thought you weren't into guys."

"Not with your dick," she laughed with her too-sexy brogue. "Your hands. And use these." She directed me to a pair of latex gloves.

Now, maybe she was just being polite, respecting the fact that I was Diva's partner at the time. Maybe she was simply as cool as I remember her being. She was definitely friendly. It was she who introduced me to the beauty, safety, and sensuality of using gloved hands to fuck.

Lathering the gloves with lube, I listened to her coaching as I slid fingers from one, then from the other, and then from both hands inside her women's-only tightness. I was her student, and I learned quickly. Soon, I was pressing hands together and alternating strokes of fingers as she came while sucking the delightful cunny of my then-partner. I enjoy the memory of the curvature of Irish's ass as I pumped my hands inside her. Soon she was bucking herself against me, her head bobbing as she drove Diva into a frenzy. Having learned, I twisted, curled, widened, stroked, sped up, slowed down, pressed together, teased, taunted her. Very, very yum.

I've known some incredibly cool women in my life.

My glove toy of choice has since become Kimberly-Clarke's purple nitrile powder-free exam gloves. In case you weren't aware, some people are allergic to latex, and you definitely don't want to use anything coated with talcum powder, which is a stone. Gloves help ease the motion over knuckles and foolishly-uncut nails, they respond better to lube, they feel slick.

Now that I have an entire box of these things in my toychest, I can't wait to have Shayne on her hands and splayed knees before me again... Now where did I put that Astroglide?

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

How I met Shayne, cont'd.

We found ourselves relaxing on the hardwood floor in front of her bed, talking, kissing. We got a little high, and we were sipping the whisky I had brought with me. Our kisses became more passionate, and soon she confessed that I was the first man she was being intimate with in a very long time: she had been almost exclusively with women for some years. This touched me, but it also help strengthen the kinship I was already beginning to feel with this delicious pixie.

She was darlingly cute when her jeans were lowered, when she sat on the edge of her bed and raised her legs in the air to peel her cotton girlbriefs up and over them. Still sitting on the floor before her, I relaxed as I took the sight of her in. Her legs were warm, soft and firm as I rained her thighs with my kisses. As she parted them, I smiled as I drew closer and sighed deeply as I languished in the sight and scent of her core.

Hers was puffy, framed by her pale skin, and already beginning to pinken with excitement. Nuzzling my way slowly, I felt a chill down my back when my mouth and tongue finally made contact with her mound. I breathed slowly and in complete rapture as my tongue parted her open and slowly snaked in small, wet circles. She was amazing, and it felt fantastic to be exploring this my new friend's beautiful pussy. I lavished in her wetness, sighing to myself as I felt it seethe into my soft beard and on to my cheeks. I caressed her tummy in slow circles, held her strong thighs, twisted my head to an better angle so I could devour her.

Slipping some fingers into her, I twisted my wrist in gentle strokes as I found her sponge. As I teased her g-spot, she gasped and shared how she was enjoying herself immensely. So was I.

We did more that afternoon, and on into the evening. When she later rested herself above me, her beautiful ass in my hands as I sucked her in a lovely 69 embrace, I felt completely surrounded by her. When she sucked me, I thrilled in the knowledge that mine was the first cock she'd had in her mouth in so long. When we finally fucked, her tightness and her gasping reeled me. When I took her delightful ass, we were slick in sweat as she cried out how much she was loving having me there.

But it's when I gave her head that I enjoy remembering the most of our first time together. I miss giving Shayne my mouth, and I know when we see each other again in a few weeks, I'll be licking my lips for her.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

How I met Shayne.

Those of you who have been reading since this blog was on LiveJournal (and I miss you and your comments) may be curious about Shayne. After all, I was silent for about a year as I went through some relationship transitions.

I had a few enjoyable post-Grrl dating affairs, primarly with Melissa, the Tomboy, and Steffa, the Pothead. I was on the cusp of ending things with the Tomboy when I found myself struck by a gorgeous face on a dating site. Now, I generally don't take dating sites too seriously, and very rarely actually write to a woman through them. When I do, I'm simply having a little flirtyfun, and if something actually did happen, I normally wouldn't expect more than a coffee meet.

But the woman before me literally had my keyboard-tapping fingers stop dead as I actually brought my face closer to the screen. She was dressed elegantly in this image on what appeared to be a sumptuous chaise lounge, her short hair playfully set in flapper style. I love flappers. I sat back, sipped my tea, and dropped her a note.

... Of course, we've several hundred miles apart from one another. But when I saw your listing, I knew immediately that I had to explore your profile, and I'm glad that I did. I just had to tell you that you are dropdead gorgeous. And that my heart sunk when I saw you're there...

I didn't expect a reply, but she did, and enthusiastically. What followed over the next few weeks to months was probably what most people who connect over the internet might expect. We wrote frequently, got to know one another, had that endearingly heart-thumping First Call, and connected. We found a lot of common ground between us on politics, art, philosophy, attitude, metaphysics, culture, polyamory. We became friends. Since I love to make new friends, I was elated.

I love road trips, and sensually adventurous ones especially. When the time came for me to take the drive to her city in the midwest, I felt like I was going to Disneyworld. A single rose and a bottle of good Canadian whisky in my fist, I met her at her door. The sun was warm behind my back as she blinked and smiled.

Oh, yum. Her smile was radiant, but I also sensed some apprehension from her. No worries, I thought to myself, I'm not making any assumptions here. It seems that I had already become a topic of conversation between her and her pride of girlfriends, which made perfect sense to me. "Whatdyoo mean you're meeting this man... from a foreign country... at your home... for the first time?! Girl, are you crazy?

Shayne was very cool about expressing her newfound concern, and as I enjoyed the graceful energy of her pad (and even more, of her cat), part of me prepared for the very real possibility that I would be asked to go. Yes, I had just driven several hundred miles. Yes, coming to meet her was the highlight of my world at that moment. But, youknow, what's a guy gonna do? Wanting to respect any boundaries she might have, as she and I chatted with the door to her back deck between us, I made mental notes of how I might explore her city and have some quiet fun before grabbing a motel, play tourist, then head home in the morning.

But she didn't ask me to do that. Putting her cat down, I eventually offered to. Instead, she took a step closer, brought a hand to my waist, and parted her lips for a slow, sensual, wonderful kiss. She pressed me against her kitchen counter as her soft lips tasted mine, and when my hand made its way around her warm head and through her soft flapper's hair, my knees went weak when she moaned so slightly. I can't remember the last time my knees went weak.

We've been scandalously excellent friends and lovers since then. It was the best birthday present for me, ever.