I met Ryan Driller on a set in New Hampshire.  I had just left My husband not that long before and was in a “I hate men and I never want to have sex with one again” mode.  It was a long, really long day.  I didn’t have a sex scene, I was actually just acting in a porno.  But because I wasn’t having sex I got an insultingly low rate for the day.  This coupled with the fact that I was starving and somehow kept getting called to do things (mostly sit there while people fucked with lights) when the food was out put Me into sort of a rotten mood.  Ryan Driller came up and handed Me an orange…..which he had peeled.  I remember thinking “I don’t remember the last time a man did anything that nice for Me…I would totally suck his dick.”  I mean he peeled a fucking orange for Me.  Who DOES that?

My fantasies surrounding Ryan Driller these days has morphed into a scenario wherein he would do sit-ups while I ate bonbons and sprayed him with water.  THAT is what I think about when I get Myself off.  Do I wonder what he tastes like? Yes, but that’s something I contemplate in line at the grocery store.  The sweaty in bed when no one is around fantasy is all about rippling muscles, sweat and bon bons.

I’ve never met James Darling, which is maybe what makes the fantasy even hotter.  And when I say hot fantasy, what I mean is listening to mix tapes and passing a bottle back and forth. Yah yah, I’ve spent Friday night making a mixtape for James Darling that I plan on sending for Valentine’s day, hopefully My appreciation for jazz, country and crooney female vocalists can win Me some points.  Do I want to shoot a porn scene with James Darling?  Yes, very much so, hopefully our sex scene involves listening to a mixtape on cassette and passing a bottle back and forth.  I mean, I’m jerking Myself off thinking about extended makeout sessions with Nina Simone playing in the backround.  Orgasms secondary.  Anyway, I have been known to have an orgasm from a well-placed finger on My lower back and a really hard bite on My lower lip.  I imagine James darling to be the kind of man who can do both simultaneously, in My fantasy he is anyway.

I think I read Jasmine St Clair’s writing before I ever saw one of her scenes.  I sort of fell in love with her brain and personality before I fell in love with her ability to take a cock.  Fellow female metal head?  Swooooon!  When I first saw her fucking on film My immediate thought was to clone Myself a few times over so that I could gangbang her.  Over the years (yes, years) My fantasy has changed quite a bit.  Jasmine, is the type of woman you want to run into a circle pit with holding her hands, the kind of woman you want to headbang with, the kind of woman you want to makeout with in a very crowded room somewhere in a  dark corner where no one will notice.  Like at a show.  A really loud show so that even if she’s trying to talk to you, you just smile and pretend to hear what she’s saying, because it’s probably something beautiful anyway.  Maybe she’s the kind of woman you want to finger bang in a mosh pit too…but if I could do the hand holding headbanging part I’d have a lot of masturbation fodder for many more years to come.

Bella Vendetta is a professional and lifestyle Domina hailing from Western MA.  She has almost 12 years training and experience in the BDSM lifestyle and the adult industry.  As well as working as a Pro Domme and internationally published fetish model Bella is an award winning adult film star.  Bella Vendetta is also a B movie starlet, runs her own niche fetish site, and hosts a monthly naked cooking webcam show.  Colleges and Universities around the northeast frequently ask Bella to speak and lecture about Her experiences in the sex industry.  In addition to her work in the adult industry she also moonlights as a journalist writing about and interviewing tattoo artists, MMA fighters, rock and metal musicians.  To learn more visit www.BellaVendetta.com . Zinester erotica was originally published in “Screamer issue #2″ from MyOwnBrain Productions; the zine can be purchased for $5 by emailing BellaVendetta666@gmail.com

 

Handcuffs

Since signing the final divorce paper only a few short years ago, and vowing never to belong to anyone ever again, I’ve seen lots of places like this. A discrete little hotel, dimly lit, with a piano bar hidden in it’s shadows. These are now my haunts, so that no one may linger in my life, my home, my body. No, I prefer my new love life to be filled with glamorous art-deco mirrors, old-fashioned cocktails, and infinite possibilities – the key to a room close at hand in case things get intimate, an easily-reached back door in case they turn ugly.

Only a few minutes into the night, and I’ve already located my nearest emergency exit. My date, “Enigma72” according to his online profile, is outrageously boring. I should have known that a guy who chooses that kind of alias would be about as enigmatic as a Preparation-H ad. My mysterious beau, called Nicholas in reality, is nothing like I’d come to expect. He, on the other hand, seems charmed by me, though not by any effort on my part. Not even ten minutes after greeting each other, he has suddenly insisted on putting his mobile, and accompanying photo of course, into my address book. Between this faux pas, and the unrelenting torrent of chatter coming from him, I’m fairly certain I can guess the color of his briefs without requiring any undress whatsoever.

I glance towards the exit longingly, trying to decide whether to make up some pretext leave suddenly, or to at least finish my drink first. Then I see them enter. It’s her I notice first: a girl of maybe twenty, hidden beneath an immense fur coat, floating like a cloud through the bustle of the bar. At her arm is an incredibly attractive man, too attractive for this kind of place, elegant but with a touch of badness to him. His stature was that of a prizefighter or a bodyguard: harsh features coupled with grace of movement unthinkable for one his size. I gulp at the thought of what he could do with that body of his.

The couple opts for a quiet corner booth. The man slowly removes her coat, and I will never forget what I see next. I’m delightedly surprised with a full view of her sinuous back, as her liquid silk dress plunges to impossible depths, snaking around her waist, finally resting on her smooth hips, yet adamantly refusing to cover them either. What truly shocks me, makes me stifle a moan, is that her delicate arms are clasped behind her, bound in handcuffs. Never in my life have I seen a creature so very fragile, and yet so desirable. Everything about her is like an offering at the altar: the smooth skin, the nakedness of her back, the endless legs of a nymph, and her firm, round buttocks peeking shamelessly above the lowest slit of her dress, daring anyone to seize them.
Not only has she been handcuffed, but the girls is also utterly submissive. She appears neither to possess nor desire any will but his own. He leans in with some confession, then retreats, taking in the sweetness of her face, all the while apparently oblivious to her semi-nude display of flesh. She sits straight, wrists kissing each other at her back, wetting her parted mouth for speech. As she whispers a few words into his ear, he begins to softly caress between her legs. Submitting to this sweet ecstasy, she looks every bit the part of a good girl being corrupted, an innocent victim of a nefarious game. But her skin belies this sweet act of hers: creeping black designs hint at a wild garden of tattoos, barely concealed tonight beneath the few folds of her gown. A slutty, punk-princess, I think to myself, wearing a disguise for the night. I breathe in the fantasy, and I feel an intense pang of desire.

Meanwhile, Nicholas’s monologue, so intolerable just a few moments ago, has been reduced to a faint buzz: joining in with the background piano music, the clink of glasses, and the soft, murmuring voices of the other customers. I have eyes only for this mysterious girl, who in turn has eyes only for her master. He barely touches her, except to do for her what she cannot do for herself: raising a glass to her lips with tender generosity, cleaning drops of champagne with loving care from their blushing pillows, offering them puffs from his cigarette.

