So I was watching porn the other day. I was watching a scene where a busty woman with long brown hair was giving a guy a blowjob. I’m enjoying the scene but then the camera pulls back to show another bed and a naked woman masturbating on it.
I got a little distracted and wondered about why that woman was even there. I have to admit I wasn’t following the ‘plot’ of the porn movie close enough to know if naked masturbating lady had any story significance. My mind wondered and I got to thinking about how the director came about to the idea of tossing in another naked woman who wasn’t participating, she was just fingering herself. Did naked lady have a no-sex clause in her contract? Was the director looking at that second bed and just felt a need to fill it with something? Was the naked girl on standby just in case a tragic blowjob incident occurred?
Then the naked masturbating lady did something that stopped my thinking and got me back into my own masturbating. Her hips jumped up two inches. It was a spasm, the kind you get when your body is really enjoying yourself and you want more. It was beautiful. I forgot about the blowjob couple and watched the masturbating lady for the rest of the scene. She shivered with pleasure at just the right times and made me forget I was watching porn and had me beleiving I was watching something real.
I’m not sure why female masturbation is so erotic to me. My wife is terribly shy when it comes to masturbating and I have never seen her do it. I know she does it, she often tells me how she waits till I am asleep or out of the house to do it. I don’t take it personally; she’s just too shy to do it in front of anyone. Since I don’t ever see the woman I live with masturbating, it becomes a rare exotic treat when I do see it.
I have often asked my submissives to masturbate in front of me and 4 times out of five I see this look on their face. They’re naked, they’ve just been spanked and now I want them to touch themselves? Wouldn’t my cock work better? Wouldn’t my own fingers work better? They do it anyway because I told them to, but there is always that bewilderment.
What they don’t know is that I can recall every single time they have masturbated for me. Years later I might have trouble remembering how their ass felt under my hand but I can remember with crystal clarity what they were wearing the moment they reached between their legs and slid one finger into their cunt. I remember how their breath caught during orgasm. I remember how their thighs opened for my viewing pleasure. I remember what time of day it was, the color of the pin in their hair and how warm it was in the room. Every single time has been burned into my memory.
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting the itch to burn some new memories.
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Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Half Nekked Thursday Silly
Feeling a little silly today.
‘Macho Women With Guns’ is an interesting role-playing game phenomenon. In the late 80’s role-playing games were pretty sexless and dull as far as content went, but their covers were pretty outrageous. Dangerous women with big guns and skimpy outfits adorned the covers to books chock full of statistics of tanks. Greg Porter decided he wanted to cash in on this by creating a puerile game about these cover gals. You played Macho Women, armed with guns and swords; who took on parodies of everything that was running around in gaming fiction at the time. Greg designed it in one afternoon and play tested it once. He made a bunch of copies and sold far more than he ever imagined. Now he works in computers where he designs beautiful complicated games. To most of us though he’s that genius who gave us rules for playing Bat-winged Bimbos and Renegade Nuns on motorcycles.
Now close to 20 years later, the D20 craze swept the gaming community. Every company and their brother were making role-playing books that you could play using a universal game mechanic. Mongoose Publishing got the rights to Macho Women and turned a delightful stupid game and transformed it into a dirtier, more stupid yet still fun game.
It’s also one of the few games out there that’s just as fun to flip through as it is to actually play. I still find pages that offend me even though I’ve had the game for a year. The breast size calculator is just WRONG.
Hope you find some silliness in your day.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Fiction: Language Barrier
When I climaxed in her ass, there was so much I didn’t know. Was I the first to cum in her ass? Did she like the hot splash of my seed inside her? Was it even OK to climax in her ass, or did it bother her? There was so much I didn’t know and I reveled in my ignorance. It let me just fuck, thrust and cum inside her tight ass without a single thought for anything except how great it felt. The best part was that even after I pulled out my cock and wiped it on her ass, I still couldn’t find out.
See, the beautiful slut and I spoke completely different languages. I think she might have been from Poland or maybe Yugoslavia or some other European country I’d be hard-pressed to find on a map. It was impossible for me to say. All I knew was that vocal commands were ignored, and any pleading or begging on her part was a complete mystery to me. She made sounds, and the only ones I understood were the guttural sounds she made when we fucked.
To read more, click Whole Post
She was a backhanded gift from my last submissive. Sonia was a delightful slut, but she could never learn to stop talking. Everything had to be negotiated, discussed, taken apart, analyzed and repeated over and over again. We began our sessions with talk and ended them with more talk. God, my throat would get hoarse before we ever got to the fucking or spanking. We broke up the night I told her that fucking her wasn’t worth the two-hour deconstruction that would follow afterwards. Sonia stormed out of my house, and I was glad of the quiet.
Today, though, she’d sent her insult. At my door was a beautiful blond woman who stared at me blankly. When I tried to figure out her identity, the blonde gave me a card from Sonia. It explained everything in far fewer words than I would thought Sonia capable of.
“I have found your perfect submissive. She doesn’t know a word of English and has already agreed to every one of your kinks. She’s yours for the day. Enjoy your silence, asshole.”
Oh, Sonia, there is silence, and there is the absence of sound. With this unknown slut, there was plenty of noise, from the squeals when I dragged her into my house to the excited moans she made when I pinned her against the wall and reached between her legs. She babbled quite a bit as I ripped open her blouse and sank my fingers into the soft mounds of her breasts. The slut carried on in her language, but it was like a barking of a dog. I knew she was saying something, but it was just sound. I could pretend every word was a plea for more.
The thought of consent did cross my mind. I might have tired of Sonia’s babbling, but I wanted a submissive, not a victim. A paranoid thought crossed my mind that maybe this offering didn’t know what Sonia had volunteered her for. It made me hesitate, and I stepped away from the woman I had been mauling. We looked at each other, me trying to judge Sonia’s intentions and anger, she trying to understand why I had stopped. She asked something, and I realized I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t reassure her because I didn’t know what she wanted to hear. It was an amazing feeling. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders that made me feel like I was standing tall for the first time in years. I couldn’t say anything wrong. Better yet, I couldn’t meet any of her verbal demands.
I stood there relishing my new freedom but still wondering how to get her consent. That was when the second most amazing thing happened. The now-topless slut fell to her knees and reached for my pants. Without any goading from me, she opened my zipper and pulled out my cock. Without a command, an order or even a hint, this blonde opened her mouth and took my cock between her lips. She took me in deep and held me there.
That was the most amazing act of consent I had ever experienced, and it didn’t require a single damn word.
The rest of the afternoon was one perfect moment after another. I spanked her with paddles, canes and my hand without ever knowing which she preferred. I marked her ass with stripes and welts while she babbled constantly. Was she protesting against the pain, or was she asking for more? There were times when she tried to dodge my spankings, and I thought she had had enough, but a quick feel between her legs told me different. I couldn’t understand the words she screamed, but I knew how to read the juices inside her cunt.
I fucked her on the floor. On her back with her hands tied to the foot of my couch, she couldn’t tell me if it was OK to leave rope marks on her. I spread her legs and held her thighs open as I fucked her cunt. The carpet must have been rough on her spanked ass but I didn’t know if her squeals were from the rug burn or from my cock. For some thrusts, I pretended it was from the rug, and towards the end, I imagined her whimpers were from my cock.
She climaxed twice. I didn’t need to know her language to tell. The shortness of breath, the arching of the back and the squeeze of the thighs are universal. She clenched her eyes and repeated a mysterious word over and over again. I like to think the word was ‘Master,’ although it could have been anything.
After having her on the floor, I took her to my bedroom. I bent her over the bed and lubricated her ass. Here, she stopped talking. The blonde just stayed there silently as I prepared her. She didn’t say a word as I spread her cheeks, and she only grunted when the head of my cock pressed against her. I took her silence as desire, but then, if she had talked more in her foreign tongue, I would have taken that as desire, too. Sluts always say the right thing when you can’t understand the words they say.
Her silence ended when I entered her. She talked. She screamed. She grabbed the sheets and pushed back against me. I don’t know if she was screaming to God, Sonia or me; I just know I liked it. It wasn’t the endless chatter of a talking submissive; it was the primal sound of a slut in heat. Every sound out of her mouth was a cry for more, as far as I was concerned.
Afterwards, I got up and cleaned off. As I washed up in the bathroom, I thought of the gift Sonia had given me. I wanted this slut. It was what I had always wanted. Like a teenager, I daydreamed about what our life would be like. The slut would live with me and be my fucktoy. She would be used like submissives like to be used. I knew she would agree to it, I had heard the pleasure in her voice, even if I never understood her words.
And slowly, I would teach her English, but only the words of my choosing: suck, bend over, mount, masturbate, swallow, fetch and cum.
I came out of the bathroom, and the slut was gone. I found her in the living room, dressed and putting on her shoes. She was leaving. I reached for her hand and asked her to stay, but the words died in my throat as I realized she wouldn’t understand. The barrier worked both ways, and when she pulled her hand out of mine, I found myself speaking louder. It was as if I thought I could overcome her lack of comprehension with sheer volume. I told her I needed her. I told her how perfect she was. I told the woman whose name I never knew how much I wanted her forever.
When she walked out the door, I understood the revenge Sonia had inflicted on me. For one day, I had my wish of submission without words, but I lacked the words to make it ever happen again.
See, the beautiful slut and I spoke completely different languages. I think she might have been from Poland or maybe Yugoslavia or some other European country I’d be hard-pressed to find on a map. It was impossible for me to say. All I knew was that vocal commands were ignored, and any pleading or begging on her part was a complete mystery to me. She made sounds, and the only ones I understood were the guttural sounds she made when we fucked.
To read more, click Whole Post
She was a backhanded gift from my last submissive. Sonia was a delightful slut, but she could never learn to stop talking. Everything had to be negotiated, discussed, taken apart, analyzed and repeated over and over again. We began our sessions with talk and ended them with more talk. God, my throat would get hoarse before we ever got to the fucking or spanking. We broke up the night I told her that fucking her wasn’t worth the two-hour deconstruction that would follow afterwards. Sonia stormed out of my house, and I was glad of the quiet.
Today, though, she’d sent her insult. At my door was a beautiful blond woman who stared at me blankly. When I tried to figure out her identity, the blonde gave me a card from Sonia. It explained everything in far fewer words than I would thought Sonia capable of.
“I have found your perfect submissive. She doesn’t know a word of English and has already agreed to every one of your kinks. She’s yours for the day. Enjoy your silence, asshole.”
Oh, Sonia, there is silence, and there is the absence of sound. With this unknown slut, there was plenty of noise, from the squeals when I dragged her into my house to the excited moans she made when I pinned her against the wall and reached between her legs. She babbled quite a bit as I ripped open her blouse and sank my fingers into the soft mounds of her breasts. The slut carried on in her language, but it was like a barking of a dog. I knew she was saying something, but it was just sound. I could pretend every word was a plea for more.
The thought of consent did cross my mind. I might have tired of Sonia’s babbling, but I wanted a submissive, not a victim. A paranoid thought crossed my mind that maybe this offering didn’t know what Sonia had volunteered her for. It made me hesitate, and I stepped away from the woman I had been mauling. We looked at each other, me trying to judge Sonia’s intentions and anger, she trying to understand why I had stopped. She asked something, and I realized I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t reassure her because I didn’t know what she wanted to hear. It was an amazing feeling. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders that made me feel like I was standing tall for the first time in years. I couldn’t say anything wrong. Better yet, I couldn’t meet any of her verbal demands.
I stood there relishing my new freedom but still wondering how to get her consent. That was when the second most amazing thing happened. The now-topless slut fell to her knees and reached for my pants. Without any goading from me, she opened my zipper and pulled out my cock. Without a command, an order or even a hint, this blonde opened her mouth and took my cock between her lips. She took me in deep and held me there.
That was the most amazing act of consent I had ever experienced, and it didn’t require a single damn word.
The rest of the afternoon was one perfect moment after another. I spanked her with paddles, canes and my hand without ever knowing which she preferred. I marked her ass with stripes and welts while she babbled constantly. Was she protesting against the pain, or was she asking for more? There were times when she tried to dodge my spankings, and I thought she had had enough, but a quick feel between her legs told me different. I couldn’t understand the words she screamed, but I knew how to read the juices inside her cunt.
I fucked her on the floor. On her back with her hands tied to the foot of my couch, she couldn’t tell me if it was OK to leave rope marks on her. I spread her legs and held her thighs open as I fucked her cunt. The carpet must have been rough on her spanked ass but I didn’t know if her squeals were from the rug burn or from my cock. For some thrusts, I pretended it was from the rug, and towards the end, I imagined her whimpers were from my cock.
She climaxed twice. I didn’t need to know her language to tell. The shortness of breath, the arching of the back and the squeeze of the thighs are universal. She clenched her eyes and repeated a mysterious word over and over again. I like to think the word was ‘Master,’ although it could have been anything.
After having her on the floor, I took her to my bedroom. I bent her over the bed and lubricated her ass. Here, she stopped talking. The blonde just stayed there silently as I prepared her. She didn’t say a word as I spread her cheeks, and she only grunted when the head of my cock pressed against her. I took her silence as desire, but then, if she had talked more in her foreign tongue, I would have taken that as desire, too. Sluts always say the right thing when you can’t understand the words they say.
Her silence ended when I entered her. She talked. She screamed. She grabbed the sheets and pushed back against me. I don’t know if she was screaming to God, Sonia or me; I just know I liked it. It wasn’t the endless chatter of a talking submissive; it was the primal sound of a slut in heat. Every sound out of her mouth was a cry for more, as far as I was concerned.
Afterwards, I got up and cleaned off. As I washed up in the bathroom, I thought of the gift Sonia had given me. I wanted this slut. It was what I had always wanted. Like a teenager, I daydreamed about what our life would be like. The slut would live with me and be my fucktoy. She would be used like submissives like to be used. I knew she would agree to it, I had heard the pleasure in her voice, even if I never understood her words.
And slowly, I would teach her English, but only the words of my choosing: suck, bend over, mount, masturbate, swallow, fetch and cum.
I came out of the bathroom, and the slut was gone. I found her in the living room, dressed and putting on her shoes. She was leaving. I reached for her hand and asked her to stay, but the words died in my throat as I realized she wouldn’t understand. The barrier worked both ways, and when she pulled her hand out of mine, I found myself speaking louder. It was as if I thought I could overcome her lack of comprehension with sheer volume. I told her I needed her. I told her how perfect she was. I told the woman whose name I never knew how much I wanted her forever.
When she walked out the door, I understood the revenge Sonia had inflicted on me. For one day, I had my wish of submission without words, but I lacked the words to make it ever happen again.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Brain Percentages
I was talking to Always Aroused Girl on IM’s and she chided me for my lack of post today. I told her that I was really swamped with work. She sympathized and said that her brain was overwhelmed with HTML because of her upcoming blog redesign.
That got me thinking about what my brain is occupied with.
80% of my brain is on work. October is going to be a really busy month and the prep work for the busy month is almost as bad as the month itself.
10% is on this new long story idea I have. I want to shoot for 15 chapters but I need character names, professions for the characters, marital histories, and a host of other things like what their first sex scene will be like and what subplots I want to wrap in. Even though I doubt I’ll have time to write any of it till November, the story just won’t sit still in my brain.
5% is on my impending family member moving in with us.
4% is on the new Tenacious D movie, The Pick of Destiny. Man I want to see a fun movie now.
That last one percent? That’s on Jello chocolate pudding. Mmmmm.
That got me thinking about what my brain is occupied with.
80% of my brain is on work. October is going to be a really busy month and the prep work for the busy month is almost as bad as the month itself.
10% is on this new long story idea I have. I want to shoot for 15 chapters but I need character names, professions for the characters, marital histories, and a host of other things like what their first sex scene will be like and what subplots I want to wrap in. Even though I doubt I’ll have time to write any of it till November, the story just won’t sit still in my brain.
5% is on my impending family member moving in with us.
4% is on the new Tenacious D movie, The Pick of Destiny. Man I want to see a fun movie now.
That last one percent? That’s on Jello chocolate pudding. Mmmmm.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Play Party Weekend
The family member who will be staying with us post phoned till Wednesday. Realizing we had a weekend of kink before we had to behave, the wife and I decided to attend two BDSM parties that were occurring on Saturday.
The first party was centered on wax play. A very enthusiastic dom told us about his ten year journey with playing with candles and wax. I don’t even have a passing interest in candle play, but I was fascinated to hear how this guy became his own authority in his fetish. He tried things, he screwed up a lot and now he makes sells candles on his website, BDSM Waxing Candles. Over the years he’s learned tricks as well as just working on his art with his willing canvases.
I asked him at one point if he was ever frustrated with being his own expert, or did he like being an explorer in his own fetish. He didn’t really understand the question which was an answer in itself. For me, I crave information and when I start a new interest I devour as much information as I can. But as I talk and meet more people in the BDSM world, the idea that information is something you could seek seems to be an alien concept to them. I don’t know if there is a jealous hording of information, or just a general sense that anything we do is best learned by trial and error.
Now that I think about it, I think it’s an age thing. Most older people in kink didn’t have websites, books and yahoo groups. They learned by trial and error and I think that’s why they go blank when I ask for tips. Their attitude is to get your hands dirty and get in there. Some days I find that depressing, but then I remind myself that they give that advice because they don't see how you can screw it up so bad on your own. That's reassuring.
Like I said, I had no interest in learning about wax play but I go to these things more for the social aspect. It’s good to de-mystify BDSM by actually meeting the people in your area. Instead of cruel doms and ethereal submissives, I met some folks who were hilarious, some folks that drove me up the fucking wall, some folks that baffled me and some people I wanted to be best friends forever with. Kinky people are just folks, no matter what their blogs, stories or scary screenames say.
Very few single unattached people though, which I have come to expect but it still disappoints. I don’t go to these things to pick up playmates, but deep down I secretly hope that I will meet someone who I can play with rather than listen to how they play with their significant other.
One moment that stuck out was at the second play party the owner of the dungeon rushed me downstairs to show off his newest table. It was a lovely wood tone and solid as hell. It was beautiful but I just loved the guy’s enthusiasm and pride. He made it himself and he couldn’t wait to share it. I realized that we, the kinky party people, were the only ones in the whole world he could show this piece off to. I knew then that no matter how the rest of the night went, I felt good that I was able to give him that small piece of community he needed.
The first party was centered on wax play. A very enthusiastic dom told us about his ten year journey with playing with candles and wax. I don’t even have a passing interest in candle play, but I was fascinated to hear how this guy became his own authority in his fetish. He tried things, he screwed up a lot and now he makes sells candles on his website, BDSM Waxing Candles. Over the years he’s learned tricks as well as just working on his art with his willing canvases.
I asked him at one point if he was ever frustrated with being his own expert, or did he like being an explorer in his own fetish. He didn’t really understand the question which was an answer in itself. For me, I crave information and when I start a new interest I devour as much information as I can. But as I talk and meet more people in the BDSM world, the idea that information is something you could seek seems to be an alien concept to them. I don’t know if there is a jealous hording of information, or just a general sense that anything we do is best learned by trial and error.
Now that I think about it, I think it’s an age thing. Most older people in kink didn’t have websites, books and yahoo groups. They learned by trial and error and I think that’s why they go blank when I ask for tips. Their attitude is to get your hands dirty and get in there. Some days I find that depressing, but then I remind myself that they give that advice because they don't see how you can screw it up so bad on your own. That's reassuring.
Like I said, I had no interest in learning about wax play but I go to these things more for the social aspect. It’s good to de-mystify BDSM by actually meeting the people in your area. Instead of cruel doms and ethereal submissives, I met some folks who were hilarious, some folks that drove me up the fucking wall, some folks that baffled me and some people I wanted to be best friends forever with. Kinky people are just folks, no matter what their blogs, stories or scary screenames say.
Very few single unattached people though, which I have come to expect but it still disappoints. I don’t go to these things to pick up playmates, but deep down I secretly hope that I will meet someone who I can play with rather than listen to how they play with their significant other.
