“Ow,” Theo says over his shoulder. “I don’t think I like this.”

I ease the speculum out of his ass. “Well,” he says, flipping over on his back, “that was disappointing.” I sigh. We’ve been really looking forward to playing with our newest toy. Theo is an ass whore. He’s let me fist him, lick him, even stick my foot in there, but not without lots of preparation. I was hoping the speculum would let us skip over a few steps. “Did it hurt?” I ask. “Just a little,” he says. “You’re hands aren’t very steady, it was too pinchy.”

I look at the device as I wash it off, cranking it open to it’s full width. I love ass play, although it takes me forever to even work in a little butt plug. I’m intrigued, even through it looks more than a little intimidating.  “Would you like to try it on me?” I ask Theo shyly. “Really?” he smiles, “Okay!”

As I get on my knees, he hands me the vibrator. “A little something to take your mind off things,” he says. I click the vibe on and press it to my clit. “Stay very still,” he instructs. I smell the warm plasticky scent of  the lube as he scoops it out of the little tub. He rubs a cold glob over my asshole, which makes me jump a little.  Continue reading

I tell Theo if he wants me to fuck his ass, he needs to suck my cock first.

He obediently crawls across the bed, looking at me like a tiger ready to pounce on fresh meat. I brush the mass of curls away from his eyes, pushing his head towards the big red dildo protruding from my pussy. Eagerly, he licks the tip, then takes the whole cock into his mouth. I gasp, I can feel the end inside me pushing against all the right places. I tell him he might suck dick better than I do. Theo laughs and says he’s had a lot of practice, which sends an electric surge straight to my pussy.

Idly, I watch him blow me for a while, then I ask if there’s any foreplay he wants. Theo tells me he would love it if I lick his ass. I’ve never done that before, it’s one of the rare things that I consider taboo. I hesitate, but his excitement overrides my apprehension. We showered together right before we came into the bedroom, so I know he’s clean. I tell him maybe, but  I want to scope it out a bit first. Theo gets on his knees, resting his head against a stack of pillows. I spread his ass cheeks and sniff, trying not to giggle. I kiss his balls, his buttocks, working into the idea. I moisten a finger tip and rub the pink creases surrounding his anus. Theo shudders with pleasure. I tentatively give his ass a flick with my tongue. So far, so good. Continue reading

I hate Paul and he hates me.

It’s no secret, our mutual loathing. Friends make sure to not invite us to the same events or we’ll ruin the evening. We trash talk each other every single chance we get. He’s a complete fucking asshole. I’m a stupid cocksucking bitch. I’m not sure how we started to fuck in secret.

It always goes the same way. The phone will ring, Paul will ask if I busy. I always tell him yes, fuck off. About fifteen minutes later, he’ll walk in without knocking. I ignore him, I’ve got better things to do. He leers at me, then after awhile, he rolls a joint. We smoke, then head upstairs.

I’ll allow him rub my feet for a long time, letting the high settle in. Paul is the only person I let touch my feet. He’s an expert, it never tickles. Sometimes I’ll let him lick my toes, but usually not. When he finally undresses, I never fail to point out how small his pathetic cock is. He tells me my tits are too little, my ass too big.

We fuck hard, until we’re out of breath, until we’re panting and sweaty. We fuck until he goes limp, until I’m loose and sopping wet. We slap, we bite, we bruise, we spit. We pause only for cigarette breaks. Then we fuck some more.

Stoned, hungry and thirsty, I wrap in a towel. I toss Paul my pink floral bathrobe.  We lean against the sink, eating ice cream out of the container, kissing, smoking cigarettes. A key fumbles in the lock, the back door opens. My roommate stares, open mouthed, at the two of us standing there. We’re still flushed and sticky, the kitchen smells like sex. “This doesn’t change anything,” Paul says, “I still hate the rotten bitch.”