I get up in an effort to better observe them, but in doing so realize that I can hardly crouch at the shelf behind them. I need to see more, so I take a slow tour of the space, step by step towards the restroom, stealing surreptitious glances in the direction of their corner. Once there, I take a deep breath, smooth my hair, retouch my makeup, plan my next move. I don’t want to leave the bar yet, but I know it’s pointless for me to stay. This is their fantasy, and the thought of seating myself across from the insufferable Nicholas again only makes the realization all the more bitter. My mind would not stray from that image of the sweet girl in handcuffs and the intoxicating power of her lover. Obsession mingling with frustration, in my minds eye I see them – against the wall in the vestibule between restrooms, unhurriedly entwining their tongues, biting each others necks hungrily.

But, oh god, this can’t be a vision! For then, she carefully kneels before him, more vulnerable than ever. Her lips part at the sweet smell of sex before her, out of reach though just barely concealed under a millimeter of fabric. She tips her head up to look at him, exposing the long neck of a ballerina, as if asking for something. I cannot help myself now, nor do I want to, and am spying fervently at the crack in the door. He seems to comply with her request. Unzipping his pants, he removes a white cock, as enormous and graceful as he is. It rests near his thighs, panting with pleasure. Maintaining her air of innocence, all the while looking up at him with those dark pools for eyes, she licks the head carefully. She passes her strawberry tongue over every fold, every vein. That little round behind, now completely exposed, is poised and taut to keep her balanced … her hands are still bound. For an instant, I think I see her glance at my hiding place, but I’m stuck there, a prisoner to their scene, connected to the pair by some invisible force.

At relinquishing her mouth’s sweet embrace, the man throws his muscular arms wide and shouts a loud groan of pleasure. I have to bite my finger, hard, in order to stifle my own. He raises her up to stand in front of him again, her intense gaze never leaves his own, until she suddenly swings around to face the wall, arching her back and offering her perfect cheeks to him. He penetrates her from behind, and with her shudder of pleasure I feel like I’m going to cum.

A phone has begun to ring. They stop. It seems the whole planet stops with them. It takes me some moments to realize that the awful sound was coming from my own mobile. I fumble through my purse franticly. It’s Nicholas, who is searching for me – I guess he finally realized that there was no one there, and he was just talking to himself. I switch it off, but the damage is done, and silence hits me in the face. They know I’m here … that I’ve been here the whole time, watching them. The room seems to contract. I have no escape. His massive hand clasps the door and swings it wide. They stare at me, all seriousness. What will be my punishment?

Now he examines the two of us appraisingly from his seat, eyes roving up and down. It seems that he likes what he sees. Here, before this unknown man, I stand close to the mysterious tattooed girl. Hip to hip, hand to hand, we were bound together in those cold, steel shackles. We were his two prisoners. I have no intention of going against his will, that which I had witnessed in it’s full force tonight. And I could only imagine what would happen next.

Note from the Editor: “Handicuffs” is the written erotica version of Lust’s short film, Handcuffs. It can be watched here.

The author:

About Erika Lust

www.erikalust.com

Abstractions

Deep in my mind, void of harsh realities consisting of dangerous situations, gender laws or regret, lives “fantasy.”

There is you and I
…and others
Many
A single pulse
Ignites
A want so deep you almost beg for it
But that is not necessary here

Bodies quiver
Have spiritual experiences
Talk in tongues
Fire

We take turns
I give in
I give it up
And I take it
In and out of you/ me
Feeling the power of the thrusts and thrashing
I am responsible for it

I feel the pounding
I pound
Flashes
Flickers
Fast
Bodies stretch out
Heads roll back
Arch
Reaching for more

Overwhelmed with pleasure
They make tired, whinny cries one produces when unexplainably exhausted
And yet, we want to remain right here

Hands grasping at sweaty glistening Black/Brown bodies
Breasts and cocks
Chests and cunts
Drops fall to the ground
And pay homage

Heavy breath on neck
Inside of him/her
In me
Font/ back
Holes filled
Anchored
Keep me here please!

Eyes penetrate
Mouth widens
The silence is loud
Eruptions ensue
Boil to the surface

Breath halts
Stops
Heart pumps loudly in ears
It is not heard but felt
Between our legs
We flap our arms at the edge of this mountain
Wanting to fall but maintaining
Holding on
Hold it
Arms give in
And we accept

Feel
Let go
Soar
Then fall
Hard
Fast
Downward
The wind chokes you/me
Our pulse is quick
Then slows
The path to death feels so good
And we are bought back

Strong hands
All over this pulsing body
Kneading
Inserting
Wet lips
Mouths
Tongues
Engulf every inch of them
Bringing life back
Naked
Wet
Breath
Alive

The author:

Ignacio Rivera aka Papí Coxxx who prefers the gender-neutral pronoun “they” is a Two-Spirit, Black Boricua/ Taíno from New York. Ignacio is an activist, filmmaker, sex educator, sex worker, and performance artist sharing spoken word, one-person shows, and storytelling internationally.

They are also the founder of Poly Patao Productions (P3), which is dedicated to producing sex-positive workshops, performances, educational opportunities and events that are specially geared toward queer women, transgender, multi-gender, gender queer, gender-non-conforming and gender variant folx of color.

Ignacio has been facilitating workshops, doing lectures and creating events for kinky, kinky-curious Queer/Trans POC’s and their white queer and trans allies for over a decade.

Check out their blog What “They” Said at http://polypataoproductions.com

Photo by Tara Lessard

Zinester Erotica

My fingers were sticky with glue. Not just normal glue, glue stick glue. I had been cutting and pasting all afternoon. Not computer click and drag cut and paste. Zine cut and paste. The kind where you bleed from tiny papercuts after too many hours of laying out single phrases across the page. I had papers sprawled across the wooden floor, and Belle and Sebastian crooning out of My ghetto blaster. My toes twitched in the summer air and I sang along.
He came in without knocking, as was often custom. He sat in My computer chair and watched Me slinking across the floor, reaching for scissors and more paper. No one had said anything yet, as was also custom. He glanced at the penis gun I was cutting out.
“Is that the cover?” his first words to Me all day
“Yah, you like it?”
“Nice” he said
He had wheeled the chair closer to where I was sitting by this time. He kicked at My foot in a poor attempt at kindergarten flirtation. Next thing I knew I suddenly found Myself half in his lap, half on the floor, grasping on to the glue stick for dear life. My skirt was up and his fingers were inside Me. Pressing on all the right spots. I gave up on trying to hold onto the glue stick and let him slide his fingers inside Me as far as they would go. Making Me more wet by the second. I was nearly upside down, with one hand on top of his feeling the rhythm of his wrist twist and turn in My wetness. My own fingers working furiously at My clitoris until My lack of balance gave in and I had to put My hand back on the floor. My damp fingers making the zine in progress sticky with fluids other than glue.
As I came the papers were strewn across the floor in an unorganized fashion, My hair stuck to My forehead and Belle and Sebastian had ended quite some time ago…
I rolled over and the drawing of the penis gun was stuck to My thighs, slick with sweat. I peeled it from My leg and continued laying the title over it. This put a whole new twist on zinester erotica, I should put together more of these compilations.

