Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I am a big fan of cock sucking, preferably bio-cock, but I’m not picky. There’s just something about the activity that makes me profoundly happy. I enjoy being able to focus intently on my partner’s pleasure. Plus, cock sucking is a really excellent activity with which to explore power dynamics.

The thing about cock sucking is that the power dynamics are obvious - except that they aren’t. I know people for whom sucking cock is an incredibly dominant activity. They take a man into their mouth, and they take him into their control. I know people for whom it is power-neutral, just another way to show affection or lust. For me, however, it’s usually a intensely submissive experience.

I like to be on my knees, my partner’s fist in my hair controlling my head as he fucks my face, giving me no time to breathe or swallow. There is a delicious sense of degradation to pleasuring someone so intensely that drool runs down your face and you are forced to embrace the lack of dignity if you want to go on. It’s insanely hot to have your mouth - the organ that transmits your words, speaks the speech that gives you power - treated as just another hole to fill and fuck.

I like to crawl on my hands and knees to my partner’s side and take the time to cherish him. I rub my cheek against the soft skin of his cock, like a cat claiming her human, and kiss him from head to toe. I think of worshiping his cock. It feels almost like a form of prayer to to relax and focus on slowly taking him as deeply into my throat as I can manage and hold him there. It becomes, at times, less about simply giving him physical pleasure and more about showing him how much I want to give.

I like to lie on my side, after my partner has come, and keep him in my mouth, inhaling the scent of his arousal as we both slowly begin to relax. Sometimes I imagine falling asleep that way*, content in my service and submission, before I release him with a sigh.

–
*_{A terrible idea in reality, but awfully nice to think about.}

In celebration of reaching my 100,000th page view, I decided to write some porn.  Then, when I got halfway through writing it I got distracted and had to write a different story instead.  It only makes sense, I suppose. One story for 50,000 views, two for 100,000. I’m not sure where all of you came from, but thanks for reading.  My second thank you will probably be up sometime later this week.

–

He enjoys the fact that I can’t get enough of his body.

Whenever we’re alone together, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off of him. I am constantly restraining the desire to ask him to fuck me or beg to suck his cock.

It’s hard to be near him without thinking of sex, without thinking of his hands hurting me, his teeth on my throat, his cock inside me.

It makes it difficult to go on more traditional “dates.”

Still, I can control myself. I can be calm, relaxed. I can sit across from him with my back straight and my eyes open and have a conversation about the weather or about the current economic crisis. I can talk to him without staring improperly at his hands or his lips and imagining them on me.

I can be good.

Except when I can’t.

He asked me to dinner. Just the two of us. Someplace where we’d both have to dress like adults. Someplace where I’d have to behave – quiet voice, still hands, innocent gaze.

I thought it sounded nice. We could act like grownups. We could, possibly, even have a conversation that didn’t include any discussion about how much I wanted his cock shoved down my throat or how I was imagining what it would feel like for him to beat me until I cry. It would be interesting. An experiment. I agreed.

That night, when he picked me up at my apartment, he looked at the knee length dress I was wearing and said “Are you wearing underwear with that? You really don’t have to. In fact. I don’t think you should.” Then he sent me off to change.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

Just taking off my underwear made me hot. The thought of going out, naked under my dress, made me want to get down on my knees and beg to take his cock in my mouth. It made me want to beg him to fuck me just to take the edge off. I was soaking wet by the time I made it back to the living room.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “that this is a good idea.”

“What, going to dinner?” he responded.

“Going to dinner, without underwear, when all I can think of is your cock. I don’t suppose there’s time for you to fuck me first? Otherwise I’m going to spend the entire night running to the bathroom and worrying about dripping on the seat.”

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You want me to bend you over the couch right now and take you like the slut you are before whisking you off to dinner? You want me pull your dress up over your head, smack your ass until it’s bright red and then shove myself inside you until you scream?”

“Yes, please sir, yes,” I begged, my hands going to the front of his pants and my lips to the base of his throat.

“No” he said pleasantly, taking my hands from his zipper, and wrapping them around his neck. He kissed me and finished, “you’re just going to have to wait.”

“You, sir, are an evil son of a bitch.” I responded.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why you like me.”

I went to put on my coat when he called me back.

