No Underwear Monday

Why do Mondays have to be so bad? Is there any real reason other than the fact that it is no longer the weekend? Fuck that. It’s time we got more aggressive with Mondays.

Today is No Underwear day. If you’re wearing underwear, take them off right now! Seriously, they’re a deadly killer of fun. Take them off and keep them off. Let your genitals run free! Let your private area know they are one pants removal away from sexy fun!

Say NO to underwear today.

Just watch that zipper, okay?

Why The Hell Not? Part Two

So my wife, my ex-sub, her husband and I go to a BDSM play party. Despite the weirdness of that dynamic, you’d be surprised how well we get along. Let me say right now that I love my ex-sub’s husband because he’s like the laid back cooler older brother I never had. He’s generous, friendly and twice as big a smart ass that I am. The four us spend ten minutes sarcastically debating whether to walk the one residential block to the party. We end up walking because we’re all fit people.

That mother fucking block was up a Georgia hill which is to say it was straight up. Fuck, no one mentioned that when we were cracking jokes.

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Anyway we get there and somehow don’t have heart attacks. We are greeted at the door by a half naked guy wearing a collar. He’s got glasses and pierced nipples. He’s a small man and I can picture him doing taxes or calmly explaining that you will never see your luggage again at claims counter. He’s very uptight and that’s good, because it puts us into a proper frame of mind.

Then he started to speak.

He handed me, not the others, just me, a piece of paper explaining the Rules of the House. It’s the rules that the holders of the party wrote down partially to legally cover their ass and partially so that everyone gets the point that they don’t want you using the good ottoman for blood play. I’ve seen a dozen of these kinds of things and I take them very seriously.

Except tonight I am a bit more flippant. I’m a speed reader and I read the 10 or so rules in about as many seconds. The rules are on the extraordinary side so I am feeling safe about not breaking any of them. There’s no smoke detectors in the basement so okay, I won’t be setting people on fire. Wipe the bench down if anyone pisses on them, all right, not going to be a problem.

I’m reading it and naked collar guy is frowning at me. I am not taking this seriously enough for him. I am not concerned and I can tell it is making him anxious. And when I take the pen and accidentally write down tomorrow’s date in the signing section, he looks at me with a look of pure disapproval and almost scorn. All I can do is smile at this guy and know I will be adding him in bits and pieces to my stories for the next year.

This guy doesn’t own the house. He’s just the Greeter tonight. He shows us the kitchen and let me tell you something about the South. You will not go fucking hungry at a party in the South. Laid out on a table was food, not party food, but real fill your stomach food. There was a casserole, four boxes of pizza, two brownie trays, a freaking Bundt cake and much much more. I could have had dinner and breakfast there.

He shows us the rest of the house and makes a damn good argument for never having children. The owners of the house are childless, and they converted every room except the living room and kitchen into a play area. Beds with straps fill the two guest rooms upstairs and down in the dungeon are full blown candle lit rooms crammed with dungeon equipment and paddles. Holy fuck. It wasn’t a house, it was a giant play space with living quarters attached.

One of the things I enjoyed about the night was there was an equal level abuse between the genders. Male and female subs were spanked, bound and enjoyed. At some parties one gender of dominants will be more numerous and it gives it an identity that is hard to shake. Having a man and a woman spanked in the same room really gave a balanced sense of perversity to the play.

One thing I had forgotten was that showing up without a play partner of my own can just be painful. I’m watching all this playing going on and I can either sit and fill the role of audience, or I can go upstairs to chat with the couples that are taking a break and discuss BDSM. Either way I feel almost impotent. There’s a perfectly good bench with shackles just sitting there and I could put it to so much use if only I had someone to strap down.

So I spent most of the night chatting. You’d be amazed at how wide the subjects go. One minute we’re trading cat stories and the next minute someone is describing the Ren Fair’s after hours kinky parties. Now when the talk is kinky, I’m good. When it swings back around to daycare issues for kids, I am ready to go back downstairs and hurt something except well I have nothing to hurt.

During the whole time, I am sitting in a chair across from a submissive in a very short skirt who keeps flashing me her purple lace panties. Purple. Now people are walking around in various states of undress. You develop a casual attitude of how to act in front of nudity but I can’t think of how to act in the face of flashing. Will her monster of a boyfriend kill me if he sees me looking up her skirt? Is it rude to know that her panties are lacy and do nothing to hide the dark patch of pubic hair she has? It’s such a moral dilemma.

This is what I think about when the conversation swings around to medical histories.

My wife told the story of how she promoted herself at work. It was neat to see other people look at her and treat her like the unyielding dominant person I know she is. Of course she promoted herself, it seems terribly natural to these people that my wife, whom they just met, would promote herself. She just has that much presence.

The highlight of the night was watching Shibari guy make a harness in under a minute for his sub. I’m still struggling to learn knots and it was so encouraging to see him using the same knots I use, just a whole fucking lot more of them. He made it look easy and you know, it kind of is. It’s just going to take a shit load of practice.

We stayed till around 2 in the morning. It was really refreshing. Sitting with people that share your hobby gets you out of your own head. Watching a woman kneel before her dom and rest her head on his lap reminds me what I am striving for. Hearing a woman scream as the flogger strikes her breast just reassured me that not only do I want that, I deserve that.

The four of us left and walked down hill. My ex-sub couldn’t make it and I stopped her and took her high heels. She had a much easier time and looked at me a little oddly. I don’t think we could ever get back together, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get back together, but looking out for her felt good. I miss that.

Even though it was late, we spent another hour at their house gossiping about the people we met tonight. I made everyone laugh so hard that they couldn’t breathe when I discussed how nervous Paperwork Guy was.

It was a pretty good night.

Why The Hell Not?

My ex-submissive called me up at the last minute to invite me to a BDSM play party her and her husband are going to. It’s tonight and me and the wife has spent all day shopping and getting lost in Atlanta. We’re a little tired and a little surprised but as the wife said, ‘Why the Hell not?’

That’s our motto, ‘Why the Hell not?’

So the wife is in the shower and I’m just processing. It’s been almost a year since I’ve been in a public BDSM setting and I’m a smidge nervous. It’s been over a year since I’ve been with my ex in a BDSM setting and I’m finding myself unsure of what that is going to be like. It does amuse me that my ex is inviting me to a BDSM party because it just proves the idea I’ve had lately that every female sees me more as a friend than anything else. Not that this is a bad thing, but it’s messing with my head.

The best part about the party is the moments before you get there. The imagination takes over and floods you with impossible situations. I can imagine sexy intelligent women recognizing some witty thing I say and asking if I am THAT Shon that they masturbate to online. I can picture that there will be a beautiful busty black woman who just has to throw herself before me. I can picture that the Devil will appear and bet my soul against his Paddle of Gold that he can whip ass better than me. And I win.

Why the Hell not?

Then once we get there, events and characters will appear that I will never have thought of. Every time I go to a BDSM party, I walk away a little shocked, a little intrigued and very horny. I can never predict these things and that’s what makes them so much fun.

I’ll let you know tomorrow how it goes. Well, as much as I am allowed.

Fiction: Thank You Note

Dear Jenny’s Boyfriend,

You don’t know me but I know Jenny. I know every inch of Jenny. From her lovely heavy breasts to that scar she has on her left buttock, I know it all. I just wanted to drop you a note thanking you for the way you treat Jenny.

Me and my exhausted cock want to thank you for your lack of attention to Jenny’s orgasms. The fact that you still think five minutes of fucking is enough to get her off is what drove her to look for someone like me in the first place.

Thank you for nagging her about the laundry while you never do the yard work. That stupid little inequality never fails to get her talking dirty on my phone.

Thank you for refusing to pay for that bed and breakfast weekend she wanted but then turned around and bought three new video games. That is when she sent agreed to pose nude for me and my camera.

Thank you for making those snide comments any time a bondage scene appears in a movie. Your snickering teenage attitude is why she has never brought up bondage to you and why she is on her knees sucking my cock, not yours.

Thank you for never asking why she spends so much time online. We seem to have the best cyber when you’re in the house.

Thank you for being such a dick about Jenny’s mother visiting. No, really. The extra stress you caused Jenny by being so passive aggressive made her so upset, only fucking her ass for the first time could calm her down.

Thank you for your regular noticing of all of Jenny’s faults and never her good points. You make me come across like a saint compared to you and the wonderful sexy things Jenny does to show her appreciation have been amazing.

I don’t know why you don’t appreciate Jenny. I only know her side of the story. Maybe you’re an alright guy. Maybe you don’t even know what you are doing to her. Just because you kiss her every morning and grope her tits from time to time doesn’t mean you’re free from romancing her. On the other hand, maybe you got tired of her worship.

That’s okay. I am happy to be her object of worship now.

Thank you,
The Guy Who Fucks Jenny Now.

Half Nekked Thursday Spanking On The Cheap

Paddles can be expensive. Prices usually start around 20$ and just go up. It's amazing to me what BDSM suppliers expect the average person to pay for equipment.

Presented here is a pizza shovel I bought for two bucks at a grocery store. It is AWESOME. It's got the right weight, the right surface area and it hurts like a damn father-fucker.

Two bucks.

There's a lesson there.

FYI: Comments

This past week I have not been responding to comments with my usual regularity. Part of it has been due to my screwed up sleep the last five days and part of it has been a busier than usual workload. I see the comments and I love them, but my head is so fuzzy I say to myself "hey, I'll answer them after X" and then I get busier and further behind. I also haven't been to my favorite blogs this week so if anyone passes away, please send me a e-mail first.