The author:

Bella Vendetta is a professional and lifestyle Domina hailing from Western MA.  She has almost 12 years training and experience in the BDSM lifestyle and the adult industry.  As well as working as a Pro Domme and internationally published fetish model Bella is an award winning adult film star.  Bella Vendetta is also a B movie starlet, runs her own niche fetish site, and hosts a monthly naked cooking webcam show.  Colleges and Universities around the northeast frequently ask Bella to speak and lecture about Her experiences in the sex industry.  In addition to her work in the adult industry she also moonlights as a journalist writing about and interviewing tattoo artists, MMA fighters, rock and metal musicians.  To learn more visit www.BellaVendetta.com . Zinester erotica was originally published in “Screamer issue #2″ from MyOwnBrain Productions; the zine can be purchased for $5 by emailing BellaVendetta666@gmail.com

“Utter abandon.”

Those were my exact words. He’d asked me what I wanted and, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. Standing in the middle of our studio, the blindfold feeling more constricting with each passing second, doubt pricked the shiny bubble of fantasy.

What the hell had I gotten myself into this time?

Quiet, which normally wrapped about me comfortably, tightened its grip until my breath came in hard, shallow gasps. My voice ached to cry out, but it would not. It, like me, didn’t dare break the spell. It was too late to turn back, at least that’s how it felt. We’d already started so, if I kept my promise, the word no wasn’t mine to use, anyway.

Until He said otherwise, I belonged to Him.

Chivalrous as ever, He’d asked about boundaries and how far He should push. I, being my usual impetuous self, boldly told Him to, “Demolish them.” One of these days, perhaps I’ll learn to think harder about these things before I open my big mouth.

My hands, held behind my neck, shook and I clasped harder to try to keep them under control. Their weakness moved to my knees, which wobbled as unsteadily as a kid in high heels, but I had no shoes to blame. Beside the velvet tied over my eyes, I wore nothing but leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, along with a bondage belt at my waist.

Though I’d been desperate for a sound, any sound, His low chuckle was not exactly what I was hoping for. It only served to stretch my nerves tighter until they were ready to snap. He didn’t have to enjoy my discomfort so much, did He? Swallowing hard, I choked down the kernel of indignation in my throat before it could grow into something more dangerous.

How could I blame Him? This was all my idea.

Just a few weeks ago, the notion of ceding consent was merely another bodice-ripping fantasy sloshing around my brain-pan. We’d explored S/M and power exchange, but it was like a game, playing with control. Something in me craved more, to strip away the safe haven of conditions until my submission was complete and irrevocable. I needed for Him to invade every sacred space, tear down the boundaries that stood between me and freedom.

So, there I was, stark naked and shivering, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

He was taking His time, footfalls slow and deliberate as He strode around me. Sometimes, furniture scuffed against the hard floor as He moved it toward the walls, clearing out the center of the room. Mostly, the room stalled in silence, and more ominous fucking silence, while my heartbeat thudded a staccato rhythm in my ears.

As His footsteps approached, pausing briefly before He stood directly in front me, I gulped to dislodge my heart from my throat. Warm breath, tinged with a hint of wine, fluttered against my cheeks before tickling at my ears. Moist lips sucked my earlobe as His hands traveled over my trembling body.

“I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of you, all of you,” He whispered, and a cold chill slithered down my spine, turning white hot between my legs. “You know why we’re here?”

“Um … huh?” I muttered back. My brain was a bit too addled for QnA.

He chuckled. “Rhetorical question.” A playful slap rang out and my ass warmed in its wake. “You’ve been holding back, haven’t you, pet?” His hand closed tight, squeezing the cheek hard, and I whimpered under my breath. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Beeping interrupted Him, signaling an incoming message. “Hold that thought,” He said, stepping back, and I heard the keystrokes and whooshing sounds of texts being exchanged. What the hell was so important? My mind searched for answers, but found nothing but more questions. Finally, His lips pressed against mine, hot and urgent, as He held me close.

“Last chance to change your mind.” The words last chance echoed in my head, turning up the volume on my heartbeat until its throbbing pulse reached all the way to my clit. “Are you ready to serve me?”

“I’m ready, Sir,” I replied, though I was anything but.

“Open your mouth.”

Without hesitation, I obeyed, and my mouth was filled with what felt like a thick rubber bit gag. Except, it wasn’t smooth enough for that. Instinctively, I bit down and almost jumped at the loud squeak of a dog’s chew toy. Starting to mutter, I fought the urge to spit the damned thing out of my mouth and share a few choice words. My hands clenched into fists behind my head and breaths huffed, bull-like, in and out of my nose.

“I’d suggest you adjust your attitude before I come back.” With that, He turned and His footsteps left the room, followed by the front door opening and closing. Where the hell was He going?

Moments dragged like they were being pulled through tar while I tried to hold on to some semblance of composure. But there was no keeping my cool. Every dire possibility fogged my thoughts, blinding common sense. Yet, I couldn’t ignore the building heat, the trickle of wetness escaping my sex and snaking its slow, torturous way down my thigh. Dread was quickly winnowing itself down to a tantalizing glimmer of anticipation.

I resigned myself to obey Him as best I could. He’d test me, of course; that was the point. He’d push every one of my buttons and dare me to defy Him. All I had to do was let go of the inhibitions that held me back.

The door creaked and I immediately snapped to attention, scanning for any hint of a sound. I had to be imagining things, because I swore I heard a cluster of footsteps and hushed voices in the hall. They must be coming from the stairwell outside. Holding my breath, I focused harder. Holy shit! I wasn’t wrong. Several people moved through the foyer, headed toward the studio.

His whisper rose above the others, muffled by distance but just clear enough to make out words. “No talking.”

What the fuck was He playing at? I didn’t say yes to this … did I? The realization hit me like a punch in the gut: when I’d asked Him to disregard limits, I’d said yes to everything.

Footsteps approached. My heart raced, beating so hard I was sure it could be seen pounding away against my chest. I tried to remember to breathe, but kept losing the thread, gulping air frantically to catch up. Irrational hopes yammered in my mind. He wouldn’t actually bring them into the studio, would He?

My eyes reflexively squeezed shut, my jaw champing down on the hateful thing in my mouth. The damned squeak set off the intruders, and men’s raucous laughter burned my cheeks with shame as my stomach sank. Oh god, they were right here and could see everything. The blindfold caught the tears as they streamed from my eyes. I tried to plead with Him to change His mind, but all that came out from behind the gag were panicked bursts of garbled nonsense. It was no use. I was exposed and debased, and there was nothing I could do about it. So, why was my belly tightening as if I enjoyed the idea? I wasn’t actually turned on by this humbling spectacle … was I?

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we pet?” He sounded so calm, as if he hadn’t just invited god-knows-who in to look at me naked. Meanwhile, I could barely stand, my knees were shaking so badly. Dragging something along with Him, He lingered a moment before giving my ass a hard slap. “I see you’re still not ready to behave yet,” He growled in my ear, grabbing a handful of butt cheek.

All of a sudden, I was picked up and flung over His lap as he sat. Protests screamed in my head, but didn’t dare move to my mouth. One hand forced me down, holding my hands tight as He pushed me over, His leg pinning mine until I was completely immobilized with my ass raised high in the air. I barely had time to think about how mortified I was before His free hand rained a volley of slaps, hard and fast, moving from one cheek to the next as I tried in vain to wriggle away from the blows while the fucking chew toy squeaked in mocking bursts. My struggling only seemed to spur Him to spank even harder, moving His focus to my sit-spot and thighs, where the heat of the sting grew to unbearable fire.

