likes and wishes

After more than a year of dangling my fingertips in the darkside, I have come up with a draft (subject to constant revision) version of what I think I know I like:
  • I like to watch or listen to men jerking off. This is not big news.
  • I like to be told what to do more than I like to tell others what to do. I like to be used.
  • I like everything from grunting need to articulate control, and everything in between.
  • I like the catch I can hear in a man's voice as he gets hard and starts to touch himself.
  • I like to pinch my nipples when I am talking on the phone and I start to get wet.
  • I like light pain. Sometimes.
  • I like getting fucked in the ass. Hard.
  • I like having my head pushed down on a man's cock.
  • I like the thought that a person can say whatever they want to me.
  • I like cumming for men.
Now, some things I wish:
  • I wish, and this is not a new wish, that I could queue up a line of men in the mornings who have woken up hard and just need to cum fast. I would listen to them one after another. Encourage them. Release them into the day.
  • I wish the world were a different place and I could meet total strangers in out of the way places and watch them jerk off for me without worrying about being hurt or raped.
  • I wish I did not have the job that I have so that I could show you what I am doing right now on a web cam.


quick and fast

A blink of an eye image for you.

This morning, walking the dog, car parked on a side street, windows rolled down.

I am walking by, five minutes out of the shower, no bra, no underwear, cool cotton skirt, t-shirt.

Glance over, seat back, man in driver's seat, reclining, eyes closed, hand moving... no way... yes way...

I slow down (of course), slow down more, then stop, watching.

He does not notice, eyes still closed, cock out, long, slow pulls, then faster, slower, faster.

I am rooted, staring, wet, dog pulling me ahead, wanting to keep walking.

His hand moving faster now, moving toward release, skin reddened, engorged, mouth open, small groan.

I am, predictably, wet, still watching.

Faster still, head lolling to the side, tongue out, imagining a breast or a cunt, uncontrollable jerking, hand is a blur, I can feel the wetness slipping down my thigh as he cums, a spurt, a groan, his shirt, eyes fluttering, and I am suddenly awake, letting the dog pull me away, cool air hitting my hot clit.

Straight to a cafe, tie up the dog, head for the bathroom, hands on my newly shaved pussy and pouting lips, a violent cumming, then outside for an icy coffee and a slow walk home.


ebb and flow

I find it somehow fitting or ironic that, when I have not checked email for over a month, hotmail deletes my entire inbox. It is as if this world I have created will not let me leave, and if I do leave, it will not let me come back.

Or at least, if I do come back, it is like I am presented with a blank slate and the echo of my own... voice?... keyboard clicks?

So, FYI, if you haven't heard from me, or don't hear from me, it is because I did not get your email and no longer have your email address! Feel free to correct the situation at your leisure.

Anyway, hello again. Been awhile. For those who have been around since I started this odd little project, this is nothing new. I come (and come, and come...) and then I go. And then I come again.

Summer is approaching. Long, hot days. I don't think I will be around as much as last summer, but anything could happen. I am not sure, too, how I will set things up. I am in the mood for a bit of a change ;)

Soon. I hope. But can never promise.



Last week, I met a friend for drinks at a bar near my house. She was late. While I was sitting there waiting, the bartender was flirting with me - he was Australian, open-shirted, smooth chest. Slightly hipster-ish. All of which I noticed only out of the corner of my eye, which was fixed on a woman sitting alone a few seats down from me.

She called the bartender over for a minute and asked him to watch her things while she ran back to work to get something. He seemed to know her well enough that this was not an odd request. She put her coat on and I watched her walk outside and across the street, and then disappear around the corner.

I nursed my way through an expensive but completely delicious imported Belgian Ale, waiting for her, halfheartedly flirting back at the bartender who was drying glasses in front of me, asking me where I lived.

I have been dreaming of women lately. I want to feel that particular kind of softness; the way my body melts into theirs; the endless making out; the fingers and tongues that know the lay of the land. So when my friend texted me to say that, actually, she wasn't going to be able to come out at all, I just stayed put anyway. Couldn't hurt.

