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.