“Oh wait,” he said, “I forgot something,” and he pulled a remote control vibrating egg out of his pocket, bent me over the edge of the sofa, and unceremoniously shoved it deep inside my cunt. “Don’t lose that during dinner,” he continued, and then wiped his fingers on a tissue he pulled from his pocket and turned and walked out the door.

I was cursing when I caught up to him, and muttered nasty things under my breath all the way to the car.

As we reached its doors, he grabbed me by the hair and shoved me up against the side of the vehicle making my eyes go glassy and my head go light. “You should be quiet now,” he said firmly. “We’re going to have a nice dinner, and no one is going to know that anything whatsoever is going on.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied meekly, and that’s what we did.

We had a lovely dinner.

The food was amazing. The conversation was not, since every time I’d get distracted enough from the awkwardness of my situation to try and talk about something other than the weather he’d turn the egg on and force me to spend all my attention on trying not to squirm.

Then there were the innuendos.

I won’t repeat them.

I will simply say that, to an outsider, nothing about our conversation would have been in the least remarkable, but to me every other word was complete torture.

I must have excused myself to run to the ladies room at least 15 times.

The waiter probably thought I was on drugs.

At last, it was the end of the meal. When the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I don’t think I’ve ever said “no” quickly in my life.

He flicked the vibrator to on and asked for a dessert menu.

I crossed my legs tighter to keep from squirming, bit my tongue to keep from cursing, and simply said, “Please.”

He asked for the check.

I pulled on the coat I’d been sitting on all night (I get quite chilly, I’d said) and followed him to the car.

“How are you doing?” he asked, as we pulled out of the parking lot and started to head back home.

“With all due respect, sir, if you do not find a secluded spot, pull over this car, and fuck me mercilessly, I may never speak to you again.”

“Is that any way for a proper young lady to act? I just took you out for a nice dinner,” he said. “You should thank me, or at least ask nicely”

“You want me to ask nicely?!?!” I raised my eyebrow at him.

“Well that is how good girls get what they want.” Stopping the car at a light, he turned to look at me and said in the voice that always  sends shivers down my spine, “Besides, you know I like it when you say please.”

“Please, sir, will you please pull this car over and let me have your cock?” I begged, “Will you please use me, sir? I don’t care how, I just want your cock inside me, and I don’t want to wait any longer.” He flipped the vibrator on and turned his head to the front as the light changed to green. “Please, sir. Please fuck me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just use me. Please, sir. Whatever you want. Anything you want. Just please give me what I need.”

“As soon as we get home,” he said, not even turning to look at me,  “I’m going to shove my cock down your throat and then take you so hard you beg me to stop. Until then, however, you’re just going to have to wait.”

So I did.

And he did.

It was a very nice dinner.

(A long overdue distraction.)

“Does it bother you,” I asked as I took off my clothes, “that I’m just using you for sex?”

“Not particularly,” he smirked, “although I rather think it’s more a matter of me using you.”

“Potato, potahto. ” I folded my clothes and put them on the chair by the bed, “Because for me it’s all about…”

He smacked me hard across the face, making me gasp and then grit my teeth to finish the sentence, “getting exactly what I want.”

I gathered myself together, looked him straight in the eye, and challenged him, “Do it again.”

“You’re in a mood today,” he told me, a glint in his eye, as he ran his fingers across my jaw line, the touch making me press my cheek against his hand.

“Me?” I quipped, “In a mood?”

He raised an eyebrow and smacked me again gently, fisting his other hand in my hair to keep my head still.

“Mmm.” I purred happily, holding his eyes with mine. “No, if I were in a _mood_ I’d say that you hit like a girl.”

“Really?” he asked tapping his fingers against my slowly reddening cheek, “That’s really what you’d say?”

He backed me up until I was against the bed, and then pushed me down onto it and climbed up so that he was kneeling above me.

“How about this, then,” I asked, feeling my eyes going dark and the space between my legs growing wet. “Do it again, please. Harder.”

“Well…” His eyes began to gleam, “if you’re going to ask so nicely,” and he smacked me again.

“That’s what I like about you,” I said, breathing harder. “You’re so obliging.”

He fisted his hands harder in my hair, pulling my head back and making me close my eyes and gasp.

