Fiction: Only My Shoe

"Please! I couldn't help it!"

Andrea was a spoiled princess of a young woman and it was the one quality that made her such a joy to spank. Her parents had worked their asses off to give her everything she needed except the freedom to actually use some of that wealth and power. The result was an extremely horny woman who developed a fetish for rough sex, spankings and most importantly, being told no.

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Last night Andrea and I were supposed to go out to the dungeon clubs where I would be proud to show off a beautiful woman ten years my senior. She would be stripped, spanked and forced to admit so many horribly embarrassing things. When she had been reduced from a spoiled only child to a whimpering aroused slave; I would consent to fuck her. Public play was rare for me but with a beauty like Andrea, I couldn’t help make use of her.

Instead of this decadent Friday night, Andrea had only now just shown up at my apartment on Saturday morning. There had been no explanation. No phone call. I had been stood up for the first time in, well, ever. It was not a feeling I enjoyed.

"My mom came over and kidnapped me," Andrea said. She brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes in that affected beauty queen manner she didn't know she had.

"Kidnapped?" I said. I hadn't let her in yet. We were at the door and I was frowning at her like I was listening to someone describe their last bowel movement.

"Yes!" she said. "She came over and insisted I help her shop for my dad's birthday party next week. I couldn't tell her no, it was for my dad."

"You could have called," I said. "I tried calling you but you never answered."

"Well, I couldn't answer with my mom there. That would have been embarrassing!"

Her voice had crept into a whine. It was the same whine that most likely got her a car at sixteen. It was the same whine that convinced her parents to pay for her apartment even though she had a job. When we first met, she used that whine the first time she wanted to climax. I thought it was adorable. Now it irritated me that she thought she could whine her way out of this.

"Please let me in," she said. The whine was gone, replaced by excitement. "I've been bad and I know it. Punish me, spank me, make me wear those awful clover clamps again, whatever! Just please let me make it up to you."

I made a decision. "Come in," I said.

Andrea smiled and walked in. There was no contrition, just the happy bounce of a woman about to be fucked. I think I might have hated her at that moment.

"Go to the living room and take off your panties but leave your dress on," I said.

Andrea happily obeyed. She was wearing her yellow dress that cost as much as one month's rent for me. It was light and airy and seemed to threaten to slip off her chest and ass at any moment. She hiked up her skirt and slid off her green thong. Andrea set the thong on the coffee table, wanting to show off her beautiful lingerie even in punishment. Without being told, she kneeled.

"I'm really sorry," she said and she didn't mean it.

I walked up to her and slapped her. Once across the face. She flinched from the sudden blow. With my hand print glowing on her face, she smiled before she realized this was supposed to be punishment. She tried to frown in obedience but even that appeared petulant.

"You know, I see that I gave you too much," I said. "I've given you attention, spankings, punishments and my cock. You're a beautiful woman and it's very easy to spank and fuck you while convincing myself that you are submitting by letting me do these things. Now I see that you were using me to do these things to you."

"What? That's not-" she said before I slapped her again.

"We're starting over, slut," I said. "Right now, you haven't even earned the right to be punished by me. You haven't earned the right to be fucked by me; Hell, you haven't earned the right to suck my cock."

Andrea whimpered. My cock stirred at that whimper but I ignored it. Instead of fucking her mouth like I wanted to, I walked away and went to the hall closet. When I came back, I dropped one of my shoes at her feet. It was a Rockport. The left one to be exact.

"All you have earned the right to is my shoe." I said.

Andrea, still on her knees, fell to her hands and kissed my fallen shoe. She looked up at me like that had somehow made everything better. It just made me realize that I had spoiled her as bad as her parents had.

"Take the shoe and masturbate," I said.

"With your shoe?" she said. Amazing how she could pull off outrage and a whine at the same time.

I walked over to the couch and sat down. "Yes, with my shoe. Stay on your knees and use my shoe to get off."

Andrea's confusion turned into a smile. It was weird and she had never thought of such a thing, but oh well, it was just another new perversion to her. She started to pull her dress up to take it off but I interrupted her.

"Leave your dress on," I said. "You haven't earned nudity."

"Are you sure?" she teased.

"Yes."

Teasing went into pouting in an instant.

"Do you want to clamp my nipples?" she asked. "That's what you usually do when I've been bad,"

"No," I said. I can't believe it took me till now to realize that all my punishments were just meals for her sexual appetite.

Andrea took my shoe and held it in her hands. She worked out the practical ways to do this and it wasn't long before she figured it out. Using both hands, she put the shoe under her skirt and placed it against her sex. Her hips moved back and forth, humping against my shoe. She looked at me and expecting some sort of approval from me. Instead, I picked up ‘TV Guide’ and went looking for something to watch.

I had no idea how the leather must have felt against her thick pubic bush. I would guess it would chaff against her delicate skin. The shoe's contours could have pulled and tugged at her flesh like a rough hand endlessly groping her. The laces might snag against her hair and pull Every thrust of her hips might have been another moment of painful friction.

On the other hand, perhaps the shoe was already coated in thick arousal. Maybe it was a slick oddly curved instrument sliding along her cunt in a slippery back and forth that was the greatest thing she had ever felt. The laces could have been drenched and leaving wet trails across her thighs. Her clit could be swollen and her pussy so terribly sensitive as she became more intimate with my shoe.

What was more important was Andrea's face. I saw something I hadn't seen in a very long time. It was shame. A blush was blooming on her face and creeping down her neck. Her eyes weren’t filled with lust, they were glaring with anger. She looked ridiculous masturbating with my shoe and she knew it.

I turned on the TV and watched ‘Kelly’s Heroes’ for the hundredth time.

Andrea whimpered and kept masturbating. She was moving faster. Her hips and body were undulating in a rhythm that was so tempting to watch but I kept my focus on the screen. No matter how much Andrea writhed, I kept watching the adventures of bank robbing soldiers in World War Two.

Well, I was watching the movie but my mind was on Andrea. I’ve had her masturbate in dungeons in front of a crowd. I’ve had her masturbate in the car while truckers look on. I’ve even had her masturbate on the couch while I accept a delivery from the pizza guy, but I have never seen her this angry and ashamed. I don’t know if it was because it was my shoe or if it was because I was ignoring her. Either way, it was glad to see something penetrate that spoiled child routine that was too much a part of her.

Andrea’s grunts grew louder so I turned up the volume of the television.

“I can’t believe you would rather watch this old movie!” she pouted.

I ignored her while she kept humping my shoe.

“A war movie? Only people as old as my dad watched war movies!”

I paid more attention to the minefield scene than I did to her attempts to anger me.

She started to say something but a moan choked off her words. She was close. Even though it was just my shoe, even though there had been no spanking or teasing and even thought she was pissed off; Andrea has still managed to bring herself close to climaxing.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” she whined. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaasssseeeee?”

“Shhh,” I said. I turned the volume up again.

I got really good at looking out the corner of my eye. Andrea grunted and was humping the shoe furiously now. The dress prevented me from seeing anything but the sounds of a wet shoe sliding against flesh were pretty unique. She had a look of pure anger on her face. I’ve never seen anyone masturbate in rage before. It was like she was having a tantrum and taking it out on her poor sex.

“Fuck!” she cried out. She didn’t ask to climax. It was just another petty little indiscretion in protest of her ordeal. Her eyes clenched and her shoulders shook. She was frozen in the bliss of climax but her hips kept moving. Like everything else about Andrea, her hips were still greedy for me.

“Stop,” I said. No, she wasn’t having a second or third orgasm today.

Her eyes opened and all the rage and attitude was gone. She dropped my shoe and sat back on her ass. A giggle escaped her lips.

“I can’t believe you had me fuck your shoe!” she said. She was appalled yet also giddy. It had been embarrassing but now in the afterglow of climax, she looked at it as yet another exciting chapter in her sex life.

“Clean my shoe,” I said. Andrea did exactly what I expected and bent down to lick my shoe clean. She got down on all fours and used that long tongue to wipe her moisture from my shoe. The smile she wore told me that she wanted to be licking my cock.

“Go,” I said.

“What?” she said.

“Just go,” I said. “The only punishment you understand is not being played with.”

“You’re throwing me out?” Andrea said. It wasn’t sadness she was expressing, it was disbelief.

“You can take my shoe,” I said. “Masturbate as much as you want, but only with my shoe.”

I got up and grabbed her by the arm. I dragged her to the door without any anger on my part. It was the nicest throwing out of a person you could imagine. She held my shoe close to her chest. Her panties were left on the table, forgotten in the confusion of actually being kicked out.

“How long do you want me to go away?” she asked. She stood in the doorway with the most confused look on her face.

“Till you are ready to treat me like a dominant and not your personal sex toy.”

