New Year’s Eve

After dessert – a decadent raspberry custard topped with chocolate ganache and served with port – Cal handed over a small, meticulously-wrapped box, which he seemed to pull out of thin air.  Maybe it was the intoxicating effects of the port, the strength of which still lingered on hir tongue.  Les accepted it with both hands, wondering where Cal had found the paper containing real leaves and the ribbon which felt like velvet.  Sie looked at it carefully, turning it over in hir small hands, marveling at the care that had gone into it.  Cal’s eyes twinkled.  “Open it,” he eagerly instructed.

Sie peeled the tape off, careful not to rip the paper, and took off the lid, lifting layers of multi-colored tissue paper away from the interior to reveal a handful of small, plain, white envelopes containing what felt like cards.  Each one of the twelve had a single word printed on the cover: the first said January.  “What are these?” sie asked, delighted at the attention to detail, the smooth surface and crisp corners of the envelopes.

“Each month, you get one card with an instruction on it.  You have one month to carry out the order; if you succeed, you receive a reward.  If not, a punishment.  That simple.”  Les’s eyes widened and the corners of hir mouth drew up slowly as sie started to think about all the possibilities.  Knowing Cal, there would be nothing simple about this – it would be challenging, but exhilarating.

“Put them away for now,” he said, standing up and walking around to help Les with hir coat.  Hir face formed a momentary frown, at which he laughed.  “My darling,” he said, “January first is but an hour away, and the clock is ticking.  I believe we have an engagement to be at.  You owe me a dance and a midnight kiss.”  Sie smiled and slipped hir arm into the sleeves before putting one through Cal’s arm.  They strolled out into the cold air, still glowing from each other’s company, and held tight to each other as they walked to a friend’s party.

They danced to song after song, alternating the lead to songs that would always remind hir of New York – Gershwin, Porter, Berlin.  At midnight, showered in vibrant confetti, they kissed each other, relishing the pressure and taste of each other’s lips.  Sie trailed hir lips to his ear, and whispered, “I can’t wait.  Can I open the first one now?”  “You’re so impatient!” he chided playfully.  “But yes, of course you can.”

Sie ran over to their coats in staccato steps, digging the box out of hir deep coat pocket, and gingerly took out the first envelope.  Sie slid a finger underneath the flap and pulled out a small white card containing the following sentences:

Put the Njoy plug in first thing when you wake up in the morning.  Keep it there all day and come to my office five minutes before I get off work.  I will leave my office each day at 4:53 exactly.  When I arrive back to my office at 4:55 one day in January, you will be there, hands on my desk, wearing nothing from the waist down except that plug, waiting for me.

Les’s heart stopped at the idea of being semi-nude in Cal’s office.  Sie knew his coworkers; they often had happy hour cocktails together.  What if someone else came in?  What if the timing was off?  What if…?  Cal looked closely at her expression, wondering momentarily if he’d made a mistake – but then he saw the fear in hir eyes replaced with lust, and an unmistakable blush spread across hir face.  What if he spanks me? Sie thought.  What if he replaces that plug with his fingers?  Sie quickly thought about the heft of the metal plug and how it would feel inside of hir for an entire day.  What if he demands I get under the desk and lick his cock from base to tip, over and over, until he’s shivering?  Sie closed her eyes dreamily and thought about the potential.  Cal leaned in and brushed his lips against hirs.  “This is just the beginning,” he said, almost inaudible against the chorus of Auld Lang Syne.  “I started with an easy one.”  He slid his hand around hir waist and up hir back in a reassuring way; they spent the next few minutes in silence, both contemplating their adventures ahead and feeling no need to make resolutions.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Winter Wonderland

Alex pushed her front door open, the cold air blowing porch snow in around her ankles.  She banged her Docs against the step to knock the packed snow out of her boots and hurried inside; Jen followed close behind her, wrapping her arms around her lover’s waist.  They were flushed from one too many cocktails, from stumbling home over half-shoveled sidewalks, from the conversation they’d had on the way.

It was Jen who’d seen her first.  Who had watched her, gliding like an angel toward a pool table, the yellow bar lights swimming around her closely-cropped honey hair adding to the effect.  She stared at the woman’s shoulders, pulled back in confidence – her smile, gleaming and glorious – the ease with which she pushed the cue stick through her hooked index finger as she bent over the green felt, a bit of cleavage poking out of a tight white button-down shirt.  After a minute of trying to get Jen’s attention and being unsuccessful, Alex had followed her gaze over to the beautiful stranger, now shaking hands with the loser of the game.  She leaned into Jen’s ear and whispered, “She’s a looker, huh?”  Jen, still in her reverie, just replied with an “Mmm.”  Their stare lingered a minute longer before Alex said, “Babe? She’s fine as hell, but now we’re just being creepy.”  That was enough to get Jen to laugh and break the spell.  Jen turned toward Alex, cupped her face, and kissed her full on the lips, trailing a hand down between Alex’s breasts.  “Let’s go home,” she said.