He stopped, releasing His hold on my top half. Weakened, and too humiliated to care, I didn’t fight gravity and let myself fall limp. Clutching a handful of hair, He pulled my head back and removed the bit. My mouth went slack as a wracking sob shook me to the core.

Pain had nothing to do with my reaction, regardless of the terrible burn of His punishment. Helplessness ate away any hope of composure I might have had. I had no idea who was in the room with us. Were they strangers or friends I’d have to face later? I didn’t want to think about either possibility; they were both equally horrifying.

“I’ll ask you only once and, when you answer, you’d better mean it. Do you want to stop?”

“No!” The word blurted out so fast, it surprised even me. More surprising was that I wasn’t lying. Tempted as I was to end the ordeal, I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it. The little spark of erotic intrigue wouldn’t let me stop. It glowed brighter with each passing moment, luring me with the promise of unfettered release. Regardless of my terror of what might come next, I was hooked.

He helped me back up, replaced the gag, and led me to the edge of the room. “Stay here and don’t move.” A flurry of activity broke out, with His occasional whispers sneaking through the banging and clanking assaulting my eardrums.

“Come here, pet,” He commanded. “I’m ready for you.”

My feet minced ahead in tentative, little steps. I could handle a lot of things, but the possibility of tripping and falling at this moment was more than I could bear. Toes then heels, rinse and repeat, I made my interminable way toward Him and whatever trial awaited.

Stopped, hands grabbed at my limbs. Each wrist had its own keeper, stretching them up and out. More hands held my waist from behind. They felt almost like His but rougher, chafing against my skin until I repeatedly flinched away from the contact. They gave my bottom a warning tap.

“Be still for me,” He said. I whimpered but froze obediently in place.

Rough Hands wrapped a wide swath of sturdy fabric around my waist, then wound it through my belt and pulled tight until it cinched me in. Holding my breath, I tried not to struggle as the hands at my wrists moved to my ankles, spreading me wide. Pulled by my waist up and back, I was lifted until my toes barely grazed the floor, floating weightless, bent over and indecently opened.

Dueling emotions wreaked havoc on my mind. Fresh tears breeched the soaked blindfold to pour down my face while wetness coursed, hot and sticky, down my legs. Rough Hands must have noticed, and traced fingers through its progress with an amused grunt. Without hesitation, they probed the source, assailing my hole with two long digits while I cried futilely from behind the gag. Teeth brushed against my nipple, biting down just as Rough Hands employed the hand not up my cunt to further redden my ass with a resounding twack. My wetness, no longer a mere trickle but a gushing flow, belied my outward discomfort, as my smoldering need flamed hotter.

Mouth continued devouring my tits, flicking the little silver rings with its tongue between bites, teasing my nipples to hard and agonizingly aroused peaks. It moved, working its way over my belly, each love bite triggering a renewed surge of blood following it downward. Rough Hands shifted attention to my backside, grasping a cheek in each hand as Mouth reached my cunt, swirling its tongue over the full of me. Electric currents of jolting bliss surged through my core. I struggled against them, but their force was growing all but impossible to resist. Just as Mouth hungrily bore down on my engorged clit, Rough Hands’ fingertip breached the tight ring of my asshole and a pleasured moan escaped my lips.

But, it wasn’t Him.

My mind repelled the indulgence. How in the hell could I let myself enjoy this? Despite the conflict raging in my conscience, my traitorous body didn’t give a shit. The more desperately I tried to fight the hot blood surging to my sex, the fire blazed even higher, my flesh relishing the shameless plunder and demanding more. I couldn’t give in, though all my body wanted was to arch into Rough Hands’ invasion. My hips pulled against their bonds, wanting to rock into each stroke while I bit back moans.

Mouth lapped at my parted slit, drinking me in. I wouldn’t let myself yield to the sweet hum of the building climax.
It brought its teeth down on my clit, sucking hard around them while a new set of fingers invaded my cunt. My pussy milked the fingers as it pushed into the Mouth feeding off its pleasure. Mouth, pleased, naturally responded, “Mmm, yes.”

It wasn’t Him, either.

My mind raced, panicked, as the truth of my situation dawned on me. Two strangers were fucking me and He let them. Oh god, what if they weren’t strangers? Resolve shattered and I screamed into the bit, confused tension flooding out reason. There was no reason in this. Madness held the reins and wasn’t letting go.

In a flash, He was beside me, lips brushing my ear. Caressing my cheek, He freed my mouth to cover it with His own and tenderly urged me open. His tongue explored, warm and moist against mine, tart and heady with fresh wine. Back in my home in His arms, the fight in me retreated, too exhausted to sustain itself, leaving no trace of its hysteria.

“Are you all right, pet?”

“Maybe it’s just too much … I don’t know … ” I muttered weakly.

“Since when is it a problem when I play rough with you?”

“Bu-but … ”

“Now that I’ve primed your ass, I’m going to fuck you like the horny slut you are, nice and hard in all your holes.” I could practically hear the wink in his voice.

Mental jackpot bells went off, accompanied by lights blinking the word mindfuck. I should have known better. My unseen lovers were Him after all, to a fashion. At least they were inside the fantasy he’d built for me. I only had to foist logic from the fore and accept it.

“Yes, Sir,” I answered. I chose to believe. What other choice did I have?

My bonds were loosened so He could be suspended beneath me. Straddling Him, I inched down onto His waiting cock until I’d taken the full of Him inside me. Stretched by His girth, my cunt flooded over, and the air around us filled with the musky, tangy cocktail of sweat and my essence. Slathered with lube, I clamped my mouth shut, afraid I’d cry out too loudly when He filled my other hole. Steeling myself, I tightened up as His cock slowly entered me. Groaning, desperate for more, nothing mattered to me at that moment but His cock stuffing me everywhere.

Pulsating violet light synched to my moans as He pumped my ass with achingly slow thrusts. Holding on to my hips, He swung me back and forth, diving deeper with each circuit, grinding my clit against Him beneath me. Moans turned to panting grunts and the light behind my eyes expanded to fill my mind while I started to fly. All other thoughts and cares fell away until only losing myself in ecstasy remained.

Gathering my hair, He positioned me to use the motion of His thrusts from behind to fuck my mouth. His pace quickened, His manner more savage as animal need took over. With each stroke, He’d pause before impaling me again so I could suck and swirl my tongue on His waiting cock while I lusted for the sensation of Him plunging deep inside me again. The urgency of His shuddering moans drove me to even greater abandon as He buried Himself in my flesh. At that moment, I existed only as His wonton dream, an extension of His hunger.

As He reached a fevered pitch, we moved together like frenzied cogs, naturally fitted to fuck with feral brutality. I soared, swimming in voluptuous light as He hammered my every hole. He shook violently, desire piqued to the brink of explosion. The violet light burst into chards, millions of stars floating in the charged air, and I bathed in their glow as they swirled about me. A shuddering wail burst out as rapture claimed me at last.

“Happy birthday, pet,” he whispered as I melted into oblivion.

