Late night porn

Patience is a virtue, darlings. As I've spent almost all my life learning and am still.

My vacation synaposis: resort, sun, burned, fun, margaritas, me doing tequila, him not able, swimming, reading, sleeping, fucking [which was good], aloe vera, driving two days to see 3 ruins, me climbing the tallest, him stopping mid-way, he drove, I navigated, little towns, using my Spanish rocked, they all thought we were married and I gave up contradicting, back to the resort, sleeping, reading, sun, margaritas, my first pina colada, swimming, sunning. A week was enough. There will be pictures uploaded soon. They will be London, Paris, and Mexico.

But for now, I'm still scoping the horizon. My hopes are always too high and James laughs with me, not at me. A colleague within the circle and I have exchanged very naughty, dirty emails but his naughty is my been-there-done-that [anal, woman cumming, ripping clothes off, semi-public sex, dirty talk -- um, how is this kinky? Or, have I become so depraved that even exotic is boring to me now?]. A man online who likes Lolita as much - if not more than I do but who writes in too fancy, journalistic prose for me to take seriously -- or wonder if he's more about passion and less about fucking. Sigh. My aim is the hope of Paris. For now, I'll get butterflies saying naughty things, crossing lines, refusing to be a teacher and maybe even being a bit cold-hearted.

But all that aside, my colleague-type-person we'll call him Phillip. He requested a story.

I would warn you but you should all know by now. Read it at work only if you can drop your pants and rub off there and then. Or, run to the bathroom for some privacy. Or, if you can bend your co-worker over her desk and shove it in her unexpecting cunnie.

IE, nsfw

Again, I take liberties where I like and prefer to call it creative non-fiction. Hopefully, I will never be sued.


Him: Along those lines, how about you tell me what you think would happen if a couple professionals are working late in the office and one thing leads to another and ends up with some rough sex, dirty talk, anal, etc.


Me: God, this is really a fiction story for me. Usually the stories I write when given a theme have some kind of personal angle. I write creative non-fiction a lot better than fiction. But this theme.. Well, this job has been my first "real" professional job and frankly, I'm just not into all the women around me that much. I had such high hopes about having more men on staff....

When I think about this kind of situation, I think of 2 people with already established interest, a lot of sexual tension, and the multitudes of fantasies they'd both have running through their minds if left alone late at night.

It reminds me of the first realization that I liked it rough and I liked it bad. I had dropped out of college after my freshman year and was living in a shared house with 5 other roommates. One of them, was a tattood drummer in a local band. He was dating this big blonde punk girl and when I'd been in his bedroom I'd noticed cuffs and eyelets on his 4-poster wooden bed. He did a lot of speed and smoked a lot of pot. I'd always always had a huge crush on him but he was either dating some girl or we unconsciously had this underlying "don't date roommates" feeling.

After a while he moved out and started living with the big blonde punk girl. He'd come over once in a while to practice drums in our basement. One day I just happened to be home. No one else was home but with 4 other roommates there was always a possibility someone would come back from work. I was upstairs in my room, totally horny, hearing him bang bang bang on the drums. It was driving me crazy horny. I made the excuse to go downstairs to the basement to start my laundry. He didn't stop drumming. I went back upstairs to my room and laid there thinking god, what can I do to get him to touch me? Of course, I wasn't interested in making the first move and being blamed for his cheating on his girlfriend. Of course, I didn't want him to cheat. Of course, I didn't want to want him but I couldn't do anything about that either.

Sometimes when I'm at that very excited stage in my lunar cycle, I'm completely inconsolable and slightly obsessed with sex and getting off. And there was nothing I could do at this point to stop obsessing about wanting to have him fuck me, about wanting him to stop playing those drums and put his sweaty cock up inside me. I didn't really know about masturbation at this point in my life but knew I loved fucking and wanted him to fuck me. Now. Now. Now. What was I going to do though? How would I ensure the least amount of rejection if he didn't - or couldn't - want me back? I needed a cover-up. A way to make it unavoidable for him to want me and give us both a way out if he absolutely couldn't do it.

I just couldn't take it anymore though. Every idea I had seemed childish and stupid and I was running out of time. He'd have to leave soon or our roommates would get home soon. Fuck. I have to do something. On the count of one-two-... three...

I headed down the stairs to the basement. I knew he could hear my stomps because the floors were old wood. His drumming kind of slowed. I got to the second to the last set of stairs and hollared, "Joe!... Joe!...." I could hear him get up and start for the stairs.. "What? What's wrong?" I came down the last set of stairs and we met in the narrow stairway. "You've. Got. to stop drumming." He looked puzzled. "I...I just can't take it any longer." I came down the last steps and leaned toward him. "You're turning me on too much."

He grabbed my waist and pulled me in and we started kissing. He spun me around and started pushing me backwards. His hand went up my shirt, pulled my bra down under my tit, and started pinching my nipple.. hard pinches, too. I was startled by the pain but his mouth muffled my surprise. He pushed me into the wall - hard, grabbed my wrists together in one hand and moved them above my head. His other hand pushed my skirt up and shoved into my panties.

At some point he moved us over to the workbench table - freakishly perfect height and he put me up there, spread my legs and shoved his cock into me. I gripped the table edges and tried not to cry out in case someone came home.

..............

I like it when Andy visits cuz he knows how I am. He knows the deep nasty and the pretty flower. We're on the meter so there isn't a lot of talk until after and even then it's only about 20 minutes tops. He'll come in and sometimes I've had the time to shower and get dolled up - maybe a schoolgirl uniform, maybe a shiny black slip and fishnets, maybe the easily slip-on slip-off tank top so he can find that joy of springing my tits over the neckline - I think from his viewpoint they make nice somewhat pushed together and erect.

Usually I'm giddy. And, always nervous. We'll say our hellos and somehow a magnetic force makes us kiss, deep and slow, light and licking. Someone's hands go somewhere but he'll press me up against the wall and usually I'll ask with my motions if I can suck his cock.