So if I have not answered you about clothes shrinking, or how I feel as a dom, or working at the office, please know that I adore your comments and thank you. I read them all and your kind words get me through my sleep deprived days.

What I love about blogging is the two-way communication and I swear that will resume shortly.

Fiction: Cell Phone Slave Part Fourteen

The sound of the tailgate party was as formidable as a wall. Amaya stepped off the bus and was physically affected by how loud it was. Conflicting music played from different cars, each trying to drown out the others. People didn’t talk, they yelled, often punctuating their sentences with screams of team pride. Adding to the confusion was the roar of cars coming into the parking lot. The cars stretched as far as Amaya could see, and she wondered what the big fucking deal was anyway.

The parking lot was some sort of college Sodom and Gomorrah. It wasn’t quite eight in the morning, and people were already drinking. Cars and trucks crowded against one another, and everyone appeared to have a grill cooking. The scents of beer, sweat and charcoal washed over and overwhelmed her. The weather was brisk, but women were wearing bikinis, and men were going shirtless. How could people be in such a party mood so early in the morning?

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Amaya walked around and felt terribly overdressed. Wesley hadn’t specified any clothes so she’d dressed sensibly. A good pair of jeans and a white sweater clung to her in favorable ways, but more important, she felt snug and warm. The only overtly sexy things about her clothing were the black thong and matching lace bra she was wearing underneath.

The only request Wesley had made was for her to have a ponytail. Amaya had carefully gathered her hair back so it was perfectly smooth, and she kept redoing the ponytail any time a strand of hair escaped.

The cell phone rang, and Amaya smiled. The tailgate party might be insane, but she felt safe knowing Wesley had something planned for her. Even after all these months alone, she still trusted him.

“Hello, Amaya. It’s quite the large mess, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered. A thrill ran through her. Was he watching her from somewhere in the crowd?

“I want you to walk toward the center of the parked cars, near the light pole that has the letter J on it.”

A brief walk later, she was there. “Now, look for a red van. It should be between a blue pickup truck and a white SUV.”

“I see it,” Amaya said. It was an older van, the kind with no windows on the sides or back. Growing up, her parents had warned her that those were the kinds of vans kidnappers drove. Once inside, no one could see what you were doing.

She clenched unconsciously.

“Go to the side of the van and get in,” Wesley said.

On either side of the van were guys cooking on grills, but there was no one attending to the van. Amaya had to force herself to walk and not run. She had an overwhelming feeling that Wesley was inside waiting for her. The guys by the SUV looked at her oddly when she walked up to the van, but she ignored them. She opened the side door and quickly climbed in, slamming the door behind her.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She sighed when she saw that there was no one inside. The back of the van had no seats, just a large cargo space. There was carpet on the floor and a small toolbox in the corner, but other than that it was empty.

“I’m in the van,” Amaya reported.

“Good. Strip and pile your clothes by the toolbox.”

Amaya swallowed. God, she hoped he wasn’t about to send her out streaking in the parking lot! She kicked off her shoes and peeled off her socks. It was chilly in the van, and she was loathe to take off her sweater but she did. Her jeans were next, followed by her bra and finally her thong. The cold made her nipples hard, but it was excitement that made her pussy wet. What did he have in store for her today?

She put her clothes by the toolbox and noticed something black was wound around the handle. It was a large blindfold. Her heart raced just looking at it.

“I’m done,” she said.

“Excellent. Do you see the blindfold?”

“Yes,” Amaya whispered.

“Pick it up, and listen carefully. When I hang up, you will do the following. You will put the phone on the toolbox and then you will get down on all fours. Next, you will crawl to the center of the van facing the back. You will put on the blindfold, and you will not take it off until you hear the phone ring. Understand?”

Oh, God. “Yes,” she said.

Wesley didn’t respond. He just hung up without another word. Well, she knew what to do. Amaya put down the phone and picked up the blindfold. She took off her glasses and put them safely on top of her clothes. She then got down on her hands and knees and crawled into position. The floor was cold, but she couldn’t figure out if she was shaking because of the cold or her arousal. The blindfold fit tightly over her eyes and she put the strap underneath her ponytail.

The sounds of the party outside continued. Music played as Amaya shivered in the cold van. Her imagination raced with scenarios. If someone opens the side door, she would be exposed to anyone who happened to look in. They would see her ass in the air and her heavy breasts dangling from her chest. The thought made her tremble, and several times, she considered retreating to the back of the van. Instead, she held her ground, keeping her position and waiting for what would come.

She heard the van door open and felt the vehicle shift as someone climbed in. The party sounds washed over her, and Amaya tensed as she imagined the entire parking lot seeing her naked body. The door slammed and she relaxed only a little. There was someone in the van with her. Was it Wesley or maybe someone from the fraternity? What would they do with her?

The toolbox opened with a squeak. Amaya held her breath as items were shifted around and someone grunted. The carpet muffled the sounds of footsteps, and Amaya gasped when she suddenly felt a hand on her breast. She sighed as the fingers teased her nipple, rubbing and twisting the sensitive nub.

Halfway through one of her moans, something metallic cinched around her nipple. She cried out and then stopped as she realized the people outside might hear her. A second piece of metal bit into her other nipple, and Amaya just groaned. Whatever was biting into her tits hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. She bit her lip and prepared for what might happen next.

A hand touched her ass, and she had flashbacks to the last time she blindfolded herself. She had been spanked, perhaps by Wesley himself, and it had started like this. The hand cupped her buttocks, sliding over her ass and down to her thighs. A pinch here, a grope there, and the hand moved back over her ass as if trying to warm her in the cold.

The hand moved away, and Amaya stayed still. She knew what was coming. A whistling sound was the only warning before a large paddle smacked against her ass. She bit her lip to keep from crying out although her ass felt as if it had been lit on fire. Knowing it was going to happen didn’t lessen the pain any.

The unknown person grabbed her ponytail and tugged it tight. Her head was pulled back tightly and then the paddle landed on her ass again. The force of the blow made her breasts jiggle, agitating whatever cruel devices were on her nipples. Amaya whimpered and then cried out as another blow and then another landed on her ass.

She stayed on her hands and knees as the paddle relentlessly landed on her ass. The sounds of the paddle meeting her bottom echoed and reverberated in the tight van. The spankings would go from slow to so fast that she almost couldn’t stand it back down to slow again. The man hit every inch of her ass, swinging upwards to catch the bottom of her ass and spanking downwards to cover the top. Sometimes, Amaya’s knees would buckle, but the man would just tighten his grip in her hair and pull till she got back in place.

How long it went on, Amaya couldn’t say. Slow and fast, slow and fast the paddling would cycle. Her ass burned as each blow multiplied the heat that built on her skin. The grip on her hair bent her neck like a bow being drawn, never relaxing, always tightening. The metal biting of her nipples was just a minor distraction compared to the unbelievable pain of her poor ass.

When the paddling stopped, she almost didn’t notice. She couldn’t feel anything except the inferno on her bottom. Her ass throbbed. Her ponytail was released, and her head hung down with relief. A tremor ran through her arms, and Amaya feared she might collapse. The only thing that kept her up was the fear of moving. If she moved, her ass might hurt even more.

Something new hit her ass, and this time, Amaya screamed. It was much smaller, the shape of a wooden spoon ,but it hurt far worse. The area struck was smaller, but the force was the same, concentrating all the pain in a tighter area. When the second blow landed, Amaya jumped and squirmed, moving her ass back and forth as if she could shake the pain off.

This was not to be tolerated. Her hair was yanked back again, and her ass was struck once more with the spoon. The pain was too much. She let out a loud shriek, not caring who heard it out in the parking lot.

Her ponytail was released, and she was grateful for that small mercy. She heard the man move open the toolbox again, and she prayed that he was getting something gentler. The toolbox lid closed, and she heard a strange ripping sound. She felt the man brush by her as he moved in front of her. A finger lifted her face, and she expected a kiss. Instead, she felt cold duct tape stretch over her mouth.

She moaned as her head was pulled back again. The spoon smacked into her ass, and the tape muffled her scream. God, it hurt, but the unknown man didn’t seem to care. He covered her with new welts as Amaya screamed uselessly into her gag.

As the pain escalated, she clenched her eyes and hoped for it to be over. She considered covering herself or whipping off the blindfold and demanding that it stop but she couldn’t do it. After three months of being neglected, she was finally playing Wesley’s games again. It was impossible to even think about stopping them. She hadn’t suffered being alone to quit now.

Even these thoughts melted away as the spanking continued. The pain crowded out everything. At some point, Amaya started to cry, and the tears flowed like rivers once they started. The thin slices of pain that the spoon created chopped away at her fears, her insecurities and her anger at Wesley. All she could think of was her ass. She stopped thinking and lost herself in the sensations. It was as though she was entering a trance where she became nothing more than a spanked ass, a pulled ponytail and two bitten nipples.

The paddling stopped, but Amaya kept crying. It hurt so much but yet the overwhelming sensation was so good. She didn’t even notice the man’s hands reaching under to her nipples until the metal devices were released. New pain sparked through her as the blood rushed back into her nipples. She sobbed under the duct tape, and for one brief second, the pain of her ass was secondary to the pain in her sensitive tits.

She heard the toolbox close and then the door opened and slammed shut. The van shifted as the person left, and she was alone again. She was in a state of shock as well as in pain from the spanking. What had that been all about? Was it a test or was Wesley upset with her? Had she done something to deserve that? Or was this just something he enjoyed doing?