The author

Mich Masoch is a writer, fetish and erotica photographer, designer, and lifelong pervert. With her husband and partner, Jimi King, she owns and runs Circus Hooker Smut Regime, an independent erotica production and design studio in Los Angeles, Ca. She is currently writing the soon-to-be-released vampire erotic romance novella, “Reaper Perfume”, as well as a series of cookbooks for fellow hedonists. Her spanking erotica short story “Discipline Me” is available at Amazon , Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and other eBookstores. You can find her photography work and updates, along with behind the scenes peeks of photo and video shoots, on the CHS Regime site, Twitter (@MichMasoch), and Tumblr (This Sexy Life).

Reset

He doesn’t say anything but the occasional calm direction. This above all- no words.

For decades I avoided words, seeking others that spoke and understood my silent language. Then I was trained to speak in a new popular language.

“MMM I love your hard cock stretching my tight juicy cunt.” Et cetera.

Repeated exposure and training made me fluent in the new language, but it will never be as natural as my native language, seemingly comprehended by so few.

But he knows it well- watching my movements, my breathing, sensing slight changes. It’s hard to predict someone’s ability until you are there with them, in that moment, when it becomes a silent but perfect dance, or a cold, clumsy brick wall, requiring the brute force of words.

He doesn’t accept the default “performance” I employ as part of my evaluation program. He doesn’t cum in my mouth, an impossible feat for most men when I run the full program.

Calm energy, he interrupts the sequence- warm hands tightening around my feet, and legs, breaking the tension, breaking my structure. He is not sweating, yet.

A kiss that evolves. He isn’t calculating or running a program like mine. He is sensing. My program switches off- silenced by the perfect kiss- and I return to my mute animal instincts. I begin sensing again.

His hand is free, and feels the results of the ended program flooding between my legs. He probes, analyzing. He does something with his hand I feel to my core. I do not know what it is- it is his side of the conversation. I now NEED him.

No thoughts or words. This is untranslatable to English. NOW. He looks at me with love.

He hovers over me motionless. I brush his chest and shoulders, see his arms braced either side. His body is steel surrounding me.

Silence as he enters, eyes locked on mine. A softness in his gaze. Slow. Beyond slow. I feel every inch- a gradual altering of my own constitution. It is overwhelming. My flesh moves to make way for his, until we have locked.

Fully merged we push further. All objects beyond him disappear. I cannot think or construct words, even if I wanted now. There is only weightlessness and nothingness.

I wish I could stay forever here. Freed of intelligence and awareness. Safe with this creature of quiet understanding and love.

This is “sex” they say. So is what I see in video clips and speak about with countless strangers. I see.

In my car I blast the radio. I rev the engine. Killing in this skirt and heels. Fix my makeup. The warmth of him remains between my legs, now a dream fading. The program hums no glitches.

The author

Vivian began as a solo cam performer in December 2007.  She currently works part-time on four adult sites and offers cam or phone sessions specializing in fetish, tease, lingerie/pinup modeling, and domination.  In the future she hopes to produce fetish videos, photography, and recordings.  Email: viviandoll3@yahoo.com

 

I wanna uuuhh somebody, I’m gonna uuuhh somebody.

I towel off from the shower, the steam making it impossible to see anything in front of me – what the fuck are those red spots doing on my dick? They weren’t there yesterday. Fuck it, we’re using a rubber anyways. I wipe off the mirror and take a good hard look at myself (popping a semi while studying my reflection). ”what’s keeping you?!” – she yell’s out from behind the bathroom door–”I’m trying to figure out if I have syphilis” – I all most answer her, but it’s probably better to keep those thoughts to myself at this moment. I keep quiet. I run my hands down my face, I’m already sweating again.

I open the door and there she is.

I don’t always fuck porn-stars, but when I do – I make sure they come with a firm fat ass. She’s on the bed, her back turned to me. Her black thong is perfectly separating her white cheeks. She turns her head and looks at me with eyes that say – ”a girl has to know her limitations” – the chance of grounding and pounding her butt-hole into submission are slim her eyes tells me. I start running my hand down my cock, while I quickly swallow a gallon of saliva that almost runs from my mouth and down my chest – I’m such a fucking pervert, a drooling fuck pig.

There is no romance or love in this room.

She smiles and crawls across the bed on all fours. Licking her lips, her green eyes wide open. I somehow take four longs steps to meet her at the edge of the bed. Before I can do anything she is sucking on my cock with the roughness only American girls do. I cringe and my body spasm, I tell her to calm down! She smiles like a witch at me and hisses – ”Europeans” – then she swallows my entire length and girth in one fluid motion. ”Viva Las Vegas” – I whimper while my head leans back and my eyes focus on the nicotine yellowish stained ceiling.

I bend forward and grab two handfuls of ass – ”oh my fucking god!” – I yelp out, while I rub her soft jiggly butt. I smack it. She jumps and giggles – ”no, no, no… Please don’t do that, I bruise easily” – ”okay, I won’t” – I say while almost out of breath. Fuck! She’s going for the balls and one of her fingers is making its way to my ass now.

This is too much!

I violently flip her over, turning her backside to my face. I dive head first into her mighty meaty ass and stuff my mouth. I groan and drool, I’m going gobble-gobble-gobble all up in that beautiful ass (it isn’t even Thanksgiving and she isn’t Turkish). She buries her face in the bed sheets. She moans and pushes her ass back into my tongue. My bare hands rubbing and massaging all over her lower body. I finally manage to release myself and quickly roll on a condom.

My entire body is shaking with the thought of what’s to come in a second.

In one single slow motion, I slide the entire length of my cock into her dripping wet cunt. She queefs and the room echoes (I let out a loud moan since the sound of cunt farts turns me the fuck on!).

I’m all up in her, I’ve pushed myself so deep inside her, I can’t see one inch of my cock anymore. My hips are touching her ass cheeks. Drool from my mouth and sweat from my nose are dripping on her back forming small puddles – lakes – on her white skin. I’m afraid to move, this shit is so good I might pop too soon. ”Fuuuck” – I yell out loud, as I begin to retract myself slowly, oh so very fucking slowly. Shit, her cunt is clinging to my shaft!

This is just to god damn perfect.

Long, slow, deep thrusts into her cunt. Each time I bottom out her ass jiggles. She groans and moans, she queefs. The room is filled with the smacking noises of my hips and stomach slapping against her now drenched skin. Her cunt juices are running down her thighs while she rubs her swollen clit in rhythmic circular motions. Both my hands have a strong grip on her hips, holding her tight, pushing her down into the bed. She starts to push back into me, her cunt is getting tighter and tighter, it’s milking me.

I stop.

I bend over and lick the salty sweat of the back of her neck. She grips my head with her hand and holds my mouth and tongue close to her neck. I gently bite her skin, sucking on it, leaving marks. We both suddenly look out the window as the desert sun beams through the room and blinds us both. ”it’s so bright” – she says, while almost tearing up.

Everything stops.

It feels like hours pass as we both watch the Las Vegas sun set. We’re both naked, I’m still inside her, pulsating and hard. She’s still dripping. The room goes dark and bodies begin to move in harmony once again. Noises that can only be associated with lust and decadence replaces the silence that was just there minutes ago.

We are in our very own little filthy sensory deprivation tank.