I like unbuckling his belt and I like how his hands hold up his shirt a little bit to help me. As soon as the pants open I like to reach my hand in and pull out his cock, careful not to catch it on anything. One time he was rushed coming over and had no underwear on which was an even nicer surprise.

I'll slide his pants down while his hands will find a spot of my skin to touch, to try to fondle from that angle. Get on my knees on the floor and gently lick his cock, wetting it for the longer sucks I'll employ next.

He knows I'm practicing and he's a good homework - pressing his cock deeper down my mouth and throat while pulling the back of my head towards him, holding me down on his cock. He'll release when my hands gently push him away and I start gagging. But the sound, he says, is amazing. I wonder if he can feel my mouth tighten around him. He is the one who showed me how to lay on the bed on my back with my head hanging off the edge so he could get a better, longer angle into my throat. I have told him I'd like to be Deep Throat.

But it is Sir Max who helped train me in this. Blindfolded, naked, sitting back on my heels in the middle of his piano room atop the rug. "Lean forward onto your elbows." "Yes, Sir." "Here is the dildo. And, here is the dish of olive oil. It's gentle oil, not too strong. Dip the dildo into it. Place the base of the dildo onto the floor. Now, slowly, place it into your mouth." The oil cuts down on the rubber taste and gives a natural lube, especially as my mouth is dry in nervousness. "Slowly slide the tip of the dildo along the roof of your mouth. Slide it all the way to the back. Keep doing that until your mouth and throat are comfortable enough to let it pass your uvula. This practice will stop that god-awful gagging noise I so don't appreciate." After a long time of trying - I couldn't see time for the blindfold - I was able to feel a slight pop as the dildo passed it without gagging. I am still trying to replicate that on a real cock. Andy has kindly offered to help.

Alas, the clock keeps ticking and while Andy would like me to spend all my time sucking his cock, there are other games we'd like to play, like, let's make her blush with embarrassment. Andy likes to guide me to a standing position, bent over with my hands on my low bed and his hands opening my ass cheeks. He likes to look, which makes me squirm and blush and want to pull away. Then, he likes to stick his tongue in and flick around to make me bite my lip in shame.

Sir Max blindfolded me once and made my belly full. I thought he'd put an inflatible dildo into my ass but instead he led me shuffling up the stairs to the bathroom, sat me down and said, "Expel." Huh? "When you're done, call me and I'll help clean you." My first enema and I couldn't even feel the total humiliation I had hoped for. Although, the slow stream and seeping out my bummie was humiliating enough. Not wanting him to help me clean was worse. And getting round two was even more horrible. He told me to kneel and put my hands on the floor in front me. I had no idea my hands would go into the shower stall adjacent to the toilet. "Bow down on your elbows, raise your ass." The tip eased into my pucker and another stream of liquid flowed up inside me. This time I could feel my belly swell. [Just like the girl in "The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women" by Tristan Taromino] Then, accidentally, it came slightly spraying out the sides when I was full. I was thoroughly humiliated. "Stay there for a minute. Call me when it starts to feel uncomfortable." I wasn't sure what "uncomfortable" meant so I just waited and he had to pull me up off the floor and set me on the toilet. "Make sure to pass it all out. Be a good girl. You're our lamb this evening. And our sacrifical lamb must be clean." Of course, he wasn't going to do me harm, this was all to get my mind into the game. And it worked. I waited until every last drop was out. I was a good girl.

Andy and I don't have time for elaborate cleansing rituals. Plus, we're too hot for each other to be that patient. His tongue, lord have mercy.. I do try to clean as best as I can. And I hate to think of the strong scent down there but I love that he licks and forces his tongue into my ass until I forget that it's dirty and nasty and wrong and start pushing back, reaching around to pull my cheeks open further, pushing back and moaning.

When I was the lamb I was tied up and flogged. Once, I had horribly mean clothespins attached to my tender, pert tits. Once, I was hung from my wrists with my only toesies touching reality and beaten on the inside of my legs while they were pulled apart by a spreader bar at my ankles. And, many lovely times I was on a cross with a flogger across my back and ass - working out all the kinks in my muscles and sending me flying out to sparkle palace where the waves roll gently and every sting is a kiss.

Andy flips me over and pushes my pulsing body back up the bed. His mouth covers my cunnie and finds my opening and my clit and somehow this sends my hips rising and falling, making a game for him of follow the leader. His finger, soaked in saliva and cum running down from my cunnie, finds its way to my bummie and slowly, gently, quarter-inch by quarter-inch slides in and out. It's really the in-out that gets me. Not so much the in-twist, but the thrusting. I can understand why they make ribbed condoms and ribbed dildos and fucking machines.

When we're not tense full of passion, he'll take his time and take the whole time slowly sinking his cock into my ass - while I'm on my back or when I'm like a doggie. Although when we're too fired up, he pushes my legs so far apart like I'm 6 years old and that flexible, and he'll slide his cock into my cunnie. Sometimes he'll perch above pounding me so my head bounces off the bed and my orgasm comes wild. Sometimes he'll get close to my ear and whisper, "You wanna be just like mommy, don't you? You want to be daddy's special girl. You won't tell anyone how we love each other." Or maybe "God, you're like a fucking 16 year old. You're a dirty, nasty teenager fucking an older man." And when I'm on top, "Your fucking tits.... god, your body... it's like you're a fucking high schooler."

When Sir Max is in me it's the same thing. Our little secret. Daddy loves his little baby. Baby wants to be a big girl, doesn't she? Do it for Daddy. Daddy has to have you. Daddy needs to fuck his little girl.

I've asked for this. It seems to be the ultimate taboo and the dirtiest place I can sink. Well... there are dirtier, but for now this is what I'll share.

And when they're inside, I like to clench my cunnie around them. I don't intend to suck the condom off, I don't intend to keep them inside for forever. I push out and suck in. I don't need them to tell me to touch myself. It's better for both of us when I do. But sometimes they tell me, or they make my finger go on my button because they know how it's the next level.