The van didn’t feel so cold anymore. She had the unbearable heat on her ass to keep her warm. Her scalp burned too from all the tugging on her ponytail. She wondered if it was still as immaculate as it was this morning. As much as she tried to obsess about her hair, it didn’t distract her from the simmering heat that was burning her bottom.

Amaya expected the phone to ring, but it didn’t. The party continued outside. If anything, it was louder. Her knees hurt from holding this position, but she stayed where she was. It was entirely possible she was being watched somehow, and after that spanking, the last thing she wanted was to do anything that might merit another.

Her ass still burned when the van door slid open again. Amaya had a brief vision of herself kneeling with her welt-covered ass exposed to the entire tailgate party. A blast of cold air from outside soothed her sore bottom before the van door closed again. From the way the van moved, Amaya realized someone had climbed in. Oh God, was it for another spanking?

She sighed in relief as she heard the sound of a zipper. Yes! Just fuck her! Amaya could handle that. Her heart raced as she heard the sound of pants being removed. She clenched in anticipation. After months of being ignored, she was finally going to get fucked! She almost purred in anticipation.

A hand gripped her waist, and she panicked. Oh Lord, please don’t touch her ass! She felt a cock between her thighs and opened her legs in relief. The man laughed with a younger voice that didn’t sound like Wesley at all. The panic returned, but her pussy was soon filled with cock. She groaned as she was filled, but her groan turned into a whimper as his thighs came in contact with her ass.

He fucked her fast, slamming her sex and constantly tapping against her sore backside. Her welts flared with new pain at being touched, but whoever was fucking her needed it too badly to slow down.

All she could do was take his cock. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed this, too, until he really started to pump. It was amazing to be fucked again, and to be blindfolded, gagged and spanked only heightened the sensations. Her body was begging to be used, and she was just starting to understand how good that could feel.

The man rode her hard and furiously. Amaya could hear the van squeak and shake as he fucked her. She knew that people outside would know they were fucking. As much as it embarrassed her, it turned her on more. Fuck those people. She was inside, and they were safely outside. She was too exhausted and turned on to be ashamed anymore.

Her orgasm built slowly, constantly hampered by the fresh pain of having her ass slapped. It was frustrating and seductive at the same time. For every step she came closer to climaxing, a hand on her bottom or the feeling of thighs against her welts would take her a step back. She felt like she was caught in a perpetual loop, dangling between a climax and the tender pain of her spanking.

The man had no such problem. He shuddered and froze as he ejaculated. The hot seed filled her but left her aching for more. She whimpered in frustration. She clenched hard around his cock as if to will him to make her climax. Instead, he just groaned and pulled out of her altogether. The sudden loss of his cock left her empty and devastated. She was so damn close!

She heard the man put his pants back on, and she couldn’t believe he was just leaving. Shameless and just wanting to climax, she wiggled her hips, hoping to lure him back. The man ignored her, and she soon heard the sound of the van door opening. The cold air rushed back in, but it didn’t chill the wet heat in her sex. When the van door slammed shut, she growled in frustration and clutched at the carpet like an angry cat.

Masturbation tempted her. All it would take would be two quick thrusts with her fingers, and she could come. Wesley hadn’t forbidden her to masturbate, but he hadn’t exactly told her to, either. Amaya whimpered. The desire between her legs was so powerful, but she wouldn’t risk his displeasure. She stayed in her position and tried to think of cold showers.

In darkness, she waited. Her knees became sore and her arms were tired, but she kept her position. The music outside helped distract her, but nothing could help the ache of her sex. Several times, she almost masturbated. In the end, it was only the fear that she was being watched that kept her hands planted on the van floor.

When the van door opened, she let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t care anymore what people might see. The need to be fucked overrode any fears she had left. The van shifted as someone climbed in, and then it shifted again as a second person climbed on board.

Her heart pounded as the guys walked around her. She could smell cologne and beer. Someone grabbed her hair and pulled her to make her sit up. She groaned under the gag as she was forced to sit on her knees. Her ass was still sore from the spanking and sitting on her ankles only inflamed her bottom. The sounds of zippers excited her, but sitting as she was, she wondered how the hell they were going to fuck her.

A hand grabbed the duct tape on her mouth and pulled it off quickly. She screamed at the stinging pain, but the sound was choked off as something hard and long was thrust into her mouth. It didn’t take Amaya long to realize that it was a cock.

She sucked it like she had never sucked before. She threw all her effort into it. Her mouth sealed over his cock, and her tongue licked every inch with adoration. It could have been Wesley, it could have been a fraternity brother, or it could have been a total stranger. She didn’t care. She just wanted to worship and suck this cock to show her appreciation.

While one guy used her mouth, the other guy played with her breasts. Her tender nipples were avoided as the rest of her breasts were teased. Little pinches covered her breasts; he squeezed every part of her heavy tits. Her moans excited the man in her mouth, and his hands tightened in her hair. Amaya felt his balls slapping against her chin, and her ignored pussy clenched endlessly.

The cock left her mouth, and her head was pulled towards another cock. This one was much larger, and she groaned as the man pushed every inch into her. He took his time until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. Once there, he grabbed her ears and slowly pulled her back and then again down over his cock. His cock was so large she felt like he was trying to fuck her throat.

As she struggled with the large prick between her lips, the other man played with her breasts. He was much bolder, slapping her breasts from side to side while she was sucking cock. The slaps were gentle, but each sent a jolt straight down to her pussy. His slaps gradually grew harder, banging her breasts together with each stinging blow. Despite the increasing pain, Amaya made no effort to protect her breasts. In fact, she was fascinated to see how far they would go.

They traded her mouth back and forth like a toy. The first guy would fuck her mouth with steady strokes, and the other guy would fill her mouth slowly with his girth. Her jaw grew sore. They traded off on her breasts as well, pinching, slapping and groping them endlessly. Her tits were so sensitive, that even the slightest tap caused her to squirm and gasp.

Throughout it all, Amaya kept her hands behind her back and endured everything they gave her. She wondered who they were. She suspected they were from the fraternity, but perhaps these guys were other friends of Wesley, taking their turns with his toy. In the end, it didn’t matter. It was exciting just to be used. Amaya’s pussy was clenching constantly as she surrendered to the demands of the two strangers.

The smaller cock climaxed first. The man twisted her hair as he groaned. Amaya sucked down the splash of seed. When the salty semen was all gone, she settled for flicking the tip with her tongue.

The already-wilting cock pulled out to be replaced by the other. Aroused out of her mind, Amaya sucked down hard on the long cock. Her lips vibrated around it while her tongue stroked as fast as she could. Soon, his groans filled the van and more seed filled her mouth. Amaya’s sex clenched in frustration.

He pulled out, and she heard the sounds of pants being pulled up. A gentle push sent her back down to all fours. She stayed like that and swallowed all the cum that was in her mouth. Her body was overwhelmed with sensation but also eager for so much more.

She heard the van door slide open and then close after they jumped out. She stayed in her position with a smile on her face. Her jaw was sore, her tits were so sensitive that they felt twice as large as normal, and her knees were killing her, but it didn’t matter. All she cared about was that she had proven herself to Wesley once again. That gave her such a sense of pride that she felt like she was glowing from the inside out.

She was so horny at this point that she could barely think. At the same time, she was far past wanting to masturbate. It struck her how much she had missed these games. She had missed the excitement of not knowing what was to happen next. She had forgotten how exhilarating it was to be afraid. Most of all, she forgot how good it felt to be used purely for sex. There were no expectations, no judgments and no care in the world — nothing except being fucked.

Time flew by. Distantly, she heard the roar of the stadium and the P.A. speakers introduce the teams. Despite the start of the game, the tailgate party continued. The game itself was no reason to stop the party. The music continued, and the sound of drunken laughter never ended.

She was hungry, but it was a distant thought. Her body was too horny and sore to think about eating. She was getting thirsty, though. It was just another hardship for her to endure and she treasured her discomfort as more proof of her devotion.

The van opened and she moaned. Someone climbed in and slammed the door behind him. Her hips were swaying before she even noticed. God, she was horny.

She heard a bottle being opened and then the toolbox opening. Something was poured and then the new person walked around to Amaya’s front. Her body tensed and she swallowed. Was she going to suck this person, too?

“Are you thirsty?” Wesley asked.

Amaya started shaking. It was him! She struggled to control herself, and then she remembered his question.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Dip your head down right in front of you and drink then,” he said.

She did as he commanded. At first, she went slowly, expecting a straw or something to come to her mouth. Wesley’s hand came down on the back of her head and pushed her gently down past her elbows. Her chin hit the water first, and then she realized he had put down a bowl of water for her. Just like a dog.

“Drink,” he said. When she did, he moaned. It was a quiet sound, but it was enough to make Amaya clench very hard in response.

Knowing it turned him on, she drank deeply. It was humiliating to drink like a dog, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was his pet. She knew that if he wanted to collar her and tie her to a leash in his backyard, she would do it without a second thought. Compared to that, drinking out of a bowl was nothing, really.

He pulled the bowl away. Some water was dripping from Amaya’s chin, but what could she do? She stayed where she was and let the water drip.

“I’ve received a lot of compliments about you today,” Wesley said. They say you suck cock like no one else, but then, I knew that.”

Amaya moaned. She wanted nothing more than to have his cock back in her mouth. Was he going to do anything with her or was he just going to tease her?

“I’ve also heard that you take a good spanking, but then, I knew that.”

