That’s what this is. Pure fantasy, to titillate and amuse. Not to condone true rape, nor true violence. These works are works of fantasy and should never be taken as consent to force yourself upon a stranger, unless you’ve met, crafted an agreement of consensual non-consent, and have a safeword, and a safecall on standby.
So, I did it. The thing I was most dreading, going through my slut phone (which has not been connected to receive texts/phone calls since the pandemic/financial crisis), through all the old pictures I sent to Himself, ones of playtimes, and teasing photos…you know the kind.
I deleted them.
Well, 99.9%. I saved two to my email account but they’re off that phone now, anyway. The only thing I can do with that phone is cruise the depraved world of tumblr. You know, so I can get myself off, as one does.
I went through my toy bag and slut clothing too. I mean, what if I got Covid and died and my family had to go through my shit? I would roll over in my grave, die yet again, from embarrassment, yanno? So I threw out EVERY piece of slutwear. Things I’d been collecting for nearly a decade. I threw out toys that He had gifted/tortured me with, threw out old vibes that had died. Threw so, so, SO many things away. Now, I have just three vibes, and the Hitachi, of course. And that rather large pile of stuff to go? I put the bag into the bottom of the trash barrel and it was picked up over a month ago. I really could not make myself write this until now
Then, task done, I went to bed, and cried.
*sigh* I was sad, and lost and lonely and sad and missing my M, and wondering what next for this slut?
Mind you, I’m not looking for a new Dom. I simply don’t have the time to devote to another person. With kids home, wife and I busy all the time…there isn’t a single, unbudgeted bit of time for anything other than my vanilla life. I’m working 12 hour days 4 days a week, then 8 hours the other 3. Stay busy, stay financially afloat, stay ahead of the pain of losing this other half of myself.
I cut my hair last year.
All those long locks, shorn short in the very old fashioned symbol of grief. It was the first step in mourning this tremendous loss. No word from Him in months (nearly a year now). No idea what happened, if he’s still alive and kicking, if he gave up on me, if he…I just…don’t know.
And yanno, I’m not a cute young thing anymore. Not that that matters to the right Dom, I know that. But I don’t feel physically attractive (and mostly don’t even care…I’m more than my short hair and round belly). And the other part is that getting older comes with it’s own sets of pain and aches, and though I am a pain-loving slut, right now? Playing with a new Dom? It would just be too much trouble.
I think when you think something that should be thrilling and exciting is “too much trouble” it’s time to take a break from it. So I’m stepping away. Mostly. Because the brain is a curious thing. It brings up these memories at the strangest times.
On my way home from work tonight, I was remembering how he would bite my nipples. He’d twist them with his teeth, sucking hard enough to make me think that they’d pull right off my tit. Oh my gawd it hurt so much. So good. My nipples would be bruised red and so sensitive for days. And now as I write this, just like when I was driving, my pussy throbs, and I feel.
Horny, twitchy, needy.
He did that to me, and rather than thinking of it as a curse, I’m choosing to call it a good feeling, a good memory. That even now, those memories can rouse me, and make me want.
Yes, tears come occasionally.
And yes, so do those stirring needs.
This slut is…interrupted. Not “over it”. Not “never again”. Not “I can’t”. It’s still there, still in me, still will need to get out somehow, someway, someday.
Because I am a horny, needy little girl inside an older woman’s body. Still, now, and always.
While he led her across the room to an quiet corner her heart was pounding so loudly it was a wonder he didn’t hear it. A sudden, sharp crack followed by a shocking scream behind her made her jolt. She stopped, or tried to.
“Come along, Red.”
He didn’t release his grip on her wrist, nor slow his pace to accommodate her attempt to see what the hell was going on back there.
“Exactly. Butt out. Everyone plays differently, remember? He loves to be whipped by his Mistress. The pain is quite intense and it is exactly what he craves. He has a safe-word and will use it if he needs to. You will also have a safe word, which you will use if something is too intense for you. We’ll get to that in time. But for now, you need to pay attention to me, and what I plan to do with you, little girl.”
He pulled her along until she tugged hard. He didn’t sigh aloud, but she had a long way to go.
“What now?” he said.
“But it sounds like he’s in terrible pain.”
