Friday, October 29, 2010

"What's on your mind?"

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."

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Embracing Me.

My body.
She aint perfect,
But she's mine.

From my wide hips.
The way they mesmerize,
Sway and dip.

To my waist
Gentle and grand,
Bending with grace.

My tender thighs.
Thick, strong, dark.
Adored by many eyes.

Curvy, pudgy torso, soft and warm.
She bears many years,
Of comfort from storms.

Slightly smaller, my breasts.
What more can I say,
But they surely pass the test!

My body.
It isnt a size two.
Never will be either.
And thats fine with me.
I am learning to make peace with
What is God given,
And goddess modeled.

My Corner Of The Room

I see the way you look at me. The way your eyes graze over me, from head to toe and back again. I can tell from the frustrated look on your face that you are wondering, questioning, figuring how to approach me. Should you walk up, say hello, and hope upon hope that I dont find you boring? Or should you just jump right into a conversation about the book my nose seems embedded into?

Would you approach me if you knew what I did last night? If you knew that just 13 hours ago I was engaging in things that most men see late at night on the internet while their wives are in bed. Things most women blush at, or find to be the utmost of vulgarity. Would you approach me if you knew that last night, the very face you are studying like fine art, was fucked quite roughly? A mans cock was in my mouth, face fucking me, having fun at my expense. His cock choking me, gagging me. His work weathered hands pulling at my dark hair, forcing my soft pretty lips closer and closer to his cock base.

Would you join me for coffee if you knew that a firm hand grabbed me by the back of the neck, forced me to bed over a kitchen counter, and finger fucked me into oblivion, while his football buddies watched in awe at his commands and how I obeyed? How about if you knew that my naked body was on show for them as I masturbated and my moans echoed around the house with the sounds of an out of bounds call from a referee on screen? My orgasm fast approaching like a quarterback rushing for the end zone. My screams and grunts of pleasure and release mixed with the spectators on screen praising the team for a three point conversion.

Would you sit down a while and chat if you knew that after the company left, he pushed me to the floor on all fours, and my chocolate toned skin felt the sweet sting of his Italian leather belt? That he spanked me till the tears flowed and splattered on the hardwood floors beneath my quivering form? Would you still find me intriguing if you knew that I was rubbing my clit and cumming 4...5...6 times even though the pain was nearing unbearable? Could you stand to get to know me if you found out that he fucked me while I cried? No longer from the pain, mind you, but because I felt so free while his voice echoed in my head. Him calling me dirty little names, that a woman like me shouldn't adore?. Those words flying around the room like butterflies, liberated from their cocoon-ish prisons.

Would it cause you to turn and walk away if I told you that he and I fucked for hours on end? His cum covered me. My face, my tits, my cunt and ass? That I wasnt ashamed, but blissful as he came on me time after time? That I begged for him to slap me across the face as my pussy exploded around his cock, and he demanded that I look him in the eyes?

Would you think bad of me if you knew that as you stood across the room, sizing me up, I was sitting here at my lonely table gently masturbating. My thick thighs squeezing and clinching, inching me towards an almost silent orgasm, as I tap my foot to the sounds from my Ipod?

Could you approach me, or would you think I was too shy and watch as I packed up and slipped back into a sea of nameless faces, and into the mysterious ways of my life?

I Can't Always Be The Good Girl...

(Posted with as much of my fading memory as I could scrape together, and the permission of the willing participant.)