She moaned again.

“I’ve heard you didn’t complain at all. You take and take and take are hungry for more I knew that, too.”

He moved around her and slapped her ass. Amaya jumped forward, but she retained her position. It was a light slap, but on her sensitive ass it might as well have been a hard paddle blow. She clenched her ass while the burning spread through her cheeks. Her heart raced as she wondered if she could survive another spanking.

A zipper was pulled down, and Amaya bit her lip to keep from moaning. Pants fell, and the toolbox was opened. Something slippery squeaked, and she spread her thighs in anticipation. Wesley was going to fuck her; she just knew it!

He chuckled. “I like a woman who knows when to spread them,” Wesley said. “But I think you misunderstand what I intend to do.”

She stayed quiet and soon felt his hands on her hips. His cock slid along her right buttock, and she recognized the touch of lubricant. Her cheeks were pulled apart by large hands, and she felt lubricant being placed onto her anus. He put more and more on till she felt like her ass was soaked in the slippery fluid. Then she felt the tip of his cock rub against her anus.

“Oh, God,” Amaya said before she could stop herself.

Wesley only chuckled again and then he pushed. Amaya shuddered as his cock opened her anus. He was so much bigger than that tiny toy she had played with! She groaned, stopping just short of protesting as he filled her tiny hole with his girth. Her ass was being stretched much further than she’d thought was possible, yet he just kept pushing.

When he was completely inside her, Wesley paused and grabbed her hips. Amaya could feel his cock throbbing deep within her. It was sending little shock waves through her body; from the tips of her sore nipples all the way down to her constantly clenching pussy. Wesley was finally inside her, and Amaya couldn’t think of anything else.

He pulled slowly out. She felt every inch leave her body, and she mourned for its loss. When he was nearly out, Wesley paused again. Amaya was trembling. She knew what was to come, but she was helpless to do anything. He was going to fuck her ass, and it was going to be like nothing she had ever felt before. She couldn’t wait.

She screamed as he rammed his cock back into her ass. He was fast, so much faster than she was with her little toy. Before her first scream was even out, he was pulling back out to fuck her again. She screamed again as he violated her ass, but by the sixth thrust her screams were softening into moans. It hurt to be penetrated so deeply, but it was also sending waves of pleasure through her body. Even the slapping of his balls against her sex was arousing to her to the point of near orgasm.

“Clench for me,” Wesley growled. She had never heard his voice so low and primal before. It took her a second to understand what he meant, and she groaned once she knew. Amaya clenched her ass around his thrusting cock, and fresh tears sprung from her eyes as the penetration intensified.

“Good,” he growled.

Her pussy clenched at the sound of his compliment.

He reached for her ponytail and pulled hard. She had thought that the earlier guy had pulled hard, but now she knew that he had been gentle in comparison. Wesley pulled just as hard as he fucked. It was as if he was trying to pull her harder back onto his cock. Amaya began to rise from her kneeling position, but Wesley slapped the side of her ass as soon as she started. He wanted her just like this, on all fours with her head back and her ass being pummeled.

The ass fucking continued, and Amaya lost all sense of identity or time. She doubted she could remember her own name at that point. The cock constantly rammed into her anus. The tension on her hair never relaxed or relented in its constant tug on her scalp. All the exhaustion that she was enduring was paved over by the relentless invasion of her ass. The sounds of the tailgating and the game were replaced by the sounds of her ass banging against Wesley. She stopped thinking about Wesley. She stopped thinking about herself. All she was aware of was being fucked. It must be what heaven was like.

Wesley leaned forward, bending over on top of her body. Amaya’s arms shook as the extra weight pressed down on her. The glorious fucking of her ass had stopped, although she could feel him throbbing still deep inside her.

“Fall down,” Wesley commanded, his voice still a deep growl.

She did as he commanded. Her weary arms gave out, and she collapsed face down onto the van floor. Wesley fell down right on top of her, covering her with his warm body. Hitting the floor caused the cock in her ass to jolt. When she moaned, Wesley’s mouth bit down on her shoulder, the teeth pinching a large grip of flesh. She writhed as the wonderful shudders ran through her.

He resumed fucking her ass. Amaya moaned as he drilled her into the ground. Her breasts were crushed against the harsh carpet, but she didn’t care. His hands were planted on her elbows, pinning her to the ground as he supported his weight. She couldn’t move an inch, but there was no other place she would rather be.

Trapped between the cold van floor and the heat of Wesley’s body, Amaya felt her orgasm swell. The ass fucking alternated between painful and pleasurable, but that wasn’t what was driving her sex. What was turning her on was the proximity of Wesley’s mouth, breathing hot and fast on her neck. She could hear his desire, his excitement and all of his cravings in the short desperate gasps. It was the closest she had ever come to hearing him lose control, and it was gratifying to know he was about to lose control in her.

Wesley growled and then roared as he ejaculated. Amaya groaned while this new sensation flooded her ass. It was unbearably hot but also unbelievably sexy. It triggered her own orgasm, making her thrash against the floor. Wesley stayed on top of her and bit new places on her neck and shoulders while she lost herself in her pleasure.

When they could both breathe again, Wesley pulled out of her and crawled off her body. Amaya cried out when his thick cock left her ass, but she moaned at the loss of it all the same. Every nerve in her body was exhausted, but she didn’t want it to end just yet. She had been ridden like an animal. She had been fucked harder than ever before. She had been scared, hurt and horny all at the same time. It couldn’t end now.

Amaya didn’t know what Wesley was doing, but she did remember what he had commanded all those years ago this morning. Her knees and elbows ached as she rose back to all fours. It took all her strength to support herself on her arms. She could feel Wesley’s cum shift inside her ass, and a trickle was staring to fall down her leg. Amaya concentrated on that trickle to anchor herself back to reality.

The van started, and she cried out in surprise. She said nothing, though, as the van moved and the sounds of the tailgate were left far behind. The vibrations of the van constantly shook her, hastening the dribble of cum out of her ass. Some of the turns threatened to make her lose her balance, but Amaya took it as a point of pride to stay in position. She wasn’t going to blow an awesome day like this by screwing up in the end.

Questions ran through her mind during the drive. Where was he taking her? Was he setting up her for another, even harder challenge? Perhaps he was going to drop her butt-naked on some deserted road? Or was he going to take her to another group of guys who would do whatever they wanted? The worse idea that occurred to her was that maybe he was just taking her home and that her adventure was over for the day.

The van stopped. Amaya heard the driver’s door open and close. She waited and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. This was it. What would happen now?

The phone rang. It rang a second time before she realized it was her phone. She took off her blindfold and crawled towards the ringing phone. It was much darker than before, and a quick glance out the front window told her she was in some sort of garage.

She answered the phone.

“You did very well, Amaya,” Wesley said.

“Thank you,” she said. Those two words couldn’t begin to express how much his approval meant to her.

“You have a choice today,” he said. “Your first option is to put your clothes back on, get out of the van and go to the street. You can wait there while I call a cab for you to take you back to your dorm.”

Amaya whimpered and said nothing.

“Or you can get out of the van, as naked as you are right now. You will walk to the door that connects to my house. You will walk in and come to the sound of my voice. You will do this if you desire to live with me.”

She couldn’t say anything at first. It was as if the wind had been stolen from her. Luckily, Wesley kept talking.

“You have to understand that if you join me, I still expect you to go to school. Everyone needs an education. However, every waking moment of your free time is mine. You will wear what I tell you to wear, endure what I tell you to suffer and fuck whomever I command you to fuck.

“You’ve graduated, Amaya, the first out of dozens of girls to come this far. Thousands of dollars I have spent on so many girls, but you are the only one that I find worthy of owning. All the college connections I have made, all of the arrangements I have made, have come to this. I have nothing left to test you with. If you want to be mine, then come to me.”

He hung up.

She put down the phone and sat there in the van. This was it. There could be no turning back now. Wesley wanted her, and if his tests were any indication, living with him would be a constant trial of her limits. She also remembered the test of neglect and how it was very possible that she would go through weeks of being ignored. What would it be like to be fucked by him and then put aside again? Could she endure that?

She also thought about all the arrangements he hadn’t even mentioned. What was she expected to tell her parents? Would Wesley give her a room to live in, or was she going to be chained to his bed all night? For that matter, was he even single? What if he were married? There was so much they hadn’t talked about and yet she was expected to make a life-changing decision right here in the van.

Amaya stood up. She reached for her glasses and put them on. Her knees had rug burns, but she ignored them. It took her a couple of deep breaths to come to a decision. In the end, she realized what she was doing. She was stalling.

She thought about how much she had changed. She couldn’t go back to being a normal girl. She wanted to be a slut. She wanted to be owned and controlled. She knew that now that she had started, she would never be able to stop. But was she ready for a life that would never be simple again?

The van door was harder to slide from the inside. Amaya climbed out of the van, and her bare feet hit the cold pavement. She shivered as she walked to the door, but soon, she was shaking out of sheer fear and excitement. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, and she put on her best smile.

She walked into the house and began her service to her first dom.

The end.

Far Fucking Away From Keyboard

Today my work at home job requires me to leave home and go to the office.

This means I have to put on pants, doesn't it?

This means no 12:00 masturbation break, right?

No webcam either?

Does this mean I can't hear about the awesome phone sex some of my friends can't stop talking about as well as about the awesome phone sex some of my friends wished they were having?

Does this mean I have to wait till AFTER work to watch another episode of Deadwood?

How do you people live like this?