” He is. He also has an enormous erection. Believe me, he is very happy in his service. And slut? From now until we end, you will call me Sir James, understood?”
She looked up at him; her eyes were filled with the nerves he knew were not about Ken-slut, but about what was going to happen next. The unknown was a torment that only experience could heal. Still, her nod was solemn assent. He ran a finger down her nose, smiled. “Try saying it out loud.”
“Sir. James.” He brow rose fractionally at the pause. Clearing her throat she tried again.
“Sir James.” A small smile at her success.
He wasn’t a protocol asshole and she was learning. Besides, the fun was in the teaching, and if they stuck, they’d learn each other.
Sucking in a shock of air at the word, she tried to speak, but coughed instead.
“Oh. I … I’ve only read the word. Never had anyone actually say it to me before.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I hope not,” she grinned. “It’s shocking, and titillating. I wondered, Sir James, if I needed to…you know..” She ran her hand along the front of her tee shirt. He just looked at her, forcing her to speak the words.
“…take this…you know..”
He just looked at her, impassive. A small sigh escaped her.
“That was hard to say? Asking me if you should strip for me?”
“Better get used to being embarrassed a lot then.” He smiled. “Yes.”
Swallowing hard, she began to tug the shirt upwards, but his hand on her forearm forestalled her.
“Sexy. Do it sexy. Not like you’re ready to have a medical exam,” he said with a chuckle. “Slow. Teasing. Understand that you have power here too. Your body is your gift to me. I want you to unwrap it for me. Slowly. Make me want it. Make me want to hurry you up. Make me want your flesh.”
She swallowed, then, emboldened by his words, she took a moment, closing her eyes. She was sexy. She had a good body. She had excellent tits, and she could and would reveal them to a total stranger, a man who told her she was a gift. The flutter of nerves was a stimulant, a rush of adrenalin that gave her a boost of confidence.
Slowly she opened her eyes, dropping her chin, and looked up at him through her lashes. A small smile played across her lips as her fingers teased the hem of her shirt.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice soft.
She lifted a tiny piece of fabric with her finger, revealing skin, just a flicker of paleness against the blue of her shirt.
Hooking her finger into the hem, she lifted one side, slowly raising it along her ribs, stopping just short of her bra. She had his full attention, she saw, his eyes intense on her face, her finger lifting her shirt. Dropping the fabric, she lifted her hands to her breasts, molding the tee tightly across them. Her nipples pressed into her bra, revealing themselves through the soft fabric of her shirt. The corner of his mouth turned up a fraction, making her smile inwardly.
She did have power!
It took her a full five minutes to peel herself free of the tee. He stepped forward, cupped his hands over her bra, cradled her tits. The heat of his skin sizzled along her nerves, warming and exciting her nipples to full erection. Sliding his fingers along the bra, he pinched her exuberant nubs. She moaned.
Slowly, torturously, he caressed her straps, up and over one, then stepping around her to continue along her back to the other strap. Around, down, crossing the X at her center, then up the first strap again. Slowly he nudged the strap down towards her shoulder, his nail scraping along her flesh. Goosebumps broke out and she shivered. His breath danced along the back of her neck, and she began to feel electrified. Her clit awoke, and her pussy dampened.
She could hardly believe that one barely-touching finger could rouse her. She was keenly aware of his presence, and aware too of her body. When the strap finally slid free, she moaned. His lips caressed the spot where the strap had laid, his teeth nipping at her skin.
“Ooohh god…” she moaned again.
As he bit harder, his hand snaked around her waist, pulling her ass hard against his crotch. His free hand snaked up and found her breast, slipped inside her cup to pinch and pull her nipple.
“Pain, and pleasure,” he growled, as his teeth savaged her shoulder, his hand caressed. Then, without a moment to absorb what he was doing, his hand savaged her tit, twisted her nipple painfully as his tongue lapped her skin where he had bitten her.
She came then, a shocking soaking between her thighs. Shuddering, she thought she heard him chuckle.
All of her life she had felt different. Like she never quite fit with her surroundings. Not a misfit so much as a touch out of step. As if she could waltz but they were playing rap music instead. She was foundering the first time she found a blog, searching for something new to read. Instead of typing “books” she mistyped it as “boobs” and it sucked her into a miasma of links and switchbacks up and around the internet until she’d found something more than “Porn”. Something…that struck a chord in her. Something that “normal” people would call vile. Or abuse. Or…sick.