“You say the nicest things,” he said, and as he his hands from my hair I heard the sound of a zipper opening and felt his weight leave me as he removed his pants. “Now let’s see what else you can do with that mouth of yours.”

It was an awkward angle for cock sucking, but you can do anything if you’re motivated, and I certainly was, both by my own desires and by his hands at the back of my head moving me into position or holding me still so that he could fuck my throat.

I love sucking cock. It’s so delightfully undignified, and I gasped and choked on my own saliva as he used my mouth the way he wanted to, moaning my own desire around him.

When he pulled out of my mouth I made a sad little sound of disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked, pushing me back down when I tried to sit up and follow him.

I whimpered up at him wordlessly, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be answering, but as usual having sex with him had turned me into a puddle of incoherent need.

“Disappointed, are you?” he asked, his hand traveling down by body to grab between my legs and make me simultaneously scream and moan. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

I shook my head, hard, in negation, and said quietly, “Please.”

“Please what?” he said, his hand alternating between causing me pleasure and pain.

“Please fuck me,” I writhed under him.

“Beg,” he demanded as he positioned himself above me and waited.

“Please.” I whimpered, “Please fuck me. Please use me. I love the way you fuck me. Please. Please. I want you inside me, please,” and I gasped as he finally, slowly pushed himself in.

It felt incredible. It always feels incredible, and then he found the angle that pushes him deep against my cervix and makes me writhe in pain.

“Oh god,” I whimpered, as he did it again, simultaneously loving it and wanting to push him away, holding his arms as though I could somehow keep him from hurting me so deeply inside but at the same time not wanting him to stop.

“Yes,” I gasped.

I forced myself to open my eyes and give him both my pain and my desire. It was hard to keep from closing them, but I love the look in his eyes when he hurts me. The fact that it’s a turn on to him to make me ache, make me scream, is insanely erotic. I often feel somewhat selfish as a submissive, and a masochist, just wanting to be hurt and used, so to see in someone’s eyes that hurting me works for them is a powerful drug.

He put his hand over my nose and mouth and took away my air as he continued to push himself inside of me. As always, the action made me go completely still – a combination of fear and submission, my body’s way of saying “Yes. Anything. You have the power over me. Show me. Use me,” and the focus it gave me was incredible. For long seconds, my world was nothing but fear, sex, and the look in his eyes that said he knew exactly how much power he had over me and how much he wanted to use it, nothing but long moments of sensation and terror and wondering if I’d tap out or surrender to my desire to let him do whatever he wanted, even unto insanity.

I tapped out, and gasped for air as he continued to fuck me. It was still so good, but I wanted that look back, that feeling of utter and complete control. I wanted him to fuck me the way he wanted to, and not care about me as anything other than a vehicle for his pleasure, a toy to be used exactly the way he wished. I wanted to give him everything that he wanted and keep nothing for myself. I wanted to put my life in his hands*.

Finally, as I stopped gulping in oxygen as though it were water, I looked him in the eyes and in terror and acceptance told him, “Do it again,” and he came inside me just as I was reaching the point where I had to decide whether to give up or let go. He held his hand there for a few seconds more, reveling in the moment of pure power, before collapsing down on top of me and letting me breathe.

I lay underneath him and made happily burbling noises until my brain slowly began to function again.

“You were right.” I said, as he snuggled me closer.

“Hmm?” he replied.

“It should have been , ‘do you mind that I’m using you to use me for sex?’” I mumbled contentedly and then, after he stopped biting me as silent commentary, slowly drifted off to sleep.

–

_{* I must admit I creep myself out writing stuff like this, but there’s an edge there that is both terrifying and intoxicating. It’s the control, and the feeling that both of us wonder, just a little bit, about taking it too far. I have these fantasies about being fucked with a blade to my throat, by someone who’s as into knives as I am, and I think about walking that line. I think about what it would feel like if the control slipped, and then I have to slip off to my room to touch myself with cold steel and hot thoughts of blood, danger, and sex.}

_{(Part III, Part II, Part I)}

I find that sex is improved by being tied up and blindfolded, but I suspect that the way he fucked me would have been mind-blowing regardless.

It was just so thorough.