She was about to protest but I closed the door in her face. She kicked the door a few times and tried calling my cell phone. I didn’t answer it. I finished my movie after tossing her underwear into the garbage.

I never heard from her again.

Andrea kept the shoe though. I like to think she got some use from it.

Like Riding a Biker

Over the years I have seen writers come and go. Often it feels like I have seen more writers go then arrive. Usenet is a vicious place to write stories for. Readers are forgetful creatures in constant search of new thrills. Once they realize you are a real person who is not their ideal, a lot of them move on to the writer who does claim to be a sexy college student without a care in the world. A lot of writers get a huge boost of responses because they are the new kid on the block but once another new kid comes by, that avalanche of mail dries to a trickle. It makes them feel like you have peaked and the writers quit.

I don't know if Terri Madison went through that, but I do know that when I saw her name in my mail box today I got excited. I couldn't remember much about Terri, but just seeing her name made me smile and I remember her being one of my favorites. Funny how you can remember your affection for someone's writing even if you don't remember the stories they wrote.

Well Terri is dipping her toe into writing and she has a blog up. Time will tell if she can get back into writing stories but I hope that if she doesn't, she at least sticks around and goes the conversation. Writing is a beautiful thing and its heart breaking when you stop. I feel like I am alive again and I want other writers I admire to experience the revival too. It's great to see you again in any format you choose to give your readers, Terri.

Now if we can just get Jimmy-Hat, Maria Gonzales, Vicki Morgan, and many many others to get into Blogland. I wonder what new adventures they would cook up now.

Fiction: Pam's Lover Manual

To Pam's new lover,

Hello, I am Pam's first boyfriend after she divorced her husband. If you are reading this it's because Pam plans to fuck you. Actually she plans to have you fuck her, which might not seem like a difference now but you'll soon find out.

To continue reading, click Whole Post

You are most likely a little jealous of me. You see this letter as an intrusion and the last thing you want is some guy who fucked Pam telling you how to do it right. Rest assured I am jealous of you. Pam is a beautiful vibrant woman who got fucked over by her ex-husband. It made her angry, bitter and desperate to live life after going without for so long. She came to me because I have a reputation of not forming long term relationships. I helped get over her problems and taught her to be strong enough for herself. I taught her too well. When I wanted her to stay with me, she decided she needed to go back and find her own life. I was her rebound and I accept that. Pam did worry though that men wouldn't know how to handle her now. So after some delightful begging, I offered to write this useful manual. Think of it as Pam's User's Manual.

Are you shocked to hear that Pam begged for anything? She is a formidable woman. Tough, unflinching and down right furious if you piss her off but let me tell you a secret. Deep down, Pam is not above begging for something she really wants. Her voice goes up an octave, her eyes smolder and she tends to bite her lips. She is so tough most of her day that few things make her feel girlish and young again than having to beg. Just make sure you only have her beg you for sexual favors. Make her beg for dinner or a movie and she will punch you, HARD.

And when she begs, always deliver. Oh, you can play around making her wait. You can flirt with denial. Just keep in mind that every time you refuse her sex after she has begged, you're being frigid like her last husband.

At this point you have to realize that Pam is into kinkier sex than you may have been expecting. I am hoping you have tied people up before and know a thing or two about spanking. If not, go read some books. Hell, borrow Pam's. Most of them I gave to her.

Even if you are experienced in the kinkier side of life, here are a few tips to ensure a happier fuck with Pam.

Pick her underwear every day. Let her know that every day, you are thinking about her pussy and how it's dressed.

That spot under her right ear is a magic button tied directly to her sex. Bite it often.

Work out a signal that you are ready to dominate her. Pick an outfit, or choose a slave name or simply make up a hand signal. Create something that will let Pam know it's time to let go of the Pam everyone thinks they know and that now is the time for the Pam that only we know of.

Don't spank or cane Pam because she did something wrong. Spank her because you love to do it and she has offered her ass to you. Pam doesn't need discipline or to be trained, she just needs to be mauled, spanked and fucked for your entertainment.

When you do spank Pam, start with your hand. Squeeze and fondle her buttocks before starting. I don't care if you plan to break out the rattan canes and give her the beating of her life, start with a caress, a tug and a pinch. Pam can handle any pain if she knows you really love her bottom first.

Grab her hair. Grab it when you want her attention, grab it when you want her to climax, and grab it when you want her to beg to suck your cock. Her hair is her leash. She grew it out long after years of keeping it short just so you can pull her to you. When you fuck her from behind, pull her hair so taunt that she is bending like a damn bow.

Eat Pam's pussy. Stay there till she begs to climax. Deny her the climax and keep licking. When her hips are moving and her thighs threaten to crush your head, only then let her climax. After she begs of course.

When Pam is stressed or when her father pisses her off once again, use this trick on her. Snap your fingers and tell her to get on all fours in front of you. Tell her move her hips like she riding your cock. Let her talk about her job or her father as much as she wants, but while she is venting she has to be in full sexual motion. She'll get over whatever has pissed her off in no time. And if not, at least you have a show to watch.

Flaunt her. You know how beautiful Pam but she doesn't. Always remove one more button or insist she wears heels today. She is a prize and when you go out, show her off like you would a brand new car.

When you fuck Pam, use her. Fuck her hard, fuck her slow, fuck her however you want. Use her mouth, use her tits, use her sex or use her ass. Make her your slut, your mistress, your slave and your girlfriend. Fuck her like you're having an affair. Use her to her fullest because she deserves nothing less.

And finally, when you climax, do it on her chest. Not every time, but at least once a week. She's not happy with her breasts and this is the only thing that makes her feel like her body is just right. If you wipe your cock on her breast, you'll get her horny enough to go again.

So there you go. I haven't told you everything and if you are completely ignorant of BDSM then I can't teach it in a letter. What I have given you is the tools to make Pam crawl to your feet when you command, to make her lift her skirt with just a glance and the ability to make her chain herself to your bed for as long as you want. Love her and care for her and she will be yours forever.

I hate you,
Mr. R

Nekkid Feelings

There is something about Thursdays that make me want to share myself. Of course, it helps that my sleep schedule this week has been hectic and I just don't have the clarity of mind to write the story I am thinking about. Either way, you get a big old dose of Shon today. To keep Half-Nekkid where people can find it easily, I'm going to ask you to click Whole Post to see the rest of my thoughts today.

I have a social anxiety disorder. Odds are I have always had it but in the last three years it has really escalated. Apparently this is normal among social anxiety sufferers as something happens in a person's thirties that cause them to loose a lot of self confidence. My theory is that the fictions of teenage invulnerability finally wear off and the reality of day to day life takes over. For a while I suspected it was 9/11 but after examining my life and doing more research on the disorder, I see that I have had it all my life.

The definition of my disorder is that I develop irrational anxiety in situations where I feel like I am being judged. I could be in a store and suddenly get terrified that people are looking at my hair, my weight, and my clothes and making judgments about myself. I get nervous, start to stutter and fidget. Then people really are looking at me because I am so nervous and it just reinforces my fears.

The frustrating thing is these emotional states come and go. I can go two weeks just fine and then one day have to pick up the phone and order dinner and I am terrified that I will screw it up, embarrass myself and somehow make the poor delivery person think less of me. It's not a rational thing, and there aren't any clear triggers of what will cause an episode. But when an episode strikes, it makes me feel like I am ten years old and helpless.

As my anxiety became more and more frequent, it spilled over into everything I did. I stopped writing because I felt nothing I wrote would be good enough to be free of criticism. Which is true, but to my irrational mind, it meant I was a bad writer with too many flaws to keep writing. My anxiety froze me from looking for a job because I could rationalize myself out of why anyone should hire me. Socializing was out of the question and something I never initiated.

When I try to explain this to my friends, they are always surprised. That is because people with this disorder tend to bond to a support person, and when they are around that support person, they have greatly expanded courage. For me, it's my wife or whomever is my submissive at the time. I can still have an episode of anxiety but when I have one, I can usually work through it without becoming a nervous wreck.

One time the husband of a sub I was dating told me that I was the most out going fearless person he had ever met. This was before I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder and I thought he was crazy. Now I see that he was right, but it was only when I was around his wife, someone I trusted and knew would be there to support me in anything.

Now I am much better but still deal with it too often for my tastes. I take some herbal medication that has gone a long way to keeping me from freaking out but the most important thing I have done is just be aware of what is happening to me. Now when I have an anxiety attack, I am aware of it and I can apply some cognitive techniques to calm down. Best of all, just knowing that it's a disorder helps me not get depressed about what is happening. I no longer sit around wondering what kind of coward I am.