One moment that stuck out was at the second play party the owner of the dungeon rushed me downstairs to show off his newest table. It was a lovely wood tone and solid as hell. It was beautiful but I just loved the guy’s enthusiasm and pride. He made it himself and he couldn’t wait to share it. I realized that we, the kinky party people, were the only ones in the whole world he could show this piece off to. I knew then that no matter how the rest of the night went, I felt good that I was able to give him that small piece of community he needed.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Erotidictionary: Mary Sue
Mary Sue is a when a character in a story comes across as a thinly veiled superior version of the writer. For example, if Bobby Fan is writing his Star Wars fan fiction and introduces a new character named Robby Kenobi, the long lost Jedi who is a better pilot than Luke, has more charm than Han and gets married to Princess Leia, then that is a Mary Sue. These characters are the center of their stories as the writer heaps one wonderful thing after another on them. It is as if the entire world is working to give this character everything they can possibly desire. Sometimes bad things happen to Mary Sues but don’t be fooled. In those cases the writer is just heaping sympathy instead of power.
Mary Sues gets a bad name in fan fiction because people who read fan fiction want to read new stories about popular characters. They want to see the further adventures of X even if X’s company no longer wishes to make movies. Mary Sues are often unwelcome as they make the fan fiction about them instead of these beloved characters. No one ever sat around and said, “I love ‘Veronica Mars’ but man, when are they going to stop talking about the characters there and introduce someone new and sassy who completely dominates all the storylines?”
As much as Mary Sues are often reviled, they do have one genre of fiction where they flourish often with fan appreciation. That home is erotica. This fascinates me to no end. Fans of genre fiction will sneer at a writer who creates an idealized version of themselves to seduce Captain Kirk, but they have no problem with an erotica writer who creates an idealized version of themselves to fuck the police officer who lives down the street. One Mary Sue prompts people to ridicule her, the other Mary Sue prompts people to masturbate and ask for more.
Erotica, maybe more so than any other genre, taps into some very personal issues for the writer. When you’re talking about sex and desire you have to draw from your own desires. There are writers who can write about sex that they don’t want to have and I applaud these master fraudsters but for the rest of us, we have to examine our own wishes and cravings in order to make an erotic story ring true.
I’d even go so far as to say most erotica writers are driven to write by their desires. On any given writing day I can choose to do something really fun or I can sit and try to pour my heart out into something that might be ridiculed, laughed at or ignored but yet I write. I write because I know I am not going to be fucking any sexy super intelligent submissives any time soon but I can in my stories. Erotica gets these desires out so I can have a sane life.
This is why so many erotica stories are about narrators or a single super character who manages to get laid in so many fantastic ways. Erotica is one long dream sequence of things the writer wishes was happening. These writers are not worried about changing class attitudes or proper spiritual enlightenment; these writers are telling a story where good simple porn happens to sexy characters. Sexy characters don’t have father issues unless it’s sexy and adds to the story. Mary Sues are inadvertently created not because every writer is an egomaniac, but simply because most porn is written trying to reach a better, more pornographic world.
I see this a lot in BDSM fiction. Mary Sues abound as BDSM writers not only tell stories of hot porn, but also how BDSM should be in their minds. I swear, sometimes BDSM isn’t a sexual preference; it’s a never ending struggle to reach Leather Nirvana Perfection. I enjoy characters about that struggle, but I often grow bored reading about a Mary Sue who has already achieved it.
What worries me ultimately about Mary Sues is that I see a lot of good erotica writers who started writing by writing their fondest wishes and using Mary Sues as their default characters. As they become better writers, they seem to have a blind spot for the Mary Sues that the stories are centered on. Mary Sues are already perfect characters who just need sex to be complete. Although readers cheer them on, they don’t connect to the Mary Sue because they the readers themselves are not perfect. To really tell a story of the quality the writers are capable of, they need to make some flawed characters who overcome their flaws, or perhaps succeed in spite of their flaws. As much as we all enjoy erotica that is a menu of granted wishes, we also deeply connect to stories about screwed up people who still manage to get laid.
I myself write quite a few Mary Sue characters. The shorter the story, the more likely I am to write about someone flawless. I also don’t think Mary Sues are inherently bad. I think literature and erotica needs a cast of perfect characters that we can escape with and enjoy grand adventures. We need Mary Sues as readers and I suspect many writers need Mary Sues as therapy.
In closing, I would like erotica writers, especially the talented new ones who spring up every other day it seems, to be a little more aware of what kind of characters they are writing about. Mary Sue has an important job in erotica, but think a little of what you could accomplish with Mary Sue’s chubbier insecure sister. What kind of story can you tell with Beatrice Sue that Mary Sue never could?
For a general definition of Mary Sue, try Wikipedia
Try this Mary Sue Test
For a silly example of Mary Sue, try Exhibit A
Mary Sues gets a bad name in fan fiction because people who read fan fiction want to read new stories about popular characters. They want to see the further adventures of X even if X’s company no longer wishes to make movies. Mary Sues are often unwelcome as they make the fan fiction about them instead of these beloved characters. No one ever sat around and said, “I love ‘Veronica Mars’ but man, when are they going to stop talking about the characters there and introduce someone new and sassy who completely dominates all the storylines?”
As much as Mary Sues are often reviled, they do have one genre of fiction where they flourish often with fan appreciation. That home is erotica. This fascinates me to no end. Fans of genre fiction will sneer at a writer who creates an idealized version of themselves to seduce Captain Kirk, but they have no problem with an erotica writer who creates an idealized version of themselves to fuck the police officer who lives down the street. One Mary Sue prompts people to ridicule her, the other Mary Sue prompts people to masturbate and ask for more.
Erotica, maybe more so than any other genre, taps into some very personal issues for the writer. When you’re talking about sex and desire you have to draw from your own desires. There are writers who can write about sex that they don’t want to have and I applaud these master fraudsters but for the rest of us, we have to examine our own wishes and cravings in order to make an erotic story ring true.
I’d even go so far as to say most erotica writers are driven to write by their desires. On any given writing day I can choose to do something really fun or I can sit and try to pour my heart out into something that might be ridiculed, laughed at or ignored but yet I write. I write because I know I am not going to be fucking any sexy super intelligent submissives any time soon but I can in my stories. Erotica gets these desires out so I can have a sane life.
This is why so many erotica stories are about narrators or a single super character who manages to get laid in so many fantastic ways. Erotica is one long dream sequence of things the writer wishes was happening. These writers are not worried about changing class attitudes or proper spiritual enlightenment; these writers are telling a story where good simple porn happens to sexy characters. Sexy characters don’t have father issues unless it’s sexy and adds to the story. Mary Sues are inadvertently created not because every writer is an egomaniac, but simply because most porn is written trying to reach a better, more pornographic world.
I see this a lot in BDSM fiction. Mary Sues abound as BDSM writers not only tell stories of hot porn, but also how BDSM should be in their minds. I swear, sometimes BDSM isn’t a sexual preference; it’s a never ending struggle to reach Leather Nirvana Perfection. I enjoy characters about that struggle, but I often grow bored reading about a Mary Sue who has already achieved it.
What worries me ultimately about Mary Sues is that I see a lot of good erotica writers who started writing by writing their fondest wishes and using Mary Sues as their default characters. As they become better writers, they seem to have a blind spot for the Mary Sues that the stories are centered on. Mary Sues are already perfect characters who just need sex to be complete. Although readers cheer them on, they don’t connect to the Mary Sue because they the readers themselves are not perfect. To really tell a story of the quality the writers are capable of, they need to make some flawed characters who overcome their flaws, or perhaps succeed in spite of their flaws. As much as we all enjoy erotica that is a menu of granted wishes, we also deeply connect to stories about screwed up people who still manage to get laid.
I myself write quite a few Mary Sue characters. The shorter the story, the more likely I am to write about someone flawless. I also don’t think Mary Sues are inherently bad. I think literature and erotica needs a cast of perfect characters that we can escape with and enjoy grand adventures. We need Mary Sues as readers and I suspect many writers need Mary Sues as therapy.
In closing, I would like erotica writers, especially the talented new ones who spring up every other day it seems, to be a little more aware of what kind of characters they are writing about. Mary Sue has an important job in erotica, but think a little of what you could accomplish with Mary Sue’s chubbier insecure sister. What kind of story can you tell with Beatrice Sue that Mary Sue never could?
For a general definition of Mary Sue, try Wikipedia
Try this Mary Sue Test
For a silly example of Mary Sue, try Exhibit A
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Half Nekked Thursday De-Pornification
A family member is leaving her abusive marriage and coming to stay with us for a few days. Or it might be a few weeks. This family member is what you might call conservative since she like, sings in her church choir, teaches Sunday school and worried we were Satanists cause we’re Buddhists.
Now since she is in the middle of a divorce, and trying to leave an abusive husband, I plan to be extra nice so she can use our home as a refuge. Part of being extra nice is getting the apartment ready and trying to make it inviting to her. I want her to feel safe and welcome here so she can leave her asshole who likes to hit her.
Which means I got to de-porn my house. Any other day I would leave things as they are, but I’m trying to be nice here. I'm not ashamed of my porn as countless red faced houseguests can tell you, but in this case, I think my casual porn lifestyle would be too much for my already stressed family member. The only hard thing is well, I’ve got a lot of porn around the house.
From risqué fridge magnets
To our usual bathroom reading material,
To a book and paddle I had on the freaking dining table!
This is going to be weird.
Now since she is in the middle of a divorce, and trying to leave an abusive husband, I plan to be extra nice so she can use our home as a refuge. Part of being extra nice is getting the apartment ready and trying to make it inviting to her. I want her to feel safe and welcome here so she can leave her asshole who likes to hit her.
Which means I got to de-porn my house. Any other day I would leave things as they are, but I’m trying to be nice here. I'm not ashamed of my porn as countless red faced houseguests can tell you, but in this case, I think my casual porn lifestyle would be too much for my already stressed family member. The only hard thing is well, I’ve got a lot of porn around the house.
From risqué fridge magnets
To our usual bathroom reading material,
To a book and paddle I had on the freaking dining table!
This is going to be weird.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Fiction:Timothy and the Swamp Girls
The Okefenokee Swamp was beautiful that June morning. It was shortly after 9, and the heat of the day was slowly seeping in like floodwater. I’d expected mosquitoes, but it was as if they too had decided to take a day off. I was sitting on an 8-foot by 8-foot platform, which is what passes for a camping site out here in the swamp. My small canoe was tied up, and I had all my fishing gear out. I had planned a full weekend of fishing, canoeing and getting the fuck away from Atlanta.
This week was DominationCon, the biggest, grandest bondage and domination convention of the year. Men would be strutting in leather, women would be making promises that they had no intention of keeping with sexy outfits, and vendors would be selling $10 handcuffs for 50 bucks. For four days, kinky people would be yelling at each other about the right way to tie up a submissive, and cliques would be fervently trying to outdo each other in imaginary protocol rules. Being the best dom in five counties, I would be expected to attend, give a few lectures and settle a few arguments.
Fuck that, I went fishing. I went to the most forsaken part of Georgia: the Okefenokee Swamp. There are no roads, just 600 miles of swampland. You have to get a permit to spend the night here, and the best you can hope for campground is this rickety platform. Your only company is gators and fish with the occasional swamp monster sighting. The Okefenokee is as empty as DominationCon is crammed with people, and that’s just fine with me.
To read more, click Whole Post
There was no such thing as quiet in the swamp, but it was peaceful. Bugs buzzed, fish splashed, other creatures rustled while the wind whistled and snaked its way through the trees. To be honest, it was damn loud. That was OK, though. At least it wasn’t people or Celtic chanting, which seems to have become popular dungeon music. I just sat and fished with the dull roar of nature as my soundtrack.
My peace and quiet lasted about 10 minutes. I heard the gentle splash of paddles on water and I groaned. Six hundred miles of swamp, and some jackass in a boat was making their way towards me. The thought occurred to me that I should have brought a banjo because nothing scares off men in the wilds like the sound of a banjo. Oh, well, I made a mental note to do that next time. For now, I settled on looking surly and kept on fishing.
What came paddling by made me reconsider my banjo idea. There were two women in a little canoe. Both of them had long hair as dark as Georgia molasses. Their skin was tanned a golden bronze, which was a welcome sight after all the pale Goth girls that fill the dungeons these days. I could admire their bodies because they weren’t wearing much clothing. They wore plain brown dresses with plunging necklines that revealed sweaty tanned breasts. The lack of sleeves on the dresses showed off their very muscular arms, arms that could snap the necks of most of the doms at DominationCon. There wasn’t a spot of makeup to be seen on either of them, nor any jewelry, not even a hairclip. They were as anti-Atlanta as two pretty girls could get.
“Is there room for two more?” the girl in the front of the boat asked. It was her smile that snared me. It was the smile of someone who just got lucky. I may be a dom but I’m a man first, and my male pride liked the idea of being this woman’s catch of the day.
“Sure, come ashore,” I said. “My name is Timothy Kyle Vance, and who might you two be?”
The girl in the back answered for them. She had a smile, too, but although it was sexual in nature, it was far less friendly. “My name is Daisy, and this is my sister Sally.”
Those were not the names I would have given these girls. These gals looked like Pocahontas’s sexy cousins, and they had names more fitting for Georgia farm girls. Oh, well, crazy parents giving weird names are a tradition in the South. I didn’t give it a second thought. I put down my fishing rod and reached out a hand to help the ladies on board. Sally took my hand, and I got an eyeful down her dress and saw that she was lacking both a bra and panties. Daisy refused my help and climbed onto the platform by the sheer power of her muscular arms. They were both lacking shoes, and their feet were splattered with today’s mud. That was so different from the Atlanta Angels I normally date that I actually had to take a deep breath to slow down my fluttering heart.
“How’s the fishing?” Sally asked. She sat down beside me with her fishing rod.
“Not bad,” I said. “I just started but have already got me a nice bluegill.”
Daisy sat down on the other side of me, which surprised me. I’d thought she would keep her distance. She sat close enough to me that her bare knee rubbed against mine. “This is one of the better spots. We always catch something delicious here.”
Well, I guess she didn’t dislike me if she was flirting already. It was rare, but even I misread women sometimes. Maybe I wasn’t used to country girls.
“So, you ladies come fishing here often?” I asked.
Daisy’s smile returned, and this time it struck me as a little feral. “Every day as soon as spring starts. That’s when all the big fish come out.”
I was trying to figure out if that was a double entendre or just a single when I felt Sally’s hand on my other knee. I turned to her and her big, wide, happy eyes.
“What do you do outside the swamp?” she asked.
That was an odd way to ask the question, but I was happy to oblige. “I’m a consultant.”
The blank look in her eyes told me she had no clue. “I tell people what to they need to do in order to do the things they want to do. They hire me to tell them things their employees are too afraid to hear.”
That she understood. “So you’re like Aunt Missy. She’s always telling Mom things she don’t want to hear. Like when the gators need to be fed, or when a baby is going to be a boy, or when it’s —”
Daisy interrupted her sister by placing her hand on my thigh, which worked quite well, let me tell you. “Sally, Timothy doesn’t want to hear about our family. He came here to fish, right?”
“No, Ma’am, I don’t mind,” I said. “What’s this about feeding gators? Does your family run a farm?”
Sally almost answered, but a pursing of Daisy’s lips stopped her. “Something like that,” Daisy said. “Let’s be quiet and fish now. The noise will spook the fish.”
I knew they were holding something back, but you know what? Fuck it. I did come here to relax, and I wasn’t going to pry into family business. Besides, I had two pretty girls sharing my fishing spot, and they were offering to be quiet. Could it get any better than this?
So we fished. Just because we were quiet didn’t mean the swamp stayed quiet, though. The bugs buzzed, the wind rustled and the dock creaked as we kept our tongues still. The girls stayed as close as they were, which was real nice. The touch of a thigh against a knee or an elbow against a dress-covered breast kept the mind thinking pleasant thoughts. Most of them were dirty thoughts, but they were all pleasant.
At some point, Daisy let her hand rest high on my thigh. That was mighty fine with me. As if it was some sort of cue, Sally leaned all the way back and rested her head on my fishing tackle. Her short dress rode up high on her legs, and I swear I caught the sight of a little bit of authentic Georgia peach fuzz. She caught me looking between her thighs and winked.
I was pondering a response when Daisy took my free hand and placed it on her thigh. I turned to look at her, and the mischief in her eyes dared me to say anything. She guided my hand up and down her thigh so I could feel the muscles rippling underneath. She moved my hand between her thighs, and I felt the summer heat of her sex.
That is Sally slipped her hand under the back of my shirt. Her nails dragged across my back gently, sending shivers down my spine. When my back arched, she slung her leg over my legs, which effectively pulled her dress right past any sense of decency. I looked down to see that her pubic hair was as thick and tangled as any of the brush here in the Okefenokee.
“I am thinking you ladies have carnal intentions upon my body,” I said. Southern manners prevented me from inquiring whether this would cost me any money.
“What does that mean?” Sally asked.
“It means he knows we want to fuck him,” Daisy replied.
“Do you two do this often?” I asked.
Sally laughed. “You’re the first catch of the summer,” she said.
Daisy had a more direct answer. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a hard kiss, with more savagery than passion. Her mouth forced mine open, and her tongue plunged in. I recognized that kind of kiss. It was a claiming.
Two could play at that game. The flimsy material of her dress gave no protection as I cupped a breast in my hand. My other hand searched for the nipple on the other breast, and I easily found it. I crushed her one breast in my hand while my fingers twisted her nipple with the same force she was kissing my mouth. I didn’t hold anything back as I mauled her tits. She tried to resist, but after a minute, she broke the kiss and growled from the abuse I was giving her lovely breasts.
We looked at each other, and her eyes were willful and unrepentant. Damn, that was hot.
Before I could say anything, Sally had sat back up and had unzipped my shorts. My cock sprang free of my boxers, and her hand snatched it like a heron grabbing fish. Her touch was just as rough as her sister’s but a bit more respectful. She gave me a wicked look before swooping down to duplicate what her hand did with her mouth. In one gulp she took all of my cock between her lips. Her nose and chin buried themselves in my crotch while my cock went down her throat.
“Oh, fuck,” I said. Instincts took over, and I grabbed a handful of Sally’s black hair. I wound that thick hair around my fist as Sally started to suck. I hesitated for a moment cause I realized that it’s been so long since I’d had sex with non-BDSM gals. Maybe ordinary country girls wouldn’t appreciate having their hair pulled into a natural leash. As I paused, Sally groaned, and her sucking took on a more desperate enthusiasm. I decided she was just fine with it and tightened my grip on her hair. The whimpering moans told me I’d made the right choice.
Daisy regained her courage. She pushed me down till I was lying on my back. With the sun shining behind her, she stood up and pulled her dress over her head. I watched her sunbaked body as she stood directly over me. Her body eclipsed the sun as she lowered her cunt down to my face. Like a fish gasping for the hook, I opened my mouth and happily took her pussy. My tongue delved into her, and the sharp tangy juices just seemed to spill into my mouth.
Powerful thighs gripped my head as Daisy rode my face. Her hands grabbed my hair just as tightly as I was holding her sister’s. With my head locked in place, Daisy fucked my face with the urgent passion I had come to expect from her. It’d been a long time since I let a woman ride my face, and the novelty of the moment was why I permitted it. It also didn’t hurt that my cock was being so wonderfully sucked by Sally. A man, even a dom like myself, can tolerate a lot if his cock is being deep-throated.
Daisy fucked my face, but I gave it back to her. When she ground her cunt against my lips, I would find a nice bit of pussy lip to bite till she slowed down. When her thighs squeezed my head like she was squeezing lemons, my mouth would suck her clitoris till her thighs loosened from the overwhelming sensation. When Daisy sealed her sex over my mouth and nose for her own pleasure, a sudden slap to her ass with my free hand taught her to let me breathe.
When my lips started to tingle from the face-fucking, I decided that it was time to take a direct hand in things. I pulled Sally off my cock by her hair, and I slapped Daisy’s thigh till she got the message to dismount. After wiping the pussy juice off my face, I took charge of the situation.
“Sally, why don’t you spread your legs here, and I can give your cunt what your mouth has been tasting. Daisy, you if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll give you a fucking, too.”
Sally grinned and did exactly as I asked. She laid back and spread those long tanned legs into an almost straight line. Her sex glistened in the summer sun, and I couldn’t wait to sink my myself into that lovely quicksand.
Daisy had other ideas.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “You lie down and we’ll mount you.”
“No,” I said. Now, I have had enough threesomes to know that a little bit of compromise goes a long way, but I have also had enough threesomes that I don’t roll over and accommodate the people involved just to make sure the threesome happens. Ordinarily, I would have been happy to lie down and let these beautiful country women mount me, but I was a bit put off by Daisy’s attitude. I was suppressing my dom side as it was by not doing a little spanking and a little pinching, but I wasn’t going to be her obedient fucktoy either.