On the walk home, past lit-up duplexes and technically-illegal-but-still-used parking chairs, Jen dropped the question into the snowy silence around them: “So hey, babe.  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a threesome?  I mean… just wondered, you know?” Alex smiled.  “You mean with someone like the woman you were just stalking?” she asked.  “Well – yeah,” replied Jen.  “I mean, she was hot, right?  What would you think about bringing someone else in just for a night?  Just to see what it was like?”  “I think that I’d like to think about it,” replied Alex.  “For now, let’s just focus on getting home!”  The wind swirled and howled around them, flinging flurries this way and that.  They quickened their pace.

Once they were in, coats, hats, mittens, and scarves lying on a pile on the couch, Alex turned on her electric fireplace; they put a few blankets and pillows on the floor and lay down in front of it, snuggling close together to get warm.  After a couple of minutes of staring into the electric blaze, Alex brought up their prior conversation.  “So – if we were to have this hypothetical threesome, what would you want it to look like?”  Jen felt her pulse quicken and her cunt warm.  She turned to look at Alex.  “You mean, what would I want to happen?”  “Yeah,” replied Al.  “What would you want to do with her?  With me?  Would you want to watch, or be watched?  How involved would you want her to be?”

“Hypothetically?” Jen asked.  Alex nodded.  “I’d want you to direct the scene.  I’d want to start out with the two of you taking my clothes off, then you telling her what you want to see.”  “And what do I want to see?” Alex asked with a mischievous grin.  “You want to see her warm me up.  You want to see her lap at my nipples until I’m begging to have the rest of my body touched.  You want to see her caress my inner thighs, teasing me until there’s a stream of fluid running down my pussy because I’m so turned on.  You want to see her graze my outer labia, making my heart pound, and then lick my clit just once so I’m trembling all over – and then you kiss her so you can taste me on her tongue.”   

“Like this?” Alex asked, pulling Jen’s leggings and boy shorts down, spreading her legs just enough, and lapping once over the inside of Jen’s labia and up over her clit before kissing her.  She loved the lemondrop taste of Jen’s cunt.  Jen closed her eyes and breathed shallow breaths, letting her body take over.  She continued talking as Alex continued to taste her: “You lick me slowly and steadily until I come in your mouth, and then you tell her that I’m hers to fuck; she leaves on a tank top, her nipples hard underneath it, and puts on a leather-harnessed strap-on.  She puts a pillow under my ass and works her cock inside of me, rhythmically pumping; while she’s doing that, you hover over me, kissing her.  Long kisses.  I struggle to crane my neck up enough to run my tongue along you, but you… won…” Jen gasped, groaned, bucked her hips up to Alex’s waiting mouth, and finished – “’t let me.”  She collapsed, hoarse moans escaping her.  “I can feel the heat of your cunt on my face; I can’t reach it with my mouth, so I slide one finger inside, then two.  I run them along my lips, making them sticky with your juices, and suck them clean.  You stand up while I’m shuddering from being fucked and walk around to the back of her, sliding one hand up the front of her shirt to gently pinch her nipple and massage her vulva with the other hand until she’s too close to coming to keep fucking me.”

“Then what?” Alex asked, now sliding her fingers in and out of Jen’s cunt, curving her hand so that her heel would rub against Jen’s clit.  “I told you -” said Jen, a dreamy smile on her face – “you’re directing the scene.”  Alex leaned in and kissed her before whispering, “But you’re the one with the imagination.  Babe, you have the sexiest brain of any girl I know.”  “Thanks, love,” she replied, pulling in Alex for another kiss.  “Let’s talk more realistically about this when we’re sober; for now, I just want to feel you all over me.” “Done,” said Al, pressing her whole weight into Jen, hot now under the blazing light of the fire.

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

Inspired by the following lyrics from “Winter Wonderland” (which I know isn’t technically a carol, but it popped into my head!):

Later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire

To face unafraid the plans that we made,

Walking in a winter wonderland

Switch

I like scenes like this: First, I’m told that (s)he knows I have done something wrong; my behavior necessitates some kind of reprimand.  But (s)he understands – we all make mistakes.  Maybe there’s something I can do to help sweep this situation under the rug.  Mum’s the word.