He moved and shifted inside me to see what would elicit the most profound reaction until I came just from the penetration. Then he grabbed my hips, found his angle, and fucked me until he claimed his own release.

I would have been happy to stop there, with him lying spent on top of me, but when he pulled out I whimpered and he laughed.

“Not done yet, are you? I was so looking forward to filling you with my toys.”

“I’m not sure…” I responded, hesitantly.

He leaned over me, fisted his hands in my hair, and whispered into my ear, “Just think about it. Think about them violating you. Imagine how it will feel when your fantasy comes true. Tentacles raping every one of your holes. Think about how horrible it’s going to be.” He paused as I moved underneath him and grabbed my hair harder to growl, “Think about how much you’re going to like it.”

“Now,” he continued, “I can stop right now and you can spend the rest of your life wondering what you missed, or you can let the monsters in. You can experience everything that makes you so wet when you sit at home reading stories on your computer: tentacles lashing your breasts, fucking your throat, your cunt, and your ass; being nothing more than a vehicle for some thing’s pleasure.  You can feel what it’s like to be not even a toy for a human, but a victim of the other…. or you can go home.  Do you want me to violate you? Is that what you want?”

I nodded.

“Out loud. You tell me out loud. Do you want me to use you or do you want me to stop.”

I shook my head and muttered incomprehensibly for a few minutes until I could force the words out. “Don’t stop.”

“What was that?”

“Please. I want it,” my voice was more certain. “Don’t stop.”

“Very well.” He stepped away from the bed, and I heard him rummaging through a drawer. When he came back he threw the tails of a whip across my breasts and I gasped.

“Yes?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Good,” he said, and proceeded to beat my breasts. He never hit hard enough to cause damage, but after a few minutes with the whip, even the slightest touch against my skin made me quiver. Then, when my breasts felt warm all over, I felt him pinch the skin and place the first clothespin.

“All those tentacle monsters in the films use their suckers on women’s breasts to cover them with welts and marks. I don’t have suckers. I do have these.” As he talked he continued pinching and clamping and pinching and clamping until my breasts were covered with clothespins with an additional one on each nipple.

When he could find no more skin that was loose enough for his clamps, he ran his hands over them to make me move and then stepped back. “Do you have any thing you want to say to me before I continue?”

I shook my head.

“Then open wide,” he said, and introduced the first of the snakes into my mouth.

It was firm and long, and I sucked it like it was the cock I wished it was, as he advanced it towards my throat. He pushed in further and further until I gagged, and then drew back just enough to let me breathe.

Pausing just long enough to play with the clothespins and reawaken the pain they were causing, he moved down between my legs and the next thing I felt was something hard and wet pressing against my ass.

I reflectively clenched my muscles, and he slapped my thigh and said “Don’t make this harder on yourself. I will get all of these inside you… Whether you like it or not.”

As I forced myself to relax, he slowly worked the snake into my ass. It felt like it went frighteningly deep inside me, and it seemed to squirm as he pushed it in until he reached a place that seemed to satisfy him and stopped.

“You should see yourself right now,” he said, playing with the two tentacles that impaled me, one from each end, and making them twist inside me “All open and wanton. Just a slut full of holes to be filled.”

I moaned again around the snake in my mouth. The sensations were incredible, and I couldn’t wait to feel what he would do next.

“You’re so wet right now, little whore. You’re dripping on my bed,” he took his hands off the snakes and grabbed the front of my pubis in his fist, grinding his palm against my clit to make me move. “You want more, don’t you. You want that final penetration.” He squeezed harder. “Well you’re going to get more than you bargained for.”

I felt something at the entrance to my cunt, and it was another snake, working its way inside. It was hard, and as he moved it in and out, I could feel it rubbing up against the snake that was already in my ass. I flinched as the head pushed up against my cervix and he stopped and backed away.

A moment later, I heard the whine of a motor starting and then all three snakes began to move in sinuous circling motions inside of me. They didn’t go deeper, they just twisteded inside me and made me writhe around them.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he said from somewhere near the bed. “I could watch that for hours. I love thinking about what they’re doing inside you… making you gag, rubbing you raw.” He put a cold metal object  in my right hand, “When it’s too much for you, ring that bell to make it stop. If you can hold out long enough for the sight of you being violated by my mechanical beast to make me ready again, I’ll fuck you one more time before you leave. If you can’t… when you ring that bell you can get up and go.”