Obviously my writing has returned and I can thank the positive responses I have gotten from readers for that. Being able to write something every day has gone a long way to repairing my self-esteem. I still have my moments of dread but those are far between. When my output is this high, I feel like a bad story is quickly covered over by the next good thing I write.

I have a job where I can work from home. I'm not sure if that isn't giving in to my anxiety a bit, but at the same time it's a huge boost to be working again. I feel less like a freak and more like a normal person.

The only thing I really regret is that I do not know if I can ever have another submissive again. My insecurities strike and I go from Cool Ruthless Dom Guy and turn into Needy Wanted to be Loved guy. Sometimes I think that my needs would be attractive to a submissive because they would know I needed them not only on a sexual level but on an emotional support level too. Other times I realize that this is a lot to ask when a lot of submissives look to their Dom to be their rock and their support and here I am in danger of an anxiety attack at any moment.

It doesn't help that my last submissive broke up with me before I realized I had social anxiety. I don't blame her for leaving me because all the things she said were true. I wasn't in control of myself, much less her. I didn't always follow through with things because I doubted my reasoning and worried that something I did would make her upset with me. In very polite ways, she told me I was a crappy dom, or at least that's what I heard.

Now I think I would do much better but I can't deny that I am definitely a Dom with issues. Considering that I am already married, I would be fulfilling a recreational role for someone, and having issues does not up my value. I don't consider myself completely hopeless, but I have yet to encounter BDSM stories about a submissive who dreams of being dominated by a guy who sometimes needs to be reassured and calmed down when he is sitting in a restaurant.

There is also a lot willpower involved in domination and I doubt myself there. I can develop the same anxiety about a long relationship that I can about total strangers. A sigh or an annoyed frown can sometimes trigger me into 'Oh my God, I'm sorry, please love me!' mode as my wife calls them. Again I am better at identifying it now but man, when they happen, I can't help but worry that I would lose the respect of my submissive.

Time will tell if I can have a successful domination relationship again. I just find it funny that I could be upset about so many things with my disorder but it's the fear of never having a woman on her knees before me, completely bent to my will again that worries me the most. I think that fear drives my writing right now. The thought of never having a woman to use as my creative canvas again really makes me think of the thousand and one things I would miss. I want to write it all down. I want to spell out scenes I may never have again in the hope that a reader out there will take that scene and live it for me. I feel like if I can't do, I can at least be the improper teacher.

Half-Nekkid Thursday Anniversary Edition

It has been requested among Half-Nekkid participants that we post out first picture followed by a picture with an anniversary theme. In the very short time that I have been apart of this, I can easily say that this has been a blast. There is something subversive about people coming together to throw off convention and get naked even if it’s through the safety of the Internet. I have started reading blogs through Half-Nekkid Thursday that I might never have come across sticking to my old erotica preferences. It’s neat to see where the erotica oriented and the average less sex obsessed meet.

Here is my first picture,



And here is me having a relaxing drink at the Anniversary,

Sugasm #34

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Fiction: Cell Phone Slave Part Five

Amaya was terrified. The uncertainty in her gut was worse than when she was doing dares for Wesley. Standing outside her dorm, waiting for Chris to pick her up, was the bravest thing she had ever done. Sure, she had gone on dates in High School but this was different. This was her first college date and somehow, Amaya just knew she was going to fuck it up.

It might have been the clothes. She was dressed in an outfit she had bought yesterday and they made her feel sexier than she had a right to. The floral sleeveless blouse was much more transparent than she was used to wearing and Amaya felt like everyone could see her white lace bra. The denim skirt she was wearing clung tightly to her bottom despite coming down to her knees. Amaya feared that her ass was too prominent and scanned the faces of everyone who walked by for any sign of snickering. Instead of snickers all she received was friendly smiles from the men, and that confused her all the more.

Maybe her fears were connected to the cell phone in her skirt. She had debated bringing it but in the end she knew she didn’t really have a choice. Last night had been so amazing; there was no way that she was going to risk missing a phone call. On the other hand, if Wesley did call during her date, what in the world would she say to Chris? Amaya hated to admit that if Wesley called that she would stop her date but the truth of the situation was clear. She would sacrifice Chris for Wesley and she didn’t know what that said about her.

To read more, click Whole Post

“Hey pretty lady,” Chris called from his truck. “Going my way?”

Amaya smiled. “Only if you’re going to dinner,” she said as she climbed into his truck. “Idiot!” she immediately thought. He was going to think she was obsessed with food and dump her before their date even starts!

“I’m starving too,” Chris said. He kept looking at her as he drove. She wondered if there was something wrong with her blouse because he couldn’t take his eyes off her chest. It took Amaya a moment to realize there was nothing wrong at all; she was just busty. Instead of being insulted, Amaya was pleased and began to relax. A man staring at her boobs was much easier to handle than the uncertainty of a date.

Chris took her to a wonderful Italian restaurant that was far more expensive than Amaya was expecting. She had never been to a dining place that had marble statues. The menu prices made her gasp but Chris encouraged her to have anything she wanted. She ordered the spaghetti and as Chris ordered, she remembered something her mother had always said.

“A man only spends that much money on someone he wants to sleep with,” was her mom used to say. Amaya smiled. That was fine with her. It looked like this wasn’t a pity-date after all.

“Why are you smiling?” Chris asked nicely. His blond hair was reflecting the sun from the window. It made him look golden, and Amaya couldn’t believe this handsome guy was after her.

“I have my reasons,” she flirted back. “Tell me, what is it like to be an actor?”

Chris settled into his chair and waited while the waiter brought them their drinks. Once the waiter was gone, Chris began to talk. Amaya noticed a new intensity in his eyes as he warmed up to the subject. The intensity took her back, making her see Chris as someone other than just a college guy who liked boobs.

“Acting is a lot like being the center of the world,” Chris said. “The stage focuses the audiences’ attention to one central point and in that point is the performers. When I am on stage, I control everything. I hold the audience’s eyes, their ears and their minds. There’s a reason why they call it a ‘captive audience.’ That’s what I live for.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Amaya said. Tingles were running through her body at his words. His desire for control was touching her desire to be controlled. She shifted in her seat as he continued and wondered if she could hide how much he affected her.

“That’s what I love about acting,” Chris said. “I like being in charge of how the audience feels. Depending on what I stress or how I move or use my voice, I can completely change the tone of a scene. I can’t even describe the rush that gives me. When I hear the audience laugh and I know it is solely because of me, it makes me feel alive like nothing else.”

Amaya was feeling so alive right now. Her thighs were terribly warm and it was all she could to stop from touching herself. Realizing that she hadn’t said in anything in her aroused daze, she asked a question so he wouldn’t think she wasn’t paying attention.

“Does it bother you to share the stage then?” she asked. “It must be hard for your control to be disrupted by others.”

Chris frowned. “Exactly. That’s why I make sure the people I am on stage with are on the same page as I am. Some of my teachers have said that I’m trying to usurp the director but that’s crap. I’m just making sure we are leading the audience exactly where we want to. There’s no point teasing the audience and exciting them to a fevered pitch unless we give them a climax worth having.”

“Yes,” Amaya whispered before she realized she was speaking out loud. Chris grinned at her and she blushed.

“I think you have a new appreciation for acting,” he said. She blushed again.

Before she could answer, her phone rang. Amaya had set the ringer to vibrate so she wouldn’t have to explain who was calling. Her heart raced as she realized that her worse fear had come true: Wesley wanted her in the middle of her date!

“Excuse me,” Amaya said. “I need to freshen up before dinner comes.”

“Hurry back,” Chris said pleasantly.

Amaya nearly ran to the restroom. One buzz, a second buzz and a third vibrated in Amaya’s pocket as she tried not to run. What if she didn’t answer in time? She hoped that maybe she could talk Wesley into postponing but she knew that she stood a good chance of being rejected. If she didn’t pick up in time, she would lose him forever anyway. Even though she knew she was sure to lose him today, she at least wanted the chance to convince him to keep her.

The restroom had two stalls and Amaya ducked into one as she pulled the phone out. She turned the phone on and started apologizing before she realized there was no one on the other end. Confused, she looked the phone over. That was when she noticed that the text screen was telling her she had a message and asking if she wanted to download it.

Amaya clicked ‘yes’ and waited. It only took an instant for the message to transfer over but her heart was pounding in anxiety. As much as she wanted to turn down his requests, she was also intrigued by this new method of commanding her. What could he possibly want?

The message read: “Amaya, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, take off your bra and panties and let it sit on the floor. From now on for the next hour, I want you to clench whenever the phone rings. Don’t touch yourself. Just clench like you do when you have your vibrator inside you. I trust you to do this without supervision. Wesley”

Waves of relief swept over Amaya. She could do this! More importantly, she wanted to do this. She couldn’t believe how happy she was that she was able to serve his wishes.