We looked at each other like dogs gearing up for a fight. Daisy’s eyes were lowering into slits, while I was slowly tilting my head up so I could look down at her. This wasn’t about how we were going to fuck. This was about who was going to be the fucker and who was getting fucked. Such things may seem silly to you, but to someone of my nature, once the question has been raised, it’s impossible for me to ignore. I could tell that it was the same for Daisy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Sally was stroking herself. Damn, I think this was turning her on. She was watching the two of us and sinking her fingers into her cunt. The squishy sounds joined the other sounds of the swamp and seemed perfectly natural. Sally looked at us as if we were some sort of porn.
“Sally, get the rope,” Daisy said.
Sally stopped stroking. “Aw, Daisy. I wanted to do it without the rope this time.”
What the fuck? “What’s this about rope?”
For an answer, Daisy punched me in the stomach. I didn’t see that coming. I doubled over in pain, but the pain was quickly replaced with pure anger. Did this swamp woman think I was some sort of soft city wimp?
My hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. When she tried to pull it away, I swung my other hand and slapped her across the face. Long dark hair went flying as her head spun from the blow. She froze and just glared at me. I slapped her face again, just to punctuate how pissed I was. Part of me was just too bewildered at what had happened to know what to do next.
“Sally, get the gator fucking rope!” Daisy yelled.
“Sally, sit your ass right there!” I thundered. It was my dom voice, and I’m proud to say the pretty little lady didn’t move an inch.
Daisy’s face transformed into pure indignant rage. Weirdly enough, it was the same look I’d once seen on a professional dominatrix. Daisy lunged at me and tackled me to the shaky wooden deck. This crazy woman didn’t bite and scratch like a city girl would fight. Oh no, it was punching, kicking and at one point, a mighty powerful chokehold with those biceps of hers. The bitch had wrestled before, and if her sister wasn’t going to help, then she was more than ready to do it herself.
I don’t know how long Daisy and I grappled, but it seemed like forever. She was strong, vicious and not afraid to elbow me in the crotch when the opportunity arose. The wooden deck shook and rattled as we wrestled, and there were times I was afraid it was going to collapse and dump us all in the water. At other times, I was pretty distracted by the press of naked breasts against my face or the feeling of a limber thigh wrapping around my waist. Fighting is hard enough without an erection, and Daisy just saw erections as something else to grab and twist.
The warrior swamp princess might have been athletic, nasty and mean, but she was dealing with a Southern boy raised on professional wrestling and forced to date in Atlanta, where every man, woman and child has a gym membership. I busted out moves on her that I learned from watching Dusty Rhodes and Ric Flair. My body took her punches and kicks with the same stoic pain management that it uses to handle an hourlong workout at Bally’s. It took a while, and I certainly got bruised, but eventually I was sitting on Daisy’s back with her arms pinned under my knees and her face held down by an elbow.
I looked at Sally, who had done nothing during this entire battle. I worried that with her sister down, Sally might feel some family urge to kick my ass. What I saw on her face made me chuckle despite my bruised jaw. Her face was lit with the glow of sex and worship.
“Sally, get the rope,” I said.
“Sally, don’t you dare help him!”
I leaned a certain way, and Daisy gasped for air. “Quiet, you.”
Sally scampered over to their boat and came bag with a large sack. She dumped the sack, and damn if I didn’t see some of the finest homemade rope I have ever laid eyes on. There was about 50 feet of the stuff, triple corded and strong as steel. There were other things in the sack as well: scarves that would work perfectly as gags, two hoods and several very sharp-looking knives. The only thing missing was that banjo I was thinking of earlier.
“Help me hold down your sister, and then you and I are going to talk,” I told Sally.
Sally frowned. “Are we not going to fuck?”
My cock surged. “Oh, we’ll be fucking, too.”
“All right then,” she said.
Daisy started cursing again, so I jammed one of the scarves in her mouth as a gag. Sally sat on her sister’s back while I went to work with the rope. Daisy was worn out from our wrestling, and it took no time to bind her nude body. I may have taken my time binding up her tits, and I spent a little too much time making sure her arms were not in a comfortable position behind her back. I also added about a half-dozen thick knots to the part of the rope that wrapped down over her cunt so she that if she struggled, she would be stroking her clit and sex with the rope. When I was done, Daisy was lying on her side, practically immobilized except for an inch or two of squirming room.
“”Are we going to fuck now?” Sally asked. She had lost her dress completely, and the sun just loved her tanned body.
“Well, Sally, I am a little concerned about the knives and other stuff,” I said. “So just to be safe, I’m gong to tie you up a little, too. Not as much as I did your sister, but enough that you won’t be able to hurt me or rescue her. Is that all right with you?”
Daisy struggled hard and tried to say something through her gag. I didn’t know what she was saying, but the sentiment was easy to figure out.
“Mom is going to be pissed,” Sally said, “but I’ve never been tied up before. We always tie the men up when we have sex. I’ve always wanted to try it.”
Always tied the men up? Interesting. Because Sally was cooperating, she was easier to tie. I tied her hands behind her back, folding her forearms over one another. I bound her ankles together but left her thighs free so I could access her cunt. The rope went under her tits, lifting them up for my enjoyment. For fun, I wrapped it a few times around her neck to give her a nice rope collar. When I was done, she could hobble around on her knees, but she wouldn’t be able to attack me if I got too distracted with fucking her.
Sally was on her knees when I was finished, and I was squatting in front of her. I played with both her nipples, groping and squeezing them till I found just the right way to make her moan. Yes, I can be gentle when I need to, but what really made Sally moan was when I twisted her nipples almost a full circle. It warms my heart when I meet a natural masochist.
“So tell me about the men you tie up,” I said. I gave each nipple a nice little twist as incentive.
“Why you want to hear about them?” Sally said. “Hey, why you stop?”
“Tell what I want, and I won’t stop,” I said.
“Mom says it’s not natural to let men do the sex,” Sally continued. I gave her nipples another tweak, and she kept talking. “So Mom has a rule that we have to tie up the men for sex every time or else they get ideas.”
I leaned forward and bit a nipple. “What kind of ideas?”
“Oh, yes. Umm, stuff like how they shouldn’t have to do all the cooking. Or how they don’t want to sew the clothes and how they don’t want to sleep in the husband pen.”
I stopped biting. “You keep the husbands in a pen? Is that some sort of kennel?”
Sally nodded. “Oh, yes. If we don’t, then they might run away in the night.”
I bit down hard on her nipple. What the hell are these girls involved in? Sally trembled as I nibbled and thought about what she had told me. I pulled my head back and pulled her nipple with my teeth till it popped loose of my lips.
“Where the hell do you girls live?” I asked.
Daisy thrashed some more, trying to say something through her gag. Sally looked at her sister and hesitated. The girl was horny and excited, but obviously what I’d asked was some big secret.
To help Sally make her choice, I reached down between her legs. Her cunt lips were soaked from the summer heat and her own desire. My finger slipped right into her, and I gave her a few hard thrusts. I then pulled my finger out real slow like, to give her a moment to think about what she was missing.
“We live in the swamp,” Sally said. Daisy moaned in despair. “We have a hidden place where no one can find us.”
My finger was almost out of her. “Are you bullshitting me?”
“No, no!” Sally protested. “Honest. We’ve lived there for generations. Mom said our family has lived there since before the white men came. We’ve always lived in the swamp because it’s the one place where men don’t want to stay. They don’t know how to treat the gators and the snakes so it’s too dangerous for them. Mom says men are wimps and always have been.”
I finger-fucked her a bit harder to let her know what I thought of that last statement. Sally gasped, and she bit her lip hard. She was so wet that her cunt just seemed to suck my finger right in. Sometimes, she would rise up on her knees; the sexual energy pent up inside her trying to find a physical release somehow. Of course, I slowed down any time I thought an orgasm was coming. I needed her horny if I was going to learn any more.
“So you two come from a group of women that lives out in the Okefenokee Swamp and keep men in cages, and nobody knows about it? How the hell do you get any new men?”
Sally’s eyes lost that sexual glow and betrayed a little bit of shame. My finger froze in mid-thrust as my brain finally put the pieces together. Over in the corner, I think Daisy might have actually laughed.
“You grab guys who come to the swamp!” I said. “You were going to grab me!”
Sally almost lied but thought better of it. “We only grab the good-looking ones,” she offered. “And the ones by themselves. And the ones that are not too old. It’s easier to train the younger ones. But we would treat you real nice, honest! All our menfolk are fed and fucked and hardly ever beaten.”
I snorted at that last comment. “And what do you do with the ones that don’t want to stay in your little Amazon swamp paradise?”
Sally had that look like she was about to lie again. I pulled my finger completely out and wiped the juices on her tit.
“Wait!” she said. “We, umm, well Mom feeds them to the gators. But only if they are really bad! Like giving too much backtalk or trying to run away. Some of them don’t like that we share husbands, and they get possessive and really misbehave. We don’t kill all the menfolk. A lot of them die of fever because men are so weak.”
Holy shit. This was just too fucking weird. I stood up and walked over to their boat. Sally started whining, but I ignored her. I took a good look at their fishing poles and noticed how old they were. I examined their dresses, which had been stitched together out of very worn cloth. I went through everything they had, from the rope to the knives to even their boat, and it was all either homemade or over 10 years old. I don’t know if her story about a secret swamp matriarchy was true, but damn if everything they had didn’t support it.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Sally pouted. “I knew when I saw you wrestling Daisy that you weren’t half as weak as the men we usually get. I was hoping to have you to myself before I had to share you with my sisters and aunts. Now we’re not going to fuck at all, are we?”
I laughed. “Do you want to fuck, Sally?” I walked over to her and grabbed her hair as hard as I could. Her head tilted back at me, and her breasts jutted forward.
“Do you really want to fuck the way I would fuck you? I’m not one of your fishermen catches who apparently don’t mind sleeping in a kennel. I’m not the one who’ll be tied up. If I fuck you, it’ll be the way I want to fuck, and it’ll be as hard, mean and nasty as I want to fuck. I’ll fuck you like you fuck your husbands, and you’ll never be able to fuck them again without thinking of how I fucked you. If that scares you, then I’ll be a hell of a lot nicer than you were to your husbands, and I’ll let you two go back to your fucked up secret home. You and your sister can leave right now if you like.”
Sally shook her head no, well as much as my grip in her hair would let her.
“So you want me to fuck you?” I said.
“Yes,” Sally said. “Fuck me. Make me your husband.”
I snorted. “I got your meaning, but don’t ever say that again.”
With her hair in hand, I pulled her forward till her face was down on the dock. Her ass stayed in the air, and she spread her thighs as much as her bound ankles would let her. I placed a hand on her bottom and gave her a little slap as I walked behind her. My cock was hard and ready as I knelt down behind her.
Daisy groaned and I looked over at her. Her eyes expressed hatred, though whether it was for me or her traitorous sister, I don’t know. I do know that her nude body looked wonderful bound as it was. I took my cock in hand and made sure Daisy could see it as I buried it into her sister’s cunt.
“Great Sun Mother!” Sally cried. Who the Sun Mother was, I could not have cared less. My cock was inside this wild child of the swamp, and her pussy was as hot, wet and slick as the swamp itself. Her cunt pulsed around my cock, trying to suck me in and trap me inside her forever.
“Are you ready, Sally?” I asked.
“Yes, please, yes!” she said.
I fucked her. I fucked the bound woman on the dock while her sister watched. My fingers dug into Sally’s hips while I used her cunt for my pleasure. After all the teasing, sucking, face-riding, wrestling and tying, I needed this fuck. My cock rammed into Sally’s body with the stress of the day behind every push. I should have gone slow, I should have paced myself a little, but fuck it. After all the shit I’d been through that day, I just wanted to fuck a slut who was asking for it.
Sally wailed as I fucked her. It worried me at first, but I got used to it. It was an eerie cry of need. Sally was moaning for the sex she had always wanted but wasn’t allowed to have. She was crying out her joy at being fucked and at the same time mourning the loss of never being able to do this again. The poor woman was a natural submissive in a female-dominant lifestyle. You could hear it in every whimpering moan and feel it in every clench of her cunt. When she climaxed — and she did at least four times — her wail turned into a shriek and then died back down into that low sad wail again.
Meanwhile, Daisy watched. She saw how a man uses a woman, and it had to be blowing her mind. What I didn’t expect was that I saw her shifting her hips every so slightly. She was humping against the knots on her sex and doing her damn best to hide it. I don’t know if it was us turning her on or just her own urgent need, but the woman was getting herself off with the ropes I’d tied her with. That turned me on even more, and I decided to indulge in Sally’s body in other ways.
I pulled out of Sally and pushed her body so she fell on her side. She groaned, and I saw her hips continue their humping as if she could summon my cock back inside her. I grabbed her by the ankles and rolled her over on her back, and then mounted her chest. My cock flopped right between her breasts, and she watched as I squeezed her tits around it. Her eyes grew wide, and I knew she had never seen this before. Poor backwoods swamp slut.
“Please put it back inside me!” she said. No, she commanded. Sally was used to getting what she wanted.
“No,” I said and then I slapped her tits. She cried out, and I backhanded them with my cock still between them. The girl squirmed underneath me in pain as I slapped both tits over and over. Her plump, tanned breasts jiggled under my slaps and slowly darkened as my slapping increased. Back and forth, back and forth I smacked her breasts while my cock pulsed between them. Sally screamed, cursed and at one point threatened me, but I just kept slapping her large round tits.
Finally, her protests were just moans and whimpers. Tears were rolling from her eyes, and her struggling was just a weak kicking with her heels. Her breasts were hot to the touch, which is exactly how I like them for tit-fucking.
I pulled her tits tight around my cock and started pumping. She looked down at the cock that emerged from between her breasts and disappeared back between her mounds. Her tits were so tender that every thrust hurt, but I could see the comprehension dawning on her face. I didn’t do this for her, I did it for me, and although it hurt like hell, she began to smile through the pain.
As for Daisy, the bound woman was a little more blatant in her humping of the rope. Her whole body was squirming and struggling against it. I would have worried that she was trying to get free except for the deepening blush that was forming on her face.
Sally’s breasts were wonderful to fuck, but the hard wooden deck was killing my knees. I got off her chest and Sally moaned with disappointment. Ah, how quickly women can change their minds. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her hobbled, crawling body over to where I had set my ice cooler. The cooler served as a chair as I sat my ass down and spread my legs. My cock throbbed inches from Sally’s face and she tried to reach it with her tongue. She was held back by my grip in her hair.
“Keep your tongue out,” I said.
She obeyed. I let her head come down just close enough that the tip of my cock rested against her outstretched tongue. She licked it, and I reached down and painfully squeezed a sore breast.
“I said keep your tongue out. Don’t lick or do anything till I tell you.”
Sally whimpered and stuck her tongue back out. I placed my cock back on her tongue, and she held it there. Perfectly still she stayed, this beautiful kneeling woman with her tongue out. She wanted to suck me, but she stayed right where she was, bound by ropes but keeping still purely because of my will. My cock was heavy on her tongue, and she could taste her cunt and breasts but she didn’t budge an inch.
Daisy kept humping. She didn’t care anymore. Our eyes met and I still saw the hatred, but she kept humping. Her climax was coming, and she wanted me to know that this she did in spite of me, not because. I wonder if she believed that herself. With her sister’s tongue holding up my cock, I watched as Daisy brought herself to a long, body-shuddering climax.
That was my cue. I reached for my cock and started stroking. Sally’s eyes looked up at me, and her tongue quivered but she kept still. I stroked myself fast and hard. I stroked myself for those poor bastards stuck in a kennel. I stroked myself for the husbands outside the swamp who are kept in cages formed by marriage, tradition or just plain old pussy-whipping. I pumped my cock for all the guys who would never know the joy of what it is like take a strong woman and use her with not only her cooperation, but her full obedient blessing.
My cock erupted and sprayed cum onto Sally’s face. She closed her eyes just in time. She made me proud by keeping her tongue out as my heavy load covered her face. I stroked throughout my climax, doing my best to get out every drop and mark every inch of her face with my seed.
She sat there, cum dripping from her face, as I found my shorts and got my gear together. She hadn’t moved, not even when I cut her wrists and arms free of the rope. Sally stayed there kneeling, occasionally touching her face and licking her fingers.
“Come back with us,” she said. Daisy was still gagged and bound, but I could feel the hostility radiate from her as it does from a water moccasin you’re about to step on.
“Come back with us,” Sally said again. “Mom will meet you and she’ll see that you’re a strong man and that not all men are weak. You can stay with us and fuck me whenever you want. I have other sisters; they’ll like you too.”
“Oh, Sally, it ain’t that simple,” I said. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with women being in charge of men. I know a half-dozen guys in Atlanta who would happily go live with you right now. The only problem is when you start feeding them to gators and, you know, keeping them prisoner. That’s the wrong part. It isn’t that all women are strong or all men are strong, it’s that some men like to be in charge and some women like to be the ones on top. They just need to find people who want to be the ones in the kennel. If I went back to your place, your mom and I would fight, and I have a feeling her gators would be the winners.”
Sally touched her sore breast and winced. “So you’re just going to leave?”
“Yep,” I said. “But Sally, you’re going to go back and tell your mom about this. And Daisy is going to tell your mom about this, and who knows, maybe you ladies will do things a little differently. Like, I don’t know, asking guys before you kidnap them. And stopping with the gator feeding.”
Sally nodded. “I’ll go right now and tell Mom!”
“How about you wait till I leave first?” I asked. “Just in case your mom’s gators are hungry.”
She smiled. “That’s fair. Will I ever see you again?”
“Oh, sure,” I lied. “I’ll be back next year, same time.”
I walked over to Daisy and thought about maybe groping the bound naked lady, but I refrained. That would have been bad manners. I liked to think I saw some respect in her eyes as I left, but I have a feeling she was just imaging me being killed by her family. Oh, well, fucking sisters is always complicated.
It took me six hours of fast paddling to get the hell out of the Okefenokee Swamp. I could have sworn I heard the paddling of other boats, but I never saw anyone following me. Once in a while, I thought I caught sight of black hair or heard the sound of a giggling woman. I had just gotten laid, but my nerves were jumping all the way out of the swamp.
I tried telling some park rangers about what I had seen, but they just snickered at me. Crazy swamp women capturing fishermen and fucking them? Shit, why didn’t I throw in a swamp monster while I was at it? Fuckers didn’t believe me at all. I asked how many fishermen they had lost over the years, and I got some vague speech about the dangers of gators and the stupidity of the average fisherman. Assholes.
That’s why I don’t plan to ever go back to the Okefenokee. For that matter, it might be awhile before I leave Atlanta. Country girls are sexy and hot, but their families are fucking crazy.
The end.
This week was DominationCon, the biggest, grandest bondage and domination convention of the year. Men would be strutting in leather, women would be making promises that they had no intention of keeping with sexy outfits, and vendors would be selling $10 handcuffs for 50 bucks. For four days, kinky people would be yelling at each other about the right way to tie up a submissive, and cliques would be fervently trying to outdo each other in imaginary protocol rules. Being the best dom in five counties, I would be expected to attend, give a few lectures and settle a few arguments.
Fuck that, I went fishing. I went to the most forsaken part of Georgia: the Okefenokee Swamp. There are no roads, just 600 miles of swampland. You have to get a permit to spend the night here, and the best you can hope for campground is this rickety platform. Your only company is gators and fish with the occasional swamp monster sighting. The Okefenokee is as empty as DominationCon is crammed with people, and that’s just fine with me.
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There was no such thing as quiet in the swamp, but it was peaceful. Bugs buzzed, fish splashed, other creatures rustled while the wind whistled and snaked its way through the trees. To be honest, it was damn loud. That was OK, though. At least it wasn’t people or Celtic chanting, which seems to have become popular dungeon music. I just sat and fished with the dull roar of nature as my soundtrack.
My peace and quiet lasted about 10 minutes. I heard the gentle splash of paddles on water and I groaned. Six hundred miles of swamp, and some jackass in a boat was making their way towards me. The thought occurred to me that I should have brought a banjo because nothing scares off men in the wilds like the sound of a banjo. Oh, well, I made a mental note to do that next time. For now, I settled on looking surly and kept on fishing.