It all started innocently enough. Just two people conversing about life, new occurrences since we had last seen one another, and sex. Okay. So we weren't being all that innocent.
He made mention of the fact that I had made a comment about blowing him in a previous conversation. I, of course, remembered (a good slut NEVER forgets) it after seeing photos of his gorgeous cock. Its like the Cadillac of cocks. Nice size, A definite head turner. Something that you wouldn't mind putting some mileage on.
I told him that while I was recovering from bronchitis and other things, I was also free that night. I was tired as hell from recovery, and sick of being stuck in the house. I was damn determined to get a taste of that cock. Who in their right mind would even turn down an opportunity to a cock they had been admiring? (Certainly not I!)
We made small chat a little while longer, and then plans were coming together. I had a bit of a wait while he tied up some loose ends, so I used my time wisely. I shaved the important stuff and had a quick yet intense masturbation session. 20 minutes later and It. Was. On. I threw on my black tank top, black skirt and my trusty flip flops. I slung my purse over one shoulder and hit the door running.
Flying down the highway, all I could think was how I could not believe I was getting asked to do this, to a guy I had the biggest crush on since I had laid eyes on him. The butterflies in my stomach were evicted, and pterodactyls had started their angry dance. The only thing that kept me calm was chain smoking and jamming out to my music.
I rolled into the meeting spot, abandoned my car, and slid into his. Pleasantries were exchanged, and we sped off into the night. We wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours, trying to find some place kinda secluded where we could be alone. We ended up stopping at the house of someone he knew. By then, I was ready for anything. Our talk turned to knives, and he pulled one out and dragged it across my left shoulder. Fuck, just thinking about that alone gets me wet.
Then he got impatient and asked if this was going down. I told him it was, and he pulled his cock from his shorts, and I maneuvered to my knees, not caring that my ass and possibly cunt was in the air, revealing to any night owl that I was certainly not wearing panties (Ohh, bad me!).
I pulled his cock into my mouth and started swirling that pretty tongue ring around the head. Slowly, I ventured further down his pole, savoring the taste and feel of it in my mouth. His hands were moving to my pig tails and starting to push my head down further.
Not too long after, he started forcing his cock down my throat. My head was firmly planted as close to the base of his cock as the steering wheel would allow, without a surgeon transplanting my face there. By the 10 second mark, I was trying to move away. 15-30 later I was drooling all over, and starting to want to breathe again. His hands move away and I hear him breathe deeper. Maybe a moan escaped. I am panting. Arms burning from propping myself up. Lower back and knees tightening up from the lack of much room, or a chance to move around.
He pushes my head back down and I started to suck him off again. I can feel two very distinct things by this point. He was bouncing my head around in a rhythm that pleases him, and my clit was Thuh-Rob-Bing. Between the heat of the night, and the sexiness of he and I, my thighs were beyond damp, or moist.
Quite a few more times I was gagged and choked with his cock. Each time I pulled up, I could feel myself being covered more and more with my own swear, saliva, and the juice from my cunt. As I gasped for air again, and tried to stave off another gag reflex, he suggest we take this elsewhere. To the backyard.
We quietly scamper off past assorted yard things to the back where he drops his shorts, and I drop to my knees. I got as comfortable as I could with rocks digging into my knees, and waited from him to put his cock back into my mouth. I stuffed his cock back where it once was, like a greedy squirrel with a nut in winter. The guy grabbed my head and started throat fucking me for all I was worth. And all I could do was kneel and take it (And y'all know I loved it!)! A few more minutes of that and I started licking on his balls. Nothing in this world is better than a man that has no issues with a chick slurping the fuck outta those bad boys!
He pulls me away, and he may have asked if I was ready for more. He may not have. I was too lost in my own head to hear anything anyways. I do remember, that the throat fucking started to get rougher. More primal, but according to him, not as hard as he is used to. Still, I took it like a fucking champ. Moaning around his cock, not caring that my knees and shins were being shredded to death by rocks, or that I had ripped a chunk of toenail off one of the many times I pulled away and threw up in the grass. (But that was forgotten when he reached down under my skirt and ran one lone finger against my cunt. Yep. That hit the slut button really good. FULL SPEED AHEAD BOYS!)
I only tapped out when he took me down too far, too long, and I just couldn't breathe. I would lean over again, throw up, but I got right back on. (Whadda trooper, eh guys?) My lungs kept me from taking in as much air as I normally could, so that kept the no air stints pretty short, and made the bastard gag reflex more sensitive than normal. But I soldiered the fuck on. The closer he got to cumming, the more force he used. And it had me wondering if I was going to end up with a bloodied nose and bruised face at times.
His hands clenched in my hair. My face went down yet again. But much deeper than before. I tried to manage one teeny breath, but I couldn't. Mouth overflowing. Nose smashed closed by his pelvis. I tapped once more. He pulled out, but barely a centimeter so that I could sniffle in a teeny bit of air, and he started to cum. He went back deeper, and I started to struggle to swallow, with a mouth crammed with cock and cum. Yep. Lucky me. I shot a cum rocket out my nose. SCORE! lol And though we were out in the open, all I could hear was me quietly moaning, and his hushed guttural groan of sweet, sweet release.
We caught our breath. I brushed rocks and pebbles as best as I could from my battered knees, and I hobbled back to the car so that I could head home and finish what we had started with the images freshly in my mind. And sleep. Lots of sleep. It was at least 6am by then.
My one regret of that night? Couldn't taste a fuckin drop of the cum. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