And, when Andy is in my ass, picking up speed sliding in and out, out all the way to the tippy tip of the head and back slowly in all the way to his belly, my finger on my clitty makes it slide that much better, that much smoother, that much wetter and I can lose myself and fuck fuck fuck fuck god yes yes yes fuck yes oh my god the nerves exploding and I can't help but strain against his cock, pushing it out and sucking it back deeply into my bowels. Fuck fuck yes yes and as my muscles clench around him and his hands are on my hips pulling my ass back to him and pushing me away and my one hand clenched around the sheet and the other sliding furiously back and forth back and forth fuck fuck yes yes oh fuck I'm gonna cum Daddy fuck are you gonna cum too? yes? fuck Daddy I'm gonna cum fuck I'm gonna cum all over your cock fuck all over your fucking hard cock Daddy!!!!....

Now I lay me down to sleep

There's a new guy in the rounds, I'll have to think of a name for him. I went on a date with him a while ago and then this past Friday. I kind of like the variety I have going right now. Each of my lovers meets a part of me and fulfills that part.

I have no poop inside me anymore. At least that's what I'm hoping. I was tasked to have a 'light lunch' and then a liquid diet after through tomorrow when I stop ingesting anything but my own spit. I had to clarify with the nurse lady on the phone what a 'light lunch' meant - like could I have a salad or a bagel or a whole pizza? She said people usually pig out on like a big steak since they know they're going to be without food for a while. I went with a nice healthy salad. I hope it's passed already or the enema tomorrow [self-induced -- god that's gonna be weird] will be messy. Then, at 5/6pm I had to have 1/2 a bottle of something called magnesium citrate. When I called my parents to say good night prior to ingesting this they related that I'm on the same diet they were pre-colonoscopy. Except their mag-cit tasted like crap [not literally] and mine is now flavored with lemon. How nice of the manufacturers.

This was not my experience. In fact, about 1/2 hour later I calmly pooped a nice lil' log and that was it. Where's the rest? Where's the explosion? Where are my innards? I was all braced for some kind of fireworks or pain or moving the TV into the bathroom for the evening. Nope. Okay, something must be wrong with me. Or not. Then again, about a year ago James force fed me Epsom salts to drink to make me poop one weekend -- and it didn't work. Oh well. We shall see tomorrow morning I guess. Ugh.. enemas...

So, yesterday I had to plan for this crazy liquid diet. Yeah, I eat twigs and seeds at work and for meals, but I also chow down at dinner and on weekends. I love food. Really I do. I love healthy food and junk food. And the idea of not eating from 12pm-12am was tormenting me. I cruised Copp's food store - liquid and clear, clear and liquid, clear liquid. Great choices. I bought about 3 Gatorade fancy sports drinks all clear and flavored some berry thing. Unfortunately these clear Gatorades did not come with electrolytes which I was relying on keeping me going and not passing out ... People, I said I love my food - it gives me joy and energy. Yes, 12 hours of no food will wither me. Then, I bought about 4 Glaceau fruitwaters - electros, clear, and berry tasty. I also bought some apple juice which I thought I recalled they said would be fine. And, some veggie broth and miso soup just in case. [So what if I can get 50% of my RDA of sodium in 1 fucking miso - I needed food!!!]

Well, I'm off to bed momentarily and I can speak to the yummy of the fruitwaters and the retardedness of the Gatorade bottle shape. Although they are a bit like baby bottles which is kinda sexy.

I am definitely wasting away right now, withered at least 3 pounds I'm sure. And all I can think about is Lays potato chips, tuna salad, cereal, veggie burritos, green beans with butter, whole tomatoes, beer, rice milk, Le Petit Ecolier, nutella, ... aw, man, I gotta stop. I'm salivating.

Anyway. I'm sucking the last of some of the liquids [I'll probably burn the rest of the bottles after the surgery tomorrow - no more liquid diet ever!] before I'm cut off at 9am. Then, at 9, I'll crouch on my elbows and knees in the bathtub and try to put a fleet enema in my bummie. Thanks to SirMax I now know what they feel like and how I'll feel upon being filled, and the toilet is less than a step away. Poopsie poosie. Then, the 2nd fleet at 9:30 and so help me it'd only expel water at that point.

Cab comes. Head to the hospital. Wait, do whatever, get drugs, answer questions [or, rather, answer questions, get drugs], surgery for an hour, recovery with my gal Mary. She'll bring me home with a care package [hence why I asked her to join me in recovery - I get movies and treats!], hand me over to James who will put me to bed in the afternoon, feed me when I wake up hungry, give me pills every 3 hours, rub my head to make sure I'm alive, then push me over and snore next to me all night long until he has to run to work in the wee hours of Thurs. [Right, James? Just like that, huh? hahahaha]. And on Thursday, I am going to pig the fuck out on anything I want and watch all the bad movies I wanna [although "new boy for whom I will find a nickname" is bringing over some cool blues documentary on Robert Johnson and his crossroads -- all my talk of getting the lil' devil tail removed].

I kindly appreciate all your well wishes, darlings. Think of me during the day. Deep in your heart you should meditate at least for 2 minutes so that your commands and reminders make it to Hades. Remind that lil' red guy that he cannot take me yet for I have so much more of his work to do on this earth. And, maybe, if you're lucky and gross I'll send you [individually cuz I'm not into this on the w.w.w.] a pic of rosebud healing. And, in a few weeks, if you're more lucky and nice I'll send you a pic of a perfectly puckered and clean and dazzling bumstar. And, in a month or so, if you're super duper extra lucky and naughty I'll send you a pic of me feeding bumstar some nice, hard, long dildo. Or cock!

Kisses to you all my darlings.

Nigh nigh


[time +1]

Dinner with SirMax

Wednesday, 27th, I woke up late and took my time. In between all of this mess of the past weeks I had started up a conversation with the locally-known dominant, SirMax. I had started looking on Alt.com again and received an email from someone not matching my direct interests, but who cited his training with SirMax. I not-so-innocently sent an email to SirMax telling him about this man who dropped his name. We struck up a conversation and I talked to Ms. M and pdh about him - both had meet with and played with him and his live-in lover, slavegirl.