I am, admittedly, usually attracted to androgynous, or even butch women. I am even interested in FTM (female to male) guys, though I have never been with one. But I have my femme moments, and this night was one of them. The woman - who was just now coming back into the bar, cheeks red with the cold, catching my eye for a minute and smiling - was most definitely on the femme side, though not in a girly way.

She had a low voice, which I noticed when she had spoken earlier, but which I was now hearing directed at me as she said something like, "Did you see him going through my purse?" as she nodded towards the bartender and laughed. I said that I had kept my eye on him and that, at least for that span of time, he had been a good boy.

She said that she had left a phone number at work, which was why she had to run back, and I asked where she worked. She was an advocate for affordable housing in the area and worked with a group that was trying to build some new apartment buildings about ten blocks away and encountering lots of resistance from the neighbors. We fell into an engaging discussion about how people say they want a "diverse" environment but don't really know what that means, and about property values, and urban living, and...

Somewhere during this time, she had moved over to sit next to me. She bought a round of drinks. Much stronger ones than the beer I had started out with. I was getting drunk. So was she.

We managed to maintain our conversation, with all consonants intact for quite a while. She was in her early thirties, incredibly engaging, dynamic, and completely committed to her work. As she talked, my eyes rested more and more on her lips, which were full and un-lipsticked.

At one point, I told her that I found her frankness really refreshing. She laughed and said that it got her into trouble a lot in her work, but that it also helped her get what she wanted. This was that unspoken turning point in the evening - the point where a conversation becomes something else and you know that you will, eventually, see this person naked.

I asked if she always got what she wanted. Her eyes locked on mine and she said, not always, but that she was persistent, and patient, which usually paid off.

There was an unusual amount of women in the bar. She looked around and commented on this, saying that it was probably because there was a lesbian club a few blocks away. Have you ever been, she asked? I said that I hadn't, but would love to go. She was testing the water here, seeing how I would react. The Gay Dance, I call it. If I lead, will you follow? Where are you on the scale?

She was sitting very close to me now, and I was beginning to ache - nipples hardening, clit warm. The bartender was eyeing us, aware now of what was happening, trying to make his way back over. Come with me for a minute, she said, and jumped up, heading towards the back of the bar. I followed her, weaving through tables of women, into the bathroom. I was drunk in that way that you only notice once you stand up.

The door was barely closed behind me before she was on me, hands up my shirt, behind my head, kissing me deeply. She grabbed both of my nipples, pinching them firmly as she brought her leg in between mine, pressing into my cunt just hard enough to make me moan.

Sorry, she said, I was having trouble making intelligent conversation out there. I laughed and said I was having similar difficulties. We kissed for a few more minutes, hands tangled in each others' hair, and then I slid my hand down between her legs. Her thigh was still pressed between mine.

I unzipped her jeans and cupped my hand, moving down into her underwear until I found wetness there and my fingers just slid inside her. She took a deep breath. I felt as though I was going to pass out. It has been a while since I have felt this.

I slowly moved my fingers into her, and then back out, finding the hardness of her clit, slowly applying pressure there until she said Oh, God, and then sliding them back into her wet pussy.

All this time, I was grinding my cunt into her thigh, already so close to cumming that you could have blown on my clit and I would have exploded. But I wanted to taste her first.

I slid down, pulling her underwear down just enough for me to find her hardness with the tip of my tongue. She had to bend her knees a little and move down the wall, spreading her legs as best she could since she still had her jeans on.

Just then, someone knocked on the door. I pulled my head away, but she pushed it back. I just need one minute, she said, I'll be very quiet. I pushed my tongue back in and started to gently, but firmly, stroke her clit. She grabbed the back of my head and pushed me into her. I reached up with my hand, sliding a finger, now three, into her cunt, stretching her out, pushing towards my mouth from inside her, then up, deeply into her.

I could feel her orgasm gathering. She was breathing heavily. Her clit was rock hard. She grabbed my shoulders and suddenly went rigid, her cunt gripping my hand, pulsing while I kept fucking her pussy. After a few minutes, she pulled me up onto her leg, and started whispering in my ear while I humped her leg, helpless, desperate to cum. Then she stopped me, reaching her hand back under my shirt to my nipples.