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I’m smarter than (s)he bargained for, however; I’ve got dirt, too.  After relishing every sting and burn of my supposed punishment, I turn the tables.  I, too, have a strong hand and a desire to play.

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I don’t think we’re quite finished here, I say, and smile.  It’s going to be a while.

Sinful Sunday

Bedtime Stories (NSFR)

Wait, I say to him before we get off the phone.  I want him to read me a bedtime story.  He stoically tells me that it’s 10:00 am.  Not where I am, I remind him.  I tell him I’ll be restless without it.  That I won’t be able to sleep.  That I’ll be tossing and turning all night long when I could be dreaming of him.  He grudgingly gives in, searching for a good piece of erotica on his computer while I turn off the lights, climb my stairs, and slink into bed, the bright light of my phone pressed to my ear.

How about a gangbang story? he asks.  I smile; that’s exactly what I would have chosen.  As he starts to read, his voice deep and reassuring in my ear, I close my eyes and imagine the scene unfolding before me, vivid images floating behind the dark half-moons of my eyelids.  Hands and mouths everywhere, greedy, grasping, searching.  Every glorious orifice being used to its full potential, undulations of bodies and pleasure.  My right hand slides into my pajama bottoms, underneath my cotton panties as he continues to read; I find my labia already slick and slippery.

I’m not prepared for how fast I come.  Before I can take any clothes off, before I can pull a breast out to graze one of my nipples with a wet finger, without tensing into it like normal, I suddenly come hard at the thought of several strangers using me, not ever knowing who they are, a dozen hands groping me at once.  Fingers in my mouth, a fist around my hair, nails dug into my haunches, gripping me backward.  I cry out, my body convulsing, and continue to moan; he stops reading.

“I wasn’t done,” he says.  I am.  I tell him to keep reading to me.  I lay still in bed, my panties and thighs soaked, breathing deeply and evenly as I imagine him next to me, whispering the story into my ear in the dark.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Ambrosia

Photo from http://www.wisconsinhistory.org
 
For the third day in a row now, Mari could feel eyes caressing her back as she unlocked the door to her office at Ambrosia.  She’d only started there a week before; she assumed it would be like her previous HR jobs, but it was so much better.  She remembered being a child and smelling the chocolate factory from her school bus as it rumbled through freeway traffic every morning; now she inhaled deeply, turning the key in the lock, and paused for a minute to feel it course through her before briefly turning back to see if she would catch someone looking at her through the glass that separated office workers from the factory floor.  All the machine operators and assemblers, however, had their eyes down or forward, making sure everything continued to move smoothly along conveyor belts and into boxes. 

By lunchtime, she was starving.  Walking past the other offices on her way to the parking lot, she looked over the factory floor to her right and noticed a woman she hadn’t seen before writing on a clipboard nailed to a post.  The woman was tall and muscular – or at least she looked so in her white coat – and suddenly she looked Mari directly in the eye and smiled, tilting her head a bit.  It was a genuine smile, full of curiosity; Mari could make out bundles of black hair under the woman’s hair net.  She wondered briefly what it would be like to take the hair net off and run her fingers through the woman’s silky hair; the invasive thought caught her off guard, and she tripped over a snag in the hallway carpet.  Collecting her purse and shaken, she looked again for the mysterious woman, who had turned around and started moving a machine behind her.  Mari blushed and hurried on her way, holding her purse tight and her breath tighter, her heels soundless on the carpet. 

She lay in bed later that night, thinking again of the amazon.  Imagining her strong arms (god she looked so strong) picking her up so that Mari’s thighs gripped her obliques and placing her on the small desk in her office, deftly working one hand up Mari’s thigh and snaking her fingers under Mari’s panties and into her wet cunt, the other hand pulling one of Mari’s small breasts out of her camisole so she could slip the taut nipple into her mouth, her long black hair falling in waves over Mari’s face.  Her hair that smelled like chocolate.  Her breath that smelled like chocolate twirling up through Mari’s nostrils as she leaned in to kiss Mari with full lips, making her moan from her diaphragm.  She rubbed her clit in circles, coming in undulations as she felt the woman’s tongue and fingers and body weight. 