First she had to actually do it. Her panties were easily removed though she hated leaving the pretty pink underwear just sitting on the bathroom floor. She had more concerns about her bra. The blouse she wore was too light and transparent to go braless. She knew that her nipples if not her entire chest would be visible underneath it. As she removed the bra, Amaya felt she should have been ashamed but instead all she felt was arousal. How would Chris react when he saw her?

With the phone back in her pocket, Amaya headed back to her table. When she was two tables away, her phone buzzed to life. Keeping true to Wesley’s request, she stopped and clenched right there in the aisle. Her face burned as people turned to look at her. Amaya tried to remain calm as she went to her table and sat down. Chris almost said something but his eyes dropped to her chest and whatever had to say was forgotten. To Amaya’s surprise, she sucked in her breath to make her chest more prominent.

“Oh, I see dinner’s arrived,” Amaya said.

“Um, yes,” Chris said. “How do you like it?”

She tried a bite and it melted in her mouth. Right at that moment, her phone buzzed again and she clenched in response. Amaya moaned at the double pleasure.

“I’m glad you like it,” Chris said, his eyes never leaving her chest.

Curious, Amaya glanced down to see what exactly he was looking at and she nearly choked on her food. Not only were her nipples poking hard against her shirt, but the sheer material did nothing to hide the coloring of her areoles. She might as well have been topless! Amaya shifted in her seat but resisted the urge to cover herself. It was too late now and her bra was back in the restroom. All she could really do was keep eating.

“I was thinking while you were gone,” Chris said, “and I realized you had what it took to be an actor too.”

Amaya laughed. “There is no way I could stand on stage in front of all those people.”

“Sure you could,” Chris said. “You have a very natural presence. I can tell you like to command attention. You have to know how pretty you are and the effect it has on men.”

“Pretty? Me?” Amaya said. “I thought I was, oh!”

“Oh?” Chris asked.

Amaya blushed. The phone had interrupted her train of thought and as aroused as she was, the vibrations of the phone was too similar to the vibrator she owned. She had clenched reflexively out of desire as opposed to submission, and that clenching had sent a shiver through her body. She just sure as Hell couldn’t tell Chris that!

“I’m sorry. The food is just so much better than I am used to,” Amaya said. It was true, but no amount of good food could equal the pleasure she was experiencing between her thighs.

Chris smiled but he wasn’t so easily deterred. The intensity was back in his eyes and again Amaya found herself melting under them. That intensity was for her.

“The food is good, but I think you were dodging my compliment,” Chris said. “I’m surprised that you don’t think you are pretty. I thought you liked attention.”

“What do you mean?” Amaya said.

This time it was Chris who blushed and Amaya had the feeling that she had stumbled on to something. What could he be embarrassed about? Before she could think about it, the phone buzzed again and Amaya sighed as she clenched. By the time she was done clenching, Chris had regained his composure.

“It’s just something actors can tell,” he said and Amaya could plainly see he was lying. “You look like the kind of person who enjoys having eyes on you. I think you would thrive on a stage and being the center of attention. I’m not saying you’re vain or anything. I’m just saying you’re the type of person who likes to be watched.”

Amaya thought on it. Did she enjoy being watched? The answer was yes but maybe not in the same way Chris described. For example, she loved having him sneak glances at her breasts but it wasn’t because she had orchestrated it. It was exciting because Wesley had commanded it and Chris was benefiting from it. Of course, this was nothing she could explain to Chris.

The conversation turned to other things like classes and roommates. All through out the meal the phone kept buzzing in her skirt much to Amaya’s delight and exasperation. The phone was impossible to predict. Some times it would buzz within seconds of the last vibration and at one point, it was a long five minutes before it came to life again. She was becoming exhausted from the constant clenching but when there were no vibrations from the phone, Amaya tensed up as she awaited the inevitable command.

She kept losing the train of conversation from the constant distraction. Chris didn’t seem to notice how addled she was. His eyes flitted back and forth between her face and her very hard nipples poking through her blouse. Amaya could feel her seat getting wet and she didn’t know if it was from all the clenching or from having the handsome boy staring at her. Either way, she was in a sensual state of mind that made every bite of spaghetti delicious, every swallow of tea refreshing and every glance from Chris intoxicating.

When they were done with dinner, Chris talked Amaya into having dessert. The poor girl was stuffed from all the food she ate but worried about how she was going to stand without leaving a big wet spot on the chair. She agreed to share a huge ice cream cake with Chris just to stall from having to rise.

“You seem tense,” Chris said between cake bites.

Amaya was about to respond when her phone went off again. She closed her eyes and clenched reflexively. A loud moan escaped her lips before she realized what she was doing. Amaya blushed furiously and began to babble out an excuse but Chris was waved off her excuse. He reached for her hand and Amaya clenched again out of sheer desire.

“It’s all right Amaya, I like a sensual woman who’s willing to enjoy herself.”

Amaya could only smile and keep eating. Although she was trying to stay calm, her mind was running in circles. What did he mean by that? Did he think the cake was making her moan? If that was the case, how did that relate to his question about her being tense? Maybe his use of the word ‘sensual’ meant he knew what she was doing? Her nipples were certainly giving herself away and as soaked as Amaya was between her legs, she wondered if maybe he could smell her arousal. If he knew how horny she was, why wasn’t he freaking out? If it really didn’t bother him, then why would he call her tense?

As the phone buzzed again, Amaya clenched once more. Chris just watched her and smiled as she made another little moan. Amaya’s heart raced. His smile felt curiously knowing. Is it possible that he knew about the phone? The only way that could be possible is if Chris was Wesley!

Chris took another bite of the cake while Amaya considered it. He did approach her out of the blue when they first met. They got along pretty well, but he was quick to ask her out on a date. Amaya almost relaxed when she thought about Wesley calling her for the past hour, but then realized that she didn’t hear his voice this time. For all she knew, Chris could have had someone else call her and leave that message.

She thought about what Chris said earlier about being on stage. He had said that he liked being in control and that he liked controlling other’s moods. Amaya felt a familiar heat build between her thighs as she thought about it. It made so much sense! Maybe he had decided to take a more direct approach with this control desires.

They finished their dessert and it was time to leave. Amaya waited till Chris stood first and then rose behind him. Luckily, her seat was dry. The aching soaked feeling between her legs must not have stained through her denim skirt. She sighed with relief and then blushed again as her phone buzzed.

The theater was a short drive away. Chris made small talk while Amaya did her best to follow the conversation. The phone was slowing down with its silent requests each clench was enough to push Amaya over the edge. She viciously bit her lip to keep her moans a secret from Chris and luckily he seemed too interested in driving to notice her struggles. Or was it all just a ruse? The idea that Chris was fully aware of her sensual torment turned her on even further.

“Which movie would you like to see?” he asked. They were standing in front of the ticket booth and Amaya didn’t hear his question at first. She thought she felt a trail of her moisture working down her legs and she was wondered if she could possibly be that wet.

“Whatever you want to see,” Amaya answered.

Chris frowned. “I’m good. You pick something.”

It was Amaya’s turn to frown. Was this a test of some sort? If Chris was Wesley, then maybe her choice in movies would be of significance. Amaya knew she was being overly suspicious but at the same time, her body was so aroused, she was clutching at any possibility that might result in some sort of climax.

“How about that one?” she said. She pointed to a movie poster with a barely clad woman. It looked like a sexual thriller movie, the kind where the sexy woman was a thief, a killer or worse.

Chris smiled. “Good choice,” he said.

Amaya clenched without thinking. Good choice. She could hear Chris’s voice changing into Wesley’s and saying that. She clenched again even though the phone had stopped buzzing five minutes ago.

Dinner was too good to follow with bad popcorn so they went straight to the theater where their movie was going to play. Chris wanted to sit in the back away from the other movie watchers and Amaya excitedly followed him. The nearest person was several rows downs and Amaya’s heart pounded hard as the lights dimmed. She was essentially alone with Chris in the darkness. Her already wet sex was pulsing with the thoughts of what could happen now.

The trailers began and Chris didn’t say a word to her as commercial after commercial came on screen. Amaya tried to lose herself in the flashy movie ads but it was impossible. Her clitoris was too sensitive and every shift of her thighs made her want to masturbate. The tightness of her shirt seemed to pull at her nipples even the smell of Chris’s cologne seemed to kiss her lips. All she could think about was sex and Chris was ignoring her.

Only when the movie began did Chris make a move. He put his arm on the back of Amaya’s seat, his hand barely brushing her shoulder. Goosebumps rose where he touched her. She debated leaning into his arm and decided that it would be too forward. Amaya wanted to prove herself worthy of all the games and she didn’t want to mess up in any way shape or form.