I want you to look at me, she said, and cum for me. And I did. Wave after wave. I had needed that so much. She held me until it was over.

By this time, someone was knocking insistently on the door. She said she wanted to make me do it again, but I said we should go. Not that I didn't have it in me.

We went back out, smiling at the woman who was waiting, and sat back on the barstools. The bartender came over to us, eyebrows raised. We made small talk, evading his questions. I felt like I had been run over.

I am seeing her again tomorrow night.



One of my blog posts is in Sugasm (an "informal sex blog network") this week. Here are some selections from other blogs on the list...

This Week's Picks

You’re So Dirty When You’re Clean. (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more.”

Before ( http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
“Condoms and lube go into the bedside drawer next to the Bible. Purse into the drawer with clothes, whore-bag into the closet with my street shoes.”

Rude Bits: Tracy Quan on the Raunch Debate (http://susiebright.blogs.com)
“If someone is making money off your body, you should too.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sex Mad(ness) (http://sugarbank.com)

Editor’s Choice
The art of pegs (some artistic CBT)
( http://mistress160.blogspot.com)

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


my favorite craigslist m4w posting ever


And there will be lots of adventures, sniffing through glasses and past lips and: Woody Allen said if sex isn't dirty then you're not doing it right: I agree. There doesn't have to be sex, though. Just, at least, a clicking. Great musics listened-to and great books read-discussed and great movies seen-lived and sweating--cause of the adventuring and etc's. Bothered-by-a-big-ol'-moon walks; dinner-thru-night-till-tomorrow experiences--boozy, maybe, I mean, doesn't have to be. The air Cat-Power's-voice-smokey--good stuff, you know. Taffy-streched mystery, never, you know, outted in the beginning--but teased and really fun. Rollings and tumblings and weird crystal-ball-refracted moments you only get in extremis. Odd-but-still-pretty-and-specific-faced people laughing-out unboring stories: everything weird-mooded, florid; you--terrifically experienced and novel-inspired after answering this and adventuring up up up and setting down somewhere new--sexed (not necessarily literally) and through the fugue and chilled to the cockle. You know: if you wanna answer. No arm-twistin's here. Let's. This is expressionistic just cause I want to meet the specifics who would answer an add like this. Pics and that, too.

hotel 3

Yes, I know. What happened to "hotel 2"?

Well, the local boys and girls got me last night. Went out wandering around this odd little city. Danced, drank, flirted, danced some more. I wish I could tell you something about myself that would make this story so much more interesting - but, alas... I can't.

But I can say that I ended up at a heartbreaking little karaoke bar (but then, karaoke always breaks my heart... so much earnestness) where a woman was singing a country western song. She must have been in her early twenties, with shoulder length dark hair, big eyes and hips, and wearing tennis shoes. Clearly a lesbian - or, at least, clear to me.

I could not stop staring at her. Could. Not. Velcro eyeballs. On her.

After she put the mic back in the stand and went back to her friends, I had to rip my pupils off of her so that I wouldn't appear to be the raving lunatic stalker that I was so close to becoming. No idea why, suddenly, all I wanted - all I want - is a woman. All over me. And this is all I could think about all day.

And, in some way, the universe, as it often does, provided. At lunch, a woman I had not noticed before, and who is here attending the same event that I am, came over and sat at my table. We made small talk about the event, but, given today's private obsession, I felt like all I could do was look at the curve of her neck, her hands, her lips. She is from the north of England and had a slightly raunchy sense of humor. We were laughing loudly by the end of the meal.

As dessert was arriving, she suddenly said that she had seen me earlier and felt like she wanted to meet me. For a second, it was awkward. I was trying to read behind what she was saying - same sex interactions are, if there is even a hint of the erotic involved, so muffled by layers of water-testing. Is she? Could she be?

I was still taking it in when she got up to leave. We had been talking about going out to an Irish pub nearby, so it didn't seem odd that she asked for my room number, saying that she will call later to see if I am still up for going.

I had to sit and listed to a presentation for about an hour after that, and I was vibrating. I did that delicious thing where I innocently crossed my legs, draping my sweater over my lap, my hands in full view on the table taking notes, while I pulsed my inner thighs and vaginal muscles until I was on the edge of an orgasm. I just kept imagine what her breasts would feel like against my skin, against my tongue. And yes, sometimes I would think of you watching.

