Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Frankly, I don't blame you. I mean, I would do the same thing had I been doing yard work, and happened to hear noises of pleasure from a window. A window 2 feet above where you were kneeling, pulling weeds innocently enough, so that you could plant my herbs. Well, did you like what you saw? Were you surprised to see my zaftig body, haphazardly splayed limbs, brown skin glistening with sweat as amber colored afternoon sunlight peeks through my curtains, while you gazed in deafening silence?
Was there a stirring in your pants as you watched one of my hands furiously rubbing my clit, as the other was content to thrust a toy deep into my cunt? Were your ears shocked to hear the filthy language spilling from my lips as I coached myself to inch closer to cumming? I bet you never thought you would have guessed the quiet girl, whos yard you tend, loved to be called a slut, or whore, among other things, as she imagined a large manly hand closing in and around my pretty little throat.
I had an inkling that you enjoyed my show when I could hear you moan. Just hearing that animalistic groan soaked my pussy to the core. It pushed me closer to the edge, and clear across the county.
Though your view was obstructed, I wanted you to see the way the cum poured from me and trickled down to the bed beneath my generous ass. I am sure you noticed me shaking, trembling, and trying to maintain composure as aftershocks shot from my entire pussy, and exploded violently into the rest of my limp, ravaged body. Pretending to be watched is hot. Knowing I am being watched, and devoured by someone's eyes as I trace my finger tips over familiar territory gets me on a high. Even the most successful dealer can't peddle this shit on the streets.
As I lay, now swaddled in my blanket, on the brink of passing out from my post-orgasmic bliss, I wonder if you'll notice my front door is ajar...
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Friday, October 29, 2010
A lot of people have been wondering whats on my mind lately. Normally, I just say nothing (not out of not wanting conversation, but out of me not really knowing how to articulate whats in my pretty little head). I was sitting here at my desk reading as I normally do when I am ready to get off the computer, but I am still too wide awake to sleep. Somewhere in the tangled lines of the web, I read something. And it all clicked.
I dont want to give. I want to be taken. From head to toe. Mind, body, and soul. Grab me, hold me close. Make me feel soft, feminine and small. Caress my face gently as you look me in the eyes, and then kiss me like you mean it. Grab a handful of hair and tell me "I am gonna take care of this. Dont worry." And it just happens. Everything that is in my flesh trying to dig its way out, he just makes come out, effortlessly.
I just want to submit. To give myself over, and let Him do all the big decision making, and I just smile and nod. Which is odd for me, because normally, I like to have a bit of a say, whether its taken into consideration or not. I want Him to take me places I have been scared to go, but I know I can go safely, because we are hand in hand all along the darkened paths.
Theres this urge that is welling up again. The urge to let my masochist out to play, and give this sadistic Man the pleasure he wants from my moans, screams, and tears. I need to feel every ounce of my worries leaving me, because I tend to bottle them up, and dont know how to let them go when I am alone and in my bed at night. Perhaps because I have forgotten them, but their weight is still there rattling in my chest.
I need for this Mystery Man to let our roles fall into place. Nothing forced or awkward feeling. Everything just coming naturally. And him not being scared off because I have shed tears, but wanting to hold me, for just a moment while I regain composure, only to continue when I can go on. And when his sadistic side is sated, I would love for him to fuck me. Not so much for my pleasure, but for his. I want to be a vessel that he jacks off with. The Living Blow-Up Doll, if you will. I want his orgasms to not be a show of how attractive he finds my physical form, but a show of how deeply we are connected on a spiritual level. I can change my physical form at any time, but that spirit...that sweet soul that is me wont ever change. No matter the lifetime I am in.
And I dont want to have an orgasm. Or give him one. I want it taken from me. Over and over, till it hurts, and I want to stop. But we both know I dont really want the orgasms to stop.
And when all is said and done, I just want us to lie there. A tangle of limbs. No one sure were He ends and she begins, and not really caring. Just let her lie in the warmth of Him, and feel his love and protection radiate over her. Let her gather her strength like her strewn clothing so that she can go back into a world that seems to non-consensually take, take, take from her day after day...
Ask me what is on my mind, and I may say nothing, but its always something."