The sensations were amazing, at first. The feeling of being fucked, and used, so mercilessly was overwhelming. But over time, I had no idea how much time, overwhelming started to become a literal truth. I wanted to hold out as long as I could. I tried. I let the snakes in my ass, my mouth, and my cunt fuck me raw, taking me from pleasure to pain until I just couldn’t stand it any longer.

Then I rang the bell.

The motor stopped.

One by one he removed the clothespins, and the pain from the blood returning to the long abandoned skin made me whimper and clench around the alien invaders that still filled me beyond all expectation.

The first snake was removed from my mouth and I swallowed and gasped for air.

The second snake was worked slowly from my ass and I shuddered around the sudden emptiness.

The final snake he pulled quickly from my cunt, and I gave in and screamed.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking his hands gently across my skin. “Very good girl. I had a very good time watching you submit to your own violation, and I am quite happy to say that you lasted long enough that you can have your reward.”

I whimpered as he slipped his well lubed cock back inside me and began to fuck me gently. Still, despite his care, every movement caused equal parts arousal and pain.

I started crying as he fucked me, and he asked me if I wanted him to stop.

“No,” I said, “Please. Hurt me with your cock. Fuck me how you want to.  Please.  Come inside me again. Use me for your pleasure. Take advantage of my pain.”

“Oh yes,” he said, and continued to move, thrusting deeper on each stroke. Every time he pushed inside me I whimpered harder until finally he came.

When he pulled out, I was shaking, and he untied each of my limbs and snuggled me close into his chest. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, drawing me closer.

I shook my head.

“Do you want to talk?”

I shook my head again, and we lay their dozing for a time, his arms wrapped gently around me, until we could regain our footing.

Eventually I found my voice again. “Wow.” I said quietly.

“Hey! You’re back.” I could feel him smiling into my my hair.

“Yeah.” I blushed, but I didn’t think he could see me.

“That was incredible,” he said into my ear. “You’re really, really hot.”

I rolled over to look him in the eyes, “You’re not so bad yourself.” I blushed again, “I… um… I…. Wow.” I buried my head in his chest.

“It was definitely an afternoon to remember,” he concluded and then chucked under his breath, “…. so… do you think I could ask your name?”

—The End—

_{(Part II, Part I… astute readers may notice that I take breaks in order to avoid having to write awkward transitions.)}

I was not terribly surprised to find myself spending the afternoon tied up, spreadeagled and naked, on an attractive strangers bed. I was; however, somewhat surprised when he started pulling out the snakes… plumbers snakes. Plumbers snakes that had been somehow dipped in flexible rubber and made into realistic, squirming, and horribly flesh-colored tentacles.

“GAH!” I made an incoherent noise of horror.

“I would like to point out that in our negotiation you only objected to tentacles that would make you pee yourself laughing”

“I’m not laughing.” In fact, had I had any ability to move, I probably would have been running across the room, but it seemed imprudent to mention that.

“I know.” He grinned evilly, “You’re not the only person in this bedroom who likes hentai.”

I closed my eyes, and muttered, “Oh man. I am so screwed.”

He put a blindfold over them and replied, “Not yet… but you will be.”

“Um,” I asked quickly, “You do know how to use those things safely, right?”

I felt him settle on the bed next to me, “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you or damage you unintentionally. I know what I’m doing. Well, that is, don’t worry TOO much…” he paused to stroke his fingers between my legs and then brought his hand up to touch the wetness to my lips, “you seem to be enjoying a little bit of fear.”

“Now,” he continued, and I heard the sounds of his clothing being removed and falling to the floor “I’ve found it works best if I fuck you first, before I let my little alien friends loose inside you. Then, if you’re very good, I can get all worked up watching you writhe under their invasion and fuck you again once you’re already battered and sore from their probing.”

Just thinking about it was making me squirm and moan on the bed, and when he straddled me and grabbed me again, his hands around my throat, I gasped.

“You want me to do that, don’t you, you little slut?”

The words made me buck again, he slapped me across my face, and I gasped.

“You want me to fuck you and then fill your holes with snakes until you scream for me to stop and then you want me to fuck you again?”