And then...

...there are times where a girl just does NOT feel like blogging. She just wants to fuck. Or make love. She doesn't care what you call it. Just stop being stingy with the dick!

Guess my inner slut is making her way back to the surface. She was severely missed...

Thursday, April 22, 2010


I wanted Him to use me. To take control of my very soul and control me. Take my body and do sinfully delicious things to me.

I needed Him to put his hand against my throat,and pin me to the wall. I needed him to place rough kisses all over my mouth, neck, and breasts. I needed those bites, however hard or soft they were, and the evidence of a Stern but caring love that they would leave behind. I needed the bruises as a reminder that while at work tomorrow, I was just as average and normal as all the millions of other nameless faces that would pass me by.

But at home? Home is where I become his wanton slut. His whore. The place where his pleasure comes from. And I love that.

I love it when he would take hold of me, strip me bare and looked right into my quivering soul. And no matter what felt or looked wrong, fat, or ugly in my eyes, I knew that in his eyes I was a fuckin Goddess. I love how he forced me down over the bed and caressed my rotund, silky ass. The way his fingers made errant little slips across the lips of my cunt. I loved it even more when his fingers would stroke my clit and stop just before I could even register where that pleasure was coming from.

I needed him to do the one thing that would break me down, build me up, and rock me down to my core. He knew what I was thinking. His words were swift, but simple, "Do NOT move, bitch." I knew better than to tempt the fates. Disobedience meant that what we both needed would become just a forgotten afterthought.

I knew that he had gotten something from somewhere. I just couldn't make out the where and what. I knew that he would honestly rather go to hell doused in kerosene than tell me what evil plots he had. I grew restless. I decided to be cute and do my best Shakira hip shaking impression. What it looked like was another sad story.

He made swift movements in an effort to keep his plans a secret. I only heard a sharp snap before my nerves exploded in pain. And I barely got a break in before He rained unholy terror down on my unassuming ass.

I know that between strokes, he was knuckle deep in my tender, tight cunt. He would drum on my Gspot like he was awakening the Natives and readying them for war. He strummed my clit as though he wanted to summon dancers from shows gone by.

And I? I was cumming. Everything was going silent in my head, even though my screams could wake the dead in Atlantis. He continued working all kinds of magic, while I attempted to fend off the assault on my senses. I was being dragged down the rabbit hole of lust like a lifeless, cum covered rag doll. Thrown off a cliff into an ocean of orgasm.

When what felt like an eon of orgasms had passed, He swiftly planted his firm cock within me.

Everything around me grew fuzzy and weary. I needed the strength of a million and seventy men just to keep the beast within me from ripping out of my skin.

But I needed the beast to come out of him. I needed rough, unabashed, primal fucking. I needed him to demolish me. Turn me into nothing and build me from the cunt up into something all over again.

2 more minutes of him pulling me from position to position and impaling me on that glorious cock, I exploded. To say that I came was like saying the Nile is just a puddle on a sidewalk in Manhattan. My cunt clenched, throbbed, and practically died on his lap. Gooey girl cum was dripping from my cunt, down my thighs, across his thighs, cock and stomach.

The words he say next are NOT of gratitude, but of simplicity, and half joking sternness.

"I didn't tell you to cum," he said. "Another round till you can get it right!"

I smile, pull his arms around me, and simply say "That was more a 'splosion. Doesn't count." As I giggle, he nuzzles his head into my hair, kisses me and tells me he loves me, but I am going to pay for this.

Break me down, Build me up, Make me whole...