She struggled with that. Was she mentally ill? Was she, in some way, less than normal? A perverted soul, lost?
No. Yes. Yes, maybe?
Talking to other people online, people with normal day to day lives and a bedroom secret, helped. She felt less alone, less abnormal, more accepted. The thing was, they lived it. Some played with others on the side, some lived with their dominants, and some only had an occasional playtime.
Somehow calling it playtime made it seem more acceptable to have these sexual perversions.
Somehow she’d made the leap. Decided to act out the fantasy she lived online. Decided to come out and explore the shadows. And nearly got pulverized by a drunken dom in the process. Here she sat, her hand held by a…gentleman. He looked…normal. But he spoke the magic words…sex..pain..withheld orgasms…and orgasm overload. His smile was kind, and he understood. He wasn’t what she expected, but maybe he was what she was looking for.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I’m being totally honest with you when I say I’m way out of my element here. My heart is pounding, and I’m scared as shit, and I’m, well, intrigued. I’m here so I took a leap, but this feels like a major jump.”
“Didn’t you say you were here to meet someone? Were you prepared to jump, to use your words, with him? Or was it a her and I’m leaping to conclusions?”
“It was a “he”, and … I don’t know. I guess I was going to go with what my gut said.”
“And what does your gut say now?”
“I’m…not sure. I must sound like a dumb idiot. I didn’t know what to expect. Drinks, conversation? Maybe a little touchy feely, but I wasn’t looking to get laid tonight.”
He drawled that, looking deeply into her eyes. She felt like he was in her head, reading her.
“Okay. Maybe. I mean, I don’t sleep around. I don’t. I…”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve played with new meat.”
Her back straightened as she startled. “What??”
His laugh deepened, and those sexy lines at his eyes crinkled.
“You’re a virgin…a submissive virgin, I should say, unless…”
His eyebrow shot up, his tone inquiring.
“Well, geezuz no! Of course I’ve had sex before. I mean, it’s been a while but no. No. I … geezuz.”
Despite the mild sense of outrage, because she wasn’t that green, she was also extremely embarrassed. Had she ever had such a frank discussion with anyone before? Especially someone she had met just a short time ago?
“Look, Jim. I…yes, I’m new. But meat? Really? I have seen that online, that humilation thing and it’s not my thing at all. I’m willing to play with someone who sees me as a toy, a plaything, a fuckbuddy, even, but not calling me a thing. Like..meat. That’s just gross to me. I know some people get off on being animals like puppies or horses or whatever, and that’s fine for them. But me? I want to be your slut, not your pet.”
She heaved a big breath. Waited for him to walk away.
“Was that so hard?”
“Telling me what you want. You want to be a slut, maybe my slut, that’s not really where we are yet. But you need to be clear about your goals. Your desires. Do you want to live at the foot of my bed in a cage until I let you out to fuck you? Do you want to be just a playpartner? Do you want to be a 24/7 slut, or just a playtime slut? These are things to know. Coming to a place like this alone helps you to see what intrigues you as far as play goes; but knowing where your personal lines are drawn are important if you’re looking for a long-term, stable relationship. A good dom will challenge your limits, help you grow, and cherish you. A poor one will use you, not value you, you will be an object to him with no more importance that a coffee table. Some women like that. Some don’t. It’s up to you to set up the guidelines that you and your dom can live with.”
She blew out a breath.
“I thought this would be easy.”
“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” he said with a smile. “Which is not to say that some here tonight aren’t here for a quick hit of pleasure. Some don’t want anything more than to come here, play, go home and lock the needs away until the next time the itch crawls up their ass. Some are searching, and some are just into public play. Some don’t have personal access to the toys we have here; there are many stories, and many personalities here.”
A young woman with short dark hair tortured into hard spikes came over and beckoned to Jim.
“Pardon me,” he said and rose to speak to the girl. After a quick conversation, he smacked her ass, making her squeal and giggle, and returned to sit beside her.
“You’ll be happy to know that Gavin has been ejected from the club. Maggie had a stern word for our bouncer, and that situation will not happen again.”
“Our bouncer? Are you with her? Is she your submissive?”