“Yes, please, gods, yes.”

“Good,” he said, as he thrust himself inside me, “because so do I.”

To be continued…

(a continuation of the story started in this post)
“So,” I said as we walked through the pouring rain towards his apartment, “I assume you’re not actually a tentacle monster. I don’t think I’ve heard any reports of a recent alien invasion.”

“Ha!” he laughed. “No, all too human. For the full hentai experience I need assistance… or props. Fortunately I have them.”

“Assistants or props?”

“Props,” he paused. “Assistants? How kinky are you?”

“Try me.”

“That does seem to be the plan… still… Bondage?”

“Yes please.”

“Pain?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Sex?”

“With latex. Even for oral. Nonnegotiable.”

“Well that’s reassuring, I agree completely. Tentacles?”

“If you can come up with tentacles that won’t make me pee myself laughing (which is a hard limit - if it comes from the digestive tract I don’t want it on me)… I will be fascinated to experience them.”

“Oh good. A challenge for me,” he laughed and pulled out his keys to let me into his building, “I’ll look forward to it.”

We climbed the stairs to his top floor apartment and he paused as he unlocked the door, “I was thinking…”

“Yes?” I asked.

“You’re soaking wet. I think you should leave your clothes out here.”

I looked around and realized that no other apartments shared the landing, “It does seem the only sensible thing to do.”

As he watched, leaning against the open door to his apartment, his guitars already placed inside, I kicked off my shoes and placed them next to the door, pulled off my wet dress and hung it over my banister, and stood in the hallway in nothing but my bra and a small pink pair of underwear. I moved to step inside.

He put his hand up to stop me. “All of it,” he stated firmly.

A thrill went through me. “All of it then,” I replied, and stripped out of my last two garments. I wasn’t just wet from the rain.

His eyes grew dark and heated as they roamed across my body. Standing there naked in the hallway, I felt my senses stir under his gaze. I tried not to fidget under the weight of his attention, but eventually I dropped my gaze and blushed.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Now,I think it’s time for you to come in,” stood back, and motioned me through the door.

–
_{The sex is coming. Really. I swear! I just believe in the power of antici…. wait for it… pation.}

Lately what I’ve been in the mood for most often, when I’ve been in the mood, is hot, degrading sex. Desperate sex. Violent sex. Slap my face and make me scream sex. Hold me down and let me fight sex. Hurt me, and humiliate me; come on me and call me a dirty whore sex. The kind of sex where I want to plead and cry, “No! Stop.” The kind of sex where I mean it and don’t want my partner to care. The kind of sex that safewords were invented for.

–

I met him in a bar. I don’t meet men in bars. Hell, the vast majority of the time I don’t even drink alcohol. I was in the bar because it was dry and the world outside the windows was pouring water, sheets and buckets of it, all over my city.

Sudden storm. Flash Flood. Whatever you want to call it, I wasn’t prepared. I was soaked to the skin, dripping like a wet dog, and happy to have found this bar with its anachronistic fireplace burning strong in the middle of the day. I sat, huddled up on the hearth, dress clinging to my skin from shoulders to mid thighs, legs naked and feet bare where I had peeled off my sodden tights, drinking tea and reading my equally soggy book, when he approached.

“I like your bag.” he said.

I closed my eyes for a moment and prepared myself to fend off another loser. My “hentai inside” bag amuses the crap out of me, but it does tend to get me some unfortunate attention. I looked up expecting to see some slimy guy twice my age leering down at my boobs and saw…

Yum. A Dean Cain look alike holding two guitar cases and just as soaking wet as I was. His hair was all sodden curls and his shirt was plastered to what appeared to be an extremely nice chest.

“Thanks,” I responded smiling, “the various types of attention I get by carrying it amuse me to no end. Would you like to join me?”

“I would, thanks.” He put his guitar cases down, went over to the bar to get a glass of whiskey, and came back to sit on the hearth beside me.

As he sat, I started to move my feet to the floor to give him more room to sit, but he took my ankles in his hand and drew my legs out across his lap while watching my eyes to see if I’d protest.

“So,” he said, leaving one hand on my knee and picking up his drink with the other, “where did you get the bag?”