The movie was not great but the sexual themes were overpowering to the horny girl. The plot was a simple murder mystery with a healthy dose of almost sex scenes. Amaya had seen more hardcore action in her spam, but today each flash of skin almost drove her over the edge. Amaya kept looking at Chris to see if he was aroused as she was but the normally charming boy was silent and focused on the movie.

There was a scene where the guy poured wine over the shirt of the actress. Her nipples were terribly visible under the shirt and Amaya blushed as she realized that her nipples were far more modest than the ones on the giant screen. Amaya wanted to cross her arms over her large breasts and hide. She also wanted to turn towards Chris and show him how much more abundant hers was compared to the ones on the screen. Torn between conflicting desires, she did nothing.

Later in the movie, the actress went down on the star in a non-explicit but very implied blowjob. Chris was quiet but Amaya was moaning until she realized what she was doing. Her eyes darted down to Chris’s crotch and tried to figure out if he had an erection. It was too dark to tell and Amaya had a sudden inspiration of how she could tell for sure. She could just bend down, nuzzle her face against his pants and pry his cock out from under his zipper.

Amaya shook her head and realized she was halfway to touching her own sex. Her hand froze and then she quickly gripped her knee before Chris realized what she was up to. The blowjob continued on the screen while Amaya clenched and squirmed in her seat. She had to climax, she had to suck she just had to do something or else she would die of frustration.

She did nothing.

The plot of the movie picked up and a few bloody murder scenes and some over dramatic tension music threw off Amaya’s heightened state of desire. Her sex was still soaked and Chris’s arm was still giving her chills from the accidental touching, but at least Amaya wasn’t jumping Chris over and over in her mind. She took deep breaths and tried to behave herself. If this was some sort of test, Amaya was dedicated to show she could exert iron control over her own body.

She was controlling herself fine until the final scene of the movie. The two main characters stripped down to roll around on a marble floor for one last sex scene before the woman tried to kill the man. Amaya’s breathing quickened as the woman stripped off her black lace bra and she was moaning again at the broad muscular back of the man.

Amaya might have been able to control herself if Chris hadn’t finally moved his hand. Slowly, calmly, inevitably, his hand moved down her chest. Amaya sighed as his arm tightened around her shoulder but she gasped as Chris boldly cupped her breast. His fingers tightened around her breast, squeezing and pulling on her weight. She closed her eyes and squeezed her thighs together in bliss. Amaya hated the fact that the shirt was between her tit and his hand but she wasn’t about to tell Chris what to do now. He groped her in the dark theater and each squeeze sent shockwaves through her body and straight to her sex. For a moment, she thought she might actually climax from having her breast massaged. Amaya dreaded the idea of climaxing in public and yet at the same time, she desperately hoped she would just so she could please this strange man who had captured her sexuality.

When the on screen sex was over, and the actress killed by a predictable twist of events, Chris let go of her breast. Amaya groaned but she didn’t complain even though every part of her body wanted to pin his hand back over her breasts, her lips and her sex. The credits rolled and Chris stood up to leave. Confused, Amaya followed him. She was surprised by how weak her knees felt but she followed him as best she could.

“What did you think of the movie?” Amaya asked.

“Oh, it was the worse acting I ever saw!” Chris said.

The entire trip back to the dorm, Chris detailed the faults of the movie. He listed all sorts of theatrical terms that meant nothing to Amaya but she nodded anyway. Her date didn’t mention the grope so she didn’t either. Amaya wanted to scream and find out if he was Wesley and what was the point of all this teasing but of course she didn’t. What if her outburst ended the game? She clung to that hope as Chris continued to berate the movie right up to the door to her dorm.

“Thanks for the dinner and the movie,” Amaya said on the steps.

“You’re welcome. I had a great time.”

That’s when he kissed her. Amaya actually trembled as his lips touched hers and she moaned when she felt the flash of tongue against her. She opened her mouth to take him in but he moved away. A soft whimper escaped her lips before she could stop herself but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Do it again soon?” Chris asked.

Amaya couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding too hard. She nodded and Chris smiled.

“Cool. I’ll call you.”

Amaya smiled. She was sure of it.

In her room, someone had slipped a manila envelope under the door. It was addressed to her, and said ‘History Notes’ written on it. She smiled as she recognized Wesley’s handwriting and peeked inside. There was six hundred dollars inside, all in twenties. Amaya laughed as she counted the money and resolved to go buy replacements for the underwear she left behind today. Inside was a note, typed on plain white paper.

“Very good, Amaya. Tomorrow you will need to be in your dorm building at noon. Also, I would appreciate it if you didn’t masturbate tonight.”

Amaya sat down on her bed and thought about her day. Her sex was molten hot. There was no sign of Helen and being Saturday night, Amaya didn’t expect to see her till late. All day she had daydreamed about the sweet release that would come tonight, but now Wesley had commanded her not to. No, he hadn’t commanded it, he had simply said he would appreciate it if she didn’t. It wasn’t another game of his. It was just his desire.

She moaned and leaned back on her bed. It wasn’t fair! She was ready to cum now. Why would he request such a thing? Did he have something big planned for tomorrow? Was this just a mind game? Amaya was so confused by her suspicions over Chris and so horny from the game of clenching, that she didn’t know what to think anymore.

She let loose scream of frustration that she quickly choked off. The walls were too thin for such hysterics. Frustrated, horny and a little pissed off, Amaya stripped off all her clothes and put on her nightgown. She thought Wesley’s request was cruel but the girl couldn’t bring herself to refuse his request.

Amaya turned out the light and crawled into bed. She tried to ignore the burning need between her legs with little success. Wesley had requested her to be near a specific spot tomorrow and every time that had happened so far, Amaya ended up having the best sex of her life. As she bit down on her pillow in frustration, she could only hope that tomorrow would be worth it.

To be continued,

Invasion of the FleshBots

After a long nasty day at work I decided to check my blog's stats. Seeing that Ten Thousandth Blowjob just picked up more web hits in one hour than I've gotten in a day blew my mind. My first thought after I put myself back together was 'Dude, people really like blowjobs'.

Then my eyes scanned over to the Came From section and I saw FleshBot

Then my mind shut down again and I'm still trying to process it.

Thanks Chelsea Girl for the link.

Thank you Fleshbot readers and stick around a little. We got more bliss on the schedule for you.

AlwaysArousedGirl was right. Now I just feel more motivated.

Erotica Alert Level :Frigid Blue

Well I just spent an hour on a story that's really bad. What I thought was a really cool idea while I was soaping up in the shower is less a cool idea when you put it on the screen and give it an objective look. Looks like my sudsy erect cock wasn't such a good judge of story material after all.

Realizing a story is not worth finishing is a lot like bad sex. You get all worked up and ready to go but then things aren't fitting, the bed's scratchy and your mind starts to wonder. Before long you find yourself thinking about the season finale of C.S.I. Las Vegas and then you have to remind yourself, oh yeah, wasn't I doing some sort of fucking?

Once I put a story down and consign it to the Great Recycle Bin of Doom, I like to go back through my e-mail and see what people thought of my other stories. I then trawl through my blog looking to see if there any new comments in month old posts. I'm a comment-slut and I treasure every comment like I would a lap dance from a flirting friend. The ratio of lurkers to actual commenters is astronomical so when someone does break down and comment, I know I must have really poked them in a good place.

Speaking of comments, let's talk about Cell Phone Slave for a moment. One thing that keeps coming up in e-mails is the idea that people love the story but if Wesley requires Amaya to do _______, then they are out. Not that they would be unhappy, but that they would quit the story out right. That baffles me on so many levels.

I mean, I understand quitting a story that has no interest for you, but even when I read a book that starts great and turns bad, I end up finishing it. I finish it because I want to see if the ending made up for the middle. I want to know how it ends for my peace of mind. The semi blackmail e-mails I get make it very clear that if ____ happens, then they can release all emotional interest in the story. I get the feeling they tell me this as a pre-emptive threat though I think they see it as a courtesy. In the relationship of a writer and reader, they want to let me know that they are going to stop calling if I ever join a militia group. Some days I bristle at these e-mails and other days I am touched that they want to stick with me so they tell me what the deal breakers are.

What also interests me is that people are willing to tell me when they are willing to stop reading, but are they interested in what would make Amaya quit? If Amaya runs into _____ do they just assume as an erotica character that Amaya will do whatever is in front of her? And if she did do ____, aren't the readers the least bit curious why she would do it?