“So many questions. Maggie is the house slut. She tends bar, oversees staff, and makes sure people are doing what they’re supposed to. She’s the manager here. She is not my submissive but I have spanked her a few times when she asked.”
“Tell me, Red, what is your name?”
“My real name? Or a submissive name?”
“Whichever you prefer. I respect anonymity.”
“You haven’t thought that far? How does your online dom call you?”
“He calls me girl. Or slut. We haven’t exchanged names.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and offer a lecture on the world of online D/s. For a lucky few it worked out but for many, it was a disappointment.
“Are you looking for a dominant, Red?”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I think I’m getting closer to finding it here.”
He smiled, and stood up. Holding out his hand, she took it.
“How about this. No committments. Let’s try a few things. Not sexual, but teasingly short of it. I won’t fuck you. I won’t penetrate you. But I will make you wish that I would. Then you can go home and decide if you liked it enough to try more.”
“Yes. Or no. Decide firmly.”
His hand was warm, but not caressing her. His body didn’t tug her in any direction, his eyes gave no clue as to his preference. And if she was thinking about what he wanted, wasn’t that a step onto the submissive path?
“Good girl,” he said, and stroked his hand down over her head.
She felt the touch from the top of her head, to her clit, to her toes, which curled tight for a moment, in anticipation and not a few nerves.
Dumb. She was so fucking dumb. He’d said he was a strong dom. He’d strung her along with words, texts to make her tingle. It had only taken him a week to convince her to come to meet him at this club. A D/s club. Here she sat, trying hard to be invisible, looking at the crowd while trying not to stare, hoping he’d come in. Or come over. Five more minutes and she was going to leave and forget that she was ever considering doing this. Whatever “this” was. Submissive? Hell no. She was pissed off. And embarrassed. And maybe a little scared.
Online stuff was such a turn on. Laying in her bed at night, scrolling through blogs and photo’s and cumming to video’s of violence and domination and spanking and tied up and ballgagged…it was enticing. Erotic. Eye opening. She was into it, her orgasms led the way. Somehow, the seeing-in-realtime was different. Boi’s all made up into sissies; girls, naked or nearly, led around by chain or rope or a belt-it was surreal. It wasn’t just acting. this was real life for these people. She wasn’t sure. She just wasn’t ready for this.
Someone stopped in front of her, then grabbed a fistful of her hair.
“Hey Red! Come play!”
“Ow! Stop!” she responded, trying to free his hand from her tresses.
“Don’t be a baby. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to play…”
“That is so far from the truth,” she muttered, shoving at the hairy chest in her face. She pinched up some of that hair and twisted.
“HEY! The FUCK!” He stepped back, rubbing his chest. “That was a stupid, fucking stupid thing to do.” His tone was surly, menacing, and she could smell the booze on his breath. He drew back his fist, ready to punch her. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she stood quickly, stomping on his foot, and kneeing him hard in the groin.
He fell with a agonized groan, clutching his gonads.
A hand fell on her shoulder.
“Come away, little one,” said a kind, deep voice. She looked up into gray eyes, salt and pepper hair waving over a face that was chiseled with strong features. A firm jaw, a trace of stubble, laugh wrinkles around those eyes which looked keenly at her. “Gavin is quite obviously drunk, as usual, and once he stops writhing on the floor, he’ll be up and looking for you. Let’s get you out of the immediate vicinity, shall we?”
She was going to speak, uncertain if she should be led further from the door, but Gavin began to growl “I’m gonna beat the shit outta that fucking skank…” and she decided some distance would be a good idea after all.
He led her across the room, and through a doorway to an large gathering spot. There were people, so many kinds of people, and equipment, and toys, and the sounds of pleasure and pain. Stopping in front of a long bench, he sat and invited her to sit beside him with a wave of his hand.
“I’m Jim, though to those involved in playing here, I’m known as Sir James. I was trying to get over to you before Gavin reached you, as he’s just not someone a newbie should be playing with, but his drunken lurch is much quicker than I’d anticipated!”
She smiled, despite her nerves. Drunken lurch, indeed.
“So, what brings you to Binders tonight?” he asked.
“I…was supposed to meet someone but he stood me up. I was going to leave but…drunken lurch happened and then you happened.”