Cure For Shrinkage

I do the laundry in the house. Yes ladies, I write sex and I do laundry. You can see why I'm already married.

The thing is I may not be married for much longer. My wife bought this shirt that she couldn't find in stores so she had to order it online. It's beautiful. It looks great on her. It's also hand wash and I put it in the washer. It's just as pretty, but now it's half the size.

So, is there some domestic Goddess secret to curing shrinkage? Can I restore this shirt to it's glorious original size? Do you have a couch I can sleep on for the six to eight weeks it'll take to order a new one?

Dom Diffusion

A few weeks ago I was flirting with a vanilla friend. She knows of my domination tendencies though she has no interest in ever submitting. At one point she expressed surprise that I hadn’t grabbed her by the throat and had my way with her. It made me smile but I was also surprised by how little interest I did have in dominating her. It got me thinking and I now have a personal theory called Dom Diffusion.

I am not an aggressive person by nature. I can make friends with just about anyone. It comes from the fact that I almost never come into conflict with people. Even if someone is just flat out wrong, I respect that they believe what they believe and I deal with them like they see the universe. If someone thinks dogs are stealing his credit cards, then I’ll keep an eye out for dogs so he can keep his wallet safe. I treat everyone like I am a guest in their universe. Deep down I am not threatened by other people’s universes because I am confident that my personal universe will not be affected. If anything, I might learn something and write about it later.

This attitude confuses other dominants. Most dominants I have met have this constant aura of aggression. They see the world as something to conquer and control. They boss around other people and if they meet another dominant, they feel the need to take that person on in an alpha male kind of way. They are constantly subjugating the world around them and I think they are a dominant because they really don’t have any other choice.

Submissives I meet tend to not take me seriously. They are used to being conquered. They are used to being chased. They are used to the dom taking the lead and hey, maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s how it should be.

What I do is far more passive. I tend to exert control as the submissive gives it up. I move in where their will retreats like a sort of Control Diffusion. If a submissive says she doesn’t like to make a choice on something; I take that as an invitation to make the choice for her. If someone is willing and offering, then I take what they offer.

Sounds terribly dull doesn’t it? Where’s the passion? Where’s the rough grab and battle of wills? Where’s the drama? For me it’s a matter of eliminating the head games. I don’t want to harass, bully and beat someone down to my will. I want them to enter my universe of their own free will.

What has really fucked up my relationships is this is how I start. I move in as the submissive gives up. And once I am there, I stay there. I keep the lines of communication open and it’s consensual at all times, but once I move in and take control of something, I assume it is mine to have. I don’t like the shifting of control like something that needs to be bargained for every time. As far as I am concerned, a submissive is someone who wants to surrender control and be my creative project, my fucktoy and my anchor of submission. If I have to re-seduce them every time or threaten them into submission with the sheer machismo of my ego, then they really don’t want to be there.

And that’s when the ruthless side of me kicks in. If someone offers me an ass to spank, then I am going to warm that ass and enjoy myself. If a mouth is offered then I am going to use that mouth till my cock is damn good and ready. If someone wants me to be in charge than damn it, I expect to be obeyed. I think my demands throw my submissives because they mistake my passive approach at first as some sort of lack of conviction. Just because I don’t throw a woman down the first time we meet doesn’t mean I won’t growl when someone directly disobeys me.

I don’t know. Maybe I should be more aggressive. Maybe I would have happier relationships if I engaged in a bit more conquering. I just know that isn’t true to myself. I don’t want to overwhelm a submissive and bend her to my will, as much as I want my will to be so attractive and what they need that they drop themselves into the tide of my needs.

The nice thing about being a mindful person is that I know that even though this is my current attitude that it is not set in stone. Maybe as I learn more about myself I can change so that the people I have relationships with are happier. Or maybe I can learn enough so I can explain myself better and have more good relationships instead of bad.

Half-Nekkid Thursday Fallen Out

I was tired. Really tired. I went to the bedroom and just fell on the bed. No covers, no undressing, just all collapsing. My wife decides that now would be a good time to take pictures. I was too fallen out to care and she snapped away.

This morning I go through them and what do I find? My wife has taken either a picture of Sam, or she took an ass shot. I am leaning towards the later.

Fiction: Cell Phone Slave Part Thirteen

The first day wasn’t so bad. Amaya had a realistic view of the situation. Wesley had been controlling her life for close to two weeks. It was clear she was caught up in the excitement and the adventure of his kinky tasks. He must want to give her a cooling-off period so she could adjust to the idea of a longer relationship with him. It was a good idea. Although Wesley hadn’t said any of this in his note, it just seemed logical to Amaya.

With this in mind, she relaxed on the first day. She attended her classes, ate out as she pleased and sketched a little in the afternoon and evening. After the trials of the library, a day off felt like a reward. Sure, fucking her own ass had been more fun than she would have thought, but the fear of getting caught and the ache in her ass were exhausting. For surrendering her ass’s virginity, she deserved a day off.

To read more, click Whole Post

The rest of the week wasn’t as restful. Chris came by once and asked her for another date. By the way he kept trying to step into her room, she had the feeling he wanted more than just a date. Amaya refused the date and refused him entry into her room as well as entry into any other part of her. Chris was stunned when she told him that she wanted to be friends but he didn’t really press it. He made a half hearted comment about staying in touch and left.

When he left, Amaya’s emotions were conflicted. She was glad that she had broken up with him because it felt like she was solidifying her commitment to Wesley. On the other hand, it bothered her how little Chris seemed to be upset by the break-up. He wanted her enough to hit on her when he came to her door, but he backed down so quickly when she said she wanted to be friends. Shouldn’t he have tried harder? Did she want him to try harder for her own ego or because she still liked his cute smile and bright eyes?

The day after Chris came to her room, she had an even worse encounter. She was standing in line at the campus bookstore when she saw Nick was working behind the counter. His face was locked into a neutral expression. Amaya smiled at him and was glad to see someone, anyone, who was connected to Wesley.

“How are you doing?” she said. She laid down her notebooks and pens she was buying.

“All right,” he said.

That was it. She tried engaging him in conversation but he didn’t respond other than polite grunts. He didn’t even look sorry for not talking to her.

As Amaya left the bookstore, the reality came to her. No one at Omega Epsilon Sigma was going to talk to her, ever. Sure, they might like her, but as long as Wesley was having nothing to do with her, they wouldn’t, either. Hell, they had already explained that they wouldn’t have anything to do with her even if Wesley were talking to her, but deep down she had thought she could work around that and be friends. Now the full force of the exile Wesley had imposed on her was coming to light.

It didn’t stop her from masturbating about each and every one of them that night. For added fun, she took out the anal toy. She fucked her ass using every piece of advice she remembered from Wesley. It was so much easier this time around. She climaxed thinking of Wesley in her ass.

The next week was much harder. Amaya had figured that a week’s absence would be enough time. She played imaginary conversations over and over in her mind of what Wesley would say to her when he calls. She prepared speeches where she explained how and why she was willing to do this kind of thing full time. Scenarios where Wesley demanded outrageous displays of bravery and kink ran through her mind and her masturbation fantasies.

Every day that he didn’t call was a huge disappointment . This was a man who called every day to harass her. How could he take a second week off? Didn’t he need to control her like she needed to be controlled by him? Doubt crept into Amaya’s every thought as she wondered if Wesley might have grown bored with her.

During the third week, Amaya suspected that she was being observed. There was no proof of it, but it eased her anxieties. Perhaps the reason he hadn’t called was because she was supposed to do something during this time off. She took solace in that idea and tried to figure out exactly what she was supposed to be learning.

It was about this time that Amaya realized that it was important to her to succeed. She had completed every challenge Wesley laid out, and he said no one else ever had. The little fact was a huge source of pride for her. She felt special, unique and superior. How many other girls had failed where Amaya had thrived? It was important to her for Wesley to call her, but deep down, she began to wonder if it was more important that she succeed one more time.

These thoughts were strange to her. Was it Wesley that she wanted, or was it the glory of being what others could not? When she first came to college, her roommate and all the crap Amaya went through had worn her confidence down. The way her boyfriend appeared to forget about her just compounded the feeling that she was nothing special. Now, though, after the ordeal of the cage, after sucking cocks in a bathroom and taking her own ass in a library, Amaya couldn’t imagine anyone doing the things she had done. When Amaya thought of the people she despised in her life, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow superior to them. She’d like to see Chris take it up the ass in a public place!

Conflicting feelings of ego and craving Wesley sent her online to searched for everything she could on domination and submission. There was a lot of information out there. It became her most important study topic as she dived into the Web pages and tried to sort out the good from the crap. Reading about domination didn’t ease her own desires, but it made her feel like she was achieving something.

Most of what she found online was disappointing. Self-appointed gurus preached their own personal philosophies and spent as much time attacking other experts as they did explaining their own preferences. Amaya sorted through conflicting theories of what a real submissive wanted and came away frustrated. Several of them described the kind of bliss she felt when Wesley commanded her, and she was relieved to discover that she wasn’t unusual in her pleasures. On the other hand, too many sources said that Amaya wasn’t a real submissive unless she had absolutely no fear in doing the things Wesley required of her. At first, it made her doubt herself, but after a while, she wondered how many of these “experts” had any experience in what they did. Amaya had to wonder if half the things she had done for Wesley would have been as interesting if she hadn’t been scared.