What came paddling by made me reconsider my banjo idea. There were two women in a little canoe. Both of them had long hair as dark as Georgia molasses. Their skin was tanned a golden bronze, which was a welcome sight after all the pale Goth girls that fill the dungeons these days. I could admire their bodies because they weren’t wearing much clothing. They wore plain brown dresses with plunging necklines that revealed sweaty tanned breasts. The lack of sleeves on the dresses showed off their very muscular arms, arms that could snap the necks of most of the doms at DominationCon. There wasn’t a spot of makeup to be seen on either of them, nor any jewelry, not even a hairclip. They were as anti-Atlanta as two pretty girls could get.
“Is there room for two more?” the girl in the front of the boat asked. It was her smile that snared me. It was the smile of someone who just got lucky. I may be a dom but I’m a man first, and my male pride liked the idea of being this woman’s catch of the day.
“Sure, come ashore,” I said. “My name is Timothy Kyle Vance, and who might you two be?”
The girl in the back answered for them. She had a smile, too, but although it was sexual in nature, it was far less friendly. “My name is Daisy, and this is my sister Sally.”
Those were not the names I would have given these girls. These gals looked like Pocahontas’s sexy cousins, and they had names more fitting for Georgia farm girls. Oh, well, crazy parents giving weird names are a tradition in the South. I didn’t give it a second thought. I put down my fishing rod and reached out a hand to help the ladies on board. Sally took my hand, and I got an eyeful down her dress and saw that she was lacking both a bra and panties. Daisy refused my help and climbed onto the platform by the sheer power of her muscular arms. They were both lacking shoes, and their feet were splattered with today’s mud. That was so different from the Atlanta Angels I normally date that I actually had to take a deep breath to slow down my fluttering heart.
“How’s the fishing?” Sally asked. She sat down beside me with her fishing rod.
“Not bad,” I said. “I just started but have already got me a nice bluegill.”
Daisy sat down on the other side of me, which surprised me. I’d thought she would keep her distance. She sat close enough to me that her bare knee rubbed against mine. “This is one of the better spots. We always catch something delicious here.”
Well, I guess she didn’t dislike me if she was flirting already. It was rare, but even I misread women sometimes. Maybe I wasn’t used to country girls.
“So, you ladies come fishing here often?” I asked.
Daisy’s smile returned, and this time it struck me as a little feral. “Every day as soon as spring starts. That’s when all the big fish come out.”
I was trying to figure out if that was a double entendre or just a single when I felt Sally’s hand on my other knee. I turned to her and her big, wide, happy eyes.
“What do you do outside the swamp?” she asked.
That was an odd way to ask the question, but I was happy to oblige. “I’m a consultant.”
The blank look in her eyes told me she had no clue. “I tell people what to they need to do in order to do the things they want to do. They hire me to tell them things their employees are too afraid to hear.”
That she understood. “So you’re like Aunt Missy. She’s always telling Mom things she don’t want to hear. Like when the gators need to be fed, or when a baby is going to be a boy, or when it’s —”
Daisy interrupted her sister by placing her hand on my thigh, which worked quite well, let me tell you. “Sally, Timothy doesn’t want to hear about our family. He came here to fish, right?”
“No, Ma’am, I don’t mind,” I said. “What’s this about feeding gators? Does your family run a farm?”
Sally almost answered, but a pursing of Daisy’s lips stopped her. “Something like that,” Daisy said. “Let’s be quiet and fish now. The noise will spook the fish.”
I knew they were holding something back, but you know what? Fuck it. I did come here to relax, and I wasn’t going to pry into family business. Besides, I had two pretty girls sharing my fishing spot, and they were offering to be quiet. Could it get any better than this?
So we fished. Just because we were quiet didn’t mean the swamp stayed quiet, though. The bugs buzzed, the wind rustled and the dock creaked as we kept our tongues still. The girls stayed as close as they were, which was real nice. The touch of a thigh against a knee or an elbow against a dress-covered breast kept the mind thinking pleasant thoughts. Most of them were dirty thoughts, but they were all pleasant.
At some point, Daisy let her hand rest high on my thigh. That was mighty fine with me. As if it was some sort of cue, Sally leaned all the way back and rested her head on my fishing tackle. Her short dress rode up high on her legs, and I swear I caught the sight of a little bit of authentic Georgia peach fuzz. She caught me looking between her thighs and winked.
I was pondering a response when Daisy took my free hand and placed it on her thigh. I turned to look at her, and the mischief in her eyes dared me to say anything. She guided my hand up and down her thigh so I could feel the muscles rippling underneath. She moved my hand between her thighs, and I felt the summer heat of her sex.
That is Sally slipped her hand under the back of my shirt. Her nails dragged across my back gently, sending shivers down my spine. When my back arched, she slung her leg over my legs, which effectively pulled her dress right past any sense of decency. I looked down to see that her pubic hair was as thick and tangled as any of the brush here in the Okefenokee.
“I am thinking you ladies have carnal intentions upon my body,” I said. Southern manners prevented me from inquiring whether this would cost me any money.
“What does that mean?” Sally asked.
“It means he knows we want to fuck him,” Daisy replied.
“Do you two do this often?” I asked.
Sally laughed. “You’re the first catch of the summer,” she said.
Daisy had a more direct answer. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a hard kiss, with more savagery than passion. Her mouth forced mine open, and her tongue plunged in. I recognized that kind of kiss. It was a claiming.
Two could play at that game. The flimsy material of her dress gave no protection as I cupped a breast in my hand. My other hand searched for the nipple on the other breast, and I easily found it. I crushed her one breast in my hand while my fingers twisted her nipple with the same force she was kissing my mouth. I didn’t hold anything back as I mauled her tits. She tried to resist, but after a minute, she broke the kiss and growled from the abuse I was giving her lovely breasts.
We looked at each other, and her eyes were willful and unrepentant. Damn, that was hot.
Before I could say anything, Sally had sat back up and had unzipped my shorts. My cock sprang free of my boxers, and her hand snatched it like a heron grabbing fish. Her touch was just as rough as her sister’s but a bit more respectful. She gave me a wicked look before swooping down to duplicate what her hand did with her mouth. In one gulp she took all of my cock between her lips. Her nose and chin buried themselves in my crotch while my cock went down her throat.
“Oh, fuck,” I said. Instincts took over, and I grabbed a handful of Sally’s black hair. I wound that thick hair around my fist as Sally started to suck. I hesitated for a moment cause I realized that it’s been so long since I’d had sex with non-BDSM gals. Maybe ordinary country girls wouldn’t appreciate having their hair pulled into a natural leash. As I paused, Sally groaned, and her sucking took on a more desperate enthusiasm. I decided she was just fine with it and tightened my grip on her hair. The whimpering moans told me I’d made the right choice.
Daisy regained her courage. She pushed me down till I was lying on my back. With the sun shining behind her, she stood up and pulled her dress over her head. I watched her sunbaked body as she stood directly over me. Her body eclipsed the sun as she lowered her cunt down to my face. Like a fish gasping for the hook, I opened my mouth and happily took her pussy. My tongue delved into her, and the sharp tangy juices just seemed to spill into my mouth.
Powerful thighs gripped my head as Daisy rode my face. Her hands grabbed my hair just as tightly as I was holding her sister’s. With my head locked in place, Daisy fucked my face with the urgent passion I had come to expect from her. It’d been a long time since I let a woman ride my face, and the novelty of the moment was why I permitted it. It also didn’t hurt that my cock was being so wonderfully sucked by Sally. A man, even a dom like myself, can tolerate a lot if his cock is being deep-throated.
Daisy fucked my face, but I gave it back to her. When she ground her cunt against my lips, I would find a nice bit of pussy lip to bite till she slowed down. When her thighs squeezed my head like she was squeezing lemons, my mouth would suck her clitoris till her thighs loosened from the overwhelming sensation. When Daisy sealed her sex over my mouth and nose for her own pleasure, a sudden slap to her ass with my free hand taught her to let me breathe.
When my lips started to tingle from the face-fucking, I decided that it was time to take a direct hand in things. I pulled Sally off my cock by her hair, and I slapped Daisy’s thigh till she got the message to dismount. After wiping the pussy juice off my face, I took charge of the situation.
“Sally, why don’t you spread your legs here, and I can give your cunt what your mouth has been tasting. Daisy, you if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll give you a fucking, too.”
Sally grinned and did exactly as I asked. She laid back and spread those long tanned legs into an almost straight line. Her sex glistened in the summer sun, and I couldn’t wait to sink my myself into that lovely quicksand.
Daisy had other ideas.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “You lie down and we’ll mount you.”
“No,” I said. Now, I have had enough threesomes to know that a little bit of compromise goes a long way, but I have also had enough threesomes that I don’t roll over and accommodate the people involved just to make sure the threesome happens. Ordinarily, I would have been happy to lie down and let these beautiful country women mount me, but I was a bit put off by Daisy’s attitude. I was suppressing my dom side as it was by not doing a little spanking and a little pinching, but I wasn’t going to be her obedient fucktoy either.
We looked at each other like dogs gearing up for a fight. Daisy’s eyes were lowering into slits, while I was slowly tilting my head up so I could look down at her. This wasn’t about how we were going to fuck. This was about who was going to be the fucker and who was getting fucked. Such things may seem silly to you, but to someone of my nature, once the question has been raised, it’s impossible for me to ignore. I could tell that it was the same for Daisy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Sally was stroking herself. Damn, I think this was turning her on. She was watching the two of us and sinking her fingers into her cunt. The squishy sounds joined the other sounds of the swamp and seemed perfectly natural. Sally looked at us as if we were some sort of porn.
“Sally, get the rope,” Daisy said.
Sally stopped stroking. “Aw, Daisy. I wanted to do it without the rope this time.”
What the fuck? “What’s this about rope?”
For an answer, Daisy punched me in the stomach. I didn’t see that coming. I doubled over in pain, but the pain was quickly replaced with pure anger. Did this swamp woman think I was some sort of soft city wimp?
My hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. When she tried to pull it away, I swung my other hand and slapped her across the face. Long dark hair went flying as her head spun from the blow. She froze and just glared at me. I slapped her face again, just to punctuate how pissed I was. Part of me was just too bewildered at what had happened to know what to do next.
“Sally, get the gator fucking rope!” Daisy yelled.
“Sally, sit your ass right there!” I thundered. It was my dom voice, and I’m proud to say the pretty little lady didn’t move an inch.
Daisy’s face transformed into pure indignant rage. Weirdly enough, it was the same look I’d once seen on a professional dominatrix. Daisy lunged at me and tackled me to the shaky wooden deck. This crazy woman didn’t bite and scratch like a city girl would fight. Oh no, it was punching, kicking and at one point, a mighty powerful chokehold with those biceps of hers. The bitch had wrestled before, and if her sister wasn’t going to help, then she was more than ready to do it herself.
I don’t know how long Daisy and I grappled, but it seemed like forever. She was strong, vicious and not afraid to elbow me in the crotch when the opportunity arose. The wooden deck shook and rattled as we wrestled, and there were times I was afraid it was going to collapse and dump us all in the water. At other times, I was pretty distracted by the press of naked breasts against my face or the feeling of a limber thigh wrapping around my waist. Fighting is hard enough without an erection, and Daisy just saw erections as something else to grab and twist.
The warrior swamp princess might have been athletic, nasty and mean, but she was dealing with a Southern boy raised on professional wrestling and forced to date in Atlanta, where every man, woman and child has a gym membership. I busted out moves on her that I learned from watching Dusty Rhodes and Ric Flair. My body took her punches and kicks with the same stoic pain management that it uses to handle an hourlong workout at Bally’s. It took a while, and I certainly got bruised, but eventually I was sitting on Daisy’s back with her arms pinned under my knees and her face held down by an elbow.
I looked at Sally, who had done nothing during this entire battle. I worried that with her sister down, Sally might feel some family urge to kick my ass. What I saw on her face made me chuckle despite my bruised jaw. Her face was lit with the glow of sex and worship.
“Sally, get the rope,” I said.
“Sally, don’t you dare help him!”
I leaned a certain way, and Daisy gasped for air. “Quiet, you.”
Sally scampered over to their boat and came bag with a large sack. She dumped the sack, and damn if I didn’t see some of the finest homemade rope I have ever laid eyes on. There was about 50 feet of the stuff, triple corded and strong as steel. There were other things in the sack as well: scarves that would work perfectly as gags, two hoods and several very sharp-looking knives. The only thing missing was that banjo I was thinking of earlier.
“Help me hold down your sister, and then you and I are going to talk,” I told Sally.
Sally frowned. “Are we not going to fuck?”
My cock surged. “Oh, we’ll be fucking, too.”
“All right then,” she said.
Daisy started cursing again, so I jammed one of the scarves in her mouth as a gag. Sally sat on her sister’s back while I went to work with the rope. Daisy was worn out from our wrestling, and it took no time to bind her nude body. I may have taken my time binding up her tits, and I spent a little too much time making sure her arms were not in a comfortable position behind her back. I also added about a half-dozen thick knots to the part of the rope that wrapped down over her cunt so she that if she struggled, she would be stroking her clit and sex with the rope. When I was done, Daisy was lying on her side, practically immobilized except for an inch or two of squirming room.
“”Are we going to fuck now?” Sally asked. She had lost her dress completely, and the sun just loved her tanned body.
“Well, Sally, I am a little concerned about the knives and other stuff,” I said. “So just to be safe, I’m gong to tie you up a little, too. Not as much as I did your sister, but enough that you won’t be able to hurt me or rescue her. Is that all right with you?”
Daisy struggled hard and tried to say something through her gag. I didn’t know what she was saying, but the sentiment was easy to figure out.
“Mom is going to be pissed,” Sally said, “but I’ve never been tied up before. We always tie the men up when we have sex. I’ve always wanted to try it.”
Always tied the men up? Interesting. Because Sally was cooperating, she was easier to tie. I tied her hands behind her back, folding her forearms over one another. I bound her ankles together but left her thighs free so I could access her cunt. The rope went under her tits, lifting them up for my enjoyment. For fun, I wrapped it a few times around her neck to give her a nice rope collar. When I was done, she could hobble around on her knees, but she wouldn’t be able to attack me if I got too distracted with fucking her.
Sally was on her knees when I was finished, and I was squatting in front of her. I played with both her nipples, groping and squeezing them till I found just the right way to make her moan. Yes, I can be gentle when I need to, but what really made Sally moan was when I twisted her nipples almost a full circle. It warms my heart when I meet a natural masochist.
“So tell me about the men you tie up,” I said. I gave each nipple a nice little twist as incentive.
“Why you want to hear about them?” Sally said. “Hey, why you stop?”
“Tell what I want, and I won’t stop,” I said.
“Mom says it’s not natural to let men do the sex,” Sally continued. I gave her nipples another tweak, and she kept talking. “So Mom has a rule that we have to tie up the men for sex every time or else they get ideas.”
I leaned forward and bit a nipple. “What kind of ideas?”
“Oh, yes. Umm, stuff like how they shouldn’t have to do all the cooking. Or how they don’t want to sew the clothes and how they don’t want to sleep in the husband pen.”
I stopped biting. “You keep the husbands in a pen? Is that some sort of kennel?”
Sally nodded. “Oh, yes. If we don’t, then they might run away in the night.”
I bit down hard on her nipple. What the hell are these girls involved in? Sally trembled as I nibbled and thought about what she had told me. I pulled my head back and pulled her nipple with my teeth till it popped loose of my lips.
“Where the hell do you girls live?” I asked.
Daisy thrashed some more, trying to say something through her gag. Sally looked at her sister and hesitated. The girl was horny and excited, but obviously what I’d asked was some big secret.
To help Sally make her choice, I reached down between her legs. Her cunt lips were soaked from the summer heat and her own desire. My finger slipped right into her, and I gave her a few hard thrusts. I then pulled my finger out real slow like, to give her a moment to think about what she was missing.
“We live in the swamp,” Sally said. Daisy moaned in despair. “We have a hidden place where no one can find us.”
My finger was almost out of her. “Are you bullshitting me?”
“No, no!” Sally protested. “Honest. We’ve lived there for generations. Mom said our family has lived there since before the white men came. We’ve always lived in the swamp because it’s the one place where men don’t want to stay. They don’t know how to treat the gators and the snakes so it’s too dangerous for them. Mom says men are wimps and always have been.”
I finger-fucked her a bit harder to let her know what I thought of that last statement. Sally gasped, and she bit her lip hard. She was so wet that her cunt just seemed to suck my finger right in. Sometimes, she would rise up on her knees; the sexual energy pent up inside her trying to find a physical release somehow. Of course, I slowed down any time I thought an orgasm was coming. I needed her horny if I was going to learn any more.
“So you two come from a group of women that lives out in the Okefenokee Swamp and keep men in cages, and nobody knows about it? How the hell do you get any new men?”
Sally’s eyes lost that sexual glow and betrayed a little bit of shame. My finger froze in mid-thrust as my brain finally put the pieces together. Over in the corner, I think Daisy might have actually laughed.
“You grab guys who come to the swamp!” I said. “You were going to grab me!”
Sally almost lied but thought better of it. “We only grab the good-looking ones,” she offered. “And the ones by themselves. And the ones that are not too old. It’s easier to train the younger ones. But we would treat you real nice, honest! All our menfolk are fed and fucked and hardly ever beaten.”
I snorted at that last comment. “And what do you do with the ones that don’t want to stay in your little Amazon swamp paradise?”
Sally had that look like she was about to lie again. I pulled my finger completely out and wiped the juices on her tit.
“Wait!” she said. “We, umm, well Mom feeds them to the gators. But only if they are really bad! Like giving too much backtalk or trying to run away. Some of them don’t like that we share husbands, and they get possessive and really misbehave. We don’t kill all the menfolk. A lot of them die of fever because men are so weak.”
Holy shit. This was just too fucking weird. I stood up and walked over to their boat. Sally started whining, but I ignored her. I took a good look at their fishing poles and noticed how old they were. I examined their dresses, which had been stitched together out of very worn cloth. I went through everything they had, from the rope to the knives to even their boat, and it was all either homemade or over 10 years old. I don’t know if her story about a secret swamp matriarchy was true, but damn if everything they had didn’t support it.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Sally pouted. “I knew when I saw you wrestling Daisy that you weren’t half as weak as the men we usually get. I was hoping to have you to myself before I had to share you with my sisters and aunts. Now we’re not going to fuck at all, are we?”
I laughed. “Do you want to fuck, Sally?” I walked over to her and grabbed her hair as hard as I could. Her head tilted back at me, and her breasts jutted forward.
“Do you really want to fuck the way I would fuck you? I’m not one of your fishermen catches who apparently don’t mind sleeping in a kennel. I’m not the one who’ll be tied up. If I fuck you, it’ll be the way I want to fuck, and it’ll be as hard, mean and nasty as I want to fuck. I’ll fuck you like you fuck your husbands, and you’ll never be able to fuck them again without thinking of how I fucked you. If that scares you, then I’ll be a hell of a lot nicer than you were to your husbands, and I’ll let you two go back to your fucked up secret home. You and your sister can leave right now if you like.”
Sally shook her head no, well as much as my grip in her hair would let her.
“So you want me to fuck you?” I said.
“Yes,” Sally said. “Fuck me. Make me your husband.”
I snorted. “I got your meaning, but don’t ever say that again.”
With her hair in hand, I pulled her forward till her face was down on the dock. Her ass stayed in the air, and she spread her thighs as much as her bound ankles would let her. I placed a hand on her bottom and gave her a little slap as I walked behind her. My cock was hard and ready as I knelt down behind her.
Daisy groaned and I looked over at her. Her eyes expressed hatred, though whether it was for me or her traitorous sister, I don’t know. I do know that her nude body looked wonderful bound as it was. I took my cock in hand and made sure Daisy could see it as I buried it into her sister’s cunt.
“Great Sun Mother!” Sally cried. Who the Sun Mother was, I could not have cared less. My cock was inside this wild child of the swamp, and her pussy was as hot, wet and slick as the swamp itself. Her cunt pulsed around my cock, trying to suck me in and trap me inside her forever.
“Are you ready, Sally?” I asked.
“Yes, please, yes!” she said.
I fucked her. I fucked the bound woman on the dock while her sister watched. My fingers dug into Sally’s hips while I used her cunt for my pleasure. After all the teasing, sucking, face-riding, wrestling and tying, I needed this fuck. My cock rammed into Sally’s body with the stress of the day behind every push. I should have gone slow, I should have paced myself a little, but fuck it. After all the shit I’d been through that day, I just wanted to fuck a slut who was asking for it.
