“Smother me with your cunt,” he whispers.

Gently, I take his glasses and place them on the windowsill. He leans back into the mound of pillows, tucking the purple one under his neck. I sling my leg around and straddle his face, palms against the wall to keep my balance.

“No,” he says, grabbing my hips and pulling me down further. “Cover my face so I can’t breathe.”

“I know what kind of porn you’ve been watching,” I say, “Filthy boy.” I crouch down lower, grabbing his head, forcing his mouth to meet me.

Stubble grinds into my thighs, a thousand delightful little pinpricks. He laps at my clit with short forceful strokes. I squirm around, then lower myself one final inch, completely burying his face in my pussy. I don’t so much hear his muffled moan as feel it, a low vibration purring against my cunt. Continue reading

I bend over the kitchen counter.

Some glitch has left the digital display on the microwave permanently dimmed, so the only way to read it is to get up close. We’re getting ready to make dinner. He’s standing behind me, looking at the contents of the cupboard.

Suddenly, the world turns white. A plastic shopping bag crinkles loudly around my head. My shorts and panties slide down my thighs, I step out of one side, leaving the other side to pool around my foot. His feet nudge my legs outward. I spread for him. My shirt lifts over my tits, he squeezes them hard after he exposes them.  Continue reading

I love it when you masturbate.

I ask if I can watch and you blush and shyly say yes. You still aren’t used to someone who doesn’t get mad when you touch yourself. You search for porn on the laptop, turn it on and look at me one more time to make sure I’m really not mad. I smile and tell you how beautiful you are, sitting there with your cock in your hand.

You turn your face to watch the screen, but you leave your body in profile for me. Leaning back in your chair, you relax, cupping your balls, the first tentative strokes increase. Images flash on your laptop screen: cocks of all sizes, pink pussies, gaping assholes, boys fucking boys, girls fucking boys with fists and strap-ons. The people in the videos moan and yell, slap and fuck. The sound of your breath quickens, your ancient office chair creaks, the lube on your cock is wet and thick.

I’m hypnotized by your hands. I follow each practiced stroke up and down your shaft. I love the contrast of your strong hands against the smooth pink of your cock. You glance at me to see if I’m still watching from across the room. Sometimes I touch myself too, but I prefer to watch you, losing yourself deeper and deeper in pleasure. Continue reading

I can’t move my upper arms.

Nick has bound them tightly to my sides with a long sheet of plastic wrap. My breasts are squashed flat against my chest. I try to inhale deeply, the plastic tightens and prevents me from moving. He winds the plastic around and around, then tears it along the edge of the box.

Nick is taking an unusual delight in restraining me. He doesn’t understand why someone would want to be tied up, but he does it anyway, for me. His eyes are distant, I can see him thinking of possibilities. He tells me to get on my knees. Nick wraps the plastic around my wrists, fastening them to my thighs. I’m left unable to move my arms or hands, save for my fingertips.  Continue reading

“Is there anything else you’d like?” Nick asks.

He’s totally spent. I know because I’ve drained him of every last drop. I’ve come too, more than once, but there is one more thing…

“Tie me up,” I say. “Tie me up and leave me.”

“Leave you?” He pauses, confused.  “Not fuck you more, just leave you?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Tie me up, go shower, smoke, read a bit, whatever you like. I’ll be fine.”

I know he doesn’t understand. Even having his hands tied makes him uncomfortable and not in a sexy submissive way. He can’t go there, it has no sexual connection for him at all.

“If that’s what you want,” he says finally.

Nick starts by looping the rope around my hands. That’s the minimum amount of bondage I need, the trigger that quiets my busy buzzing brain, the signal that nothing is in my control anymore. He winds the rope down my arms, binding them to my chest. The rope trails between my legs, tightens at the crotch, crosses over my thighs and ankles. With a sly grin, he loops it once around each big toe and fastens them together. He kisses each toe, then silently leaves the room.  Continue reading

“Wanna?” I ask Will.

He shrugs, eyes still focused on the computer screen. If I want to get laid, I’m going to have to work for it.

I leave Will gazing at his laptop and head for the bedroom. Opening the dresser, I dig out a pair of black fishnets. I pull them on, ripping the crotch wide open. I rifle through the closet, looking for the tiny black skirt I know he likes.

“Are you looking for something sexy to put on?” he calls out hopefully from the next room.

“Maybe,” I answer.