But at the last minute, I didn't cum. And now, several hours later, here I sit. Still damp, and wondering if she will call later. I will, of course, keep you well informed.

Going to take a nap now. And I will be very, very good. Very, very, very, very good.


hotel 1

Arrived. Started stripping the second the door shut behind me. Took a bath. Ordered room service. Got in bed, a huge king-sized expanse of white sheets with me in the middle, fingers brushing my already wet, wet...

I've brought myself to the edge about three times, stopping at the last minute. My hands smell of my juices, nipples poised... waiting...

Three more days...



I will be traveling again this weekend and in a hotel room on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.

You know what this means.



Whenever I need to cum, I get an
ache in my lower belly that extends in a warm wave
to my clit and then
separates out to my inner thighs.

I have come to think that when this happens,
if it happens in public,
small molecules of "fuck me" begin to
leap off of my skin and travel through the air and are
breathed in by
unsuspecting victims who suddenly find their eyes on
my belly,
if I haven't mentioned this five hundred times before,
is smooth and flat and toned and today on the train

my hand was

drawn to it.
Just lighting there for a minute,
a bit too low.
Thumb disappearing
under my waistband and he just

could not take his eyes off of it.

Fluttering away, coming back, small bulge,
now larger.

I can help it.
I just don't want to.
I want him to think of me when he gets home,
fly unzipped before the door closes behind him,
cock springing out,
keys falling to the floor as he leans against the wall
imagining the way my legs were open just a



Whew. Last week just about killed me. In a good way. I think I blew out my new vibrator already! Someone suggested it might be the full moon. Whatever it was, if I could bottle it, I could retire early.

So. Ready?

For the next few months, or more, I won't be reading or answering most of the emails I receive.

You see, this is how it goes. I open the door every once and awhile and let people in. And this is fine, even great, for awhile. But then, eventually, too many people come in (I sometimes get over a hundred emails in a day) and I start to lose the sense of each individual person. I don't have time to spend actually doing what I want to do, which is, well, making you cum in several different ways.

In addition, I end up spending more and more time making small talk and much too little time with people who have actually come to value my time and want to... go deeper, so to speak.

I have had a very, very (VERY) wonderful time getting to know people over the last few weeks, but now the door is closing. I will keep writing here of course, but other than that, for the next few months, on the days when I am around to talk, I will send out a note only to the people on my NF list or post a note for them here. If I do read/respond to any email, it will only be email from people on the list - and even that will be rare and in order of, well.. preference.

If you don't know what this list thing is and want to find out more, or if you know what it is, but are not sure if you are on it, you can email me anytime and put the word "list" in the subject line so I know to open it. And I completely understand, as always, if it is not for you.

I have to remind myself every once and awhile, why I first started doing this almost a year ago. Among other things, the point was to find a way to free up my time to do my more creative, less moneymaking things (like write and make art). I also want to get to know a few people very well, and save the best of myself for them, not spread myself all over the place to people who do not always... get me.

You can get hot email exchanges, and even explicit chat, almost anywhere. You can only get me here. I am aching to cum for you, or to make you explode, or to be or do whatever you want. But maybe nothing truly wonderful is free.

(For those of you who want it free anyway, you are, of course, free enjoy my posts here. As I've said a million times, the thought of you reading my words - cock swelling, reddening, straining against your pants - is what makes the process of writing so deeply pleasurable. I wish you many, many urgent and mindblowing orgasms.)

More soon...



Killing time before I have to go somewhere.

I am in the mood to talk frankly with someone. This does not have to end in any heavy breathing or anything - I am all dressed up and need to stay reasonably put together, but I am open for intelligent conversation and/or teasing.

Perfect if you are at work and can't really get too, um, detailed. Also good if you have been reading/corresponding with me, and just want to talk for minute and get to know me better.