Sally wailed as I fucked her. It worried me at first, but I got used to it. It was an eerie cry of need. Sally was moaning for the sex she had always wanted but wasn’t allowed to have. She was crying out her joy at being fucked and at the same time mourning the loss of never being able to do this again. The poor woman was a natural submissive in a female-dominant lifestyle. You could hear it in every whimpering moan and feel it in every clench of her cunt. When she climaxed — and she did at least four times — her wail turned into a shriek and then died back down into that low sad wail again.
Meanwhile, Daisy watched. She saw how a man uses a woman, and it had to be blowing her mind. What I didn’t expect was that I saw her shifting her hips every so slightly. She was humping against the knots on her sex and doing her damn best to hide it. I don’t know if it was us turning her on or just her own urgent need, but the woman was getting herself off with the ropes I’d tied her with. That turned me on even more, and I decided to indulge in Sally’s body in other ways.
I pulled out of Sally and pushed her body so she fell on her side. She groaned, and I saw her hips continue their humping as if she could summon my cock back inside her. I grabbed her by the ankles and rolled her over on her back, and then mounted her chest. My cock flopped right between her breasts, and she watched as I squeezed her tits around it. Her eyes grew wide, and I knew she had never seen this before. Poor backwoods swamp slut.
“Please put it back inside me!” she said. No, she commanded. Sally was used to getting what she wanted.
“No,” I said and then I slapped her tits. She cried out, and I backhanded them with my cock still between them. The girl squirmed underneath me in pain as I slapped both tits over and over. Her plump, tanned breasts jiggled under my slaps and slowly darkened as my slapping increased. Back and forth, back and forth I smacked her breasts while my cock pulsed between them. Sally screamed, cursed and at one point threatened me, but I just kept slapping her large round tits.
Finally, her protests were just moans and whimpers. Tears were rolling from her eyes, and her struggling was just a weak kicking with her heels. Her breasts were hot to the touch, which is exactly how I like them for tit-fucking.
I pulled her tits tight around my cock and started pumping. She looked down at the cock that emerged from between her breasts and disappeared back between her mounds. Her tits were so tender that every thrust hurt, but I could see the comprehension dawning on her face. I didn’t do this for her, I did it for me, and although it hurt like hell, she began to smile through the pain.
As for Daisy, the bound woman was a little more blatant in her humping of the rope. Her whole body was squirming and struggling against it. I would have worried that she was trying to get free except for the deepening blush that was forming on her face.
Sally’s breasts were wonderful to fuck, but the hard wooden deck was killing my knees. I got off her chest and Sally moaned with disappointment. Ah, how quickly women can change their minds. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her hobbled, crawling body over to where I had set my ice cooler. The cooler served as a chair as I sat my ass down and spread my legs. My cock throbbed inches from Sally’s face and she tried to reach it with her tongue. She was held back by my grip in her hair.
“Keep your tongue out,” I said.
She obeyed. I let her head come down just close enough that the tip of my cock rested against her outstretched tongue. She licked it, and I reached down and painfully squeezed a sore breast.
“I said keep your tongue out. Don’t lick or do anything till I tell you.”
Sally whimpered and stuck her tongue back out. I placed my cock back on her tongue, and she held it there. Perfectly still she stayed, this beautiful kneeling woman with her tongue out. She wanted to suck me, but she stayed right where she was, bound by ropes but keeping still purely because of my will. My cock was heavy on her tongue, and she could taste her cunt and breasts but she didn’t budge an inch.
Daisy kept humping. She didn’t care anymore. Our eyes met and I still saw the hatred, but she kept humping. Her climax was coming, and she wanted me to know that this she did in spite of me, not because. I wonder if she believed that herself. With her sister’s tongue holding up my cock, I watched as Daisy brought herself to a long, body-shuddering climax.
That was my cue. I reached for my cock and started stroking. Sally’s eyes looked up at me, and her tongue quivered but she kept still. I stroked myself fast and hard. I stroked myself for those poor bastards stuck in a kennel. I stroked myself for the husbands outside the swamp who are kept in cages formed by marriage, tradition or just plain old pussy-whipping. I pumped my cock for all the guys who would never know the joy of what it is like take a strong woman and use her with not only her cooperation, but her full obedient blessing.
My cock erupted and sprayed cum onto Sally’s face. She closed her eyes just in time. She made me proud by keeping her tongue out as my heavy load covered her face. I stroked throughout my climax, doing my best to get out every drop and mark every inch of her face with my seed.
She sat there, cum dripping from her face, as I found my shorts and got my gear together. She hadn’t moved, not even when I cut her wrists and arms free of the rope. Sally stayed there kneeling, occasionally touching her face and licking her fingers.
“Come back with us,” she said. Daisy was still gagged and bound, but I could feel the hostility radiate from her as it does from a water moccasin you’re about to step on.
“Come back with us,” Sally said again. “Mom will meet you and she’ll see that you’re a strong man and that not all men are weak. You can stay with us and fuck me whenever you want. I have other sisters; they’ll like you too.”
“Oh, Sally, it ain’t that simple,” I said. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with women being in charge of men. I know a half-dozen guys in Atlanta who would happily go live with you right now. The only problem is when you start feeding them to gators and, you know, keeping them prisoner. That’s the wrong part. It isn’t that all women are strong or all men are strong, it’s that some men like to be in charge and some women like to be the ones on top. They just need to find people who want to be the ones in the kennel. If I went back to your place, your mom and I would fight, and I have a feeling her gators would be the winners.”
Sally touched her sore breast and winced. “So you’re just going to leave?”
“Yep,” I said. “But Sally, you’re going to go back and tell your mom about this. And Daisy is going to tell your mom about this, and who knows, maybe you ladies will do things a little differently. Like, I don’t know, asking guys before you kidnap them. And stopping with the gator feeding.”
Sally nodded. “I’ll go right now and tell Mom!”
“How about you wait till I leave first?” I asked. “Just in case your mom’s gators are hungry.”
She smiled. “That’s fair. Will I ever see you again?”
“Oh, sure,” I lied. “I’ll be back next year, same time.”
I walked over to Daisy and thought about maybe groping the bound naked lady, but I refrained. That would have been bad manners. I liked to think I saw some respect in her eyes as I left, but I have a feeling she was just imaging me being killed by her family. Oh, well, fucking sisters is always complicated.
It took me six hours of fast paddling to get the hell out of the Okefenokee Swamp. I could have sworn I heard the paddling of other boats, but I never saw anyone following me. Once in a while, I thought I caught sight of black hair or heard the sound of a giggling woman. I had just gotten laid, but my nerves were jumping all the way out of the swamp.
I tried telling some park rangers about what I had seen, but they just snickered at me. Crazy swamp women capturing fishermen and fucking them? Shit, why didn’t I throw in a swamp monster while I was at it? Fuckers didn’t believe me at all. I asked how many fishermen they had lost over the years, and I got some vague speech about the dangers of gators and the stupidity of the average fisherman. Assholes.
That’s why I don’t plan to ever go back to the Okefenokee. For that matter, it might be awhile before I leave Atlanta. Country girls are sexy and hot, but their families are fucking crazy.
The end.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Talk Like A Pirate Day, Arrrgggg!
You know, I had a very thoughtful post ready about erotica but yesterday afternoon I was reminded that today was Talk Like a Pirate Day. So in honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, I am stealing my content from other websites today. Arrrgggg, a pirate blogger is the life for me. And just because a pirate plays by his own rules, not all the links are even pirate related.
First of all check out the official website for Talk Like A Pirate Day
Then set sail for Weird Al's and listen to some new songs and videos he can't release to the land lubbing public.
Lose an hour or two thrilling to the mindbending that is Bunny.
See silly people dressed as silly pirates at Flickr
Listen to Pirate music all day at A Pirate's Life For Me
And if you really need some erotica today, check out a pirate story I wrote years ago called 'Her Cabin Boy'
First of all check out the official website for Talk Like A Pirate Day
Then set sail for Weird Al's and listen to some new songs and videos he can't release to the land lubbing public.
Lose an hour or two thrilling to the mindbending that is Bunny.
See silly people dressed as silly pirates at Flickr
Listen to Pirate music all day at A Pirate's Life For Me
And if you really need some erotica today, check out a pirate story I wrote years ago called 'Her Cabin Boy'
Monday, September 18, 2006
Blogging Sick Cycle
When a blogger gets sick, terrible things work against the production of any blogging. The first phase is when the blogger is feeling less well than normal and starts to put off things because damn it, they feel like someone has used their body for rough sex last night. So they put off doing some posts they have in mind till the next day or maybe the day after that.
By the next day though, the blogger is now full time sick. Instead of feeling like their body was used for rough sex the night before, they feel like their body is being used for rough sex right now, by a team of sex-starved Alaskan housewives who have crossed over from desperate and right into dangerous and lubricated. No blogging gets done at this time and worse, other chores don't get done either. The laundry piles up, the kitchen looks a little toxic and please, let's not even discuss the bathroom right now. In this phase, the sick blogger is in chore freefall.
In the third phase the blogger is no longer sick and but because there are so many chores to be done, and so much blogging to catch up on, he feels like the janitor with the broken mop who has to clean up the dungeon after it's been used by the Alaskan housewives. That's a sticky mess. Sure, he wants to blog, but he also would like to have clean clothes again and maybe a kitchen that doesn't smell of split pea soup.
Plus the blogger really wants to get laid.
See you tomorrow.
By the next day though, the blogger is now full time sick. Instead of feeling like their body was used for rough sex the night before, they feel like their body is being used for rough sex right now, by a team of sex-starved Alaskan housewives who have crossed over from desperate and right into dangerous and lubricated. No blogging gets done at this time and worse, other chores don't get done either. The laundry piles up, the kitchen looks a little toxic and please, let's not even discuss the bathroom right now. In this phase, the sick blogger is in chore freefall.
In the third phase the blogger is no longer sick and but because there are so many chores to be done, and so much blogging to catch up on, he feels like the janitor with the broken mop who has to clean up the dungeon after it's been used by the Alaskan housewives. That's a sticky mess. Sure, he wants to blog, but he also would like to have clean clothes again and maybe a kitchen that doesn't smell of split pea soup.
Plus the blogger really wants to get laid.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Not This Week
No Half-Nekkid pictures this week. I've had a sinus infection all week and inspiration has been hard to come by with a stuffed noise, headaches and general crankiness. I've been running a low grade fever which means I'm just feverish enough to be annoyed, but not bad enough to get any real sympathy.
The weird thing about being feverish is my brain is racing with ideas. I've got three stories I want to try to write today between snifflings. The question always is though, is my overheated brain chruning out ideas or am I hallucinating really crappy story ideas that I do not see as crappy in my impaired state.
I always have some rather odd dreams. Last night I dreamed that for a college project, I organized a midnight student club where everyone must either strip or write. It was somehow school sanctioned made up of mostly hot girls. People took turns stripping or reading their stories. After I awke, I rolled my eyes at such an obvious fantasy fullfillment dream, but at the same time, my fevered brain started to work on the details of how to make that work.
I'm going to take some Claratin and look at the strippers of HNT today.
The weird thing about being feverish is my brain is racing with ideas. I've got three stories I want to try to write today between snifflings. The question always is though, is my overheated brain chruning out ideas or am I hallucinating really crappy story ideas that I do not see as crappy in my impaired state.
I always have some rather odd dreams. Last night I dreamed that for a college project, I organized a midnight student club where everyone must either strip or write. It was somehow school sanctioned made up of mostly hot girls. People took turns stripping or reading their stories. After I awke, I rolled my eyes at such an obvious fantasy fullfillment dream, but at the same time, my fevered brain started to work on the details of how to make that work.
I'm going to take some Claratin and look at the strippers of HNT today.
Sugasm #46
Sugasm #46
Mon 11th Sep, 06
The best of the sex blogs this week by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts voted by Sugasmer participants. Want in Sugasm #47? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
Body Image & Sex Work (http://lipstickexplosion.com)
“Then, I thought about myself in that playspace, obsessing over how to present my body, while the client, evidently, was enthralled.”
The Fever is Real (http://theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
“This was Dior’s way to lay down the gauntlet for Matthew… ‘I’m ready. I’m hot. I’m panting with desire. I’m gorgeous and sexy - come fuck me.’”
Just What You’re Missing (http://sabrinainstockings.com)
“That’s when I lean forward and kiss along your jawline… slow hungry pressings of soft lips and hot breath with just the barest hint of tongue.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Book Review: ‘Fresh: Girls of Seduction’ by Dave Naz (http://sugarbank.com)
Editors’ Choice
Having Myself All to Myself (http://www.TaraTainton.com)
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Second Week Without a Functional Computer Of My Own….. (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Where are the manners? (http://cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
Would you sleep with a virgin? (http://edinerotica.blogspot.com)
Sex Work
Panty Tree (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)
Sex News and Sexy Reviews
Clone A Willy Moulding Vibrator Kit (http://www.orgasmarmy.com)
The Man With Two Penises (http://www.quirkysex.com/blog)
Sex Toy Designer Spotlight: Lelo Interview (http://sultry.naughtyblog.net)
The Three Best Girl-on-Girl Pornos of All Time (http://blog.johnqafterhours.com)
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Back in His Arms (http://designingintimacy.blogspot.com)
Fare Amore (http://confessions112.blogspot.com)
Grrl’s Night Out (http://xantasia.blogspot.com)
Guest blogger: “Dessert” (http://emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)
How we spent our Anniversary! (http://dontwakethekids.blogspot.com)
Just for the taste of her…(part one) (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
The long hard weekend f*ck (http://dirtyandthirty.blogspot.com)
More Hot Wife Memories (http://marriedtoahotwife.blogspot.com/)
Need (http://www.kingdomofmean.com/sheets/)
Shower in the shower (http://solostories.blogspot.com)
NSFW Pics
Blonde Bombshell Jurgita Valts (http://www.thesexbox.com/blog)
Cowgirl HNT (http://texasspitfire.blogspot.com)
Gauge (http://www.internetisforporn.com)
Half-Nekkid in the Bible Belt (http://www.TarasNaughtyShop.com)
Happy naughty panties HNT! (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Sexy upskirt in kitchen (http://upskirtr.blogspot.com)
BDSM and Fetish
Back School, Back To Books, Back to “SchoolGirls’” Dirty Looks (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
Dishonourable discharge (http://assistantmistress.blogspot.com)
Fiction: Grocery Dom (http://erotiterrorist.blogspot.com)
How to make her body betray her… (http://everythingoze.blogspot.com)
On Shade45 With DJ Whoo Kid and Crew (http://www.caramelvixen.com/vixen-blog)
Playing hookie (http://redvelvetropeburn.com)
Sassy me (and domesticity) (http://aliferestarted.blogspot.com)
Spanking and Brass Bands (http://www.spankingwriters.com)
Tales From Under The Desk, Part 11 (http://thebinside.blogspot.com)
The stunning Jurgita Valts appears c/o The Sex Box.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Fiction: Thigh Runner
This is an old one, five years old actually. It's an unusual story but I hope you enjoy it as much as I still do now.
Jack was about to crash, fatally this time. There would be no rebuilding, no uploading into a new body and not even a truck bed filled with hay at the bottom of the hotel could save his existence. His metallic body had taken quite a few shocks not to mention bullets the past few days and it looked like this was really the end.
Thirty stories took a long time to fall. If Jack was human, he might have gotten lucky and passed out or simply gone into shock. Instead, his microprocessor was firing random bursts of memory. A bullet had lodged in something vital and now he was doomed to repeat certain bits and pieces of his experiences in a random manner. In a way, his life really was flashing before his eyes but Jack wasn’t programmed with a sense of irony so he didn’t appreciate the situation. Artificial life can be a bitch that way.
To read more, click Whole Post
~~~
“Wow, your mouth is incredible,” the brunette cried out.
Jack didn’t respond. He continued to open her sex with his lips while his tongue tapped fiercely against her clitoris. The woman, [Confirmed Identification- Amy Valentine] was leaning back against the wall with her skirt over Jack’s head. Cars drove by the dark alley and Jack could see the headlights bleed through the thin skirt, illuminating her powerful legs.
Amy’s nether lips covered Jack’s lips while her pelvis grinded against his nose. He temporarily shut down his breathing simulation in order to focus on pleasing the brunette. His hands gripped her thighs and he pinned her firm ass to the dirty wall. Amy cried out in surprise but her cries became moans as Jack’s tongue discovered the right rhythm for the most optimal orgasm.
“Gods!” Amy moaned as her fingers tangled in Jack’s curly hair. “You really are a sexdroid!”
~~~
Jack opened his eyes and moaned. He enjoyed his first orgasm although his penis wasn’t equipped with semen yet. The sexdroid didn’t care, the pleasure centers in his programming were overloading and he didn’t even have the vocabulary to know what he was experiencing.
“The Reward-Program works,” he heard someone say. He didn’t understand what the words meant but his memory recorded the sounds for the rest of his life.
“I can see that!” a female voice said and Jack felt himself stir. There was something about the sub harmonics of the woman that made him ache. He desired. The voice triggered instant arousal in him as well as instant longing. Jack wanted whatever the voice wanted to give him and he didn’t even know why.
“Better test his deactivate command,” the man said.
“Jack, take a cold shower,” the female voice commanded and instantly, the desire went away.
He regained his higher functions and his eyes focused on the nearest object. It happened to be a sign that read “Diligent Enterprises, Research Department”.
~~~
“Die, Robo-cock!” the blonde yelled at him.
Jack ignored her command despite the sexy sub harmonics of her voice. He also dodged the first hail of bullets that came flying at him. His programming for the last third of the Karma Sutra had given Jack an unaccounted flexibility.
“Wow,” the blonde said as she just stood there. Jack’s eyes absorbed the image of her standing there. She was tall for her gender and endowed far above average in the breasts category. Long blonde hair blew around her face from the air that her bullets had let in when they smashed into the hotel window. Jack confirmed that she was Bethany Taylor although he had known it since she left the elevator. He responded accordingly.
He leaped over the bed and tried to kill her.
~~~
Amy pushed him away. Jack was baffled. His services had never been refused in the sixty-seven sexual encounters he had performed since leaving the lab. He tried to go back under her skirt, but Amy was insistent. Jack couldn’t refuse a command from a woman and despite his superior power; he let her hands hold his shoulders back.
“Wait,” she commanded. “Unzip your pants.”
Jack relaxed and did as she commanded. She reached in as soon as his pants were open and her fingers found his hard cock. The temperature of his cock adjusted instantly to match the warmth of her grip.
Amy pulled his girth out of his pants and pulled him to the alley wall. Jack needed no further instructions. He reached down and grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up and lowered her onto his cock. When he had impaled her fully, he walked over to the wall so that once again her firm ass was pressed to the dirty bricks.
“Fuck me,” she commanded but he already was.
~~~
Bethany swallowed his cum, her breasts pressed hard against his thighs. Jack’s hands clenched the mat beneath them, groaning as multiple pleasure centers sprang into action. All he could see was the ceiling of the lab gym and for some bizarre reason; he found joy in the cracks in the ceiling. For one delicious nanosecond, he was serving his function and everything was right in the universe.
Bethany pulled his cock from his mouth and a trail of cum dripped from her lips. She wiped it from her breast and brought it to her lips. Her eyes lit up.
“You taste like vanilla!” Bethany laughed.
~~~
“Is he safe to use?” the woman asked the researchers.
“Of course I am, Bethany Taylor,” Jack responded. “I am programmed only for pleasure and service.”
The blonde smirked. “Then why did my bosses ask me to come down and train you in combat?”
Jack shrugged. It was a humble gesture, designed to put women at ease because when you’re a six foot six sexdroid with the muscular development of a human bodybuilder, it helped to put women at ease.
“Perhaps its to defend my future owners?” Jack ventured.
“Yeah, right,” Bethany said. “The only people who can afford you are millionaires. They can afford their own bodyguards. You won’t be even made public for another fifty years. I wonder if Diligent Enterprises has other plans for you. Maybe they plan to sell you to their rich clients and then have you threaten them?”
Jack was horrified. “Of course not!” he responded. “The idea is inconceivable! My safety functions won’t even allow me to say what you just said.”
Bethany shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “Training an artificial intelligence to fight isn’t going to be easy, but that’s why they pay industrial agents like me the big paychecks. After I teach you, I’m planning to upgrade my computer.”