Yes, in the past I have laughed at those people online who Capitalize Sir Master Dominant and lower case the submissive slave girl. But I overlooked this, and felt more at ease now in my own skin to say so, and continued chatting with him. We decided to have dinner together Wed night. I'm entering PMS stage and not sure I can even feel sexy so I took my time showering and dressing, playing my sex music, getting in the mood - just in case. I didn't think our time would extend beyond dinner but was hopeful I might be convinced. As Ms. M said, he was, indeed charming. An older gentleman, he certainly didn't exhibit any less vigor or hipness. We laughed and talked, and I was charmed.

After our dinner he brought me back to my place and we dropped off my leftover food. He invited me over to his house, with the infamous dungeon. I had no need to worry. My gut said go, Ms M had assured me of his goodwill, he is known in the community and wouldn't risk that for, say, suffocating me or slicing me up into tiny chunks for chipmunks. I was as giddy as a schoolgirl to try myself out and take him for a spin. But I remained outwardly in control. Not a drop of liquor, not a minute of freak out. When we got to his house, he asked me to take off my boots and wait upstairs -- after we had discussed his summer project of kitchen renovation, new deck, and nicely finished doors by his darling slavegirl.

He led me downstairs to his basement. A harem-ish bed in the corner as if Sheik AliBaBa would lay down with his 7 slaves -- and then chain them up for some tickle torture or thrashing fucks. Next to it a soft rug, candles all over, a tv and couch, library. He started by instructing me on the signals of presentation that he liked. I helped remove his shoes. "Now," he explained as he sat on a stair and I kneeled. "Some people take the laces and just tug and tug so all of them are loose to remove the shoe. I prefer, and need, just the top lace loosened and then give a tug to the shoe and it comes off. Then, slowly slide a finger into the sock, like this, to remove it." There was the sit position: "From kneeling, you sit back on your calves with legs slightly ajar. Not obscenely open but slightly apart. Hands resting on your thighs, Lola." The "present" position: from "sit" up to kneeling, hands sliding up the back of my neck to hold my hair up, and elbows out. "This is a position that is helpful for collaring." And others. I liked the challenge. I liked the formality. Years ago I did balk at this style or request. But now, I felt rather ready for it. Rather like I needed it.

I don't think I can accurately describe the nervousness I felt, the attraction to the dirtiness of being with a much older man [you can't tell me that the Playboy Bunny girls don't feel the same mix of horny and badness when with Hefner], the fight within myself between wanting to completely turn over my body and mind to this dom and completely keeping myself in-check and composed and in control, the need to tell him I'm not a pain slut and the desire to be tested as such, the ambition to follow and obey every command to the T, the need to be the best girl ever, the want for a daddy/dom, the overwhelming joy at trying this all out, the attraction to his command, the curiosity about what's behind door number 2.

As I kneeled presenting, he came behind me. Slowly and tenderly - sending shivers down every nerve in my body, he lifted one shirt and then the other. "Now," he whispered, moving to my front. "You cannot tell me you thought we'd only have dinner wearing a bra like this." My new pink and leopard print bra from H&M. "I only own bras like this...except for my sports bra," I said. I still, even now, wasn't willing to give up too much of myself. I need to keep some secrets, some control.

As soon as I had understood the positions he taught me, he joked, "And you thought there was nothing else to the basement..." I knew there was more as Ms M had told me and I had seen some pictures, and I'm sure he knew that I knew and still, the game was about teasing the tension out a bit longer, letting the butterflies buzz about in both our bellies, allowing my little girl eyes to widen into saucers at the dream of it all. He opened door number two and there it was. My first dungeon sight.

Only lit by candles. He told me to roam the room. We'll go clockwise, dear reader. For what I remember - as I tried to touch it all, see the corners and crevices, feel the walls. The immediate left [I won't recount all the candles], a fire extinguisher on the wall, the walls sound-proof, covered in black, a type of doctor's table raised to waist level with chains on either end, hooks perfectly spaced on all the 2X4 studs overhead, a row of chains and binding tools hung on the wall, carabineers and chains hanging from the wall around a slight corner, a panel of black cloth hanging. I paused. What's behind this black panel? Nothing but wood wall. SirMax grabbed my arm and twisted it gently behind my back crushing me up against the cloth.. "Because this feels better than pressing you to a wood wall." He released me and stepped away again. A variation of a Saint Andrew's cross in the corner. Hooks and more hooks in the ceiling. A loveseat couch to the right of the cross. Another, lower, black table like a bench for weight lifting. A padded, saw horse. A small table supporting gadgets, whips, floggers, paddles, tails, toys, and items - oh my! On the floor, a neatly contained variety of ropes. "And I thought you weren't into rope?" I asked.

Earlier in our conversations online and on the phone I had mentioned my relationship with James and how he had wonderfully found his natural niche with rope and was starting into Japanese bondage tying. SirMax had mentioned that his slavegirl was very much excited by rope bondage but that he wasn't as favored to it. I emailed James what info and pictures of slavegirl I could find and mentioned that SirMax and I would be meeting and if James would be interested in another rope model for his practices. SirMax did tell me that James had contacted him and they had started a dialogue -- and meet on Saturday.

Another wall to end our circular tour - sporting all kinds of floggers and other toys, as well a chain cutter. The other wall I had passed hosted medical scissors. This place was well thought-out, for sure.

SirMax had me come over to the love couch first. Sit. What is it that Lola likes? I was having the most horrible time trying to be articulate - this whole time, the whole time we'd been conversing - what it was exactly I was interested in. We both understood and got around the whole "If I tell you X, what if you don't like X then we might not click" issue. But I still couldn't articulate or explain - shocking, I know! He asked, what was the most painful experience I'd had? God... how many there are... I thought of bd and his favor of whipping and slapping my open pussy, my bruised tits after he'd beat them to my thrills.