“Had you met this someone before?”
“No. It’s one of the drawbacks of online dating isn’t it? And really hard when you’re not sure if you really are a submissive once you come in and see some of this stuff. It’s…” She shook her head, unable to find the right word.
“It’s strange. Scary. Yet, if you’re into it, it’s fun. Stimulating, exciting, sexually appealing. You know, you can be a submissive without sex being a part of it..”
She interrupted him.
“But why? I mean, that’s the part I like about it! Having someone dominate that way is what I find…” her voice trailed off.
“Is what you find…what?”
“Just fun? Or exciting? The idea of having someone hit you…carefully, sexually, in order to sexually stimulate you, then deny you, tease you, until finally allowing you to release your orgasm? Or-to make you cum over and over until it’s painful? To mark your body so that days later you are reminded by those marks of the incredible release from your day to day mundane life?”
She looked into his eyes, saw the intensity there, and felt a responsive shiver run from her lips to her spine.
“Yes,” she said at last.
“I didn’t come here looking for a play partner tonight,” he said, his hand stroking across her palm laying upturned on her thigh. “Turns out my play partner was looking for me and didn’t even know it.”
I know, it’s not the same as an individual, personal response, and I apologize for that. This has been a horrific week, in our country, and in my personal life. I just don’t have the emotional reserves to write to every one of you.
Your words moved me.
Your kindness overwhelmed me.
Yes, I cried.
Yes, I smiled.
Yes, I nodded.
Some of you have been here, done this and come through it. Some of you get how the lack of closure is so hard. And some have been so encouraging. Go out. Start again.
I don’t know what will happen. I don’t feel D/s right now…it’s been a long time for “live and up close”…for many of us, thanks to Covid. On the other side of things, tho, when I jack off, it’s ALWAYS to D/s fantasies, so I know that part of me isn’t “dead”…merely in retreat.
While my spirit has gone up, then down, then in dizzying circles, hearing each of you reach out and touch me with your words has been a balm. Please know that I appreciate each and every one who took the time to respond to my (admittedly depressive) post. You care, and that means so very much.
This week we had to put a beloved fur kid to sleep, and that has continued to break my heart. I feel like my emotions have been battered. It takes time to heal, this I know. But the piling on of negative emotions has depressed me. I haven’t said anything to my family- we’re all hurting, after all. I’ve barely admitted it to myself.
I’m…yes…angry, I think.
And I’m on the road to healing; it’s that or give up, and fuck that. I am NOT a giver-up of anything. So count on me getting back here once the deepest grief has scabbed over. Writing helps me. Writing is fun and cathartic and a chance to lose myself in the stories that you enjoy.
Until then, you have my heartfelt gratitude just for listening. You’ll never know how very much that has helped. And how much each of you have touched my spirit.
This is a lament. If you’re already feeling down, don’t read this today. Go find something to perk you up.
I’ve put off writing this post forever. Months.
After my September post, M and I emailed one another one more time. Then I emailed him. And emailed him a few weeks later. And again. I think I’ve written 4 times, with no response.
I have no idea what has happened.
Once a long time ago we lost touch for about 5 weeks because he dropped his phone in a toilet. It was a long 5 weeks, but I laughed so hard about it at the time that I wasn’t pissed.
I’ve been tetering between pissed and worried for a long time now. It’s been over 2 years since our last face to face that wasn’t even a playtime. It’s been…maybe almost a year since our last voice contact. And it’s been 4 months since I last had ANY contact. I can’t text because so many people look at my vanilla phone when I get an incoming text. I have clients, family, friends who all text, and one of the kids will pick up the phone and yell “You got a text from ….” to me. They’re teens. They’re savvy. And if Himself writes “hey slut…” that’s just not gonna fly.
In my last email to him I said that if I didn’t hear from him that I would assume that he’d either passed away (he lives in a Covid19 “red zone” city, as do I), or that he had finally lost interest in “us” and I’d assume that we were no longer a couple.
I cried about it, as one would expect. Then, last weekend, I gathered up all my hidden slut outfits. The lacy garters, the sexy bustiers, the naughty nighties, the fishnet stockings. I sorted my sex toys and pain toys. I kept three of my favorite vibes, and everything…
went into a trash bag. Trash was collected last week and it’s all gone.