Another thing about comments. I find that my comments on other people's blogs are getting a little lengthy. It's a leftover habit from Usenet and Message Boards where people were free to post novellas as long as it didn't hijack the original intent of the thread. So far I have discussed hypothyroidism, why my wife and I are poly and why smart people watch bad porn. I'm not sure if it is rude to tell my experiences with the blogger's comment section but I am going to watch myself. When everyone else limits themselves to four sentences, I feel like a hog taking up six paragraphs. What I am doing is keeping a notebook by my computer where I can jot down subjects I should most likely be discussing in my own blog anyway.

One last thing. If you are not reading BlogStormz, you really should be. In the last week I have already picked up so many new favorite blogs that my little sidebar is hopelessly outdated. Click that electric red box to the side and get rained on by great writers.

Ten Thousandth Blowjob

I was in the tiny laundry closet. I was dumping an armful of white cottons into the washing machine. My wife was on her computer but her sixth sense kicked in. It told her my arms were full and I was unable to defend myself. Moments like these could not be ignored.

I was almost done when my wife walked into the laundry closet and slid her hands around my chest. Her fingers went straight for my nipples because that is where I am the most ticklish. I squirmed as she tickled, but I was also trying to stuff the rest of the clothes in so I can defend myself. She knew that once on a task, I couldn’t stop what I was doing even if I was being tickled. She knew my weaknesses that well.

Right as I was finished, she stopped tickling and slid her hands down to my boxers. Her hands slipped through my waistband and into my thick pubic hair. I went from squirming to stock still in an instant.

To read more, click Whole Post

“So, come here often?” she said. It was the oldest joke we had.

“Here?” I said. “Never.” My voice had matched her teasing tone.

“Would you like to?” she said. Her voice was still teasing. “Would you like to sit up on the washer while it runs and I blow you?”

“Yes,” I said. This time my voice was devoid of teasing, mockery or fun. I was dead serious and horny.

She laughed. A second of silence followed while she thought about it.

“All right, let’s do it.” Just like that, I’m in a sex scene from one of my stories. Sudden, spontaneous and I know I will never be able to reproduce this moment on purpose again.

She takes off her shirt because she knows I love a topless blowjob. I close the washer lid and turn the dial to Hot/Cold. Then I freeze. I’m thinking of my wife’s large tits, her mouth and her short curly blonde hair. She walks out of the closet for something and I’m staring at the washer machine when she returns.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks.

“I can’t remember how to start the washer machine.” She laughs but it’s true. I’m 33 and here I am blanking out like a teenager about to get laid. My wife reaches across and turns it on. I laugh with her and pull myself on top of the machine.

As soon as my ass was on top of the machine, a loud metallic POP rang out. We look at each other in horror. Did I just break the washer machine?

“It’s the lid, it flexed in,” I said.

She moves my cock out from my boxers. “We’ll look at it later.”

Oh yes.

My wife had pulled up a chair from the dining room. She must have done it when my brain had turned off trying to figure out the machine controls. It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy to be sitting there with my wife’s topless beauty before me. She was kneeling on the chair; just the right height for my cock and her mouth. The light from the kitchen came in and made her golden. Or maybe that was just my own slanted eyes. I don’t know. She just seemed like an angel at this moment. An Angel of Cock-sucking, but an Angel nonetheless.

The washer filled with water as my mouth sealed her mouth over my cock. I leaned back and hit my head on the shelf. The burst of pain on the back of my head didn’t even distract me. I tilted my head down and rested my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and gave myself to her tender sucking love.

Maybe a blowjob isn’t love, but this afternoon it was the most romantic thing I could imagine. Her fist pumped my cock while her mouth sealed over the tip. Her so wet mouth engulfed me while she moaned. I fell in love with her for the ten thousandth time as pumped my cock.

She stops and my heart breaks. I open my eyes to see her mouth open with an evil grin. She’s teasing me and I forgive her this terrible crime. Her tongue flickers out and pushes my cock left and right.

“I want the washer to be running,” she said.

I laugh. The washer is still filling with water. “No need to wait,” I say.

She laughs and takes my cock into her mouth. The oblivion of sensation is intoxicating. I forget about the bills, about the chores for today and about my family. Stress is literally sucked out of me by my lovely wife. She gives me the greatest gift and worships my cock with her mouth.

The washer is getting warm underneath my ass. Almost too hot but I don’t care. My wife is worshipping my cock, twisting her head as she goes up and down along my length. More and more she takes into her mouth until I feel like I am fucking her.

She pulls my hand to her hair and I groan. It’s her way of giving me permission and I take it. I grip her curly hair in my hand like I own her. Like she is mine to spank, cage, flog and fuck. Her curly hair fills my hand and I feel her breath flaring onto my crotch. I’m rolling my hips, sliding in and out of her mouth while she keeps sucking. It’s a brief illusion but when my hand is in her hair, I feel like a Dom again fucking the mouth of my slave.

I used her mouth till she rises for air. The illusion fades as I let go of her hair. She’s panting and that is so fucking hot. I don’t say anything. I just reach for a breast and bend down to take the nipple into my mouth. Instead of a short break for breathing, she’s moaning from my flickering tongue. I suck and nibble until I move to her other breast. A short desperate moan came from her lips and I know she wishes it was her on the washer and me in the chair. The greedy side of me says ‘too bad’. I move back and forth from breast to breast as I take my fill. I never get tired of taking her golden orbs into my mouth and I could have done it forever but I was interrupted by a new sound.

The washer had started.

My wife gets that grin. The one that says she has a new toy to play with and she can’t wait to try it. The washer is vibrating now and she wants to see its effect. She dives for my cock again and I release her hair. There are times for slaves and a time to be mauled by an eager woman.

I bang my head again on the washer shelf again. The pain is twice as intense but fades three times as fast. Being sucked is a great pain reliever.

I close my eyes while my wife blows me. She is sucking hard now, licking my tip furiously while her cheeks cave in. I can feel her glasses cold against my skin when she goes all the way down. Her mouth is so wet; I can feel spit dribbling down onto my balls. It makes me so hard to know she is literally drooling for my cock.

The washer is going full speed now. The agitator is pumping up and down very loudly. It sounds like sex; wet, mechanical powerful pistons of sex drilling away at some beautiful mechanical cunt. The sound fills the small laundry closet we are in. The pounding surrounds us and wraps us in the noise of penetration.

My hands gripped to the sides of the washer and I lift my hips. I’m not thinking, I’m just doing. I’m thrusting now. The plunging of the agitator is setting the tempo and I somehow manage to keep pace. My wife groans and keeps sucking as I pound her mouth. I don’t know if she knows what is driving me but she can tell when I am lost in the fury of sex. Her lips become looser so I can freely fuck them, which means that wet slurping sounds have added to the drumbeat of the machine’s thrusting. My own groans add to the mix and I felt like we were in the middle of a sonic orgy.

The bliss of orgasm struck me and I froze in mid thrust. My wife froze as well, staying still as she prepared for the shooting of my seed. Her fingers and lips were so tight, I could feel every spurt.

One spurt,

another,

another,

And then she relaxed her fingers. I continued to climax. My growl of pleasure now filled the laundry closet while the washer machine continued its ceaseless fucking.

My wife sat up, smiling at me in that proud arrogant way she always did when she makes me climax. I love her for it. She is like me in so many ways except she is a hot beautiful blonde.

“I love you,” I said.

“You better,” she said. It was another joke we had developed over the thirteen years. I don’t know why, but in that moment I realized how lucky I was to still be in love with my wife when our own parents had either already divorced and should have at this point. Maybe because it was Mother’s Day or maybe because it was just the right time, I got a glimpse of how fortunate we really were.

“No, I really love you,” I said. “And I hope we never change.”

She smiled. She knew what I meant but it was impossible for her not to crack a smile.

“You mean you hope you never stop getting blowjobs,” she said.

We laughed. I wondered if this would be a new joke we would be repeating over and over again for another thirteen years.

Mother

I’m going to talk about my mother and things will get a little dark, depressing and uncomfortable. I can promise you there is a happy ending but if you choose to skip all the nastiness then I don’t blame you. I think there should be places where you go to escape the worse of everyday life. If my blog is one of those places for you, then feel free to skip this post.

If you are curious about my mother, my childhood and where I started writing erotica, then click Whole Post.

My mom came from a military family. She was the second youngest and terribly jealous of her youngest sister. I think that’s why she got married at 16 to Vietnam vet and had me by the time she was 17. If you look at those photos, you can see how happy and radiant she was to be the center of attention.

The marriage was over by the time I was four. I have almost no memories of my father but the stories my grandparents tell me are chilling. He was into drugs, and some days he would get out of his mind and beat up my mom. He liked to teach me to be afraid of things by doing stuff like burning me on purpose, holding my head under water during baths and dangling me from heights. Considering I am still dealing with phobias regarding all three, I believe their stories.

What I do remember is living with my mom in an apartment. She was a single mother and she was my best friend. She didn’t have many friends and so neither did I but it was cool. I loved my mom like crazy because she was my idol. She was mother and father figure to me.