He took my pants off. I was completely naked with only my tiny, white, cotton thong on. He, as much as a gentleman as I could hope for and as much separating sex and bdsm play, left his pants on the entire time.

"Restraints." I knelt up and turned my arms out in front of me with wrists upward. I got ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs. He put my hands through two loops like short dog leash loops and showed me how to hold on to them. He led me to the center of the room. [Slightly cheesy, but seducing and soothing nonetheless, was some kind of Enigma music playing the background.] He locked the two dog loops into a carabineer and into a hook in the ceiling. Lastly, he put a blindfold on me.

I'd read about this and heard, and I had only once experienced the sensory delicacy of bdsm. Once, when I was a lot more risky than I am now, when I was into late night phone calls on those cheesy sex phone 1-800-meet-sexy-singles lines, I invited a boy over. He made me lay down on my futon couch and he blindfolded me and tortured me with soft feathers and gentle pinches. Strung up in the middle of SirMax's dungeon he warmed me with the delicate fur of a gracious dead animal and then started slowly slapping my ass with the other, harder side. Then, he brought out the flogs. We had agreed on safewords "yellow" and "red" and what they meant and hoped that I'd be verbal enough so we wouldn't need to reach either - and I was determined not to.

Across my ass and then my back. My hands gripped the loops and I only truly flinched from pain a handful of times. He wasn't a sado this night and he didn't intend for me to scar, bruise, or bleed this time. After a while - time goes to where ticking stops and I kept smiling and grinning and loving it - he moved me to the cross in the other corner of the room. The wrist cuffs were locked to chains on either end of the upper X and I was shown how to grab them if needed. I meant to signal my tolerance and tenser moments through my open hands and squeezing the chains, gripping them.

He had asked if I preferred that he talk to me or let me go into silent sub space. I said I liked both. I wasn't sure what it was I wanted yet. But I found I had no need for talking. And he preferred not to. I let my mind go beneath the blindfold. I felt the solid thump of the flog - centered and spread out in one place on my ass, my back. I wondered if this was me still, still standing, accepting this, doing this, almost completely naked, feeling the wetness between my lips build and build, the tingling and the endorphins rushing. A pointed sting of one lash to my outer thigh or inner thigh woke me to this being real. The indentation of the board into my feet kept me in the moment and not drifting too far. I kept re-adjusting my stance and this kept me awake.

"Whiplash girlchild in the dark"

He'd switch utensils and would run the new toy - a paddle - past my face. I'd search it out with my nose sniffing the leather, my tongue reaching out to feel which object it would be. My hands chained to metal warming under my sweating palms. The thick feeling of my ass warming and the paddle rounding me out. Then, the several tails run over my mouth, my drying tongue seeking it out.. "Can you count it? Can you count how many there are? How many are there, Lola? .. That's right, nine." A cat o' nine tails on me. How many swats did I receive? How many times did I wonder, am I a pain slut? Am I braver than the rest? Am I average? Am I good? Am I weak? Am I best?

"Strike, dear master, and cure her heart
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me"

Sweet sugar topping, like painful cherry delight, he smacked my tender bummie over and over with a paddle of some kind. And I felt each wallop with a blunt bolt to my nerves finished with a shaken jolt of electricity. I was feeling each smack - each - fucking - smack - so electric it went right to my cunt. I was sopping wet already but now I felt something so familiar and something so shocking... was I really about to fucking orgasm off of this? Was I really about to spasm inside and pass out exhausted with release? Oh. My. God. I was shaking. I was hearing my breaths and my moans like I was being fucked. Each. Fucking. SMACK! Brought a moooooooooan of suuuuuch delight. Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Yes! And, then ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!!!!

And when I finally cried out in utter pain and mewed in delight he said, "That's what Daddy likes. That's what Daddy likes to hear." I let out more moans and more cries. And he returned to me with the gentle, soft fur.

"Ermine furs adorn the imperious"

"Now, Lola," he removed the blindfold. "Do not move when I'm up around your face or neck, and do not open your eyes. But you can feel free to move when I'm not at your face or neck, okay?" "Yes, Sir." Starting at my neck he moved over me with finger needles. Over my face, gently. I held as still as a statue. Over my neck. I felt like a robbery. A prisoner on a pirate ship with the knife to her neck. Don't move... Down my arms and down down my sides... I knew I could move, and lord did I! It felt like the most tremendous giggle and tickle over my whole being. I wanted to jump and I did jerk a bit and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. Over my sides, my belly, my thighs, my super sensitive ass, my thighs. I was laughing so hard. Endorphins over endorphins releasing and waving and eclipsing and folding in and out of me. [fingerneedles pic does not include me - c/o SirMax. Adjacent pic is me post-play. More are available on Flickr - email me if you'd like access to view.]


After this thrill, I was released and moved to the doctor's table in the opposite side of the room. He actually bent over, picked me up and carried me like a lightweight child. He laid me on the table and hooked my ankle cuffs in and told me to hold on to the chain above my head and not to let go. I was staring at the ceiling, wondering what the pulley was for - or, even, was it a pulley or some electrical device - small enough for wonder. He pulled my wet thong to the side and I heard a familiar whirr and felt the springing electricity of a vibrator on my clit. My god.... My god... Fuck yes.... I held that chain for dear life and I squirmed my legs still chained down and I wiggled downward closer to the source of pleasure.

When I told him I had lost my dear fave vibrator and was vibe shopping, he made me promise not to buy another until I tasted his.

Pulsing, steady vibration, pulse, shake, I couldn't help but cum -- in shaking and trembling and jerking. Over and over and over...

I laid there, in a daze, in a dreamy daze. "I want you," he said. My eyebrows raised. Ok, what's that mean? He wants me in a general sense because I'm delicious? Or, he wants me. Turns out, he wanted me. "Is that okay?" I was gung-ho for anything he was giving at that point. And, I was in awe and lust as he put a condom on, crawled up on to the table and proceeded to fuck the shit out of me. It's not true that women care much about size, honest. But the friction, the motion of the ocean, the pushin' on the cushion - that's very important. Any well-trained whore can teach herself to flex her cunt muscles to take a long, wide, short, thin, bulgy, stubby cock. His cock was very well proportioned, but his motion - I would rate it up there with James. Almost but not quite close. James has a jackhammer thrust in his lower back, SirMax almost matched that. At some point he had to pull me back down as I was almost head off the table. Sweat dripping off of him onto me like warm, salty rain.