She came in early the next morning, wearing a red blouse and a bit of blush, which she never wore to work.  Shortly after arriving, there was a knock on her door; “Come in,” she said, staring at the green and black computer screen in front of her.  “I hope I’m not bothering you,” a husky voice said from the door frame.  She didn’t need to look up to know.  Her heart felt like the Kool-Aid man bursting through a wall; she swallowed and lifted her eyes.  “I wanted to introduce myself,” said the woman, confident and direct.  “I’m the forewoman on the floor; I thought it would help to know someone’s name in case you needed to talk to anyone here about paperwork or other unresolved issues.”  She strode in, took the latex glove off her right hand, and extended it to Mari, sliding it perfectly into Mari’s small hand, her skin smooth.  Her skin that smelled like chocolate.  She held Mari’s hand in hers for longer than necessary, her eyes searching for Mari’s and her hand making promises.  “I’m Tanya,” she said with her beautiful lips, Mari barely hearing the words, seeing in her mind her own hands on Tanya’s face and Tanya’s lips on the nape of her neck.  She felt warm and full as she made it through the words “It’s nice to meet you, Tanya – I’m Mari.”  Words like peanut butter in her mouth. 

“Let me know if you have any questions,” said Tanya, again with her engaging smile.  “You know where to find me, I believe.”  She strode out, but not before turning to say, “And by the way – you look great today.”  Cocoons opened throughout Mari’s body as she held her balance against the swivel chair behind her.  Yes.  This was so much better. 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

As an aside, the Ambrosia chocolate factory is a real place; Jeffrey Dahmer worked there while he was mid-killing spree.  He lived eight blocks away from my elementary school while I was a student there – I remember his trial well because it was the biggest local news story for months.  

Question Mark

So I have this friend who inspires incredibly intense domination fantasies in my head.  What’s strange about this is that with this particular person, I’m the dominant in my fantasies – 95% of the time, it’s the other way around.  I am undoubtedly a bottom.  Not entirely submissive (though I thoroughly enjoy taking orders from the right person), not quite a masochist (though I do tremble with pleasure at a moderate amount of pain and can really get into sub space when I’m high on pain endorphins), but absolutely a bottom.  I can take control during play and sex, and I enjoy doing so once in a while, but it’s not my default and it’s certainly not what I fantasize about.

Which is why I find it so fascinating that I want to slap this guy so forcefully that it makes him crumble.  I want to pull his hair, tie his hands to the ceiling, and flog him so hard that he bleeds.  I want to spit in his mouth and verbally humiliate him.  I want to stick my boot heel into his mouth and tell him to lick it clean.  I want to tie up his cock and balls with a pretty pink bow, whisper dirty things into his ear, dance my fingers all over his body, and get him all riled up — but never let him come.  I want him to beg for more.  

I have no desire to hurt this guy, nor do I harbor any bad feelings toward him — in fact, he’s one of my closest friends, and I love him dearly.  There’s just this super subby energy that radiates out of him that makes me want to lean in close, barely graze his earlobe with my lips, and whisper, “Get on your fucking knees before I make you.” 

Hmmmm.    

Sauna (NSFR)

I was sitting in a wet sauna in Seoul last weekend; since I was alone in the room, I thought I’d lay down and stretch out on my back on the wooden bench I was sitting on.  After a few minutes, I noticed that my mind was racing with intrusive thoughts of my plans for the evening, what I had to do when I got home, etc.  As I was there to relax, I thought I’d take a Buddhist-style step back for a moment and just try to empty my mind and notice the feelings in my body.  I noticed tingling in my legs where I had just been sitting; I felt the wooden slats underneath my back.  I noticed the heat washing over me and my breaths getting shallower.  I remembered Death Valley and thought about how much I love the desert.  I looked at my body underneath the bare yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling; stretching my arms behind my head and arching my back, I saw tiny beads of sweat popping up all over my breasts, then raised my knees to see the sweat all over my body.  And suddenly, I was flooded with a desperate desire to fuck myself.  Not as in masturbate, but as in I wish I could split myself in two and simultaneously be an out of body male-bodied version of myself but also be myself in my own body and fuck myself on the wooden bench in the Itaewonland sauna.  Am I the only one who’s had this fantasy?  If this hasn’t already happened in some sci-fi or fantasy story, I hope one of you gets on that.       

Spectaclephilia?

As we were on our way into a bar last night, an acquaintance of mine told me that he’d fulfilled a fantasy that he had long had; he said he would normally never tell anyone something like this, “but this is just the kind of relationship” we (he and I) have.  He went on to tell me that he had recently bought his girlfriend a beautiful, brand-new pair of prescription glasses, and then put them on her face and came allllll over them.

I am so glad that even though I sometimes share too much, I inspire others to tell me their dirty secrets.

Also, glasses are fucking hot.