“Bring the mirror over here,”

I say, “I want to see too.” Mister props the full length mirror sideways against the dresser. “That’s so fucking hot,” he says, “I like that you want to see yourself.”  I’m on my stomach, my hands attached to my ankles by a series of thin metal cables and carabiners. My head and feet are lifted, I can’t quite put either down. Mister fastens a leather collar around my neck and attaches that to the cable joining my hands. I test the limits, moving my head forward. The collar cuts into my neck, I choke a little and ease back.

Mister strokes my face, then slaps me hard. I hear him behind me, rifling through his bag of tricks. Something clatters, something else briskly snaps open and shut. I try to look in the mirror, but he’s just out of view. “You’ve been a bad little slut,” Mister hisses as he tightens the nipple clamps. He forces my mouth open with two fingers, then tells me to bite on the chain that attaches the clamps. Continue reading

This is my first time with a girl.

Stephanie’s pussy reeks. I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep this up much longer.  I’m licking her through wads of black pubic hair with the very tip of my tongue, trying to stay back. Breathing through my mouth only makes it taste stronger. It’s hard trying to be suave and butch when I’m trying not to gag.

Stephanie tries to finger me, but she’s got long sharp hot pink nails and wears lots of rings. She keeps gouging me. Every time we try to kiss we end up giggling. I’m covered in a nervous cold sweat. I’ve seen porn, this isn’t how it goes. Thankfully her baby wakes and won’t stop crying.

This is literally a fucking disaster.

There are three of us crammed into Michael’s twin bed.

Anya is on my right. We are naked, holding each other. Michael pounds into her, hard. He looks deep into my eyes while he fucks her. Her tits are creamy pale, bigger and rounder than mine. As I feel them, I think “Tits! Holy shit!”  Working in health care, I see breasts every day, but that’s clinical and this certainly is not. She kisses me so softly it’s like being kissed by sweet air.

I want to go down on her, but Michael won’t let me. He wants to save something for next time. Michael spanks my pussy, I squirt so much I soak the bed through. He tells her to try it, but she’s afraid to hit me hard enough for it to work.

Gently, he scoops Anya into his arms, cradling her, works her fast and hard with his fingers. They’ve been friends and lovers for a long time. I’ve only known Michael a couple of months, Anya a couple hours.  I love the familiar way their bodies nestle together, everything fits so easily, like lovers in a painting.  I watch them fuck for a long time. They whisper things veiled in kisses to each other so that I cannot hear.

After Anya leaves, Michael ties me to the bed. He beats me black and blue then fucks me hard. We shower together then drive to the diner for pancakes. I drink tall glasses of cold orange juice because I am dizzy and dehydrated. I keep my sunglasses on and the bruises make me feel safe and beautiful.

Daisy’s note: This post was featured on Fleshbot.com!

Mister slaps me a second time.

I’m drifting again and I don’t care. Morphine isn’t this good.

“How many left?” Mister asks. The Val-U Pak of one hundred wooden clothespins is nearly empty.

I can’t even guess. I breathe slow and deep. I feel like I’m underwater. The clothespins rattle with every movement, a domino effect ripples from my underarms to my inner thighs.  Mister flicks one dangling  from my nipple. The pain blossoms into a crisp white light behind my eyes.

“Three. Never lose count again. Count these down.”

He pinches a clothespin onto each labia. I call out numbers in a ragged gasp. The last one clamps my clitoris, sharp and definite.

“One,” we say in unison.

New Year

This is the fourth New Year’s Eve in a row that I fuck Tony.

We fuck only on New Year’s, our little secret tradition. Leaving the noise of the party behind, we slip off to a makeshift bathroom in someone’s basement. I balance on the toilet seat that rests on the sloshing bucket, my little red lycra dress snags on the dirt wall.

Tony’s leg tangles in the old brown shower curtain that serves as a door, it moves back and forth revealing us with every thrust. The room smells like warm piss and we smell like cheap beer. I wrap my legs around him, knocking down the sign that says “Don’t shit in the bucket, go upstairs.”