Better than the pummeling thrusts, was the nasty, dirty talk. Earlier, when I was kneeling at his feet at the love couch, he requested that I use "Sir" in speaking to him throughout. Not at every statement or question because there is such thing as overuse - thank god he said that - but when I felt it appropriate. But now, it was Daddy. And Daddy had to do his business in his good little girl. Daddy loved his little girl, and she was so brave for taking him and letting him take her. Daddy knew she wanted to be a big girl and wanted to be good and Daddy was going to show her how. Hell, I don't even know what he was saying at that point, but it all had to do with how nasty I was and how dirty he was and I was in headspace so mixed up lovely that I couldn't help but cum all over again. And, let me tell you, hearing a man fucking cum out loud with those groans and the finish-line grunts and sighs and yeses and exasperation of expiration - it could almost make me cum all over again.

He unchained my ankles and carried me out to the harem-esque room/bed. I was sighing as closure but he warned that that was not the end of the adventure. There was more where that came from and he pulled me up from reclining heaven [because I'm such a guy and ready to pass out after sex]. I did try my best to suck him off but it's not easy knowing for each cock, darlings. And yes, he's right, that's the difference between girls and boys - boys press harder, we girls are afraid of damaging your cocks, so be sure to tell us how to do it well. I certainly did not give my best performance sadly. I think my mind was too overwhelmed to concentrate on giving good head and I think he was focused elsewhere, as well.

He rolled me over, put a cushion under my hips, tilting me ass upwards. And plunged back into my cunt for one last round. "Yes, baby, your Daddy has to do what he wants. Just take it, baby will just take it. Just - let - Daddy - fuck - his - babygirl - one - more - time..." I love Daddy talk. God... !

Our post-coitus was spent just kind of laying there, chatting a bit, but not too much, and then dressing for him to give me a ride back home. Just how I like it, frankly. Screw the roses, send me the thorns.

He was only a gentleman. A man from days past. I was told that, in private, I'd follow his instructions. In public, he only requested that I allow him the courtesy to open doors for me and make sure I position myself for him to walk on the outside of us, closer to the street - traditional, but his way. Funny that, that's how I grew up. Dad always walked us around Buenos Aires that way. In fact, he's always kind of instilled that gentleman old school in us. Which I found very charming about James, that he'd open the car door and other doors for me. [And, it's interesting to hear of one of his new dates being confused at that chivalry. When he went to open the car door for her, she felt threatened like what are you doing on my side of the car? Sad, sad world. But understandable. All women should and need to go through anti-man, anti-world, feminist freedom to find self-reliance and strength. It's just nice if we can also incorporate a pleasure for caretaking and appreciation, as well. Feminism and femininity can go hand in hand really.]

Joys of a Whore

To be nobody but yourself
in a world which is doing its best
- night and day -
to make you everybody else
means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight;
and never stop fighting.
e. e. cummings

Updates:

*PhD2006 comes to town and fingers me for an hour at the Great Dane bar, alas ends poorly.

--> I had a business dinner and then walked the block over to the bar to meet PhD2006. Never a good sign, and recommended that you never do this boys: He actually emailed me earlier saying he wanted to be in a bar where he could "watch the game." I totally thought he was kidding, but it turns out he wasn't. We didn't go to a more comfy, sexy bar at all but stayed in the not-so-sexy, pool hall bar. Regardless, nothing gets a whore down. Make do with whatcha got, and dump it if it's not enough. Anyway. We chatted a great deal about what he does, what I do, and then he slowly started raising my skirt. I was wearing a knee-length, kinda loose & swishy, nice black skirt. We were sitting facing the bar and he'd requested that I not wear panties. Let me summarize by saying there were multiple fingers up multiple times and that skirt went to the dry cleaners. But I'm a polite and professional woman, so the moans were contained and the eyes didn't roll back into my head. I did get glassy-eyed and dreamy and tingly. And it was very exciting to be doing this in a public place with a guy sitting close to my left and another guy rather close behind PhD's back. It was going all well and good, but he was going to drive the 2 hours back to his home and I had to get off to bed. So he offered me a ride in his car. Oh, lordy. Not that I'm that particular, puhleez. But at a certain age in life, it's a good idea to have some of your life in order - especially if you claim to be a dominant who can and wants to play with young lady submissives. He walked to me his car, told me to close my eyes because it was a mess, tidied up a bit, and actually laid a towel down on the passenger seat for my very nicely dressed ass. I felt like a high schooler. I felt bad for this man. I didn't feel sexy and I felt slightly repulsed. I know, I know. I drove a rickety old car for years and left it cluttered with my crazy life - when I was 22. Totally turned me off. ... I did email him my "concerns" and he emailed back saying he was getting a car loan approved for the first of the year. I emailed that I was eager to meet again. Apparently I got busy in the rest of my life and he sent me a Dear John IM - I'm now not on his IM buddy list anymore. Juvenile.

*Roger Z is a sub, I'm sure of it.

--> Or maybe just in his core he plain' ol' wants to please is all.

*Why can't I get accepted TODAY to a school in some more exotic locale?

--> Cuz that ain't the way the cookie crumbles.

*Frustration and patience. My middle names.

--> They both pay off in overdose in the end.




I was going to write a re-make of the reindeer song [on Dancer, on Prancer, on ...] with the names of my current lovers, but I thought it childish.

So before this week and year are over, here's what's been making me glow like I've been re-born. Vacation really does look good on me....!