She joined a few chatrooms in search of education. What she learned was interesting but useless. For example, she discovered that submissives and dominants could be just as petty, jealous, full of gossip and annoying as normal people. There were a few nice people, but for the most part, the chatrooms were full of horny people looking to hook up. Amaya figured that must be human nature, but it was still disappointing. Where did Wesley go to find people like himself? Maybe that was why he was raising his own group of students.

The fourth week came, and Amaya couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t shake the idea that Wesley hadn’t given up on her. Had she done something wrong? Was she not good enough at the fraternity house? Or maybe he was tired of her and this was his sick way of breaking up with her? It was too much to bear. She just had to know.

On a Saturday, she called him. The line rang, and Amaya couldn’t go through with it. She hung up and took a deep breath. Maybe calling him would mess up her chances? How cruel would that be, if he had been going to call her but her own impatience made her unworthy?

Two days later, she called again. She almost hung up on the third ring, but her finger hesitated. It kept ringing, and Amaya bit her lip. Ten rings passed and then twenty. Wesley never answered.

Amaya sunk into a depression after that. Her schoolwork suffered, but she was one of those excellent students who could get by just on half-trying. She stopped eating, dragging herself to the cafeteria only when her hunger pangs became too loud to ignore. Only her painting flourished as she spent countless hours on melancholy scenes. They were some of the best pieces she had ever done.

At some point during the second month, Amaya went a little crazy. She worried that Wesley might be watching her and waiting for her to do something that would signal she was worthy. Even worse, she started to doubt that she was worthy. She began to engage in reckless behavior even when she knew for a fact that Wesley couldn’t possibly be aware of her deeds.

It started with simple things. She bought more thongs, the skimpier and tighter the better. They were a little too tight, and they distracted her constantly but she thought Wesley would approve. She neglected to wear a bra on most days, although she would blush constantly whenever she looked down and saw her nipples poking against her shirts. Sometimes, she would miscalculate how transparent her shirt would be in direct sunlight, and her breasts would feel illuminated under her flimsy shirts. As much as these situations would make her blush and squirm, Amaya resisted the urge to run back home and change clothes. She did it for Wesley.

The little games of exhibitionism blossomed into more daring acts of devotion. She never pulled her shades down when she changed now. It didn’t take long for her to develop a small following in the rooms across from her window. She didn’t ever acknowledge the observers or look directly at them. It was hard enough to strip when they were there. Sometimes, she would glance over and see a huge crowd watching her, and she would freeze up. In the end, though, it was thoughts of Wesley that made her take off her bra or shimmy into a tight thong.

After two weeks of stripping for her neighbors, Amaya sought new ways to prove herself. She made up rules for her classes, like clenching every time her biology teacher used the word “cell.” Her thong would get soaked so quickly that she would be gasping when she stood up. One day in history class, she upgraded to stroking herself every time her teacher used the word “ancient.” The darkness of the auditorium allowed her the privacy to reach between her thighs and stroke against her jeans, but she always felt like she was about to be discovered at any moment. That only heightened the aching arousal between her legs.

When teasing was no longer enough, Amaya returned to the library basement. She wore a skirt with no underwear, and this time she brought the larger vibrator. In the sanctuary of the deserted basement, Amaya masturbated passionately at the same desk as before. At first, she sat in the chair with her skirt pulled down and her hands up under her skirt, but her increasing passion overrode her caution. Towards the end, she had her skirt pulled up to her waist with her sex exposed for anyone to see. She masturbated vigorously, fucking her sex with harshness and a urgency that was almost savage. When she climaxed, the moans she cried echoed through the basement and added to the strange sounds of the pipes.

That same night, Amaya returned to her room and cried. It just wasn’t the same. She had done something she knew Wesley would have enjoyed, but it wasn’t at his insistence. Everything she did she had chosen to do. There was no fear to overcome, no impossible challenge that she had never considered. In the end, it was just as empty as masturbating was compared to real sex.

She cried a lot that week. Tears dried and were replaced by angry screams. How dare he come into her life and just leave her? How dare he change her into someone who couldn’t enjoy a guy like Chris! It was easier to believe that Wesley had corrupted her than it was to believe that Wesley fulfilled something in her.

In retaliation , Amaya stopped stripping in front of her windows. She bought real underwear that didn’t pull and tug on her ass. The masturbation games stopped, and she took to wearing bras again. The vibrators and paddle were tucked into her closet and forgotten. It wasn’t easy to do, but she even put the cell phone away in her dresser, not even bothering to take it with her anymore.

One day, she finally received her financial aid. The check seemed so small compared to what she’d earned with Wesley. She cashed it and added it the large amount she already had. Later that night, she cried. It occurred to her that the final reason for obeying Wesley was gone, and that depressed her more than she was willing to admit.

At this point, the semester was half over, and Amaya was swamped with her school work. As a freshman, she didn’t have that many major projects, but she did have quite a few reports to work on. She lapsed into a quiet routine. Eating, sleeping, classes and research blended into a steady cycle of mundanity. She took comfort in the heavy workload. It was better to be busy than to wonder why the fuck Wesley had abandoned her.

It didn’t mean she was immune to her urges. One day she rolled over in bed, and her underwear bunched up between her buttocks. Amaya groaned as she had a flashback of her thong days with Wesley. Sometimes, when someone else’s cell phone rang, she would feel her heart leap before realizing it wasn’t for her. Once she saw a guy playfully grab his girlfriend’s hair, and she moaned at the sight of the girl’s head jerking back. She tried to forget it the rest of the day, but it was the central image in her mind when she masturbated that night.

Amaya was studying in her room when she heard a phone ring. She ignored it at first because it was so muffled, she assumed it was coming from one of her neighbors. It wasn’t ’til the third ring that she realized the sound was coming from her own room. She ran to her dresser and pulled out the ringing cell phone. Her hands were shaking. A large part of her was furious: How dare he call her when she had given up all hope? A tiny but desperate part of her begged her to answer before he changed his mind.

“Hello,” she said in as cold a voice as she could muster.

“Hello, Amaya. I’ve missed you,” Wesley said.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she managed to choke out.

“I know you have,” Wesley said. He was calm but she could hear the firmness in his voice. “It was an important test, however, and one that I had to see if you could endure.”

“What? Being left alone wondering if you don’t give a shit about me? What kind of test is that?”

If the anger in her voice upset Wesley, it didn’t show in his voice. He was calm and unapologetic. It was as if he was explaining how to make a bed.

“It is a sad fact that sometimes in my life I cannot dedicate as much time as I would like to my hobbies. I am a busy man, and there are occasions when I am not spending every waking moment thinking about the woman I plan to fuck later. If you are to be with me full time, I need to know that you can handle being left to your own devices.”

“You could have told me this,” Amaya said.

“Yes. I could have,” Wesley said. “But in the future, when I have been too busy to play with you and you have been neglected for a week or two, you’ll look back on the hell you went through these last few months and realize that a week of neglect is nothing.”

“But far more important, Amaya, is that you have grown in the last few weeks. When a submissive like you first discovers your urges, they fall into a mad kind of love. They accept anything and will do anything, even things they really don’t want to do. It would break my heart, Amaya, if you agreed to be everything for me but then months later realized this was not for you.”

He made sense, but she was still pissed. It was ultimately a cruel thing to do, and she had to wonder if he picked the harder method just to push her. If he had told her that he was going to leave her alone for three months, she could have done it. But this, this depressed her, made her doubt herself and made her miserable for weeks. Wouldn’t it just be smarter to walk away now before he does something else to hurt her?

“Which is why I did this. I wanted you to hurt, Amaya. I wanted you to hate me, and I wanted you to find out more about yourself. You are a very strong, beautiful, sexy woman, and I needed you to realize that. I needed you to have this time to think about what you really have to offer and what I can offer you. If you want, you can have nothing more to do with me, and I will allow the boys at the fraternity to date you. Have your pick of them, and I wish you happiness. Or go take your new self and find your own dom, one who won’t have the need to test and hurt you like this.”

“No,” Amaya said. She wasn’t sure what she was refusing. Wesley continued speaking.

“Or if you still have feelings for me, then tomorrow, you will go down to the stadium for the tailgate party,” he said. “Be in the parking lot at 8 in the morning, sharp. I will call you and give you further instructions.”

Amaya was amazed at his confidence. She still wasn’t sure she had forgiven him. In all the times she imagined this phone call, she thought he would apologize and ask for her forgiveness. Instead, he explained himself without a trace of shame. Never did she imagine that he would just order her to another game.

“All right, should I wear anything?” she asked.

Wesley chuckled, and the sound of his laugh gave her shivers like it always did.

“Nothing in particular. It won’t matter,” he said. “However, I would appreciate it if you wore your hair in a ponytail.”

An envelope slid under her door, and Amaya’s heart race. Had he just put that there? Was he right outside her door?

“You’ve handled this task well, Amaya. You’ve earned your reward.”

He hung up. Amaya stood there in her room in a mess of emotions. Why had she agreed? She didn’t make any of the complaints or arguments that she had rehearsed so many times these past few weeks. It bugged her that she just gave in, but at the same time, there was no denying that thrill that was running through her. She felt sexy and alive again. Wesley was back, and he wanted her.

She walked over to the envelope and opened it. There was no money this time but what was in there quickly dispelled all thoughts of cash. It was a silver necklace with a dark purple sapphire dangling from the center. The sapphire was so large that Amaya couldn’t begin to guess how much it cost. For all she knew, it could have been a fake gem, but she didn’t care. It was easily the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever owned.