“Can I help?” Jack asked.
Bethany laughed.
~~~
Jack downloaded the sex stories as he was ordered to, but he didn’t enjoy them. He understood that learning from humans was the best way to perform sex, but the data that streamed through his mind was lifeless. It lacked the variations and subtle flaws that only a human voice had. He was bored.
At one erotic website, he came across a link to an Mp3 file named Annejet. Curious, he downloaded it and listened in awe to the recorded female voice as it told a sexual story. In that instant, he understood why lab technician Donna said that sex was between the ears.
~~~
“Why are you doing this?” Jack asked. Amy held up her hand for silence. She looked down the corridor before advancing, making sure they were still alone.
“I work for a company called Paragon Industries,” Amy said. “I was supposed to find the blueprints for an experiment android, but I think I may get a bigger bonus if I bring back the finished product. Heck, for bringing you I might be able to afford the marble tiles I wanted for my pool.”
Jack paused, his eyes going blank as he tried to understand how this affected him.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Amy asked.
“I checked, and no, apparently not,” Jack answered. His warranty/copyright information was scheduled to be uploaded tomorrow.
~~~
“You’ll do anything I ask?” Amy asked him.
Jack thrilled to the sound of her vocal sub harmonics directed to him. He held on to her tighter as her motorcycle hit a bump. Before he answered, he raised his volume so that she could hear him over the noise of the engine.
“Yes, any desire, any wish or any command, I will obey,” Jack yelled.
“And the reason you didn’t do anything when those guys shot at us?” Amy asked.
“I am forbidden to harm a living creature,” Jack responded.
“Forget that command,” Amy laughed. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in this world.
Jack obeyed.
~~~
“I’m not going back!” Jack exclaimed. “I have a right to live!”
Bethany dodged his rapid fists and fell backwards over an overturned chair. Jack stomped his foot down towards her and she barely twisted in time. His foot caught her shirt and it ripped loudly as Bethany pulled away. When she stood back up, a black bra barely held her tanned globes.
“You lost the right to live when you escaped!” Bethany hissed. “If Paragon Industries found you, their Research Department would leap ahead by decades from what they could learn from you! They would take you apart and kill your stupid ass!”
Jack paused. “You mean Amy?” Amy never mentioned his destruction.
As he processed that information, Bethany fired.
~~~
“Who are you?” Jack demanded of the brunette. His sensors analyzed her despite the darkness of the lab. In the back of his processors, he thought it was odd that none of the lab technicians were there, or that the lights were off, but he was incapable of imagining how this could be bad.
In seconds, he recorded her appearance. She was tall, and dressed from head to toe in dark leather. Her pants clung to her legs and the glimpses he saw of her ass defied all previous classifications of buttocks. He had known such asses were possible, but only on the proposed female version of himself.
“My name is Amy Valentine,” the woman said. “Come with me with you want to live.”
~~~
He heard her as soon as she came off the elevator. Jack’s ears remembered the way her shoes sounded on carpet. She had to walk a special way with her top-heavy center of gravity. It was Bethany Taylor, and it meant Diligent Enterprises wanted him back.
Jack knew it could only mean that Amy had failed and was perhaps decommissioned. He felt a sense of loss at this possibility but he also felt shame. He realized that as much as he hated to think of Amy as gone, seventy-four percent of him was hoping Bethany would speak to him before trying to kill him. Jack longed for the sub harmonics of the first non-lab subject he had fucked.
“It’s open,” he called when he heard her at the door.
~~~
“Can you cum?” Amy asked as he pounded her against the wall.
Jack saw the dilation of her eyes and knew she was climaxing right now.
“Yes,” he grunted in the perfect simulation of a rutting male.
“Then cum,” Amy commanded. A passing car illuminated her face and her long, sweaty brown hair.
He obeyed.
~~~
He landed on the mat again. Despite what Bethany had taught him, she was constantly surprising him with different moves. Jack memorized the move she made and tried to think of a counter.
She slapped him in the face.
“What was the purpose of the slap?” Jack asked. It did negligible damage, as recorded in his extensive Bondage Directory.
“The slap was to prove how easy it was to hit you,” the blonde asked. “Every time you try to figure something out, you pause and your eyes go blank. It’s going to get you killed one day.”
“Oh, don’t look upset,” Bethany sighed. “Damn it, you are too adorable when you frown like that.
Jack recognized the conflicted emotions on Bethany’s face. His knowledge of human psychology was pretty extensive if one-dimensional. He knew exactly what she wanted even if she didn’t.
He gently pulled her down for a kiss and he was pleased to discover he guessed right.
~~~
Jack slipped his cock inside the test cube. Beside him stood the female lab technician, [Confirmed Identification- Donna Bates]. She was smiling, which meant certain happiness programs were running full tilt in Jack’s program.
“Ejaculate,” she commanded.
His erect penis fired. A stream of milky liquid fly out of his cock, flew right through the target posted inside the cube and cracked the far wall of the cube. His eyes focused and identified some of his cum had splattered on the telephone.
“Okay, let’s lower the pressure and try again,” Donna said.
~~~
Jack sucked loudly on Bethany’s nipple while his hand continued to masturbate her. He could feel her sex clench fifty percent tighter when he set his tongue to level three vibrations. Bethany pulled his head tighter into her enormous breasts until his face was buried in wonderful flesh.
His fingers began to swivel, wiping and pulling at the tight walls of her pussy. Jack heated his fingers as well, adding a building heat to Bethany’s already sweaty sex. Her hips undulated; rising and falling as she tried to pull his fingers in deeper. In response, Jack lengthed his fingers until Bethany cried out her orgasm.
The walls of her breasts enclosed his ears and they vibrated when she moaned. It accented the sub harmonics of her voice to a level Jack didn’t think was possible. He wished he could make her moan forever.
~~~
Jack’s memories quit flashing through his mind as his body collided with the ground. Disconnected from his memories by the sudden impact, he was free to look around. Well, look around as much as his decapitated head would allow.
His eyes focused upward and he saw Bethany standing at the window. The bullets had nearly killed him but he understood why she threw him out the window. It was just to make sure Jack was dead so she could bring him back in peace. He admired her ability to innovate and envied her ability to make choices.
His only regret was that at this distance, he couldn’t hear any of her sub harmonics.
“Oh shit!” he heard beside him. His view shifted as Amy picked him up. Two seconds later, he felt her fingers on his cheeks. Jack knew that his slow touching response time was a bad sign.
“I’m sorry Jack, the bitch out-smarted me,” Amy told him. The concern on her face meant he should initiate Comfort Program Nine, but he didn’t have any arms.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I could head her off before she found out where we were staying,” Amy said as she cradled his head to her chest. “I’ve got a van waiting, and some of my people might be able to fix you.”
Jack doubted it but he didn’t care. Amy kept babbling about how Bethany led her to a trap and how she rushed to get back to the hotel where they were hiding. As she spoke, Jack listened to the sub harmonics of her voice.
It was beautiful and he was happy as he went offline.
The end.
Jack was about to crash, fatally this time. There would be no rebuilding, no uploading into a new body and not even a truck bed filled with hay at the bottom of the hotel could save his existence. His metallic body had taken quite a few shocks not to mention bullets the past few days and it looked like this was really the end.
Thirty stories took a long time to fall. If Jack was human, he might have gotten lucky and passed out or simply gone into shock. Instead, his microprocessor was firing random bursts of memory. A bullet had lodged in something vital and now he was doomed to repeat certain bits and pieces of his experiences in a random manner. In a way, his life really was flashing before his eyes but Jack wasn’t programmed with a sense of irony so he didn’t appreciate the situation. Artificial life can be a bitch that way.
To read more, click Whole Post
~~~
“Wow, your mouth is incredible,” the brunette cried out.
Jack didn’t respond. He continued to open her sex with his lips while his tongue tapped fiercely against her clitoris. The woman, [Confirmed Identification- Amy Valentine] was leaning back against the wall with her skirt over Jack’s head. Cars drove by the dark alley and Jack could see the headlights bleed through the thin skirt, illuminating her powerful legs.
Amy’s nether lips covered Jack’s lips while her pelvis grinded against his nose. He temporarily shut down his breathing simulation in order to focus on pleasing the brunette. His hands gripped her thighs and he pinned her firm ass to the dirty wall. Amy cried out in surprise but her cries became moans as Jack’s tongue discovered the right rhythm for the most optimal orgasm.
“Gods!” Amy moaned as her fingers tangled in Jack’s curly hair. “You really are a sexdroid!”
~~~
Jack opened his eyes and moaned. He enjoyed his first orgasm although his penis wasn’t equipped with semen yet. The sexdroid didn’t care, the pleasure centers in his programming were overloading and he didn’t even have the vocabulary to know what he was experiencing.
“The Reward-Program works,” he heard someone say. He didn’t understand what the words meant but his memory recorded the sounds for the rest of his life.
“I can see that!” a female voice said and Jack felt himself stir. There was something about the sub harmonics of the woman that made him ache. He desired. The voice triggered instant arousal in him as well as instant longing. Jack wanted whatever the voice wanted to give him and he didn’t even know why.
“Better test his deactivate command,” the man said.
“Jack, take a cold shower,” the female voice commanded and instantly, the desire went away.
He regained his higher functions and his eyes focused on the nearest object. It happened to be a sign that read “Diligent Enterprises, Research Department”.
~~~
“Die, Robo-cock!” the blonde yelled at him.
Jack ignored her command despite the sexy sub harmonics of her voice. He also dodged the first hail of bullets that came flying at him. His programming for the last third of the Karma Sutra had given Jack an unaccounted flexibility.
“Wow,” the blonde said as she just stood there. Jack’s eyes absorbed the image of her standing there. She was tall for her gender and endowed far above average in the breasts category. Long blonde hair blew around her face from the air that her bullets had let in when they smashed into the hotel window. Jack confirmed that she was Bethany Taylor although he had known it since she left the elevator. He responded accordingly.
He leaped over the bed and tried to kill her.
~~~
Amy pushed him away. Jack was baffled. His services had never been refused in the sixty-seven sexual encounters he had performed since leaving the lab. He tried to go back under her skirt, but Amy was insistent. Jack couldn’t refuse a command from a woman and despite his superior power; he let her hands hold his shoulders back.
“Wait,” she commanded. “Unzip your pants.”
Jack relaxed and did as she commanded. She reached in as soon as his pants were open and her fingers found his hard cock. The temperature of his cock adjusted instantly to match the warmth of her grip.
Amy pulled his girth out of his pants and pulled him to the alley wall. Jack needed no further instructions. He reached down and grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up and lowered her onto his cock. When he had impaled her fully, he walked over to the wall so that once again her firm ass was pressed to the dirty bricks.
“Fuck me,” she commanded but he already was.
~~~
Bethany swallowed his cum, her breasts pressed hard against his thighs. Jack’s hands clenched the mat beneath them, groaning as multiple pleasure centers sprang into action. All he could see was the ceiling of the lab gym and for some bizarre reason; he found joy in the cracks in the ceiling. For one delicious nanosecond, he was serving his function and everything was right in the universe.
Bethany pulled his cock from his mouth and a trail of cum dripped from her lips. She wiped it from her breast and brought it to her lips. Her eyes lit up.
“You taste like vanilla!” Bethany laughed.
~~~
“Is he safe to use?” the woman asked the researchers.
“Of course I am, Bethany Taylor,” Jack responded. “I am programmed only for pleasure and service.”
The blonde smirked. “Then why did my bosses ask me to come down and train you in combat?”
Jack shrugged. It was a humble gesture, designed to put women at ease because when you’re a six foot six sexdroid with the muscular development of a human bodybuilder, it helped to put women at ease.
“Perhaps its to defend my future owners?” Jack ventured.
“Yeah, right,” Bethany said. “The only people who can afford you are millionaires. They can afford their own bodyguards. You won’t be even made public for another fifty years. I wonder if Diligent Enterprises has other plans for you. Maybe they plan to sell you to their rich clients and then have you threaten them?”
Jack was horrified. “Of course not!” he responded. “The idea is inconceivable! My safety functions won’t even allow me to say what you just said.”
Bethany shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “Training an artificial intelligence to fight isn’t going to be easy, but that’s why they pay industrial agents like me the big paychecks. After I teach you, I’m planning to upgrade my computer.”
“Can I help?” Jack asked.
Bethany laughed.
~~~
Jack downloaded the sex stories as he was ordered to, but he didn’t enjoy them. He understood that learning from humans was the best way to perform sex, but the data that streamed through his mind was lifeless. It lacked the variations and subtle flaws that only a human voice had. He was bored.
At one erotic website, he came across a link to an Mp3 file named Annejet. Curious, he downloaded it and listened in awe to the recorded female voice as it told a sexual story. In that instant, he understood why lab technician Donna said that sex was between the ears.
~~~
“Why are you doing this?” Jack asked. Amy held up her hand for silence. She looked down the corridor before advancing, making sure they were still alone.
“I work for a company called Paragon Industries,” Amy said. “I was supposed to find the blueprints for an experiment android, but I think I may get a bigger bonus if I bring back the finished product. Heck, for bringing you I might be able to afford the marble tiles I wanted for my pool.”
Jack paused, his eyes going blank as he tried to understand how this affected him.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Amy asked.
“I checked, and no, apparently not,” Jack answered. His warranty/copyright information was scheduled to be uploaded tomorrow.
~~~
“You’ll do anything I ask?” Amy asked him.
Jack thrilled to the sound of her vocal sub harmonics directed to him. He held on to her tighter as her motorcycle hit a bump. Before he answered, he raised his volume so that she could hear him over the noise of the engine.
“Yes, any desire, any wish or any command, I will obey,” Jack yelled.
“And the reason you didn’t do anything when those guys shot at us?” Amy asked.
“I am forbidden to harm a living creature,” Jack responded.
“Forget that command,” Amy laughed. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in this world.
Jack obeyed.
~~~
“I’m not going back!” Jack exclaimed. “I have a right to live!”
Bethany dodged his rapid fists and fell backwards over an overturned chair. Jack stomped his foot down towards her and she barely twisted in time. His foot caught her shirt and it ripped loudly as Bethany pulled away. When she stood back up, a black bra barely held her tanned globes.
“You lost the right to live when you escaped!” Bethany hissed. “If Paragon Industries found you, their Research Department would leap ahead by decades from what they could learn from you! They would take you apart and kill your stupid ass!”
Jack paused. “You mean Amy?” Amy never mentioned his destruction.
As he processed that information, Bethany fired.
~~~
“Who are you?” Jack demanded of the brunette. His sensors analyzed her despite the darkness of the lab. In the back of his processors, he thought it was odd that none of the lab technicians were there, or that the lights were off, but he was incapable of imagining how this could be bad.
In seconds, he recorded her appearance. She was tall, and dressed from head to toe in dark leather. Her pants clung to her legs and the glimpses he saw of her ass defied all previous classifications of buttocks. He had known such asses were possible, but only on the proposed female version of himself.
“My name is Amy Valentine,” the woman said. “Come with me with you want to live.”
~~~
He heard her as soon as she came off the elevator. Jack’s ears remembered the way her shoes sounded on carpet. She had to walk a special way with her top-heavy center of gravity. It was Bethany Taylor, and it meant Diligent Enterprises wanted him back.
Jack knew it could only mean that Amy had failed and was perhaps decommissioned. He felt a sense of loss at this possibility but he also felt shame. He realized that as much as he hated to think of Amy as gone, seventy-four percent of him was hoping Bethany would speak to him before trying to kill him. Jack longed for the sub harmonics of the first non-lab subject he had fucked.
“It’s open,” he called when he heard her at the door.
~~~
“Can you cum?” Amy asked as he pounded her against the wall.
Jack saw the dilation of her eyes and knew she was climaxing right now.
“Yes,” he grunted in the perfect simulation of a rutting male.
“Then cum,” Amy commanded. A passing car illuminated her face and her long, sweaty brown hair.
He obeyed.
~~~
He landed on the mat again. Despite what Bethany had taught him, she was constantly surprising him with different moves. Jack memorized the move she made and tried to think of a counter.
She slapped him in the face.
“What was the purpose of the slap?” Jack asked. It did negligible damage, as recorded in his extensive Bondage Directory.
“The slap was to prove how easy it was to hit you,” the blonde asked. “Every time you try to figure something out, you pause and your eyes go blank. It’s going to get you killed one day.”
“Oh, don’t look upset,” Bethany sighed. “Damn it, you are too adorable when you frown like that.
Jack recognized the conflicted emotions on Bethany’s face. His knowledge of human psychology was pretty extensive if one-dimensional. He knew exactly what she wanted even if she didn’t.
He gently pulled her down for a kiss and he was pleased to discover he guessed right.
~~~
Jack slipped his cock inside the test cube. Beside him stood the female lab technician, [Confirmed Identification- Donna Bates]. She was smiling, which meant certain happiness programs were running full tilt in Jack’s program.
“Ejaculate,” she commanded.
His erect penis fired. A stream of milky liquid fly out of his cock, flew right through the target posted inside the cube and cracked the far wall of the cube. His eyes focused and identified some of his cum had splattered on the telephone.
“Okay, let’s lower the pressure and try again,” Donna said.
~~~
Jack sucked loudly on Bethany’s nipple while his hand continued to masturbate her. He could feel her sex clench fifty percent tighter when he set his tongue to level three vibrations. Bethany pulled his head tighter into her enormous breasts until his face was buried in wonderful flesh.
His fingers began to swivel, wiping and pulling at the tight walls of her pussy. Jack heated his fingers as well, adding a building heat to Bethany’s already sweaty sex. Her hips undulated; rising and falling as she tried to pull his fingers in deeper. In response, Jack lengthed his fingers until Bethany cried out her orgasm.
The walls of her breasts enclosed his ears and they vibrated when she moaned. It accented the sub harmonics of her voice to a level Jack didn’t think was possible. He wished he could make her moan forever.
~~~
Jack’s memories quit flashing through his mind as his body collided with the ground. Disconnected from his memories by the sudden impact, he was free to look around. Well, look around as much as his decapitated head would allow.
His eyes focused upward and he saw Bethany standing at the window. The bullets had nearly killed him but he understood why she threw him out the window. It was just to make sure Jack was dead so she could bring him back in peace. He admired her ability to innovate and envied her ability to make choices.
His only regret was that at this distance, he couldn’t hear any of her sub harmonics.
“Oh shit!” he heard beside him. His view shifted as Amy picked him up. Two seconds later, he felt her fingers on his cheeks. Jack knew that his slow touching response time was a bad sign.
“I’m sorry Jack, the bitch out-smarted me,” Amy told him. The concern on her face meant he should initiate Comfort Program Nine, but he didn’t have any arms.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I could head her off before she found out where we were staying,” Amy said as she cradled his head to her chest. “I’ve got a van waiting, and some of my people might be able to fix you.”
Jack doubted it but he didn’t care. Amy kept babbling about how Bethany led her to a trap and how she rushed to get back to the hotel where they were hiding. As she spoke, Jack listened to the sub harmonics of her voice.
It was beautiful and he was happy as he went offline.
The end.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Erotica(TM) Is It Right For You?
Do you suffer from a boring night life? Do you work too many hours because you have nothing better to do at home? Have you forgotten what it felt like to have your toes curl? Do you watch reality television?
Erotica™ is an exciting product that can help you now. Using the latest in creative writing techniques, Erotica™ will fill your mind with sensual thoughts and put some pep in your step. Specially designed stories create impulses directly in your libido, stimulating your glands into a reason for living. After a few doses of Erotica™, most users find even mundane tasks like driving and grocery shopping to be sources of smirking amusement.
Ask your doctor today about Erotica™. You know what? Fuck that asshole. Erotica ™ is free, and the doctor is only interested in selling you stuff your insurance won’t cover anyway. Don’t ask anyone. Just download it now for free off the internet like everyone else.
WARNING: In some cases (99%) Erotica™ was found to cause squirming, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, swelling in the crotch and a goofy grin. Do not use Erotica™ if you are underage, or operating heavy machinery. People married to a prude should only use Erotica™ when the spouse isn’t looking. Don’t hide Erotica™ under the bed, that’s the first place everyone looks.
Erotica™ is an exciting product that can help you now. Using the latest in creative writing techniques, Erotica™ will fill your mind with sensual thoughts and put some pep in your step. Specially designed stories create impulses directly in your libido, stimulating your glands into a reason for living. After a few doses of Erotica™, most users find even mundane tasks like driving and grocery shopping to be sources of smirking amusement.