Monday, 18th, I had the work dinner and met up with PhD2006. Tuesday and Thursday I chatted with a yummy dirty sick pervy online - well, a couple of them actually. One who lives in NYC and is writing a book, Roger - not the aforementioned one. He indirectly kicked Jim Carroll's ass; he's been spotted by Gawker and hated it; and he's a yummy pervert to chat with. Then, there's Joe who is a college student in Ohio and gets off by writing nasty pervy incest chats for women to get off on. Apparently he only squeezes his cock on a break between typing but gets his thrills off of the woman's participation. Yes, I did ask, "How do you know if the woman's getting off?" It is true though - some people can cover it up well... ho hum I'm so bored, "ooo ooo yes yes!" And others can't express themselves well at all when totally turned on, "o my. yes. yes." And there is a a way to read a chatter. So what if some of the ladies lie to him? I'm just not good at faking it so I go deeper and deeper into horrible fantasies. The youngest boy I've chatted with in a while. Vacation rules.

Wednesday [as you saw below in the garters, fishnets, and lacy slip], Andy generously stopped by in the early evening. I know it's mutual and that I excite him as much as he does me, but I still feel lucky to have him available and interested. This was the first re-introduction of my sexy parts in about a week and a half. The last visit he paid me ended up turning my bumstar into a sad, sad, dim lit pucker. Of course, bumstar was off limits this visit, but the rest of me was eager. I'm still perfecting my ability to take all of his length into my mouth and learning to relax my throat so I don't feel the need to gag immediately. The sex... oh my. We both give and get.

Oh, yeah, I also shopped for xmas presents and got out of the apartment. I've been making sure that I leave at least once a day and work out at least twice a week. You know me, I could hole up for days in here with enough groceries, booze, music, and workable vibrators. I'm such a dirty boy on the inside. Amused with my own buttons.

Friday I got my hairs cut and had dinner with James. We ran into each other at the gym and worked out, then were going to part for a few hours, meet up again for dinner. But we moved dinner up and I texted that I was hoping he'd want to fuck me a bit afterwards. It's good to put my desires out there I've decided. Some people can't read my gestures, some people can't guess, some people aren't mind readers. And I should ask for what I want, dammit. We had sushi and almost rushed back to my place. He wanted to show my his new rope tricks, tossed me into a shower (since dinner was almost 1/2 hour after working out), and started prep. I came out to see something like 8 piles of rope laid out cleanly down the bed, ready for use. My chest was bound first, separating and lifting my tits. My wrists and arms tied together on top of my abdomen next. My lower calves, sitting Indian style were bound together next. For the finale, he tied a sort of noose around my neck which connected directly to the rope around my calves. Helpless, he had to push me onto my back. He had to hold me in position while he fucked my face. He was able to cock slap my cheeks and humiliate me. Helpless, he had to roll me back up to my haunches, turn me, push me back down again and find my cunt. The rope tied at my back started to press deeply into my skin and my cunnie tunnel was shortened by the angle so every cock thrust topped out at my cervix. It wasn't comfortable, but not painful. And, that's how he wanted it. And that's how we both came. Together. Waves and waves of relief and confusion rolled out through me.


This is what I had pictured for the last year. My sex infused with kink in every second. From the humiliation, the bondage, the gagging, the dirty words, the pain in my back, the delicious rope marks afterwards. This is exactly how I wanted it. And I got it.




I did cry a bit as he untied me. PMS? Emotion? Overload? Love? I don't know. But he was great. He held me from behind as he untied me. He caressed me and shhh'd me, calmed me. .... And, like I like it, he left me.

Saturday I was hooked on making phonics. Rented a car - which I thought was styling but my dad later informed me was Buick's attempt at making a not-so-old-lady car. Then, swung by and had a lovely, and slightly nervous visit with Ms. M., one of the current lovers of my ex-lover pdh. [Are you keeping up? Sadly, CDOA v.2 will not be made available for cross-checks or previous references for a bit so just go with it for now. If you're like, who is James? Who is pdh? Hold tight. It will all fall into place over time.... UPDATE: CDOA v.2 is available but not in use.] I dare not say why it was slightly nervous. But she was a doll for giving me a great present to take to my sister for xmas, which made shopping way less painful for me overall. I am so much more into people who give xmas lists over people who generalize, "I like fiction books." Grrrrreat.

After our sit-down, I got lost looking for a stupid store to buy some ingenious gift for my pops since he's the hardest to shop for. Stupid west side of town. I was starving b/c I find I'm wayyy more horny on vacation and wayyy less hungry. So, I did the kiss-of-death stop. The once-in-a-year stop. I drove in the parking lot, up to the drive-thru, paid, and looped back around to scarf back in the parking lot... and I know it was just condemned for the E. Coli, but I had a mad craving for 2 bean burritos & nachos & crazy melted cheese whiz from the Bell. I only got the nachos & 1 burrito down before I almost heaved, but it was soooooo worth the break down. Man, I love that grease.

Really, I was routing around and rooted for food, not only because I was hungry, but also because I was waiting for the XM radio to kick back in. The rental car subscription apparently cut off right after I left Ms. M's apartment. So, I signed back up knowing the rental car folks would reimburse me. XM was pretty fucking cool, too. Although, they had like, singularly focused channels - a hip hop, a hardcore rap, an 80s, a chill, many world music stations featuring mostly French groups, something called "Ethel" and "Lucy" of kinda alt music either from my college days or current. It would have been fucking rocking if they had a compilation or mixed channel though. Incorporate a bit of all of it together to keep me on my toes and diverse.

Family gatherings have fallen into tradition of sorts so I went off to Whole Foods for my 4 special cheeses and crackers. My sister makes the pies now and I'm the cheese girl. Fucking bitch though, doesn't remember that I started the pie making scene. Back when I was so super poor I could only afford to eat rice, tomatoes, and tofu stir-fry for every dinner; oatmeal and raisins for breakfast; and whatever I could scam at the pizza restaurant for lunch. I learned how to make cheap pies then. Made my own dough with flour, sliced up butter, salt, and water. Rolled it out for a bottom and top. Cut up apples and sprinkled in a few slices of butter, some brown and white sugar and a slight drop of salt. No credit where credits due when she makes an apple & cranberry pie, pumpkin pie, mincemeat. I started that, bizotch, and don't you forget it. Next she'll be cutting in on my cheese business.