“A friend of mine works at a comic book store. When she saw it in the catalog, apparently it made her think of me and she gave it to me for my birthday.”

“What is it exactly about you that makes your friends think that you’d want to advertise an interest in tentacle sex?”

I looked him over again - handsome, a musician, polite - thought that he might not be the worst person to spend an afternoon with, moved his hand up so that it rested on my inner thigh, and answered, “experience.”

“Really?” his voice was deep and even, although his fingers clenched briefly on my thigh before relaxing to stroke my skin with his thumb. He continued to watch my face, “So what is it about tentacle porn that interests you so much… The aliens?”

“No.”

“The animation?”

“No.”

“The thought of being penetrated in every hole viciously and simultaneously while some monster uses you solely as a vehicle for his pleasure.”

My eyes flashed, “Something like that, yes.”

“So if I were to tell you to pack your bag, put on your shoes, and follow me home, you’d be…”

I folded the corner of the page in my book, “… starting to do so already.”

“Oh, good.”

To be continued…
–
I know have been a slacker sex blogger lately. Ironically, between the guy I’m seeing locally, my out-of-town girlfriend, and her hottie husband, I’ve actually been having a lot more sex… I just haven’t had the time or energy to write about it. Oh, and for the record:

1. I do have a hentai inside bag, but the propositions I get while holding it are never actually interesting.

2. I recently met just such a guitar playing Dean Cain look alike, but I was in such a rush to catch my bus I didn’t actually manage to hit on him. My priorities are totally fucked. Still, I did learn where he plays… Yum.

I willingly enact the prophesies that trumpet my own doom.

Go me.

Sometimes you think you want something, and then you get it and realize that it wasn’t what you wanted after all. It was only what you thought you wanted, and the reality had nothing to do with the fantasy. Of course, sometimes you get what you want and you were exactly right.

I am a submissive masochist. That means that there are certain sexual fantasies of mine that are best suited to being acted out with a dominant sadist. As luck would have it, I recently met one who has rather sublimely compatible interests to mine, who I (and this is the sticking point for woefully picky me) actually want to sleep with. So I’ve been getting to have fantasy sex. Sex that makes me not so much lose language as abjure it. I refuse its hold on me so that I can curl up warm and content in my lizard brain and appreciate having someone who will fuck me and hurt me and use me like a toy. Any communication other than mindless begging is too humanizing when you’re enjoying feeling like a plaything or a wanton piece of meat.

Submission changes the way I process pain. It hurts more, because I like it to, and sometimes I fight because I want the person I’m submitting to to do it anyway. These are not conscious decisions. When I’m bottoming I’m doing it because I like pain, or stimulation. When I’m submitting, I’m doing it because I want someone to do what they want to me.

I honestly thought I was telling the truth when I said, a while back, that things aren’t hotter for me when they are things I don’t want, but evidence suggests that may not be strictly true. Get me in the right headspace, and I will beg for things I normally don’t like. I end up wanting, so vividly, the things that I would normally think of as too much precisely because they are too much. It’s extraordinarily selfish, but when I really trust someone I’m submitting to I want to show that I can take more for them, that I want to take more for them, so that they will push that line and ask for whatever they want. Or take it. I love how it feels to be in a place in my mind where crying “too much” is almost a prayer - keep going. Where I simultaneously sincerely want to beg someone to stop and simply want them to tell me “This is what I want. Take it for me.” and continue on.

I said I’d write porn about it.
–
Never say, “anything you want.”

That’s what they tell you, when you’re a young, naive bottom just getting started in the world of BDSM. They’re right of course. It’s a dangerous thing. But what if that’s what you want? For someone to use you according to their desires without thinking of your own? What if that’s what turns you on?

I can’t say it and mean it - not literally anything. There are things someone could want that I would not consent to. But the longing is there. It hits the right place in my gut, in your ears. It’s what I mean, when the underlying understanding is there that there exist limits. If I must, however, strive for caution, if I must follow the rules I try to impose upon others, if I must be sensible then I must look for a more literal phrasing of my desires. It’s not “Do what you want to me.” That isn’t good enough. It doesn’t communicate what I mean.

“Be selfish.”

That’s what I beg, as he fucks me.

“Please, oh god, use me how you want.”