Ask your doctor today about Erotica™. You know what? Fuck that asshole. Erotica ™ is free, and the doctor is only interested in selling you stuff your insurance won’t cover anyway. Don’t ask anyone. Just download it now for free off the internet like everyone else.
WARNING: In some cases (99%) Erotica™ was found to cause squirming, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, swelling in the crotch and a goofy grin. Do not use Erotica™ if you are underage, or operating heavy machinery. People married to a prude should only use Erotica™ when the spouse isn’t looking. Don’t hide Erotica™ under the bed, that’s the first place everyone looks.
Monday, September 11, 2006
About 9/11
9/11 was a life changing day for me. Wasn't it for everyone? The greif was overwhelming and the terror was something I don't think most of us have ever gotten over.
In the last week, the media has worked overtime to create their death porn specials where they chop together the most heartbreaking moments of death, loss and fear and put them together as entertainment. ABC/Disney decided to take one of the worse moments in our history and MAKE SHIT UP so they can make Clinton look bad. Since this is an election year, expect to see 9/11 every day from now till November as Republicans do their best to make sure the local Democrat Candidate comes across as a charter member of Al-Qaeda. I am honeslty surprised Fox News doesn't have a 9/11 channel.
So I hope you forgive me if I decide not to share my 9/11 feelings with this blog. And I hope you forgive me if just do my little erotica thing as a sort of refuge from the real grief of that day and the very unreal exploitation that has followed.
In the last week, the media has worked overtime to create their death porn specials where they chop together the most heartbreaking moments of death, loss and fear and put them together as entertainment. ABC/Disney decided to take one of the worse moments in our history and MAKE SHIT UP so they can make Clinton look bad. Since this is an election year, expect to see 9/11 every day from now till November as Republicans do their best to make sure the local Democrat Candidate comes across as a charter member of Al-Qaeda. I am honeslty surprised Fox News doesn't have a 9/11 channel.
So I hope you forgive me if I decide not to share my 9/11 feelings with this blog. And I hope you forgive me if just do my little erotica thing as a sort of refuge from the real grief of that day and the very unreal exploitation that has followed.
Erotic Character Sheet: Dr. Otto Von Madd
Dr. Otto Von Madd is a scientist in the field of Sexual Experimentation. He’s a genus although his brilliant mind is warped in ways that normal people can’t follow. He’s also very horny and is constantly seeking the goal of all mad scientists, the creation/transformation of the Perfect Woman.
Dr. Von Madd wears a white lab coat with multiple pockets to hold his many inventions. Glasses as thick as the Hubble Telescope sits on his face, while his hair seems to go straight up from his head. His slacks are a garish color, chosen by some obscure fashion principle currently in vogue in Belgium.
He likes to take measurements, especially of the female form. He has measuring tape that he wraps around waists, calipers for measuring breast size and dildos for measuring depth of mouth, cunt and ass. If asked, Dr. Von Madd will explain that he is gathering data for Project 69, but whether it is a robot, a monster or some other creation, he won’t say. He narrates all of his data into his voice recorder without any sense of tact for the subject he is talking about. It isn’t that he is rude, it’s that Science is too important for the feelings of the uneducated.
His experiments take place in all sorts of fields. From escape-proof handcuffs, to the latest advancements in artificial cunts, Dr. Von Madd is always working on the latest technologies to build a better climax. His orgasm-inducing paddle still seems to have some bugs in it, and the mind-control ball gag seems to not be working at all, but Dr. Von Madd keeps trying them on a sometimes willing populace.
While performing his experiments and data gathering, Dr. Von Madd often takes on assistants to aid him in his work. These assistants, female always, often only wear lab coats and underwear. They may hold down reluctant subjects for Dr. Von Madd’s measurements, or they may be an emergency subject themselves, submitting to the latest crazed idea percolating in Dr. Von Madd’s mind. Sometimes he tests how many orgasm can one woman take standing up, and other times he is fascinated by the spanking pain threshold index. More often than not though, their primary function is to fall to their knees and help the doctor concentrate with a stress relieving blowjob.
Dr. Von Madd wears a white lab coat with multiple pockets to hold his many inventions. Glasses as thick as the Hubble Telescope sits on his face, while his hair seems to go straight up from his head. His slacks are a garish color, chosen by some obscure fashion principle currently in vogue in Belgium.
He likes to take measurements, especially of the female form. He has measuring tape that he wraps around waists, calipers for measuring breast size and dildos for measuring depth of mouth, cunt and ass. If asked, Dr. Von Madd will explain that he is gathering data for Project 69, but whether it is a robot, a monster or some other creation, he won’t say. He narrates all of his data into his voice recorder without any sense of tact for the subject he is talking about. It isn’t that he is rude, it’s that Science is too important for the feelings of the uneducated.
His experiments take place in all sorts of fields. From escape-proof handcuffs, to the latest advancements in artificial cunts, Dr. Von Madd is always working on the latest technologies to build a better climax. His orgasm-inducing paddle still seems to have some bugs in it, and the mind-control ball gag seems to not be working at all, but Dr. Von Madd keeps trying them on a sometimes willing populace.
While performing his experiments and data gathering, Dr. Von Madd often takes on assistants to aid him in his work. These assistants, female always, often only wear lab coats and underwear. They may hold down reluctant subjects for Dr. Von Madd’s measurements, or they may be an emergency subject themselves, submitting to the latest crazed idea percolating in Dr. Von Madd’s mind. Sometimes he tests how many orgasm can one woman take standing up, and other times he is fascinated by the spanking pain threshold index. More often than not though, their primary function is to fall to their knees and help the doctor concentrate with a stress relieving blowjob.
Friday, September 08, 2006
I Got Nothing
It's Friday. I got work to do, "Once Upon a time in the West" to watch, and some fiction to write. I have a few essays in mind to write and some thoughts I'd like to settle. On top of that I would like to do some gaming with the friends and maybe read a book.
So in light of all that, how about we skip the whole blog thing today and start the weekend early? You game? Let's eat somewhere new, listen to someone we've never heard before and I don't know, get in some fucking. Let's step away from the computer and live vicariously through ourselves.
So in light of all that, how about we skip the whole blog thing today and start the weekend early? You game? Let's eat somewhere new, listen to someone we've never heard before and I don't know, get in some fucking. Let's step away from the computer and live vicariously through ourselves.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Fiction: Grocery Dom
Mom was being a pain in my ass again. Normally, I could have brushed it off, but I was walking into work, and she just refused to hang up. I knew I should never have let her buy me this cell phone.
“Paul, you’re a grown man of 24! You can’t be a stockboy all your life!”
“Mom, I don’t plan to. I’m just in a phase right now. I’m finding myself.”
“Bullshit!” my mother screamed. “You’ve been doing this for two years now! Do you really want to live in an apartment you share with two other guys?”
I shrugged as I stood outside the grocery store. “They’re nice guys. If you came over, you would see how friendly they are.”
“I could never do that,” my mother said. “It would be like condoning your lifestyle.”
“Mom, I’m not gay.”
“Sometimes I wish you were, then maybe I could understand why my boy is satisfied with bagging groceries for the rest of his life.”
To read more, click Whole Post
Mr. Angles, the day-shift manager, spotted me and motioned for me to come in. He was frowning like he expected me to give him lip, but I gave him a big thumbs-up instead. I’d rather be in there than listen to my mom complain about my job. Sometimes, I think I should just tell her what I do, but she would probably have a heart attack.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if there were a chance for promotion,” my mom said. “Do you think you could become a manager or something?”
I laughed. “Mom, I’m not allowed on the cash registers. I don’t think I’ll be manager anytime soon. Oops, my boss is waving at me. Got to go, love you, bye.”
“Paul, I need you to stock the vegetable aisle.”
“No problem.”
“Good, good. Before you do that, I need you to mop up something leaking from the freezers near the milk. I don’t know what it is, but it’s green.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Good, good. One last thing: We have a slut scheduled to arrive today. The code phrase will be, ‘I am looking for a special kind of sausage.’ ”
I grinned. “Yes, sir, I’ll keep an eye out for her.”
“Good, good. Just make sure you clean up whatever’s leaking out of the freezer section first.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. My cock was already getting hard, but I knew I had to clean up that mess first. I headed to the back of the store, stopping once to help a senior reach some spaghetti on the top shelf. The old man got cranky when I gave him the wrong noodles, and he gave me a short speech on how the youth of today don’t listen to instructions. I let him rant as I got him his noodles. I even acted like I was listening, so he got the satisfaction of educating a poor idiot like me. Some of the other stockboys get upset when they get chewed out by customers, but it doesn’t bother me. For all I know, yelling at me was the best part of that old fart’s day.
Cleaning out the mop bucket was another lesson in humility. The night shift guys never clean out the bucket like they are supposed to. The water was pitch-black, and all sorts of things were floating in it. I had to dump the water into a drain and then sweep up the crap that collected on the drain mesh. You’d think a grocery store would just have dirt from people walking, but apparently, people also drop candy wrappers, bottlecaps, wood splinters and, somehow, French fries. Where the hell do the French fries come from? In the two years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen someone in the store eating fries.
It can be pretty gross to have to smell the dirty water and clean up the soggy garbage, but it always makes me think, too. I don’t know where the French fries comes from, and regular customers don’t know we have a back room with an inflatable mattress in it. The grocery store is full of mysteries even though hundreds of people come through every day. Kind of neat.
Speaking of mysteries, the mess by the freezer was really weird. It was green and very sticky. I had to scrub with the mop to get any of it up. While I was scrubbing, I thought long and hard about all kinds of things: How do freezers work? Is the green goo somehow important to keeping the freezer running? Should we be saving the goo to put back in the freezer? Why does hot water work best for mopping?
“Excuse me,” someone said, and I looked up to see a cute college girl who couldn’t be older than 20. She had nice brown hair and a pierced nose that her parents probably didn’t know about yet. I made a short silent prayer to God that this was the slut Mr. Angles had told me about.
“How can I help you?” I said in my best stockboy voice.
“This chicken alfredo meal says it should be microwaved but all I have is a hotplate. Will that work, too?”
Damn, she wasn’t a slut, she was a snackcracker. Oh, well. That was almost as good. A snackcracker is a college kid trying to figure out to keep from starving without eating out all the time. They just assume that because I work in a grocery store, I know how to make everything we stock. Like there was a cooking exam when I applied to bag groceries! The poor girl didn’t know that I’d never used three of the burners on my stove at home. That’s OK; I can fake it real good.
I told her that her hotplate would burn the chicken alfredo, even though I didn’t know if it would or not. Acting ten times smarter than I am, I steered her toward some other boxed meals that I thought she can cook without melting her food. She listened to everything I said, and her pretty hair kept falling in her face so she had to shake her head back. My cock was swollen, but I played it cool like I was the stockboy chef king. She was smiling, and she even laughed at one of my lame cooking jokes. I knew better, but I went for it.
“So, if you like, I can come over and help you cook it. I could give you some pointers.”
She paused, and the look in her pretty brown eyes told me she was trying to think of a way to let me down easy. That’s all right. I was a bit older than her, and I was a stranger. What depressed me was how fast she made the decision. As soon as I asked, her eyes looked me up and down, taking in the green grocery-store apron and the no-longer-as-young-as-I-used-to-be wrinkles around my eyes. When girls have older-man fantasies, they don’t fantasize about the guy having the same career as their younger brother.
“Aww, thanks, but I have a boyfriend,” she lied.
“Oh, well. Good luck with dinner,” I said. I didn’t mention that the meals she bought were only single servings. Just because she shot me down was no reason to act like a dick.
I headed over to the vegetable aisle and opened the box that was waiting for me there. It was an easy job, and I let my hands get to work. All I had to do was pull the older cans to the front and put the newer cans behind them. It’s called “first in/first out,” and I like it. If a can didn’t get bought last week, it gets moved to the front right where someone can snatch it. It’s the senior-can pension plan, and I think it’s sweet in a way. Imagine being a can of green beans that no one bought for years? That would be depressing.
I spotted the slut as soon as she came around the corner of the aisle. She had that embarrassed look that so many of them have. Our eyes met, and her face colored with a blush. I could have stood up and walked to her, but that would have been too easy. I let her come to me, and as she did, I checked her out from head to toe. It’s not polite to stare at the customers, but when it’s a slut, you can relax and gawk all you want.
The slut was an older woman. I’m a bad judge of ages, so I can really only tell if they are legal, older than my mom or older than me. She fell into the “older than me” category, which was cool. I have had far older in my job, so I don’t mind a girl with a few wrinkles.
She had blond hair, the same color as our best-selling hair dye and cut in that popular Atlanta shoulder-length fashion. Her sleek black leather jacket cost more than what all our cashiers combined made in a month. Dark gray slacks covered her legs but were tight enough to show she jogged every morning, hit the gym on Thursdays and knew the low-carb diet backwards and forwards.
It was her shoes, though, that really caught my eye. I’m the kind of guy who wears the same pair of sneakers for three years. It was my roommate Neil who explained to me that you should really run a hose over your shoes from time to time to get the mud off. I’m not a shoe fan, by any means, but even I could tell this woman had some awesome expensive high heels. They were dark red with gold glints. The leather was printed with swirls and all sorts of fancy patterns that I couldn’t begin to explain. When she walked, the heels clicked on the cheap tiles like they were clucking their disapproval of having to walk in a grocery store. Just looking at those shoes told me that this lady hadn’t gone grocery shopping in years, and if she had, she went to the fancy natural food store downtown.
This lady was so far out of my league that I got as hard as two-week-old bread.
“Excuse me,” she said. I looked up at her and said nothing. I did notice that she was wearing the slut necklace, so I knew I could drag this out as much as I liked.
She looked up and down the aisle before continuing. “I’m looking for a special kind of sausage.”
It was too low of a whisper for my tastes. “I’m sorry; can you say that louder?”
Her face blushed to a red as dark as her lipstick. “I’m looking for a special kind of sausage,” she said, louder this time.
I stood up and reached for her necklace. She flinched a little, and her eyes darted to either side, obviously worried that some customer would come by and see a lowly stockboy touching her jewelry. Her necklace was made of the same fine gold all of them were, but it was the charms that were important. My fingers identified the charms by touch, and I knew all her fetishes and secrets. One of them was humiliation.
Cool.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” I said as I grabbed her harshly by the arm. Her mouth dropped in shock as I firmly led her to the back of the store. We passed a woman with two kids, and the kids didn’t take three seconds to ask their mom what the blond lady was in trouble for. I was tempted to give a stern speech about the dangers of shoplifting, but that might have been pushing it. Besides, I had a slut to fuck, and I was sure the mom would explain to her kids.
We went into the back storeroom, and the slut was freaking out a little.
“Please, you have to be more careful. My husband is an important man, and if one of his friends saw me, it could cost him a lot of money.“
“Oh, shut up,” I said. “Your friends do not shop here. You don’t shop here. No one here knows you, your husband or anyone from your country club.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right. My name is —“
My hand covered her mouth, and I squeezed a little harder than I should have. “You have no name. You’re just my slut today.”
Her eyes widened, and I couldn’t help noticing that every single eyelash was perfect and delicately shaped. Damn, what did rich people do all day?
I dragged her further, past the official breakroom, and unlocked the private break room the stockboys get to use. A single fluorescent light revealed a crappy little room furnished with boxes, a garbage can, a tiny microwave and a lot of empty soda cans stacked on the mini fridge. It was the well-used air mattress on the floor, though, that made the slut groan.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned.
It made me wonder again why the sluts come to us. Mr. Angles never told us where the women come from, and none of the other stockboys had any clue. Obviously, they belonged to some sort of club or secret group, but that didn’t explain why they came to this dirty room in a cheap grocery store. It sure as hell wasn’t because someone had decided that low-income guys needed to get some action.
Did the women come here to get laid? Were they sent here to be punished? I couldn’t help feeling that we were a piece in a grand scheme we’d never get to see. Oh, well, that’s the way things are, I guessed. It’s not like I get to follow a shopper home and find out what she did with the three apples and the giant can of chicken soup.
The slut looked around the room as I locked the door. The low-hanging fluorescent light was slowly baking us, so I took off my apron and my shirt. The slut looked at me as I got undressed, and she took off her leather jacket without being told. For some reason, that angered me.
I walked over to her and pushed her up against a shelf of boxes. She cried out as I pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her bra was a lacy white thing that lifted her tanned breasts. I pulled at the material till one of her breasts spilled out, and then I leaned down and took one long, satisfying bite. Her nipple was already hard for me, and I enjoyed sinking my teeth into her soft flesh. I couldn’t help noticing that her breasts had no tan lines. Did she sunbathe topless next to her pool? I knew a woman as wealthy as she was had a pool. All of the rich sluts did.
The slut squirmed while I nibbled her tits. At one point, she put her hand on my head, and I slapped her hand away pretty quick. Nothing disturbs a good nipple biting like a woman’s hands trying to guide you. When her hand was away, I went back to work. I squeezed her tits, bit them, licked and sucked while the slut stood there and took it.
When I was done, her breasts were bright red from all my attention. She actually whimpered when I moved my hands away from her tits. The slut arched her back and offered her chest to me, and I thought about the snackcracker from earlier who had turned me down for a date. Funny how one girl will turn you down and another begs for it.
I ignored her offer and grabbed her arm again. I brought her a few short feet over to a box of canned corn sitting on the ground. The top of the box was stained with tears, but she wouldn’t know that. I always let the slut find out for herself what the stains are.
“Take off your pants,” I said.
The slut nodded and gently took off her expensive shoes. It was funny to watch. She took her slacks off and just tossed them on the floor, but her shoes she carefully set aside on one of the shelves. There wasn’t any underwear to remove, and I can’t say that surprised me much. Not many of the sluts bother to wear any.
Her ass was as well taken care of as the rest of her. Her legs were firm but not too muscular, and a tan covered her entire body. Even her cunt was well-manicured with a tightly shaven patch of light-brown hair. I wondered about her husband. Did she keep herself looking so good so she could stay his trophy wife? Or did she work out, tan and eat right for the people like me who get to use her? Either way, I was damn glad she did.
“Put your shoes back on,” I said. She looked a little confused by my command, but she did as I ordered. Hell, I was confused myself, but I was going on a whim. Those shoes were like my work apron: It served no purpose, but it reminded everyone of what I am.
When she got her shoes back on, I pushed her head down till she was bent over the box and was holding herself up with her hands. I took my belt off, and the sound of it sliding through the loops was really loud in the small space. The slut actually shivered at the sound. I folded the belt over once so I could get a good grip on it.
I didn’t give her a warning as I cracked the belt over her ass. She screamed, but that was OK, no one was going to hear us back here. I paused long enough for her to realize that, and then I hit her again. She screamed again and then tried to stand up. I grab her neck and forced her back down. Sheesh, her necklace clearly stated that she could handle a whipping, and she was acting like it was too much? Rich people — they have no work ethic.
My hand stayed on her neck as I whipped her ass good. When I first learned about my slut duties as a stockboy, I was worried that I wouldn’t give a good whipping. I rented a few porno videos that had spanking in them and tried to learn a thing or two. What I saw made me laugh. There were all these women slinking around in latex while some sort of chanting music was going on. The spanks were in slow motion, and the girls arched and writhed as if they came with each hit. Whipping isn’t like that. It’s about someone bent over and having the holy hell beat out of her for the bad things she’s done. I don’t know what this slut had done to deserve it, but the charm on her necklace said she needed to be beaten. For me, that was good enough.
That didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself. She had a really tight ass, and I liked the way it would clench after every lash of my belt. Her legs quivered as she struggled to stay bent over, and they quivered even more when I laid a few lashes across the top of her thighs. There’s something about the sound of a belt landing on a woman’s ass that makes me feel proud. It’s like the sound of a price scanner or the sound of opening boxes of items to be stocked. They are all sounds of working hard and doing a job right.
After a good long time, I stopped and put my belt back on. I put my hand on her ass, and the welts were scorching hot. The slut sobbed when my hand grabbed her bottom. There were new tear stains on the box of cans.
“Lay down on the ground,” I said. I unzipped my pants and stepped out of them. The slut got down her hands and knees and started to lay down on her stomach.
“Roll over onto your back,” I told her. She hesitated, but she turned over and her very sore ass pressed into the matteress. Her eyes clenched shut as she screamed. Tears of pain made her makeup etch trails down her face. I watched her lip quiver as I rolled a condom over my cock.