Because of that, I always saw women as equals if not better. I never teased girls in my nursery homes. I always got along with girls and I would fight any boy that made a girl cry. That attitude has stuck with me all my life.

My mom married my step-father when I was 7. He was okay to me. In fact, I got spoiled a lot. Star Wars had just started and for my 8th Christmas, I had every single damn toy Kenner put out for Star Wars. My cousins on my step-fathers side hated me and his family saw me as a spoiled brat. I probably was.

Things changed when my brother was born. I was eight. The spoiling transferred to my brother and I was jealous. What really hurt though was the attention focused to. In our photo albums during those years, the only pictures of me was when I was in the shot with my brother.

I complained to my mom, who was still my best friend. You may be surprised to find out she agreed. My brother was more important than her now to our step-father. As a 9 year old boy, I should really not be aware that my mom was jealous of my brother but there you go.

Then my sister was born when I was ten and my mom picked her as the favorite child. It’s really that simple. Sure they were young but my brother and sister never had a single whim go unserved. If a two year old wanted to switch bedrooms, then my parents seriously considered it and called me selfish for wanting to keep the place I slept. It was a crazy time.

Puberty gave me an escape though. My parents never discussed sex or for that matter, allowed me to listen to the radio for fear of hearing about sex. Lucky for me, I found my step-father’s old Playboy and Penthouse stash from the 70’s. I would get up at five in the morning and raid the storage room for porn. I was 13 or 14 at the time.

Penthouse was my favorite because they had Penthouse Forum. This is where allegedly readers wrote in about their sexual adventures. I know now that paid writers supplied all the porn but to a kid who lived in a household where we had to call Dolly Parton’s movie,’ The Best Chicken Ranch in Texas’, finding out that others had sex and enjoyed it was an amazing discovery. I felt less like a freak and more like a normal person.

Porn however became the front line in my fights with my parents. When my parents discovered my porn stash, they at first thought it was hilarious. They took it away and laughed about how I didn’t know what to do with it. The second time they discovered it, it turned into a serious contest of wills. They told me no, and I still was disobeying them?

Raiding my bedroom became such a common occurrence that my brother and sister, barely 6 and 8, would help out. I remember very clearly my sister, maybe 4 or 5, stomping into the living room holding a Playboy and punching me in the leg screaming, “You get no allowance!”

It became the family narrative. Shon was a dirty disobeying liar and thief who stole stuff that didn’t belong to him from a virtuous step-father who worked so hard at his job and came from simple farmer background. Mom was the sainted mother with a pervert for a child.

My friends could never understand how a straight A nerd could be grounded so many times. I used to tell my friends’ parents how I was grounded because I got a single B. It was a petty thing to do but I got my joys where I could.

So in this tense family situation, my mother and I were no where as close as we used to be. Then her father was diagnosed with Lou Gehric’s disease. This guy was a veteran of WWII, Korea and Viet Nam and now he needed help being rolled over in the middle of the night. I worshipped my tough mean as hell grandfather and so did my mom. When he couldn’t take care of himself, my mom had him live with us.

My mom and I took care of him as he degenerated and it will have to deserve it’s own post in the future. As hard as it was to wipe your own grandfather’s ass, I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom. My grandfather did not become one of those sweet crippled people who spouts wisdom. No, he got more and more bitter. He demanded, complained, bitched and critiqued every step of the way. I don’t blame him for doing that, but it just made things even harder for my mom and me. Though, in taking care of him we became closer again.

I was still stashing porn from my step-father and it was still pissing him off. I didn’t care though. He hated my grandfather and wouldn’t have anything to do in the taking care of him. I really started to hate my step-father and I couldn’t understand why my mom loved him. I figured it was because my stepfather was a hard worker honest man like she always said.

My grandfather died. My aunts and uncles who had nothing to do with his care, showed up to split his inheritance. My stepfather was their biggest opponent, fighting to take as much as he could too. It was disgusting all around.

My grandfather died when I was 14. Life went back to normal. I kept sneaking porn from my stepfather’s stashes and I kept getting punished for it. My mom withdrew and from me and joined my stepfather in demonizing me. I started writing my own porn as a way to do something that wouldn’t be recognized as porn. I wrote long notebooks about silly adolescent fantasies and it kept me going. I never shared those stories but I was still proud of them.

When I was 18, my parents stunned me by divorcing. My mom explained that she caught my stepfather on his third affair and he was out of chances. She then recounted every scummy thing my stepfather did which included molesting one of my female cousins, embezzling from the last three jobs he had and sleeping with every one of my mom’s female friends.

It was one of the weirdest moments in my life. I went from being the demon pervert child with angelic parents to being perhaps the most honest one of them all. I see now how my bad behavior was something they could distract themselves with, but at that moment I realized all the suffering, shame and punishments I went through was just to cover for their lousy marriage.

Fuckers.

My mom had intended to live in our house with me and my siblings. That didn’t work out because my father had embezzled again and our house was being seized. My mom had a brilliant plan though. She wanted me to join the marines, and then I could support her and my siblings. I shit you not. Instead, I scrambled and got a scholarship to go to a university far away from home. I wanted my own life and I just didn’t trust her any more.

I tried staying in touch with her over the years. She remarried another guy who this time was a super conservative right wing nut. I tried to visit her every few months but she would change so much between visits. I remember discussing Star Trek Voyager once and she said it was a stupid show because they had a woman captain and women just aren’t strong enough to be in charge. My mom, who raised me as a single parent and taught me to see women as equals, now saw them as inherently inferior.

My sister came out of the closet as a lesbian and my mom disowned her. I still can’t rationalize that.

When I moved to Atlanta, it was right after the 2004 elections. I tried to make peace with my mom one last time. We had a great lunch and actually had a good time. Then she wanted to know who I voted for, and then spent the next hour bitching me out for voting Democrat. This was the last time we were going to see each other for years, and she wanted to demonize me one more time for voting for a guy who ended up losing.

Through my brother I found out my mom joined a religious group in the mountains. They raise foster kids in some sort of Christian boot camp. My latest stepfather reluctantly went with her where they live on some commune now.

When I heard that, I realized that my mom craved having someone in charge. She adopted their personalities, their values and their rules no matter what. I also had a creepy realization that she was very submissive and that should would go from one abusive relationship to the next.

My own wife who I adore, is exactly what I misperceived my mother to be. My wife is stubborn, independent, strong, a dominant personality and will stand up to me on anything. My wife is my partner and no matter if I am writing porn, staring at someone as trashy as Carmen Electra or enjoying a guilty pleasure like mud-wrestling, she doesn’t judge me.

I still need a submissive in my life though. Trust me, I have spent a lot of time wondering if my need for a submissive comes from some strange wish to be the one my mom loved instead of my asshole stepfather. Therapy had already been spent on the subject and I can say, with professional level medical opinion proof that my need for a submissive stems from a creative sexual power dynamic desire. I want to live my own erotica. I want to continue my love of being erotically creative that I started when I was a teenager and apply that creativity to a BDSM relationship. Being erotically creative has been my comfort food for close to 20 years now. Having a submissive is a lot like having a canvas.

So, here’s to my mother. She is most likely in need of a lot of therapy and I really wish she would stop being a bitch to my sister. I think she was a lousy parent but somehow through it all I am who I am and I know I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t for her and her mistakes.

If you have a mom that loves you, nurtured you and didn’t make shaming you a hobby, then you better damn well let her know how much that means today. If you manage to read through all this, thank you for letting me vent and share my frustrations. I hope in some way you found it helpful.

Sugasm # 33

Fri 12th May, 06

This week’s best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Sorry for the late posting - I had a few family emergencies come up. Everything that was submitted after the 8th is already set for #34. Want in Sugasm #34? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist by the end of Monday night and you’re all set.