I search the closet for the black skirt another moment, then give up. Instead I find a silky black slip from the dresser that I’d forgotten about. I squeeze into a black lace bra that threatens to heave my tits overboard. My hair, released from its bun, falls in soft black waves against my shoulders. I feel like a pin-up model, maybe one of the Vargas girls. This will certainly do. Continue reading


[Daisy’s note: Changing things up a bit with this post…It’s my first attempt at writing erotic fiction, it’s also much, much longer than my usual stories. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.]

You wouldn’t think it possible to fall in love with a freckle. But there it is, the tiniest of brown marks, an uncharted island on the map of her mouth. It’s nearly invisible, but not to one who’s spent months searching for it.

The arrangement is peculiar, even by my standards, but it affords me my lifestyle. I haven’t another care in the world besides what shoes I should purchase next. Only extremes will satisfy me anymore, and this arrangement takes care of that financially and sexually. I’ve moved beyond  the desire for a constant physical companion, this arrangement meets all those needs.

Four or five times a week, by a pre-agreed schedule, I arrive after dark. It’s a non-descript, gray building, identical to the others in the small industrial park. The name of the business is so generic, it’s nearly impossible to Google, other than to pull up a map. I simply call it The Company.  The casual person would have no cause to bother, however. In directories it’s listed as a supplier to other companies.

The few casual acquaintances I permit myself merely think I simply work third shift in some mundane job, that perhaps my money is the result of smart investments or an inheritance. I plant the seed, and let it grow in their imaginations. I don’t bother to correct them, I live in their assumptions. My world is relatively uncomplicated and I like it that way. Continue reading

“I’ve been fisted once,” I say, “accidentally.”

“Accidentally?” Jay cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

“Boyfriend from a long time ago,” I explain. “He was fingering me and kept adding fingers until…whoops! I don’t know who was more surprised. Anyway, it frightened us both and kinda killed the mood. We didn’t know it was a ‘thing.’ We thought we did something wrong.”

“Let me fist you,” Jay says, “the right way.”

I’m feeling adventurous and horny, so I agree. Jay lubes up, completely coating his hand up to his wrist. His hand suddenly looks enormous. “Just two fingers for now,” Jay says. I’m surprised to find that I’m tense. Usually two fingers are no problem, but he has to work them in. I adjust the pillow behind my head. I can’t seem to get comfortable,  my neck aches with tension.

“Have I ever hurt you?” Jay asks. I tell him no, of course not. “Relax and trust me then,” he replies, “this will really be okay.” I feel a third finger slide in, I start to breathe deep to relax. I stop fighting it, I try to let my mind drift. I start thinking about being tied up and fucked, pretending his fingers are a giant cock…I squirt a little– now I’m definitely relaxed. Continue reading

“Oh shit, stop! Stop!” I say to Mister.

“I think I just peed a little. Fuck.”  Horrified, I start peeling the blankets off the bed.

“That wasn’t pee, you just squirted a little, that’s all,” Mister laughs, moving out of my way.

“Yeah,” I grumble, stripping the bed. “I squirted piss all over the clean sheets.”

Mister sits down at his laptop, then motions me to come over. He plays a video clip of a woman squirting fluid into a forceful high arc. “Look, I can make you do that,” he says confidently. “It’s so fucking hot when a chick squirts. I think you’d love it.” We watch several more videos purely for scientific research before I agree to let him try it on me.

I cover the bed with a beach towel as a precaution. Mister sits on the bed and pushes my knees apart. “If it feels like you need to pee, just go with it,” he tells me. Without warning, he slaps my pussy hard with his open hand. It startles me, but I like it. My pussy instantly feels warm and tingly. Continue reading

“I want you to try this only if you want to,” says Jay tenderly. “Don’t do it for me.”

Even though I’ve been fucking for years, I’m new to my sexuality. Like a child discovering candy, I want to sample each sweet tidbit offered to me.  Jay has been patient with me as I explore, showing me how to embrace my deeper self without the fear and shame that’s been holding me back for so long. Jay had approached this new question gently, knowing about my abusive past. It took me a few months to think about it, but now I feel ready.

He opens a drawer to reveal a small ornate knife with a twisty silver blade. “It’s pretty,” I say as he hands it to me to inspect. “It’s custom made, I only ever use it for this purpose,” he explains. The knife is heavy and sharp, it’s no toy. My stomach knots. He won’t hurt me on purpose, I know that. I have to know that and believe it.  “Are you sure you want this?” he asks. I pause, then nod. Continue reading