Normally I get scared when sex hurts. I don’t like it when my cervix is battered, because it’s a deep type of unexpected pain. But I want it. I want that pain. The fact that he can hurt me so much while simply fucking me is an incredible aphrodisiac. Every time he thrusts himself deep inside me I want to scream stop and I want him to do it again.

Some people know just what to say. You’ve got to like the sort of person whose response to your inability to decide whether you’re more in the mood for pain or sex is to say…

“I could just hurt you while I fuck you.”

Now that’s customer service. Talk about an offer you can’t refuse. Well, an offer I can’t refuse. I suppose there are people who would find the concept utterly unappealing. They have no idea what they’re missing. Pain and sex are a pretty phenomenal combination. Add in a little power exchange, maybe even a little unrestrained violence and some consensual throwing away of consent, and you make Rona a very happy girl.
–
I have been working on being a bad influence.

Apparently the secret to being a bad influence is saying naughty things in an unassuming, innocent voice. “You could bite me harder if you wanted to. I wouldn’t mind,” for example, worked very well on the Boy of Shmoop. I seem to be corrupting him. He’s going to be kinky before he knows it.

It’s good to be a bottom. I rarely have much trouble getting people to do terrible things to me when I bat my eyes at them. I imagine the instant feedback is quite encouraging. It’s generally quite clear that terrible things make me extremely happy, and since almost everyone has at least a little bit of a reaction junkie living inside them… I get to be a bad influence. I like it when people make me squirm, even though I vastly prefer if doing so is a pleasure for them as well.

I imagine it’s a lot more difficult if you’re on the other side trying to convince people to let you do horrible things to them. Saying to someone “I want you to do whatever you want to me, whether I like it or not*” is substantially more socially acceptable than asking someone if they’d be willing to let you take advantage of them.

*Within expressly noted limits, of course

When my friend S. and I were waiting for the opening curtain of Spring Awakening the other week, she commented on the title of one of the songs.

“Totally Fucked?” she asked.
“I wonder if they mean in the good way or the bad way.” I responded, “Maybe both.”

For the record, the “Totally Fucked” in the title of this post is something I, unquestionably, mean in the good way. The very good way.

Penetration has always been something I enjoy, but over the past year or so it has grown increasingly high in my esteem. In particular, I am becoming rather dreadfully fond of fucking. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve been having more sex, that I’ve been having better sex*, or that I’ve finally embraced the goodness that is lube, but there have been a growing number of instances where fucking has turned me into a ball of happy glowing girl in a way that is normally reserved for other sensations… like pain, or my vibrator.

Still, I don’t want to write about fucking in general. I want to write about fucking in particular. Specifically, I want to write that I finally got to live out my very long held (and strangely, previously unfulfilled) desire to be fucked by a woman** with a strap-on. Totally and thoroughly fucked. Eyes rolled back in my head, verbally incoherent, I seem to be on Mars fucked(originating the quote in this post.) It was totally worth waiting for, even though I have no idea why I did (other than lack of opportunity.)

I have to say that I would be quite happy to be having a lot more sex with women. In addition to the fact that women are, well, women***. I really like penetration from the other side too. Fucking girls is fun, and hot, and inspiring. Plus, there’s a certain sort of Science!tific joy figuring out if the same things you love having done to you work as well on someone else. And of course, one can’t forget the sheer sensual bliss of just touching women, and playing with them, and … Yum. For some reason, sex with my most recent ex-girlfriend didn’t involve a lot of penetration, and that was just a shame.

Okay, who am I kidding. Realistically speaking, I would be quite happy to be having a lot more sex in general. Good sex makes me want more sex, and I’m hoping that, if things with  shmoopy man continue to progress in  a positive direction, more sex will be on the menu****. This whole “one weekend of debauchery every couple of months” thing is frustrating in the extreme.

–
* I recently had an experience that I mentally described as OMG PEN1S!!!! (OMG PON1ES for reference) for the extent of joy that it induced in me. I do enjoy the sexual experiences that end with my lying on the bed, incapable of speech, thinking “If I died now, I would go happy.”
**A ridiculously beautiful, sexy, and silly woman who is way too much fun both in and out of bed, at that!
***and thus far more likely to be both shiny and possessed of great yumminess
****which is seeming more and more likely