Like a 10 year dream that I woke up from.
Like a drama that finally drew to its inevitable end.
And now, it’s over.
So, yanno, Covid.
2020 sucks and now we’ve lost Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
I’ve been so busy working. And when I wasn’t working, I didn’t have money for my slutphone, so my communcations with Master went dark. I emailed a little, but when we started to open up the Commonwealth again, I started working, and I was tired and scared and still having panic attacks on the regular.
So I … stopped.
I stopped writing.
I wrote a few stories here, but I didn’t write to HIM. I didn’t even check my email. God could have written me and I …I was just blanked out.
Have you felt that way through this? I know several folks who died from this plague, and it scared me so. I think I’m over the worst of the terror, though I live in fear of my kids getting it.
Anyway, finally, when I’d gone about 3 or 4 weeks without more than one panic attack, I checked my email.
And waaaay back in there was an email from Himself. And he was pissed.
If I wasn’t dead of the Covid, or in the hospital, I damned well best write to him IMMEDIATELY. Because now was NOT the time to “go dark” on him.
I dunno what happened.
I haven’t been, nor felt even a twinkling of, anything remotely resembling submission. I hadn’t had an orgasm in a long while (after feverishly having several every day in case I got it and died. I wanted to go out feeling sated.)
But something in me snapped into alignment with that one, terse, firm order… and there was NO mistaking that it was an order.
Am I more submissive today than I was when I discovered the email? I dunno. I’m so tired lately because I’m working so much. Ten plus hours a day 6 days a week is hard on a 60 year old body, just sayin’. But it did make me…feel. Something. Something other that the daily responsiblities. Something other than worker bee, or mom, or housewife…
So tonight, when I finished all the “me” stuff I had to do, I wrote to him (without prompting!)
You know, like a good little submissive should.
I guess I’m back.
Tired. Her head fell back against the headrest in her car. The wash of blue lights thrummed through her half-closed eyes, pulsing against her head, blue-white-blue. She was so fucking tired. The last of the sunset was long gone, she was the only car on the road, and who the fuck cared if she was 10 miles over the speed limit on the backroads of this stupid little town.
“Step out of the car.”
The beam from his flashlight blinded her. With a sigh she opened the door, forgetting for a moment that her seat belt was still attached. Now she felt stupid as well as tired.
“Miss, have you been drinking tonight?”
“No. No I have not. I’m on my way home. I’m just really tired.”
The light dashed around the inside of the car. The contents of her purse flashed through the beam; her wallet, opened to her license, lipsticks, tissues, gum, a bottle of aspirin, assorted keys, three pens, a small vibrator. The light seemed to hover there for a moment longer than on the other items.
“Turn around, hands on the vehicle.”
“Is this really necessary? I’m just going home. I haven’t had anything to drink. I’m just tired. I was speeding, I admit it. I’ll take your..”
The flow of words were cut off abruptly by a gloved hand covering her mouth.
“Shut up. Not another word.”
When she nodded, he released her mouth. She could feel the heat of his body so close to her. Then his hands captured her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. The gloves were gone, and his long fingers pinched and pulled her tits, her nipples. She gasped as he rolled them through her shirt.
“Shhhh,” his voice warned.
She bit her lip to hold her silence, felt the tremble of fear. And a tiny frisson of lust. Wasn’t this her all-time fantasy? Hadn’t she often written this on her blog? Did he read her blog or was he just one of those cops, who took when he had the opportunity?
She was scared. And wet.
Her skirt was lifted, her panties pulled to one side, his cock sliding into her cunt from behind. It happened so fast. One moment her tits were being fondled and the next he was inside her.
His hips jabbed into her, his hands pulling her hips into his thrust, arching her spine. Small grunts spilled from her mouth as he pounded into her. Hard, fast punches of his cock into her hole. Pausing a moment, he kicked her ankles fully apart, granting him full access to her pussy. It hurt, to be fucked so violently. It excited, to be taken. It frightened, to not know how to stop him. It worried, to not want him to.
A shocking thrust, his body grinding into her, then the groan as his cock pulsed. She could feel him cumming. Which meant he wasn’t wearing a condom. She wanted to cry out, but his quiet warning stopped her. After a moment, he pulled her panties back, lowered her skirt.