Enjoy me while you can - before I retreat back into my inner circle, so to speak ;)

Anyway, if you have a few minutes, email me and I will send you the link to the service I use. (If your response to that is: What! You use a service! I don't PAY for conversation/fantasy/orgasms, or something similar, please read this and feel free not to email me for the link. ;)



I just got a request to make a... a sort of targeted recording. I mean, a recording that aims to please a particular someone.

He described in detail what he wanted to hear- and so, right now, I am thinking about how, exactly, to give him exactly that in a one of a kind, digitally recorded masterpiece of my own making.

Could be fun ;)

A tidbit: He asked for me to slide something, a large something, into my ass while I talk. I am thinking it needs to be just large enough so that he will hear the intake of air, the tightness in my throat, the ache of pleasure in my voice, but not SO big that I can't talk at all!

I think I have just the thing. One of my girlfriends bought a strap on dildo. Big and black. She was nice enough to give it to me when we broke up. The gift that keeps on giving. I think I will use that.

He asks for a few other things that I won't describe in detail, except to say that they involve giving myself over to him for at least a few minutes. I can do that.

I am not kidding when I say that I want to be used. I want to go anywhere you want to go. I will not be faking it. I am an open horizon, stretching out endlessly in all directions at once. In this liminal place, nothing is off limits.

I want to reduce you to a grunting, panting, greedy mess. I want you to think about jacking off all the time. I want your cock to be sore, your balls to be raw. I want you to be distracted in meetings, check your email obsessively, and think about my hard nipples until you have to sneak off and find somewhere to jack off thinking of my dripping cunt.

Show me everything. I want to see it. The way I feel now, I would even beg you for it.



Just a quick update - I just got off the phone with someone at work who was in a cubicle! Not even full walls!

He didn't say anything the whole time - well, maybe uh huh, and yep, like I was talking about something really important.

I just told him exactly what I was doing to myself and brought myself to the edge of cumming. Then he said, thanks, and took a little bathroom break.

We talked on skype, which I don't do often. Too complicated, but it worked well for this.

Anyway, now I am really in pain! I mean, a pleasurable sort of pain. A swollen, hot clit, nipples raw from pinching them. A delicious hotel day...

two hours

I am traveling for the weekend and am in quite possibly the most boring midwestern town on the map.

I got here early, and am lying, completely naked, in my hotel room.

I know you are probably at work. Which could be fun.

I don't necessarily need to cum. Though I could if you wanted me to.

I could also just... flirt. Tease you. Talk to you. Get you through your long and tedious day.

Or we could just talk for a few minutes - long enough for you to get my voice in your head so that you could imagine it later, or for you to say a few things that you need to say... things you might have only thought before, but never said out loud.

Though, I suppose, if you are at work,you'd have to say these things very quietly - unless you have a private office. Or a storage closet. ;)

I am going to do something unprecedented. I am going to post the secret link for about an hour or two, and then make it disappear. If you are up for it, and ok with it, then follow where it leads and make an arrangement/appointment to talk with me. If not, then send me some entertaining email, though I might not get to respond until later.

Strike while the doors are open. Longtime readers know that this almost never happens.

You can find me here. [Sorry - link gone, door closed. But who knows... it is a long weekend...]



I am in the mood to make another recording.

I think I know exactly what I want to do on it.

I am going to strip down to my thong, which is already soaked as I type this, put on some heels, just because its fun and adds to the tacky porno effect, lay back in my chair, slide my fingers into my wet pussy, and imagine you standing in front of me, still in your clothes, your erection straining at your pants.

I am going to tell you
what I want you to do.

This is only the second recording I have ever made, but the first was very, very, VERY fun, so I think that warrants a part two.

More in a sec.

LATER: Done. Sopping. Exhausted. ;)


yours yours yours

In keeping with the theme of these two posts, way back when, I found a choice couple of paragraphs from this month's Harper's (below). I don't think I am any less ambivalent about all of this, but I have been finding my way through it.

Oh, that is really beautiful.

I hadn't actually finished reading the entire article, and I googled a line from a paragraph I wanted to quote here. The line was:

"It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection."

But the only reference I got was an exact quote from Lewis Hyde's The Gift, whereas the article I was quoting in Harper's was written by Jonathan Lethem and is called...



It is called "The Ecstasy of Influence" and is subtitled "A Plagiarism."