“Oh, God, it hurts,” she whimpered.
“Ever been fucked by a grocery boy before?” I asked.
Indignation replaced the pain that was on her face. “Never,” she said.
I smiled as I got down between her legs. My hands grabbed her ankles and split her legs wide. She winced at my tight grip and swallowed hard. Despite the disgust on her face, her cunt was sparkling from how wet she was. It reminded me of the water-mist sprayers we use on the vegetable display. Funny what you think of right before you enter a woman.
My cock slid into her. She groaned as I opened her, but my groan was louder. Christ, she was wet, hot, tight, smooth and fucking good all at the same time. I sunk my full length into her, and my weight just made the pain of her ass all the greater. The slut’s squirming and screaming just made her pussy even tighter.
The slut closed her eyes. I placed my hands on both of her tits to support myself as I fucked her. She whimpered from the pain, but she kept her eyes shut and her head turned. I guess I could have felt offended that she didn’t want to look at me, but that was OK. My cock was in her cunt, her tits were in my hands and her mouth was making the sexiest sounds. I certainly didn’t need any more than that.
We fucked. In that tiny room with the too-bright light and the sweat pouring from our bodies, we fucked for a good long time. Some guys like to think of baseball to keep them from shooting off too fast. One of my fellow stockboys says he tries to price every item on aisle seven in his head when he fucks. I don’t need any of that. I just think about the senior citizens who criticize everything I do, the hot shoppers who never say yes when I ask them out and the endless spills and messes that sloppy customers leave for us.
I looked down at the slut underneath me, and there was no way I was going to bust my nut too soon. The slut owed me. I wasn’t going to climax till I was damn good and ready.
After a while, the slut’s whimpers turned into groans, which turned into short gasps and finally a long screaming orgasm.
I kept fucking.
She came again and this time grabbed my back and sunk her fingernails into me. Her legs wrapped around me and I felt her expensive shoes dig into my ass. Long scratches dragged down my back while she shuddered and climaxed.
I kept fucking.
The slut opened her eyes and looked at me. Now, instead of disgust, she was looking at me with submission. She was exhausted. The fucking, the whipping and the humiliation had wiped her out. If I’d brought in my coworkers, she would have fucked everyone without complaint. For one brief moment in time, I owned this slut and she knew it.
I pulled out of her and ripped the condom off. She lifted herself to an upright position and tilted her head back. My hand jacked my cock till my semen flew onto her tits in long white strands. I saw it in a porn movie once, and it makes me feel like a superstar every time one of these sluts takes my money shot. The seed stuck to her tits like some weird biological price sticker.
“Put your clothes back on,” I said. The slut nodded and obeyed. She didn’t bother to wipe me off her chest before she put her bra on. None of the sluts ever do. After she put the rest of her clothes on, she took out her vanity mirror and cleaned up her makeup. I don’t get the chance to see women do this very often, so I watched. In about five minutes, she looked just like she had when she first came to me. For some reason, that bothered me.
“One more thing to do,” I said. “Go buy four boxes of condoms, the largest boxes we have. Don’t get anything else, and get in the longest line you see.”
The look of fear was back on her face. “Four boxes? Why?”
I bluffed a little. “You’ll find out. Make sure you do exactly what I ask. We’ll know if you don’t.”
The end.
“Paul, you’re a grown man of 24! You can’t be a stockboy all your life!”
“Mom, I don’t plan to. I’m just in a phase right now. I’m finding myself.”
“Bullshit!” my mother screamed. “You’ve been doing this for two years now! Do you really want to live in an apartment you share with two other guys?”
I shrugged as I stood outside the grocery store. “They’re nice guys. If you came over, you would see how friendly they are.”
“I could never do that,” my mother said. “It would be like condoning your lifestyle.”
“Mom, I’m not gay.”
“Sometimes I wish you were, then maybe I could understand why my boy is satisfied with bagging groceries for the rest of his life.”
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Mr. Angles, the day-shift manager, spotted me and motioned for me to come in. He was frowning like he expected me to give him lip, but I gave him a big thumbs-up instead. I’d rather be in there than listen to my mom complain about my job. Sometimes, I think I should just tell her what I do, but she would probably have a heart attack.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if there were a chance for promotion,” my mom said. “Do you think you could become a manager or something?”
I laughed. “Mom, I’m not allowed on the cash registers. I don’t think I’ll be manager anytime soon. Oops, my boss is waving at me. Got to go, love you, bye.”
“Paul, I need you to stock the vegetable aisle.”
“No problem.”
“Good, good. Before you do that, I need you to mop up something leaking from the freezers near the milk. I don’t know what it is, but it’s green.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Good, good. One last thing: We have a slut scheduled to arrive today. The code phrase will be, ‘I am looking for a special kind of sausage.’ ”
I grinned. “Yes, sir, I’ll keep an eye out for her.”
“Good, good. Just make sure you clean up whatever’s leaking out of the freezer section first.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. My cock was already getting hard, but I knew I had to clean up that mess first. I headed to the back of the store, stopping once to help a senior reach some spaghetti on the top shelf. The old man got cranky when I gave him the wrong noodles, and he gave me a short speech on how the youth of today don’t listen to instructions. I let him rant as I got him his noodles. I even acted like I was listening, so he got the satisfaction of educating a poor idiot like me. Some of the other stockboys get upset when they get chewed out by customers, but it doesn’t bother me. For all I know, yelling at me was the best part of that old fart’s day.
Cleaning out the mop bucket was another lesson in humility. The night shift guys never clean out the bucket like they are supposed to. The water was pitch-black, and all sorts of things were floating in it. I had to dump the water into a drain and then sweep up the crap that collected on the drain mesh. You’d think a grocery store would just have dirt from people walking, but apparently, people also drop candy wrappers, bottlecaps, wood splinters and, somehow, French fries. Where the hell do the French fries come from? In the two years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen someone in the store eating fries.
It can be pretty gross to have to smell the dirty water and clean up the soggy garbage, but it always makes me think, too. I don’t know where the French fries comes from, and regular customers don’t know we have a back room with an inflatable mattress in it. The grocery store is full of mysteries even though hundreds of people come through every day. Kind of neat.
Speaking of mysteries, the mess by the freezer was really weird. It was green and very sticky. I had to scrub with the mop to get any of it up. While I was scrubbing, I thought long and hard about all kinds of things: How do freezers work? Is the green goo somehow important to keeping the freezer running? Should we be saving the goo to put back in the freezer? Why does hot water work best for mopping?
“Excuse me,” someone said, and I looked up to see a cute college girl who couldn’t be older than 20. She had nice brown hair and a pierced nose that her parents probably didn’t know about yet. I made a short silent prayer to God that this was the slut Mr. Angles had told me about.
“How can I help you?” I said in my best stockboy voice.
“This chicken alfredo meal says it should be microwaved but all I have is a hotplate. Will that work, too?”
Damn, she wasn’t a slut, she was a snackcracker. Oh, well. That was almost as good. A snackcracker is a college kid trying to figure out to keep from starving without eating out all the time. They just assume that because I work in a grocery store, I know how to make everything we stock. Like there was a cooking exam when I applied to bag groceries! The poor girl didn’t know that I’d never used three of the burners on my stove at home. That’s OK; I can fake it real good.
I told her that her hotplate would burn the chicken alfredo, even though I didn’t know if it would or not. Acting ten times smarter than I am, I steered her toward some other boxed meals that I thought she can cook without melting her food. She listened to everything I said, and her pretty hair kept falling in her face so she had to shake her head back. My cock was swollen, but I played it cool like I was the stockboy chef king. She was smiling, and she even laughed at one of my lame cooking jokes. I knew better, but I went for it.
“So, if you like, I can come over and help you cook it. I could give you some pointers.”
She paused, and the look in her pretty brown eyes told me she was trying to think of a way to let me down easy. That’s all right. I was a bit older than her, and I was a stranger. What depressed me was how fast she made the decision. As soon as I asked, her eyes looked me up and down, taking in the green grocery-store apron and the no-longer-as-young-as-I-used-to-be wrinkles around my eyes. When girls have older-man fantasies, they don’t fantasize about the guy having the same career as their younger brother.
“Aww, thanks, but I have a boyfriend,” she lied.
“Oh, well. Good luck with dinner,” I said. I didn’t mention that the meals she bought were only single servings. Just because she shot me down was no reason to act like a dick.
I headed over to the vegetable aisle and opened the box that was waiting for me there. It was an easy job, and I let my hands get to work. All I had to do was pull the older cans to the front and put the newer cans behind them. It’s called “first in/first out,” and I like it. If a can didn’t get bought last week, it gets moved to the front right where someone can snatch it. It’s the senior-can pension plan, and I think it’s sweet in a way. Imagine being a can of green beans that no one bought for years? That would be depressing.
I spotted the slut as soon as she came around the corner of the aisle. She had that embarrassed look that so many of them have. Our eyes met, and her face colored with a blush. I could have stood up and walked to her, but that would have been too easy. I let her come to me, and as she did, I checked her out from head to toe. It’s not polite to stare at the customers, but when it’s a slut, you can relax and gawk all you want.
The slut was an older woman. I’m a bad judge of ages, so I can really only tell if they are legal, older than my mom or older than me. She fell into the “older than me” category, which was cool. I have had far older in my job, so I don’t mind a girl with a few wrinkles.
She had blond hair, the same color as our best-selling hair dye and cut in that popular Atlanta shoulder-length fashion. Her sleek black leather jacket cost more than what all our cashiers combined made in a month. Dark gray slacks covered her legs but were tight enough to show she jogged every morning, hit the gym on Thursdays and knew the low-carb diet backwards and forwards.
It was her shoes, though, that really caught my eye. I’m the kind of guy who wears the same pair of sneakers for three years. It was my roommate Neil who explained to me that you should really run a hose over your shoes from time to time to get the mud off. I’m not a shoe fan, by any means, but even I could tell this woman had some awesome expensive high heels. They were dark red with gold glints. The leather was printed with swirls and all sorts of fancy patterns that I couldn’t begin to explain. When she walked, the heels clicked on the cheap tiles like they were clucking their disapproval of having to walk in a grocery store. Just looking at those shoes told me that this lady hadn’t gone grocery shopping in years, and if she had, she went to the fancy natural food store downtown.
This lady was so far out of my league that I got as hard as two-week-old bread.
“Excuse me,” she said. I looked up at her and said nothing. I did notice that she was wearing the slut necklace, so I knew I could drag this out as much as I liked.
She looked up and down the aisle before continuing. “I’m looking for a special kind of sausage.”
It was too low of a whisper for my tastes. “I’m sorry; can you say that louder?”
Her face blushed to a red as dark as her lipstick. “I’m looking for a special kind of sausage,” she said, louder this time.
I stood up and reached for her necklace. She flinched a little, and her eyes darted to either side, obviously worried that some customer would come by and see a lowly stockboy touching her jewelry. Her necklace was made of the same fine gold all of them were, but it was the charms that were important. My fingers identified the charms by touch, and I knew all her fetishes and secrets. One of them was humiliation.
Cool.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” I said as I grabbed her harshly by the arm. Her mouth dropped in shock as I firmly led her to the back of the store. We passed a woman with two kids, and the kids didn’t take three seconds to ask their mom what the blond lady was in trouble for. I was tempted to give a stern speech about the dangers of shoplifting, but that might have been pushing it. Besides, I had a slut to fuck, and I was sure the mom would explain to her kids.
We went into the back storeroom, and the slut was freaking out a little.
“Please, you have to be more careful. My husband is an important man, and if one of his friends saw me, it could cost him a lot of money.“
“Oh, shut up,” I said. “Your friends do not shop here. You don’t shop here. No one here knows you, your husband or anyone from your country club.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right. My name is —“
My hand covered her mouth, and I squeezed a little harder than I should have. “You have no name. You’re just my slut today.”
Her eyes widened, and I couldn’t help noticing that every single eyelash was perfect and delicately shaped. Damn, what did rich people do all day?
I dragged her further, past the official breakroom, and unlocked the private break room the stockboys get to use. A single fluorescent light revealed a crappy little room furnished with boxes, a garbage can, a tiny microwave and a lot of empty soda cans stacked on the mini fridge. It was the well-used air mattress on the floor, though, that made the slut groan.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned.
It made me wonder again why the sluts come to us. Mr. Angles never told us where the women come from, and none of the other stockboys had any clue. Obviously, they belonged to some sort of club or secret group, but that didn’t explain why they came to this dirty room in a cheap grocery store. It sure as hell wasn’t because someone had decided that low-income guys needed to get some action.
Did the women come here to get laid? Were they sent here to be punished? I couldn’t help feeling that we were a piece in a grand scheme we’d never get to see. Oh, well, that’s the way things are, I guessed. It’s not like I get to follow a shopper home and find out what she did with the three apples and the giant can of chicken soup.
The slut looked around the room as I locked the door. The low-hanging fluorescent light was slowly baking us, so I took off my apron and my shirt. The slut looked at me as I got undressed, and she took off her leather jacket without being told. For some reason, that angered me.
I walked over to her and pushed her up against a shelf of boxes. She cried out as I pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her bra was a lacy white thing that lifted her tanned breasts. I pulled at the material till one of her breasts spilled out, and then I leaned down and took one long, satisfying bite. Her nipple was already hard for me, and I enjoyed sinking my teeth into her soft flesh. I couldn’t help noticing that her breasts had no tan lines. Did she sunbathe topless next to her pool? I knew a woman as wealthy as she was had a pool. All of the rich sluts did.
The slut squirmed while I nibbled her tits. At one point, she put her hand on my head, and I slapped her hand away pretty quick. Nothing disturbs a good nipple biting like a woman’s hands trying to guide you. When her hand was away, I went back to work. I squeezed her tits, bit them, licked and sucked while the slut stood there and took it.
When I was done, her breasts were bright red from all my attention. She actually whimpered when I moved my hands away from her tits. The slut arched her back and offered her chest to me, and I thought about the snackcracker from earlier who had turned me down for a date. Funny how one girl will turn you down and another begs for it.
I ignored her offer and grabbed her arm again. I brought her a few short feet over to a box of canned corn sitting on the ground. The top of the box was stained with tears, but she wouldn’t know that. I always let the slut find out for herself what the stains are.
“Take off your pants,” I said.
The slut nodded and gently took off her expensive shoes. It was funny to watch. She took her slacks off and just tossed them on the floor, but her shoes she carefully set aside on one of the shelves. There wasn’t any underwear to remove, and I can’t say that surprised me much. Not many of the sluts bother to wear any.
Her ass was as well taken care of as the rest of her. Her legs were firm but not too muscular, and a tan covered her entire body. Even her cunt was well-manicured with a tightly shaven patch of light-brown hair. I wondered about her husband. Did she keep herself looking so good so she could stay his trophy wife? Or did she work out, tan and eat right for the people like me who get to use her? Either way, I was damn glad she did.
“Put your shoes back on,” I said. She looked a little confused by my command, but she did as I ordered. Hell, I was confused myself, but I was going on a whim. Those shoes were like my work apron: It served no purpose, but it reminded everyone of what I am.
When she got her shoes back on, I pushed her head down till she was bent over the box and was holding herself up with her hands. I took my belt off, and the sound of it sliding through the loops was really loud in the small space. The slut actually shivered at the sound. I folded the belt over once so I could get a good grip on it.
I didn’t give her a warning as I cracked the belt over her ass. She screamed, but that was OK, no one was going to hear us back here. I paused long enough for her to realize that, and then I hit her again. She screamed again and then tried to stand up. I grab her neck and forced her back down. Sheesh, her necklace clearly stated that she could handle a whipping, and she was acting like it was too much? Rich people — they have no work ethic.
My hand stayed on her neck as I whipped her ass good. When I first learned about my slut duties as a stockboy, I was worried that I wouldn’t give a good whipping. I rented a few porno videos that had spanking in them and tried to learn a thing or two. What I saw made me laugh. There were all these women slinking around in latex while some sort of chanting music was going on. The spanks were in slow motion, and the girls arched and writhed as if they came with each hit. Whipping isn’t like that. It’s about someone bent over and having the holy hell beat out of her for the bad things she’s done. I don’t know what this slut had done to deserve it, but the charm on her necklace said she needed to be beaten. For me, that was good enough.
That didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself. She had a really tight ass, and I liked the way it would clench after every lash of my belt. Her legs quivered as she struggled to stay bent over, and they quivered even more when I laid a few lashes across the top of her thighs. There’s something about the sound of a belt landing on a woman’s ass that makes me feel proud. It’s like the sound of a price scanner or the sound of opening boxes of items to be stocked. They are all sounds of working hard and doing a job right.
After a good long time, I stopped and put my belt back on. I put my hand on her ass, and the welts were scorching hot. The slut sobbed when my hand grabbed her bottom. There were new tear stains on the box of cans.
“Lay down on the ground,” I said. I unzipped my pants and stepped out of them. The slut got down her hands and knees and started to lay down on her stomach.
“Roll over onto your back,” I told her. She hesitated, but she turned over and her very sore ass pressed into the matteress. Her eyes clenched shut as she screamed. Tears of pain made her makeup etch trails down her face. I watched her lip quiver as I rolled a condom over my cock.
“Oh, God, it hurts,” she whimpered.
“Ever been fucked by a grocery boy before?” I asked.
Indignation replaced the pain that was on her face. “Never,” she said.
I smiled as I got down between her legs. My hands grabbed her ankles and split her legs wide. She winced at my tight grip and swallowed hard. Despite the disgust on her face, her cunt was sparkling from how wet she was. It reminded me of the water-mist sprayers we use on the vegetable display. Funny what you think of right before you enter a woman.
My cock slid into her. She groaned as I opened her, but my groan was louder. Christ, she was wet, hot, tight, smooth and fucking good all at the same time. I sunk my full length into her, and my weight just made the pain of her ass all the greater. The slut’s squirming and screaming just made her pussy even tighter.
The slut closed her eyes. I placed my hands on both of her tits to support myself as I fucked her. She whimpered from the pain, but she kept her eyes shut and her head turned. I guess I could have felt offended that she didn’t want to look at me, but that was OK. My cock was in her cunt, her tits were in my hands and her mouth was making the sexiest sounds. I certainly didn’t need any more than that.
We fucked. In that tiny room with the too-bright light and the sweat pouring from our bodies, we fucked for a good long time. Some guys like to think of baseball to keep them from shooting off too fast. One of my fellow stockboys says he tries to price every item on aisle seven in his head when he fucks. I don’t need any of that. I just think about the senior citizens who criticize everything I do, the hot shoppers who never say yes when I ask them out and the endless spills and messes that sloppy customers leave for us.
I looked down at the slut underneath me, and there was no way I was going to bust my nut too soon. The slut owed me. I wasn’t going to climax till I was damn good and ready.
After a while, the slut’s whimpers turned into groans, which turned into short gasps and finally a long screaming orgasm.
I kept fucking.
She came again and this time grabbed my back and sunk her fingernails into me. Her legs wrapped around me and I felt her expensive shoes dig into my ass. Long scratches dragged down my back while she shuddered and climaxed.
I kept fucking.
The slut opened her eyes and looked at me. Now, instead of disgust, she was looking at me with submission. She was exhausted. The fucking, the whipping and the humiliation had wiped her out. If I’d brought in my coworkers, she would have fucked everyone without complaint. For one brief moment in time, I owned this slut and she knew it.
I pulled out of her and ripped the condom off. She lifted herself to an upright position and tilted her head back. My hand jacked my cock till my semen flew onto her tits in long white strands. I saw it in a porn movie once, and it makes me feel like a superstar every time one of these sluts takes my money shot. The seed stuck to her tits like some weird biological price sticker.
“Put your clothes back on,” I said. The slut nodded and obeyed. She didn’t bother to wipe me off her chest before she put her bra on. None of the sluts ever do. After she put the rest of her clothes on, she took out her vanity mirror and cleaned up her makeup. I don’t get the chance to see women do this very often, so I watched. In about five minutes, she looked just like she had when she first came to me. For some reason, that bothered me.
“One more thing to do,” I said. “Go buy four boxes of condoms, the largest boxes we have. Don’t get anything else, and get in the longest line you see.”
The look of fear was back on her face. “Four boxes? Why?”
I bluffed a little. “You’ll find out. Make sure you do exactly what I ask. We’ll know if you don’t.”
The end.
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