I’m trying to catch my breath, lying on top of her, wet, slippery, empty. She doesn’t move, she only gasps for air and whimpers. A phone rings, it’s like an alarm clock – it’s time to wake the fuck up! I stroke her face and we kiss, she doesn’t open her eyes. Not even when I slip out of her, she doesn’t make a sound. We are done with each other and we are done with this room.

There is no romance left in this love.

The author:

Christian Madsen hails from Copenhagen – Denmark. He is a freelance mainstream screenwriter, journalist and essayist. Editor-in-chief of Whackmagazine. Curator of the tumblr  story-lab.tumblr.com. Fluent in almost nine different languages. Brazilian jiu-jitsu fiend. Foodie. Fashionista. Urban astronaut. Taschen books obsessive. Assman. Tattoo fetichist and pornographic connoisseur.

 

Nothing Standard About It

The black silken blindfold does its job well as he leads her into the comparative quiet. The traffic noise and excited voices of the street side café patrons recede. “Welcome Mr. and Mrs. X. Your room is ready. 525. Marco will show you the way.” To her, the voice is disembodied. The goosebumps rise on her flesh and she feels shame burn across her cheeks. They know why we’re here, she thought. The blindfold and my dress are dead giveaways. And where are we?

She’s so excited about this night. She’s been preparing for it for ages, and despite the shame of the moment, the thought of being with him tonight is the only thing that’s kept her sane for weeks.

Entering the elevator, she feels disoriented by the eerie music playing as they ascend. The five flights seem to take longer than they should. He presses her to the wall and slides his hands over her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts, her ass. Fuck, but the bellboy is right here, is all she can think. She tries to shrink into the corner, but part of her feels the thrill of being on display. Deprived of sight, she focuses on the sensations his touch creates and tunes into the heat rising off her skin. Languidly she relaxes into his hands, her reverie broken by the arrival of the elevator on their floor.

A few minutes later they are in the room, the bellboy pointing out what she assumes to be elegant features, including a sizeable tub for two. “Enjoy your stay,” he says, and the door closes behind him.

“Get naked. Now.” His commands are loud and abrasive, echoing through the room. He takes her by surprise. She didn’t think it would be this way tonight. She’s worried they have different…expectations.

Slowly she works the zipper down the side of her dress, peeling it from her body until she stands in front of him in nothing but her lacy lingerie and sleek high-heeled sandals, hip cocked to one side, her body curving sensuously. Teasing him is a pleasure in itself.

“Naked,” he barks harshly. He doesn’t relent, and her expectations shatter. She draws her panties down her hips and cautiously steps out of them, feeling lost, deprived of her sight. She centers herself and imagines him watching her, laying a palm against his already solid cock and rubbing his fingertips over the head through his pants. She knows there’s nothing between them but the soft fabric. Thinking about it sends a jolt to her clit.

Reaching behind, she slides the hooks of her strapless bra open with one hand, holding the cups to her chest with her free forearm. She knows there’s no choice, and a moment later she drops the delicate garment to the floor. Her nipples rise, growing hard and tight as they’re exposed to the cool air. She stands gloriously naked in front of him, save her shoes. Her body is soft and beautiful, her waist slender and belly flat, with full, heavy tits and softly curving hips. She feels his eyes appraising her, taking in her shoulder-length chestnut hair, her striking blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones, her full pink pout. Though she looks nothing like an airbrushed supermodel, she has the sort of body for which men and women both lust. Her imagination again wanders to his cock, and she wonders if he’s touching himself as she stands there, displayed for him.

Gently, he touches her blushing cheek, softly fluttering his fingertips against her skin. Ah, this is it, she thinks, this is what I wanted. Running his finger to her lips, he parts them with the tip of his thumb, his thick digit lurid between her rosy lips. He slips it inside, seeking the heat of her tongue. She swirls her tongue around his fingertip and presses it against the roof of her mouth, sucking him further into her warmth. A smile plays around the corners of her mouth. Hooking his thumb over her bottom teeth he jerks her mouth open, taking her by surprise. “Naughty little slut.”

Her face flushes a deeper red and her nipples tingle. She inwardly loves it when he calls her names. It makes her feel edgy and raw, as if what they’re doing is forbidden and taboo. She hates to admit it, but she likes it when he objectifies her. She tips her head toward the floor just the tiniest bit.

She knows how hard it turns him on when she backs down, when she shows him her submissive side, however slight it may be. But what he’s doing tonight is different. It’s as though he wants to use her, to humiliate her, and in so doing, debase her to her purest animal form. She’s been in control of herself, of everything, for too long. Maybe it’s just what she needs.

Tracing his fingers down her arm, he raises goosebumps on her flesh, her hair stands on end and dainty little prickles cover her skin. She softens again and drops her guard. She comes down off her edge, the one he put her on when he roughly forced her mouth open. Her shoulders soften, her head lolls to the side, and her lips slacken. She begins to feel hypnotized by his touch.

A moment later he seizes her wrist, twists it behind her back and pushes her ahead of him. She’d been lost in the moment, floating back into the scene she imagined for their night together, one wholly different from where she finds herself now. She stumbles and nearly trips, her feet and ankles twisting around each other, forced to move forward while still mid-turn. He holds her tightly by the wrist and her shoulder pinches as he pulls her up from her stumble. “Move,” he growls, pushing her from behind, his larger frame forcing her across the room.

He presses her forehead against glass and she realizes it’s a window just as he pulls the blindfold from her eyes and implores her to look out and down. The entire wall is glass, revealing its inhabitants to the darkness beyond, a horizon glittering with innumerable tiny points of light. She can see the people working late in the building across the way, a fashion showroom on one floor, rows and rows of computers on another. The inky black Hudson is visible off to the left, piers jutting out into the water. In the near distance to her right, the Empire State building twinkles.

What she sees surprises her; the elevated park just beneath them seems much closer than she would have expected, people milling around, enjoying the chilled evening air. She’s sure that she can make out facial features, see the glow of their cell phones and iPads, and see the people kissing on park benches. Every light in the room is on, and it dawns on her that they can see her engorged pink nipples, her nearly bare cunt, and her apprehensive and slightly frightened expression. He presses his hand against the back of her neck. “What do you see, baby?” he asks with a touch of malice in his voice.

“I see people who can see me,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, people who can see you,” he mocks. “Does that scare you, baby?”

She nods almost imperceptibly, her head pressed against the glass. “Mmhmm,” she barely gets the sound out of her throat.

“What can those people see, baby?”

“Me. Naked in the window.”

“No. I asked what. Can. They. See?” His mouth is close to her ear, his voice on the edge of anger. He tightens his grip on the back of her neck. “Tell me, fuckdoll. What can they see?”

“Your naked fuckdoll in the window.” A tear rolls down each cheek.

He’s done it. He’s made her fantasy come true. She’s taken utterly by surprise, never expecting that they would really end up here. Never expecting that it would be tonight of all nights.

He presses against her, smashing her whole body against the window. Two fingers slide into her from behind. She feels embarrassed at how easily they breach her. “My. Naked. Fuckdoll.” With each word he shoves in deeper and harder.

Removing his fingers from her slick cunt, he releases the hand from the back of her neck and slips his wet fingers into her mouth. “Suck,” he commands. And she does. She closes her eyes so she won’t have to see the people across the way in the office building. Or the people down below in the park. She closes her eyes and sucks on his fingers just as she’d sucked his thumb moments before. But this time there is no smile on her face. This time she’s a little frightened and a little ashamed, but it’s impossible to hide her arousal and excitement.