I stayed up way too late chatting and fiddling my diddle. Sunday, Christmas Eve day, I was planning on leaving at about noon. I got up at 10am and craved one last wank before leaving. Subconsciously - and knowingly - I had no interest in getting to my parents at all. I found my college boy Joe and came sooo hard while my laundry spun and the minutes were passed noon.

"i want him to climb on top of you, your legs still in the stirrups, he places his raging hard cock inside you, your pussy is still just a massive pepsi can sized hole. and he goes balls deep in you, making sure his piss stream goes as deep into your body as possible. you nasty slut, take your doctor's piss"

"you are like the 109th patient he is breeding. he is still using his strong arms to pin your shoulders down. but the mating at his hips, is passionate. you are the best patient, giving him the most pleasure, because you are the first patient he has allowed free of the stirrups. he LOVES how you wrap those thighs around him. he knows his slippery cock is working, because you are panting. you aren't even fighting the rape anymore. but he still knows who is in charge, he still calls you slut. he says, first my piss, now my seed, you're going to be my bitch"

"'Sweetie, it's no good, Daddy can't finish up with your tummy.' said her father, slowing his tummy-fucking and releasing his vice-grip on her chubby little body. Mary was crestfallen but she was prepared mentally. Now she would have to accept her father's blood-engorged stiff cock up into her own little body, where hopefully there he could relieve himself of the terrible hurt that Mary knew happened every day in Daddy's testicles...............Drawing his hips back now he reached down and gripped his own cock and angled it down between his very own daughter's smooth thighs. It was Mary's turn to grunt as the blunt pre-cum-slicked head of her father's cock prodded inquisitively at the sensitive little slit between her legs."

Don't judge me, dear reader. When in the mood, I can be completely vile and sick.


@@@@@@@@@@@


We interrupt this broadcast. 9:30am CST. Saddam is dead. Honest, I have mixed emotions. I don't like capital punishment and as my dad says, if he's left to live his life in prison in the Middle East he could be freed. I know this, but I also know our own President has committed some of the same crimes only more covertly. Will he then experience a week-long observation like Ford or will he get what's due? And there are others. I certainly do not support the mass slaughtering of innocent peoples in Kuwait or Iraq or other countries. Not at all. But if we hang one, shouldn't we follow that policy to charge and hang the rest of his kind? And where do we draw the line? Robbing the poor to give to the rich - is that not a heinous crime? Starving your own people. Assassinating pools of your own people. Sending your own people off to die. Corporate greed. Where do we draw the line? It's a difficult thing to reconcile. He deserved a hell fire burning and an anal rape and licking the depths of the gutter with his cock cut off - for the rest of his life, yes. But I'm not sure that he deserved to not suffer these the rest of his life. .......... And, yes, I do worry for the judge who sentenced him.


@@@@@@@@@@@




Do not judge me. You may feel all liberty to swear at me and to call me names and to live vicariously or think I may have stepped over the lines. But until you can rest your body into mine, do not even think about judging me.


Dinner with the family was fine. We had my sister's ex-step-kids over --- no, Hex, not those step-kids. I don't terribly hate all kids, and I do like these ones a bit. But I was cornered on the couch with a 20-days-away-from-turning-18 year old girl. Blabber blabber someone save me blabber impress you blabber blabber. My internet boys had all chided me not to think dirty thoughts while at home. I couldn't help it when her younger brother, a sweet 16 year old baseball jock boy talked to me. His nicely, still tanned, toned arms, his sweet innocent smile. His slightly blushing looks. I could only hope that he'd touch himself later thinking of me. And their younger brother, 13 years old. Such a darling. Wants to go off to save the world but is afraid of the homeless. How was I not to laugh? I'm sure I was laughed at as a child. My dreamy aspirations colored by ignorance.

Xmas day we opened up gifts with our mentally-failing grandmother. I love her dear soul but feel like she's slightly like a shadow of a woman I knew before. And then... the torture. We had almost 4 hours between gift opening and dinner. Boredom. Pure and total boredom. It tested me and almost killed me. Our family doesn't fancy walks, doesn't see the need to be busy. So, we sat there. My sister made pies. My mother chastised my sister's unruly dogs and helped with pies. My grandmother was forced to read some dumb book. My father read and chastised his mother for speaking unclearly. I sat, curled in the corner of the couch and read Persepolis, the entire first book [totally fucking awesome by the way, a graphic novel about a girl growing up in Iran and then the second book about her becoming a woman in Europe and going back to Iran]. I read a book and a half in those hours. Wishing I would just disappear. I tried to explain to them the night before why I'd appreciate them moving from this house of my childhood. But even if they moved, I'm sure I'd still find myself tortured with the cemetery silence and boredom.

Dinner was great. My maybe-pervy uncle and my favorite aunt. Great food. Good conversation. But I still counted the hours until I could drive home. I finished the second Persepolis book in the gues bed that night. In the end, I got good food, good presents from Santa and family, I was loved... but so bored.

I got home and washed myself over by indulging once again in my existence.

Wednesday was dinner with SirMax [which I have made into its own post - either click the link or scroll up]

.........................................

The story does not end there. Oddly, I had almost double-booked my life. Thursday, I was due for a day date with Roger Z from 11am until 5pm. PMS girl who was tapped out had to reinvigorate, rest and re-horny.

But this story, and the second visit with SirMax, and what I hope to create tonight on New Years Eve - these will all have to wait, darlings.

I bet you'll read this on 01-01-07 ----- 007! ------ and please let my words of well wishes, prosperity, superior health, amazing sex, heartfelt love, and fucking right-on karma reach you on this day, darling.

All my love to you, dear reader.

And, while I don't encourage skipping ahead, I will tickle your ear and tell you that there are all kinds of new photos in Flickr just waiting to wish you a Happy New Year, love.