“Get in your vehicle. Go home. Drive the limit.”
He never looked at her as he strode back to his cruiser, turned off his blues, and signaled her to pull out. She drove away, shaking.
He was at home, eating a snack in front of the tv when she came in.
“Hi honey, you’re late. Long day, huh?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Long. Tired. I’m…gonna go up to bed, k?”
Leaning over the back of the sofa, she kissed his neck.
“Night. Get some rest, hon. You look beat.”
Quietly she went up stairs and slid into bed with her vibrator. Replaying the scene, she fucked herself into oblivion.
Watching her go slowly upstairs, he felt his phone vibrate under his hand. Reading the text, he smiled.
“got ‘er done. hotfuck. she ought to be preggo now. thanks for the interesting assignment, Captain!”
He wrote back to his brother. “potential commendation, bro”
He received a reply, an eggplant and a laughing smily face.
Picking up the remote he grinned to himself. Wife fantasy fulfilled. Husband fantasy fulfilled. Baby in 9 months? They’d just have to wait and see.
thanks Tip, for the inspiration..
She knocked on the door. Rang the bell. No one answered. Despondent, she sat on the front step and thought about what she could do…should do…next. She was in a funk. In a slump. In a sexual freefall…and not in a good way.
It had taken more than a little nerve to show up here, at the good doctor’s office, without a call or an appointment or anything. She heaved out a sigh. Why had she thought he’d be there, anyway.
The door opened behind her, and she leapt to her feet.
“Oh,” he said. “Did I mis-schedule an appointment?”
“Dr. Strangeguy,” she said, her voice quivering. “No…no I don’t have an appointment. I’m so sorry…but…but..”
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’m desperate,” she whispered.
Oh, he thought. My favorite…
He checked his watch, frowned a little.
“Well, I can’t leave you in such dire straits,” he said at last. “Do come in.”
“Thank you! Are you sure…I mean, if you can’t …if you don’t have the time..”
“I always have time for a desperate patient,” he said as he ushered her into the hallway, and down to his office.
He sat behind his desk, gestured her to take one of the chairs in front. He took up some papers, and tidied them into a stack. Pulling a notepad from a drawer, and taking up his favorite hand-made, wooden pen (made by a fellow Dom), he rose and took the chair beside her.
“Alright, my dear, what seems to be the problem.”
“I’m stuck. Just…stuck.”
“Perhaps a little more specifics? ” he said, his voice trailing off, encouraging her.
“Well, you see, I…well you know. I write…porn.” She all but whispered the last word.
“Yes, I remember that.”
“I’m blocked. Stuck. Because…I can’t….”
He waited as she trailed off again. The seconds ticked into minutes, but still he waited. She looked at her hands. Her feet. The wall. His feet. Back to her hands. At long last she looked directly at him.
“I can’t orgasm. I just can’t quite get…there. I get almost there, and I’m kind of excited, but I just can’t quite seem to …
“Right. And if I can’t…then I can’t write about it, now can I? I mean, I like to write about what I know, and what I want and what excites that dark place inside me. But my imagination is tied to my …” she swallowed, dropped her eyes for a moment. “Pussy.”
Could this be any more perfect, he wondered? A desperate woman he knew was a slut, begging for his assistance in cumming? Inwardly, he chortled, all but rubbed his hands together in glee.
He nodded crisply.
“Well then. Are you looking for me to fix this problem? In whatever way I deem will best help you?”
She nodded, licked her lips nervously.
“Very well then. Come here.”
Obediently she rose to stand in front of him. He gestured to his lap.
“Lay down on your belly. That’s it. I see you wore a skirt. Good, very good. That shows me that you’re still interested in using your body. That you’re still a slut. Say that. Say “I’m a slut, Sir.”
Her voice, muffled from her position came haltingly.
“I’m a slut….Sir.”
His hand cracked down on her bum through the fabric of her skirt. She gave a small yelp. He smiled.
“Oh, this will never do. You won’t hardly feel a thing.”
“I did! I felt it!”
“No, not the way I want you to feel it, my dear.” His hands lifted the hem of the skirt, baring her bottom.
“No panties? You slut!”