He withdraws the fingers from her mouth and runs his hands down her body, drifting between her tits, down the flesh of her belly, and finally to her cunt. His other arm wraps around her neck, holding her to him, his strong hand gripping her shoulder. She’s been holding her breath and his arm pressed into her chest forces a deep, sighing exhale from her body. She is subdued.

“Feet up on the window, slut. Spread your knees.” She obeys, placing the soles of her shoes on the window at waist height, spreading her knees wide and pressing her weight back against his body. Her cunt is open, clearly visible to anyone who happens to look up, but for the moment his large fingers shield her glistening folds from view. Slowly he begins to massage her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit, his fingertip resting against her dewy hole. Braced between the window and his strong chest, she feels oddly secure, as long as she doesn’t open her eyes. She leans back into his solid presence and focuses on the feeling blooming between her thighs.

His rhythmic pressure on her clit soothes her and soon she’s lulled into a sense of contentment. Her weight sags against him as she begins to drift away, falsely secure. Two fingers probe her roughly and he squeezes his palm against her clit, pushing it hard against the underlying bone. Her eyes pop open and instinctively she pushes against the glass with her feet and scratches at his sides, struggling to get away. He fights her easily and pushes her more deeply toward the window.

When she relents so does he, letting her assume a more comfortable position, but still with her feet on the window, knees and pussy spread. His two wet fingers tweak her clit, shooting electric jolts through her body. She sees his smile reflected in the glass and thinks her reaction pleases him. He responds with a more forceful assault on her erect clit. First slowly, then faster, his fingers circle, flick, and pinch her, pushing her ever closer to the brink of orgasm. She tries to hold back, the fear of being on display still fucking with her mind.

Twice he pushes her to the edge and then lets her back again. By the third time her eyes are closed, strands of hair plastered to her cheeks with perspiration, and her mouth is open and panting. She’s losing control and on the verge of falling apart. He ramps up the onslaught against her clit— pinching, pulling, pressing, rubbing—everything he can do to push her to the point of no return. The muscles of her thighs twitch; her control is all but gone. He slides those two fingers back into her gaping, aching cunt and seeks the spot behind her clit. He presses there as his thumb flicks across her swollen bud and feels the quick sudden spasms on his fingers. She wails as the heat spreads through her groin and the spasms come fast and hard. She thrashes but he won’t stop. She knew what was coming, and as much as her mind wills it stop, her body forces it to happen. She clenches and cries, but his fingers are too much for her and she feels the spray erupt from her body and splash hard against the window. Each hard spasm between her legs sends her gushing again, and the spray splashes back onto her each time it hits the glass. Her orgasm paints the window and he watches the rivulets drip down to the floor. He finally allows her to lower her legs, and as she does so, he pushes her body against the window, soaking her skin in her juices. He’s broken her and sent her to the place of pure animal desire.

“On your knees.” She begins to sink down. “Lick it,” he commands. She obeys, and as she lowers herself, she runs her tongue down the window, lapping her squirt from the glass as she goes down. She’s no longer conscious of the people across the way or down below. The unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room fail to penetrate her consciousness. Her hair is damp and tousled; melted eye makeup rings her eyes. She’s been transformed from a beautiful young woman to a filthy, used fuckdoll.

She’s a weakened mess, sitting back on her heels, shoulders sagging as she tries to catch her breath. Instead she’s dragged upright by the fist in her hair, and he tips her head back forcing her to look up at him. He twists the blindfold around her wrists and pushes her to kneel in front of him. “You know what’s next, fuckdoll.” She drops her eyes from his, down to the tie and collar open at his neck, and finally to the bulge inches from her face. The backdrop recedes completely and her tunnel vision focuses only on the solid outline of his cock, just as she’d imagined it earlier.

She pulls the cummerbund from his waist, opens the button of his pants, and slowly lowers the zipper. She’s oblivious to the window now, her profile and his on display. Pushing the fabric to the sides, she releases his thick cock. Her wet, soiled body is a sharp contrast to his fully clothed one. He still wears his tie, the black braces attached to his trousers, and the cufflinks at his wrists. She takes the hard, tight, shiny head between her lips, raising her eyes to his only briefly. She swirls her tongue around him, teasing his slit and pressing the head to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She previewed her best moves when his thumb invaded her mouth earlier in the evening.

Finding a rhythm, she slides her hot, wet mouth down his length. He grazes her soft palate with each stroke, eliciting that familiar tickle at the back of her throat. Hands tied, she can take him only so far with her mouth and she struggles. She wants to swallow him whole, feel his entire cock inside her. She pleads with her eyes, and a second later his fist is back in her hair, perspiration soaked strands tightly wound about his fingers. The pain of hair pulling forces tears to prickle in her eyes as he holds her head steady and thrusts into her throat. Her intuitive reaction is to fight and her throat tries to close against him. He breaks her resistance and breaches her gag reflex. His cock slides deeper into her mouth, her lips kissing the skin at the base.

He fucks into her mouth deeply and slowly, feeling her throat open and close around him. He watches the tears stream from her smiling eyes, her hair still wound tightly through his fingers, the taut strands painfully teasing her scalp. “Such a good little cocksucking slut,” he whispers, and he watches her nipples harden again as she processes the words. No matter how she thought this evening would turn out, she wants him more than anything at this moment. She’s wanted him like this since the first time they met. Really, since the first time they fucked outdoors by the river, before they even knew each other’s names.

He holds his cock in her throat, her lips tight around the base and barely thrusts into her mouth, pushing himself close to the edge of orgasm. As amazing as he feels filling her mouth, she knows it’s not what he wants. It’s not what she wants, either. With an anxious groan he pulls away from her lips and slips his hand out of her hair and down to the back of her neck. He squeezes slightly, signalling for her to stand. She unfolds herself, testing her weight on her tired and aching legs. Reaching around, he unbinds her and she shakes her arms, feeling the blood run back into her hands.

“Now, baby,” he says quietly. She looks at him expectantly and he barely nods an assent, his eyes softening for the first time since they entered the room. Slowly she pulls the unfurled black bowtie from his collar and slips the studs from his shirt. She slides the braces off his shoulders and removes each cufflink, setting everything on the night table behind him. She finally glances around the room, her surroundings failing to register until now. Two things capture her attention: the big white bed and the glassed-in shower and tub fully open to the room and to the window. This room was built for sexalicious exhibitionism, she thinks.

She pushes the shirt off his body and pulls the snow white t-shirt over his head. She rests her hands on his muscled chest and presses her nose to him for just a moment, inhaling his warm, musky scent. She slides her hands down to his waist and pushes his tight, thin trunks from his hips and they follow his pants to the floor. Fluidly she sinks down and removes his shoes and socks, carefully pulling each pant leg off to render him as nude as she is. He’s still beautiful and pristine, as perfectly groomed as he was hours ago when he donned the tuxedo.

Gently he pushes the dishevelled hair from her face, and runs a thumb over her red-stained lips. Again she sucks his thumb into her mouth and swirls her tongue around it, but this time the smile on her lips is echoed by her eyes. She reaches for his cock, still damp with her saliva and slides the tip through her dripping slit. That’s all she gets away with before he lifts her and slams her back to the window, covering her mouth. Instinctively she wraps her legs around his waist and buries his cock in her pussy, grinding her hips into him, rubbing her clit against him as each stroke drives more deeply into her.