Meaning, as part of his extended reflection on plagiarism, he actually plagiarized almost every line in the article.

I know I am getting way off of the topic of sex here, so feel free to move on if your hard on is drooping, but that was such a brilliant moment. Made more brilliant by the fact that I was already thinking the article was brilliant, and now I think it is yet more so.

As you might have gathered, words and ideas are the "commodities" that Jonathan is using Lewis' words to point out in this case. Not exactly the kind of commodity I was about to use (what I thought were) Jonathan's words to illuminate.

The article, using what I am sure are yet someone else's words, goes on to say, "I go into a hardware store, pay the man for a hacksaw blade, and walk out... The disconnectedness is, in fact, a virtue of the commodity mode. We don't want to be bothered, and if the clerk always wants to chat about the family, I'll shop elsewhere. I just want a hacksaw blade. But a gift makes a connection."

So very familiar!

At any rate, where I was going with this is that some men instinctively get this concept, and I am always sort of surprised and thankful for that. Not only do some of the people in my, um, inner circle, so to speak, understand that they are showing their respect for the time that I should be spending working instead of talking to them, they also understand that this keeps the boundaries cleanly drawn. Which, in some strange way, makes things so much easier, and, yes, so much hotter.

I am absolutely abstract.
I want to be your fantasy.
I want you to need to cum for me in a way that feels a little bit bad. Or a little bit excessive. Or a little bit secretive.
I want you to be completely free to say anything to me.

All of these things are made possible by clear boundaries.

So why don't I just do this full time, or become a prostitute for that matter?

Well, the article goes on:

"Of course, in the real world, we know that child-rearing, family life, education, socialization, sexuality, political life, and many other basic human activities require insulation from market forces. In fact, paying for many of these things can ruin them."

Enough said.

I can only go so far, and there is something in me that always says stop before I cross a certain line. I love to play here and there, but I only want to play with a few people here and there. In some odd way, I think they appreciate knowing that, too. This is why I don't always return every email, and go for weeks at a time without writing. I am working, yes, but I am also, shall we say, focusing my energies.

Lucky for the masses, I am opening the windows for the time being. I have more than enough to go around, even if you only get to see it here instead of in a private show ;)

Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts. And thank you again to the ones who "get it". I am yours, yours, yours.



Who knew I could cum so many times in one day? I am still trying to recover from yesterday. I just cannot say what has come over me this week! Whatever it is, I say, bring in on ;)

Wish I had time to play more today, but I only have about a half an hour. Who would like to bid for this welling orgasm?

I am kidding, but only because I don't have time to take bids... I want to cum NOW. A few months ago, I made a recording of myself cumming in about two minutes, but I am going to try to beat that time...

But first, if you could just do one thing for me... If you are at work, reach one hand down, very casually, under your desk, locate the head of your cock, and just rub it gently for a minute. Then, if you can, grab as much of the shaft as you can and squeeze. Hard.

I want to be here for you. There is nothing you can't say to me (or write to me). Take advantage of it, ok?



Ok, clearly I am in the middle of some kind of... uprising. What is it that suddenly wakes up in me and won't be denied?

I just got out of a large meeting. Boring.

During the meeting, I started having flashbacks to one of two times I have gone back to a hotel room with someone I met earlier on the same day.

It was while I was in grad school, in an east coast city, and I had gone out dancing by myself. I did this often. It was a straight bar, but I ended up meeting a woman who I found really attractive. We were dancing near each other, talking here and there.
Then she went off to make a phone call.

A few minutes later, I noticed one guy watching me, and he came up to me while I was getting a drink. We flirted, the usual stuff, but at some point, he started to get very serious. I am going to be completely truthful, he said, I am here for one more night and I want you to come back to my room with me.

He didn't mention the woman I had been flirting with, so I wondered if he had seen her. I told him that I was here with a friend, and I needed to talk with her.

Back on the dance floor, I pulled the woman aside and told her about the guy as if it were something funny. Now she became serious as well. Don't go with him alone, she said. I said that this was fine, I wasn't planning on it.

A few hours later, she and I are dancing, talking, and the guy, whom I thought had left, comes up to me again. I'm going. Come with me.