She sighed. Part of her felt bribed. The other part of her felt like she had earned this gorgeous necklace. She put it on and admired herself in the mirror. It looked great. In the end, what really mattered was that it was something Wesley bought for her. He had picked this for her, and she couldn’t help feeling special for it.

It was time for bed. She put away her necklace and decided she would wear it tomorrow. The tailgate parties before the game were famous, but she had never felt compelled to go. Would the necklace be overdressing? She shrugged. There was no way she was going to not wear that necklace tomorrow.

Before she went to bed, Amaya changed into one of her thongs.

Fiction: Don't

Don’t you fucking dare cum.

I don’t care how close you are. I don’t care how good my cock feels in you. I don’t care how much you need it, crave it and want it, you are not fucking climaxing till I do.

Until you feel me shoot off inside you, until you hear me groan, until you feel my seed invading you, you will not cum. No matter how close, no matter how near your own orgasm is, you will deny yourself. You will do it for me or you will fucking pay.

Because if you do, if you dare cum now you little slut, I will start over. I will pull out and start back over again from scratch. I’ll spank you all over again till you have fresh tears. I’ll put those clamps right back on your nipples and I don’t care how tender they are now. I will drag you around the room again by the hair and put you back over the couch, back against the wall and onto the floor again before I drag you back to bed. I’ll tie you down to my bed like you hadn’t just spent half an hour there. Out will come the flogger, the clothespins and the paints and we’ll go through the process all over again till you’re begging me to enter you.

Just take my cock. Just take it as I thrust and push deeper. Feel my hands and mouth and be my fucktoy. You are nothing but a towel to catch my seed. You’re just a squirming moaning place for my cock to go into. Take my cock, my abuse and my lust.

Forbid your pleasure. Hold it. Put it away. Deny everything your body is going through simply because I told you not to. I don’t have a reason, I don’t need one. I just told you no.

Don’t you dare fucking cum.

100% True Fiction

Every piece of fiction I write here is a true story.

I know that seems contradictory so let me explain. Every story I write is based on some true thing that happened to me, where I have taken the event apart, spliced it with some other true event and then rewrapped with some other real event with the names, places, timeline and outcome changed to protect the innocent. The final product is a story that didn’t actually happen the way that I wrote it but it did happen.

Like when a character climaxes in one of my stories, that actually happened. Or maybe I wish it happened. Or maybe when I was masturbating about, I wanted it to happen that way. Or maybe a friend of mine was telling me about their climax and it happened just that way.

To me it is all equal. What happened was real. I was there, I saw it, and it affected me. Or if it happened to someone else and they tell me about it, it becomes real to me as they speak of the passion of the moment. The fact that write it so that it happens to characters that don’t exist or has a different outcome doesn’t make it any less real.

When I masturbate to something, it is very real. It is getting me off. It’s making my breath catch and in the heat of masturbation, that image, or character or sex act, is the hottest thing in the world. I don’t know how a blowjob from my neighbor would feel, but I know how I want it to feel and that truth is just as important.

It’s strange. When I first started writing I used complete fiction. I wrote stories that I thought people would want to read. They sucked. It wasn’t till I was more honest that I wrote stories worth reading. It’s when I used characters based on real people, or characters who had motives like real people I knew that my stories really started to connect to readers. It wasn’t till I wrote about stories I honestly wanted to happen that I had stories that honestly needed to be told. It wasn't till I took my experience, my readings and my conversations and folded them over each other like scrambled eggs that I had stories worthy of being devoured.

The secret to writing fiction is to write the truth.

Ships Sail Away But Hearts Stay Fierce

Pirate Week draws to a close. It’s time to lock up the rum, hang up the cutlasses and put the wenches’ tits back into their over flowing corsets. I thought about changing my avatar back but damn, that flag is fucking cool. I really need a life size version to hang on my wall.

Although Pirate Week is over I hope you now have a little bit of piracy in your heart. It’s not about saying ‘arggghh’ or wearing an eye patch as much as being a Pirate means you never settle for what you want. Be bold, be daring and be ruthless. Go seduce that certain someone. Go be the porn star you know you secretly are. Don’t settle for anything less than you fucking deserve. Don’t sit around waiting to be rescued, go fucking rescue yourself.

Keep that in mind as Captain Tempest raids strange ports on the Astral main with a very exhausted Cabin Boy. Remember that when Captain Jane visits some feminist wrath on the Caribbean. Think of No-Pants Wally and the little piece of paradise he carved for himself. You don’t have to take on the world, but if the world is getting in your damn way, give them Hell.

Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.

Fiction: The Booty Lounge

Come with me on a voyage into depravity that I make every weekend. Deep in the woods of Georgia, there is a dirt road made of blood-red clay that twists and turns through an uninviting forest. There are signs posted to warn trespassers with legal violations, some tongue-in-cheek threats and on one tree, a simple skull and crossbones made of lifelike bone-white ceramic. At the end of the road, you will eventually find a two-story house made of dark wood that sports a crow’s nest on the very rooftop. Across the side of the house in gold letters repainted every month is the name of this very private clubhouse. It’s called The Booty Lounge.

Cars of all kinds and all financial capabilities are parked around the house. A pristine Mercedes sits next to a falling-apart Escort. Two hardy pickup trucks flank a dainty little sports car. A motorcycle is parked alongside a soccer mom’s SUV, while nearby a vintage Corvette sits shimmering with chrome. Rich and poor, old and young, the vehicles outside are the first clue of the wild diversity inside.

The smell hits me as soon as I walk in. I’ve been coming here for three years, and I never get used to the mixture of liquor, rope, wood, semen, meat, cunts and sweat. It soaks into me and I know from experience that it will take an hour of showering to truly cleanse it from my body. For now, though, it soaks into my clothes, my hair and into my very soul.

To read more, click Whole Post

My eyes adjust to the electric lantern light that fills the main gathering area. The walls and furniture are all made of the darkest woods we could find. A giant bar dominates one wall, stretching out to offer a seat to every man who wishes to lift a glass of rum tonight. Paintings of every sex act possible hang on the walls. Pirate paraphernalia fills the places paintings can’t go: Anchors, peg legs, flags depicting Jolly Rogers, cutlasses and anything else we could scrounge from eBay, flea markets and trend shops. It is both overwhelming and terribly inspiring.

The decorations imprint upon us, and it is reflected in our clothes. Polo shirts and slacks have no place here. In time, our wardrobes shifted to more practical and yet fantastic fare. Men wear open shirts no matter whether they have beer guts or muscular abs. Women wear skirts that are easy to lift or tight, tempting pants that beg to be ripped apart. In the dimness of the electric lanterns, we wear bright clothes decked with stripes or flashy adornments. Bandannas hold back long hair or simply collect the sweat that comes from being in a room with fifty bodies. Corsets push breasts up to be nibbled, while men wear loose shorts roomy enough for an easy grope. We dress like pirates out of fetish but also out of the same reasons pirate dressed this way. Loose clothes make for easy movement and fucking.

Smaller tables and benches dot the room. At some tables, men and women drink, talk and gamble, while on other tables, people are fucking, spanking and just making out. There is no shame here. We have had orgies, beatings and wedding nights in this room. I have watched a man take a woman’s virginity while a crowd of thirty cheered. I have seen a woman fuck a man’s ass with a monstrous dildo while another woman took pictures. We have lost all sense of modesty within this dark walls, and we look at sex as something we are either doing or watching.

For me, especially, this is true. You don’t build a place like this without every man and woman having a job to do. Tito mixes the drinks and maintains the bar. Busty Linda carves fresh paddles for us to use when we break her old ones. We all have a job to do as our price for being in the club, and my job is the hardest. I am the recorder. I watch and witness every act, and on Monday night I write it all down and add it to our secret Web site. There, our club members read and recall the decadent things they might not remember themselves because of the rum they had drunk. They read my writings and not only remember but also rekindle their lust and build their excitement ’til the next weekend, when they unleash their frantic sex drives on each other once more.

I go to the bar and request a mug of beer from Tito. He fills my mug and makes a mark of how much I drink. You can’t get a liquor license for a place like this, but you can buy liquor for a private house and make sure no one mooches too much. Tito is smiling at me, and at first, I am confused till I see that he has Evelyn on her knees behind the bar. She is sucking his cock, and I know from personal experience that she will insist on making him cum down her throat. Evelyn likes to drink, but her favorite chaser is cum.

I take my mug and wander over to Jerry and Ned. They are gambling with dice that use sexual positions instead of numbers. I sit with them but decline their offer to join. I can’t play with their stakes. They are gambling swings of the chain flogger Jerry bought. Right now, Jerry is in debt for fifty lashes with the cruel stinging chains, and Ned offers him double or nothing if Jerry can roll higher than two doggy-style fucks. Jerry licks his lips. The two men are both sadists but the chance to whip another sadist is worth the indignity of being whipped in turn. No matter who wins, I know that an ass will be fucked and that any hard feelings will be soothed by morning.

Jerry rolled double hand jobs, and Ned howled with greedy delight. I got up and patted Jerry on the back in sympathy. He flinched, perhaps already feeling the relentless lashes to come. I made a note to myself to ask him later how it felt so I could record it come Monday.

I wondered over to another table where Janice had been strapped face down spread-eagle to all four points of the compass. She was completely nude except for a red bandanna wrapped around her eyes for a blindfold. I had no idea what her husband was punishing her for tonight but when I slipped my fingers into her cunt, I found her already wet. She moaned as I finger-fucked her, and afterwards she cleaned my fingers off with her mouth.

“What was your crime tonight?” I asked.

“I dropped an entire tray of food.”