She locks eyes with him as he fucks her hard against the wall of glass. She can’t moan, groan, or scream, but strangled whimpers escape through the seal of his palm. She craves him so desperately, and no squirting orgasm or crazed throat-fucking could compare with the sensation of her aching cunt stretched around him. She clenches him tightly, working over his length as he pumps into her. She feels the ridge of his head bump over her g-spot and grinds harder against him, anxious to come again.

He whispers in her ear, telling her what a good little slut she is, such a perfect little fuckdoll, how proud he is of her for going through with her fantasy.

They meet each other hard with their thrusts and the first tremble of her orgasm begins. She nods her head quickly, blue eyes wide and gleaming. The heat spreads out from behind her clit, deep into her pelvis and she involuntarily spasms around him. Pinning her to the glass with his cock, he presses his mouth hard against hers, the first kiss they’ve shared since crossing the threshold. He devours her, groaning into her mouth as he comes, her fingers softly cupping his balls, feeling each contraction pulse into her.

***
Hours later she wakes as daylight pierces the sheer curtains partially drawn over the windows. Bleary-eyed she surveys the damage. Her pillow is streaked with gray and pink, yesterday’s makeup smeared into the fabric. The formerly pristine windows are covered with smudges from where he used her against them. His clothing is piled on the floor near the window where she stripped him: black pants, white tux shirt, shiny dress shoes. The lacy confection of her beautiful dress is still in the perfect circle where it landed as she shimmied out of it, her white strappy heels kicked off near the bed.

A knock interrupts her reverie. She pulls a robe from the hook by the door and slips it on as she peers through the peephole. Room service. He must have ordered it. The young, vaguely sexy hipster sets the tray on the table, and she can’t help but notice his eyes wandering over the room. She cringes as his vision rests on the unmistakable body print on the window.

“Good morning, ma’am. I hope you’re enjoying your stay with us,” he whispers so as not to wake her husband.

She’s sure she sees a smirk on his lips as he presents her with the check to sign. She opens the folder and reviews the bill. The sumptuous breakfast laid out before her appears to be…free.

“I think there’s an error. You haven’t charged us,” she points out, suddenly conscious of the apparent state of her hair and face.

“It’s on the house, ma’am. A little wedding present for you both. We hope you enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.”

He takes the black folder from her hands, winks, and slips out the door.

The author:

Elisa Sharone’s super popular, super sexy, super secret sex blog has soaked hundreds of thousands of panties across the globe.  She’s wandering a new path, dipping into the deepest, darkest recesses of her imagination to bring readers brain-melting erotica that leaves them gasping for more.

 

The Masseuse

It happens like this:

Bodies beg for things that mouths don’t dare utter; she sees it all the time. She is here to touch, her desire arcifinious, boundaries firm. Mouth meets skin, and she inhales, slides, moves along him, hands, lips, tongue. She can feel his limbs tense and release, can taste the salt of his skin through the coconut, feels his near-silent pleading, and here finds herself–starved and half-mad from deprivation–wordlessly pleading back.

Her moans become unchoreographed, hips cadging for release. She says nothing, but he feels it anyway, turns before he should, his fingers pressing her flesh to purple. She fumbles at contrectation, fails, wants more. He is no longer silent, and neither is she, each playing at the pantomime of this-isn’t-why-we’re-here, each losing, falling out of character, forgetting their lines. His hands run up her body unrestrained, they render her barely lucid, impervious to reason, boundaries macerated in desire, and desire, and desire.

Reader, I fucked him.

The slip of lace that was a fence became a slip of latex that gave permission. There was no discussion; it was obvious. I closed my eyes. I watched in the mirror. Watched myself want something desperately enough to take it. Watched myself break step, not follow my own rules. But as I tensed and quickened, he took my face, told me to look at him, knew more than I was telling. Just for a moment. Just for the exactwrong moment, just before I closed my eyes, fell into myself, and came.

After, there was nothing to say, of course. We lay there in silence only as long as we felt was absolutely necessary before he showered, alone. He didn’t ask me to look at him again, and I didn’t. Didn’t ask questions. I didn’t either. My mouth was sated and uneager for babble.

I didn’t tell him he smelled like you.

The author:

Beatrice Darling is a sassmouth, recluse, bibliophage, and harlot. Occasionally, she blogs at littlemissobdurate.wordpress.com , and even more occasionally contributes for Tits and Sass. On Twitter as @missobdurate.

The Cutting Room Floor

Erotica isn’t always glamourous, nor should it be. Sometimes it’s in the here and now, in our daily mundane tasks. Now, I wouldn’t say that editing your own porn is necessarily unerotic, but it’s a big part of what we do, so the sheen of sensuality when I see our bodies writhing together onscreen as I pass by your computer with a cup of tea… Well, let’s just say that it happens enough that the skin can all blur together. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. We’d get nothing accomplished if every moment of the pornographic process whipped us into a frenzy.

That said, there are times when I’ll look over to see what you’re up to and a glint of some special spark between us will catch my eye. Maybe it’s a flick of my tongue or a flash in my eyes when I look up at you, but there’s that little something that piques my interest and I find myself turning around to face you, my legs ever so slightly parted, almost involuntarily. You have no idea, as you’re so focused on getting the right moments to sync up with the music, but my hands start to wander ever so slightly as I remember how I felt when we shot that scene.

My eyes close for a moment, focusing in on my sense memories… I’m able to feel the way the heat spread across my cheeks, flushing from arousal. I remember starting to feel slippery wet by the time you were fully hard. My legs squeezed together as I took you deep in my throat, feeling the way I swell at the sensation of your swelling. Your thickness expanding in my throat. The moment where I closed my eyes and my lips hit your pubic bone, knowing that you couldn’t possibly be any deeper… It’s a kind of perfect that comes not from practice or skill, but from the type of intimacy that shuts everything else out.

Opening my eyes, I see that you’re still there, clicking away and in your own world. Though I’m happy to see you so involved and into your work, gone is the time for passivity. I find myself slinking out of my chair, crawling over to you and snaking my hands up your legs. Your surprise isn’t feigned, but it isn’t one of shock either. You know I love a good blowjob. As I take down your pants and my lips start to explore the crease where your leg meets your balls, you’re already starting to wriggle for me. I love seeing that you’re already fairly hard… Even in the intense focus of editing, you can’t help but recall your own sensations.

My lips part, sucking you down deep, but I have no need to think about the angle or my hair falling in my face. Sometimes it’s nice to not have any cameras trained on us, just in the moment. This one is just between you and me and the cutting room floor.

The author:

My name is Camille Crimson and I’m a full time erotic model and webmaster. I make a living from my websites, called The Art of Blowjob and Slow Motion Blowjob. I spend my days doing gorgeous, entertaining and arousing photo and video shoots and talking with all the people who believe in beautiful porn. Basically, I deal with the subversive yet natural subject that we all love: sex. As you have probably noticed, I’m a pretty pale redhead with big green eyes and a penchant for giving blow jobs and lingerie. I’m a lot more than that, though…