He smacked her cheeks, left, right, right, right, right, left. She moaned. She wriggled. She whimpered. He struck harder, until she began to struggle in his lap, which his cock very much enjoyed. Her ass grew deeply red; he felt the heat against his palm as he continued to beat her bottom.
When he was done, he slipped his fingers up into her slit and fingered her cunt.
“Oh my, what have we here? Your pussy is wet, slut.”
His fingers stroked up and down, never touching the part he could feel her yearning for him to touch.
He pushed her off his lap. She slipped to the floor at his feet.
When her lips parted, he slipped his fingers inside. She lapped, sucked, lapped again until his fingers were cleaned of her juice. Leaning back, he loosened his fly. Her eyes raised to his. At his look, she rose onto her knees and began to suck him.
“No hands,” he admonished, when she would have reached to stroke him. Grabbing a hank of her hair, he forced her down on his shaft until he felt her throat clench, the delicious sound and feeling of her gagging on him.
He pushed her head off his cock with an audible pop.
“Take out your tits,” he growled. She lifted her tank top, yanked down her bra, her fat jugs bouncing onto her chest. The nipples were pink, and hard as diamonds. Reaching down, he grabbed them, tugging her closer. She groaned as he twisted them, then pulled his fingers off them with a snap. He slapped one, watching it bounce off the other.
“I like slapping your fat tits,” he said. Whap! Whap! Whap!
“I bet your cunt is dripping,”
“Yes, Sir, it…it’s very wet.”
“Stand up,” he said. When she rose, he pulled her forward and sat her on his dick. They groaned together.
“Grind that cunt down now, you little fuckpuppet.”
She moaned, whimpering i’m so close, Sir.
She rose, her eyes begging.
“Spread your legs, whore.”
He reached forward, smacking her pussy. He felt her swollen clit against his palm, smacked it again. She was moaning constantly now, as he repeatedly. struck her hungry cunt.
“Kneel,” he ordered brusquely.
She couldn’t stop the writhing of her hips, fucking air, her body quivering with need. He grasped his cock and pulled once, twice, before erupting ribbons of cum onto her tits. He sat back, breathing deeply, before putting himself away.
“But…but…I haven’t cum…”
“Go home. Now. Get naked. Masturbate right inside your door. Right there on the floor like the horny slut you are. Cum. Cum hard. Then get up, go to your bedroom, and do it again. Now, get dressed. And don’t wash any of that off until tomorrow.”
As she put herself together, he rose and went to his desk. Taking his prescription pad out, he wrote for a minute, then tore it free. Folding it, he handed it to the disheveled woman.
“Read this later. Go now. I expect a full report in your blog, tomorrow.”
“Yes Sir. Of course, Sir…thank you.”
She scurried out, and home. She did indeed pop off the two orgasms as soon as she arrived. Laying on her bed, she remembered her clothing was strewn all over her entry hallway. Rising, she went downstairs to retrieve them, and found the prescription he’d given her. She laughed when she read it, and ran upstairs to her computer.
Take two orgasms and write about it in the morning”.
I know, it’s been quiet here in my little corner of the blogosphere. Covid19 has kept me fairly quiet up to now, but my job is starting to get busy again (and I’m being safe, promise!).
After the initial panic attacks, sheer terror, the fear, the worry, the stress headaches…I can honestly say that I’ve settled into this new way of life.
Humans are really pretty fucking adaptable.
Because, yanno, we can’t GO anywhere or DO anything…so we’re finding fun with family, and home. And it’s working. I’m happier. I’m steadier. I’m sleeping better-most nights, at least. There’s a curious sort of peace that comes with accepting that it has to be this way for now. I don’t know if that’s a function of my philosophy of “suck it up, buttercup” or my age, but for whatever reason, I’m pretty happy these days.
Summer is always busy for my family and I–it’s time to tackle those tasks that you can’t really do in midwinter. Outside painting, pruning, inside projects…we’ve got something going nearly every weekend.
And my sex drive is starting to revv up. I’m on tumblr looking at all the sexy pix, reading all sorts of smutty captions to various photo’s, and generally masturbating nightly.
For sleep, you understand.
Nah, not because I’m a horny slut. You kiddin’ me? Who has time to be horny during The Covid??
yeah. You can limit my freedoms, but not my libido! And where there’s orgasms, apparently, there’s hope.