NSFW Pics

There Are Some Things Out There… (pornster.blogspot.com)

Angelique and Ivonne on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Lea in Lacey Blue by Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)

Two Galleries of Rookie Babe Hottie Mia (sensualarousalblog.com)

A Red-headed Peach (internetisforporn.com)

HNT: Two for the Price of One (seanandmel.blogspot.com)

Abby Winters: Diana and Fuji (ethnorotica.com)

Exclusive - Justine Joli, Panties (tgp.com)

Funny

No Matter Who They Are… (janeluvsdick.com)

Conversation with the Lead Burly Dude (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex

Festering Degenerates (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)

Can Someone Be Cheerful and Sexy at the Same Time? (seska4lovers.com)

A Typical Spanking Model? (adelehaze.com)

Actions and Reactions (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)

A Solo Career (gentlebutfirm.blogspot.com)

Not What It Appears To Be (damnjezebel.com)

Hair (gentlygently.blogspot.com)

I Just Wanna Make Love To You - or, American Closet Mystics (Re)Unite! (totalsensuality.blogspot.com)

A Sticky Situation (wanklog.blogspot.com)

Diddling for Dollars (herknees.com)

More Sugasm…

Join the Sugasm

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Sexy Reviews, Sex Advice

The Big Question (blog.babeland.com)

If You Want Her (or Him) to Swallow… (spiritsex.blogspot.com)

There’s a Vas Deferens Between Men and Women (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Advice - Threesomes (part 1) (seskuality.com)

Testing a Tyre Paddle (spankingwriters.com)

Sex Toy Review: The Remote Controlled Egg (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing

Teenagers Again (the-sensuous-libertine.blogspot.com)

Eye to Eye (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)

Say It (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)

Does This Look Sexual to You? (avahsascent.blogspot.com)

Her (ropegirl.blogspot.com)

Tell Me (easilyaroused.co.uk)

Gettin’ Neighborly (taratainton.com)

My First Gangbang (drtycplinva.blogspot.com)

A 6 with a 9 Nightcap (thetastetester.com)

Post-Semester Phone Fuckery (talkingdirtyblog.com)

BDSM / Fetish

Inspired by… Someone (stockingaffair.com)

How to NOT Fuck an Egg (humiliation) (spoiledebonyprincess.com)

Humiliating Tiny Dicks Endlessly (phonesexsub.com)

Saturday (masterenigma.blogspot.com)

Bathroom Trips (annies-submission.blogspot.com)

Adventures in Cookie Peddling (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)

Will You Pee in my Mouth? (On Fetishes) (4thegirlnextdoor.blogspot.com)

I Like it Like That (moonstruck.typepad.com)

Fiction - Proper Form (erotiterrorist.blogspot.com)

Getting in Touch with the Inner Lizard (principalquattrano.vixenblogs.com)

Case Study of a Femme Fatale (sabrinainstockings.com)

The cutie in the glasses, Mia, is c/o Sensual Arousal Blog.

Erotica Alert Level: Hot Pink

I decided to give AudioBlogger another try. This time I wanted to tell a pretty short story and make it audio based. It was a story that I thought was pretty sexy. My voice went weird in a few places but I figured I would wait till it was up to decide on whether to keep it. I recorded it on Audioblogger and waited.

And waited.

Well after ten minutes I decided to try again. I re-recorded it and this time my voice was much better. Then I waited.

And when it still didn't post, I went radical. I started a new blog under a new screen name just for the purposes of getting my audioblog posts. this time I also rewrote a little of it and it was much smoother.

That didn't work either.

Well crap.

So next I tried using Windows Sound Recorder on my PC. I can always find a host site, right? It went pretty well till the damned recorder shut me off halfway. Apparently a minute is as long a sound file as it will make.

Sigh.

I could offer to read it to you each individually but the phone charges might get a little much. I'll just have to wait till I get some sort of technical answer.

In the mean time, Wrygirl gave me a nice little recognition for the productive week I've been having. Wow. After years of struggling to get my confidence and writing back to where it was, you have no idea how much this means to me. I have felt really good about myself this week and this nice honor, even if its only for a week, really reaffirms how I am feeling. Thank you from the bottom of my perverse heart.

As for the Erotica Alert, I have this bad feeling that at 8 at night, my Blog is going to have multiple late Audioblog posts arrive. You've been warned. Have duct tape and lotion ready.

****Update- I was close. It was 9pm lol. I've got four copies floating around I think the one posted works best. ****

Untitled Audio Story #1

I am playing around with what can be done with the format. I am not used to a speaking story, so I went with something short and concise. I hope it entertains and arouses.

Promises in Purple

Christine lived for Fridays. That was the night that her husband went off to his friend's house and watched movies, played videogames and for all Christine knew, went cruising for hookers into the late hours of the night. It was the night that her husband was so busy being a male jerk with his guy friends that he didn't give a rat's ass what Christine did with her time.

He actually thought she hung out with her coworkers for drinks.

It was Friday morning but Christine was here, parking in her lover's driveway instead of heading to work. She slammed the door to the car and rushed up the steps. Usually they don't meet till after she got off work but this morning, he sent her a text message requesting her to stop by before heading to work. No explanation was offered, but that wasn't unusual. Christine's lover was not the explaining type.

He answered on the third knock. Christine groaned when she saw he was dressed only in his boxers. The cock she had grown to love was pushing against the loose fabric. It was hard and Christine thought she knew why he had called.

"I don't have time," Christine said. "I'll be late for work."

"Yes you will be late," he said. "So start working on your excuse now."

Click whole Post to Continue Reading


He took her hand and pulled her gently into his house. The closing of the door sealed off the outside world and Christine went to kiss him. He kissed her back but broke it off much too soon.

"Open your blouse," he said. "Quickly."

She obeyed. Her fingers moved fast under the urgency of his command. She bared herself to him, hoping that he appreciated the scarlet bra she had picked for their rendezvous tonight.

Instead, he reached for a purple marker he had set beside the door. He uncapped it and turned back towards her. While she held her blouse open, he reached inside her bra and pulled her breast out of the cup.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making you a promise for tonight," he said. Across the top of her nipple he very carefully wrote a four letter word. The pen was cold against her skin and Christine shivered. Then she shivered again as she read what he had written.

It was the word 'BITE'.

He gave her nipple a very brief, almost reverent kiss and then he blew across the letters to make them dry faster. Then he put her breast back into her bra cup. Her lover reached into the other cup and pulled her breast free. Christine stood there, still holding her blouse open as he wrote another word across this nipple with the cold marker.

This time the word was 'PINCH'.

He blew again across the letters and Christine moaned. She looked down to see her nipple was hard but somehow, she knew that he wouldn't fulfill that promise right now. She would have to wait all day till tonight.

"Turn around and show me your back," he said.

Christine turned around. He used much bigger letters this time as he wrote across her shoulders. As he wrote, she slowly figured out what he wrote by the chills he made on her back.

He wrote, 'MOUNT ME'.

"Put your blouse on and take off your pants," he said.

Christine did as he said. She worried about the ink staining her blouse but she still did as he asked. Clothes can be washed or replaced. Her lover's pride in her was much harder to replace.

She dropped her pants to her ankles. Christine went ahead and slid her black panties down as well. Her body was tingling and she wanted to make sure her lover made promises everywhere.

He didn't disappoint. Kneeling down so that he was eye level with her sex, he took his pen in hand and wrote right above her pubic hair line. Painstakingly he wrote his word and when she realized what it was, she couldn't help clench at the thought.

The word was 'FUCK'.

His hand gripped around a thigh and forced her legs apart. Above the knee and stretching in large letters towards her sex he wrote his word. The marker no longer chilled her but then again, perhaps it was the heat of the promises of tonight that kept her toasty.

He wrote 'PART'.

Christine could feel how wet she was when he wrote the same word on her other thigh. Forget work. Forget her husband. Forget all the hundreds of reasons she should not be here. Christine just wanted to crawl into the bedroom and surrender to her lover all day today, tomorrow and for the rest of your life.

"Turn around," he said.

Hobbled by her pants and panties around her ankles, Christine turned around the best she could. She felt his breath on her ass and her cheeks tightened. The bite she was expecting never came. Instead of sharp teeth, it was the wet tracing of the marker. Down each buttock, spaced perfectly along the curve of her bottom her wrote:

S

P

A

N

K

"Okay, pull your pants back up," he said.

She groaned. No fingers on her sex. No slap of his hand on her bottom. No quick slip of his cock into her. He was really going to make her wait.

He stayed behind her as she redressed. It was a small relief because Christine wasn't sure she couldn't keep her face from scowling. He was making her late for work and making her terribly horny. She knew that tonight would all be worth it but for now, she was just frustrated and wet.

"Wait," he said. His hand took a hold of her long hair and curled it around his fist. Christine swallowed hard. Maybe he would spank her after all.

Instead, she felt the marker touch her neck right below her hair. She knew that spot. It was where his jaws would come down on her when they made love. It was where he bit her like a tiger as he pushed himself inside her.

"Oh please, no," she said. "People will see."

"Not if you're careful" he said.

She felt the words but she wasn't ready for them. It took her by surprise, more so than anything else he did today. When he was done, he kisses her again on the lips and told her to go to work. In a daze she left his house. Marked nine times by him in ways no one would see. Ways no one should see.

When she got in her car, she took out her compact. It wasn't east to hold her hair up and catch the reflection of the back of her neck in both the rear view mirror and the compact, but she did it. She only saw it for a moment before her eyes misted over. The purple letters were locked in her mind.

He had written, "LOVE ME".