“On purpose?” I asked.

There was a pause before she said, “Yes.”

“And how many men have taken advantage of your helpless state tonight?”

“Three,” she said. Her smile was shameless.

“Would you like me to fuck you right now?”

“Yes!” she said.

I nodded and walked away. This, too, would go into my notes.

The sounds of laughter drew me to towards the buffet table. Red Yolanda, that fierce black woman with her red streaked braids, was showing off again. She had scorned tables and chairs in favor of volunteers and personal slaves to her whim. Two men were down on their hands and knees, forming her chair and dining table. A third man stood to the side, fetching her fresh mugs of rum while the heavy weights around his balls jingled. Red Yolanda herself sat in her magnificent red corset that displayed her wonderfully ample tits. She entertained the crowd that assembled around her with observations about the virility, strength and size of her lovers. She told a few scathing jokes that brought blushes to the faces of both her slaves and her listeners. I wrote down a few of those jokes in between bites of fish tacos. Truth be told, I also spent a good bit of time watching those magnificent chocolate breasts and wondering what price she would extract from me if I asked for just a minute of nuzzling.

I tore myself from Red Yolanda’s humiliation of her willing men to use the bathroom. In The Booty Lounge, there is no division of the sexes when it comes to the restrooms. There are also no doors on the stalls. Kenny was fucking a woman from behind in one of the stalls, while Ian watched casually, masturbating. I took out my cock to piss at a urinal and didn’t flinch when Ola looked over my shoulder to watch. She whispered several naughty things in my ear and laughed as my cock grew harder as I pissed. She offered to let me piss on her, but I was tapped. Don’t cry for poor Ola, though. The rum was flowing, and I knew she would get her wish from someone tonight.

Back out in the main room, Rope Master Charlie was giving another demonstration. On a real pirate ship, he would have been a master of sails and a great sailor, but here he was a teacher to us all on the proper knots to tie. The beautiful Belinda was suspended from the ceiling stark naked in a web of knotted rope. Charlie drew our attention to the mess of knots clustered around her sex and showed how every twist of Belinda’s body was forcing the knots to stimulate and arouse her.

We watched as Belinda struggled, climaxed and then struggled some more. Over and over she came ’til the ropes were soaked with her juices. Charlie stood there filled with pride, and I knew the sight of a bound woman was better than the actual sex for him. The reason Belinda struggled was that she knew this was all the fucking she would get from him.

“Tom! Where’s my fucking writer?”

I smiled and excused myself from Charlie and Belinda’s show. The captain was calling for me. I worked my way towards the back and into the captain’s quarters, where I knew he would be. It didn’t bother me to be summoned. The captain calls only when he knows there is something worth watching.

No-Pants Wally is the founder of our club, and we call him Captain with real affection. He is a madman but of the good kind. He bought this house and his vision has delighted us for three years running. No-Pants was pacing around wearing nothing but his captain’s hat and a loose-fitting vest that clung to his six foot six frame. , His foot long brown beard was stained with pussy. Of course, he wore no pants. He never did. It wasn’t that his cock was huge or particularly spectacular; it’s just that No-Pants didn’t see the point of ever having anything in the way of his cock.

Tonight, his cock was fully erect and pointing towards the sight on his bed. The massive four-poster bed was holding three beauties sharing some sort of dildo among their three cunts. The dildo was shaped like an anchor, and the women moaned as the dildo bobbed between them. Their legs had crossed over and they were engaging in some lovely Sapphic love right there on the captain’s bed.

“Have you ever seen such a sight!” No-Pants yelled. The Captain didn’t talk, he boomed. “Three sirens fucking an anchor!”

“It is truly something,” I said.

“Fuck! You’re a writer and that’s all you got!” No-Pants yelled. “My God, Tom, did you get your dick cut off? Look at that and tell me you’ll ever see this again!”

As my captain requested, I looked. One of the women was Diana, our oldest member actually. She was sixty-three with gorgeous silver hair and a wicked smile like an evil grandmother. She was a larger woman, but the weight helped make her beauty timeless. Even her extremely well-fucked pussy was struggling to contain the dildo, for she was impaled on the head of the anchor.

To her left was Jessica. That wasn’t her real name, but it was what we all called her because of her similarity to a certain pop star. She was gripping Diana’s leg for dear life as she humped against her end of the anchor. Those lovely young breasts bounced and jiggled with every thrust. She tossed her head back and let loose one of her famous screaming orgasms. It was a sound we never got tired of hearing.

Completing the circle was tiny Susan. Barely four feet tall, she was the cruelest dominant of us all. I have watched her reduce grown men to sniveling tears, so it was strange to watch her surrender her body to the bliss she was so obviously enjoying. Her immaculate black hair was over her face, almost as if it was trying to protect her mistress from being seen as the dildo-hungry slut that she was.

The three women fondled one another as much as arm’s reach would allow them. Their legs intertwined around the strange anchor dildo and each other. To see three women of such different ages, body types and sexual identities merging together on the captain’s bed just seemed right.

“Which one should I fuck?” No-Pants said. His voice caused fresh moans from the bed.

I didn’t hesitate. “Why, all of them, captain.”

“Damn right!” He took my suggestion and waded right in. I watched for a little bit and then withdrew. I had enough for my writings, and somehow I don’t think of the participants were going to be forgetting that night No-Pants Wally and an anchor fucked three women.

It occurred to me that I have seen enough. My notes would carry me through and provide enough of a log for this day. I was horny and ready to take my share.

There was a girl I had seen last week, and I sought her out. Round and curvy in all the right places, Katie was at the bar flirting with Tito. Her long brown hair was tied in a braid under a saucy little pirate hat. Her round ass peeked our from under a black miniskirt. Her ample bosom was straining against a frilly blouse that had more cleavage than material. I had seen her get fucked by five men last weekend, and I decided it was time to board her myself.

I reached for her braid and gently tugged her head back ’til my mouth was at her ear.

“I wish to fuck you, Katie. Do you surrender to my terms?”

A swallow before she answered. “Yes.”

In leather dungeons, there are formalities and negotiations to be addressed first. In even sex clubs, there are procedures of caution and seduction that must be met. Here at the Booty Lounge, we had already satisfied all the requirements needed. She surrendered to me, and for that, I would do what I wished.

I reached around and grabbed one of her breasts. My fingers squeezed ’til Katie shuddered in pain or pleasure. I suspect both. I spun her around and ripped open her blouse. She gasped in shock, but the gasp soon turned to a smile as I bent down and bit her nipples.

They tasted of sweat, liquor, wood, rope and sex, just like everything here. I took my fill and bit her breasts until my teeth marks were all over her curves. I heard whistles and cheers as I plundered the fair Katie, and my cock grew harder. Let them watch me for a change.

I came up for air and spun her around. I bent her over the bar and hiked her skirt up. There were no panties, but a small skull and crossbones tattoo did smile at me from her ass. She spread her legs for me without being asked just like a good slut. A moment later my cock was inside her. I swear it was the slickest pussy I had ever entered, but then, aren’t all cunts at the Booty Lounge that way?

We fucked. Well, I fucked her. Just because it amused me, I pressed her head down to the bar, knowing that Tito never cleans the bar till the morning. It made me harder to know that her face and tits were soaking in spilled rum, beer, cunt juice and semen. Katie didn’t struggle at all, and considering how tightly her cunt squeezed around my saber, I’d say she liked it.

Frustration builds when you watch debauchery all night long. Frustration, as well as delight and pure excitement, swell with us as we engage in our secret place away from the eyes of the world. It pushes us to be bolder, to take what we desire, and it encourages us some nights to just fuck the shit out of another body. My thrusts were like those of an animal. There was no art or technique, just the pounding of desire. I fucked Katie on the dirty bar of a very dirty club while dirty men and women looked on.

Katie climaxed. She reached behind and grabbed my shirt to hold onto while she came. The bar muffled her cries, but I could tell by how tightly she pulled me into her that she wanted more. No matter which end of the fucking, spanking or degradation one finds oneself on, we all want more.

I came in her cunt. The orgasm made me a little weak in the knees, but eager Katie held me up with her grip on my shirt. I cried out my climax, and thirty people returned my cry with cheers of their own.

When I pulled out, she stayed slumped over the bar. I grabbed her by the braid and pulled her to her feet. The look of lust and satisfaction on her face was going to earn her a poem in the morning.

“That was great,” she said.

“We’re not done,” I said. Her eyes sparkled with the promise of more pleasures. The beautiful Katie and I were just getting started tonight. There were paddles, food , blowjobs and threesomes to be had, followed by a long nap in a cozy hammock till we recharged enough to fuck tomorrow. Only on Monday would we slink back to our lives and feign normality ’til we met again on Friday. Such debauchery can never last, and we all know that one day the Booty Lounge will close its doors, and we will be stuck in your world of boring bedrooms, prudish bars and rule-ridden leather dungeons.

But for now, with Katie’s hair in my hand, her cunt still slick with juices and my teeth on a nipple, it’s a pirate’s life for me.

Half Nekked Thursday Pirate Guest Treasure Chests

My own HNT was lost in the chaos of getting my wife home after her accident. Luckily a reader sent me this delightful picture to brighten my day. Arrrggg, that is a chest worth owning. Everytime I see that picture it makes me smile.



Pirate Week HNT apparently is about me raiding other people's assets for my posts. Pirate Barbie volunteered her services in exchange for a teaspoon of rum.



Once the rum got flowing, things got out of hand and well, click Whole Post to see what I mean.