I look at the woman, smiling. She is looking at him. Ok, she said. She will go with you. But only if I can go too. But you can't touch me.

Now I am staring at her!

Less than an hour later, we are walking into his hotel room. The whole way there in the cab, she and I were all over each other. He just sat and watched, and every once and awhile, he would say something like, "Wow." Or, "What are you up to over there?"

But when we walked in the room, she sat on a chair in the corner and told him not to pay any attention to her. She was here to make sure I was safe.

The scary thing for me to remember about this story, is that the guy turned out to be very violent in some ways. But the wonderful thing about it is that I felt like I could let go and almost enjoy it, if that is the right word, because she was there. On the way in, she had called somebody, and she told the person on the phone where she was and what hotel room we were going in to. I know that she did it so that the guy could hear her.

This man, I remember thinking, must not have cum for a long time. He was really rough with me. And he talked the whole way through. He wanted me to tell him I was his slut, and he kept telling me to repeat that. To scream it, even.

At one point, I remember thinking that I should stop him. I felt like he was getting too out of control, but there was a part of me that liked it, I think, and wanted to push it a little more.

At one point, he entered me from the front and every time he would thrust, and not gently, he would slap me lightly on my tits. Then he did it harder. At one point, he slapped my face, gently at first, and I started to prostest. He did it one more time, much harder that time, while he thrust so hard into me that my ass came up off the bed.

At one point, I looked over at the woman. She was just watching. She wasn't touching herself, which I thought she might be doing, or wanted her to be doing. But she looked wary, on guard. Which, in retrospect, I think was a good thing.

You are such a little whore, he said. You like this, I can tell. You are pretty dirty aren't you? He spread my legs open and started to finger fuck me, but with lots of fingers, and very violently. I want to see your pussy stretch out, he said. His voice was raspy at this point, strained.

I could see his cock now, but the odd thing to me at the time was that it wasn't that hard. But while he was fucking me with his hand, he reached down and started yanking on it. Then he took his hand out of me and just focused on jerking himself off for a minute. He told me to watch him and started calling me a range of things. I remember thinking that he was going to be sore... he was pumping so hard and his cock was shiny and red. He let some saliva fall down on the head and grunted while he spread it over his shaft.

At one point, he stopped, and pushed me down on the bed. He entered me again, but this time, his hand was around my neck. I looked over at the woman. She was watching carefully.

How do you like that, he said. Does that make you nervous? He was pumping me hard. he put a little pressure on my neck and I felt light headed. I know this turned him on and he started really banging me, saying Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah every time he slapped up inside me, drawing his cock all the way outside of me, then slamming in again.

But he stopped after a minute, rolled me over, and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back hard. I felt him fingering my asshole, then, suddenly, he was inside. I love to be fucked in the ass, so even though my head was pulled back, I started to moan, and this sent him over the edge. I think this is the most insane I have ever seen someone... Ah, you fucking little cunt, I am going to fuck this ass, this dirty fucking ass... he was almost screaming, grunting with every thrust.

But he didn't cum. I, not surprisingly, had come about three times already, and at this point, I was, frankly, getting really sore. I told him I wanted to watch him jack again, and he threw me on my back and straddled me so that his balls were dangling over my mouth. Then he started to jerk off in short strokes, muttering to himself under his breath. Fucking cunt... you little whore... going to fuck you in the mouth... uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh.


Now I am actually worried for him. He is going to get a blister or something on his cock! I look over at the woman, and she is standing up.

We have to go, she says.

And we did. We just left.

To this day, I feel so, incredibly bad for the guy. It was as if he were trying everything to get to the other side, to let go, but he just couldn't let himself release.

I always wonder if he was able to come after I left. I would like to think that if I had another chance, I could make him, or help him to come. I think I would know what to do now.

I actually kept in touch with that woman for a long time after that - though she has since moved to another country, so we haven't talked in awhile. We never ended up having sex, but I wanted to for a long time.

Another interesting thing about that experience was that it woke me up to a kind of submisssive or masochistic side of me. I don't want to die early or be bruised, but there is something so delicious about just being... used.

But back to the meeting.

I came.

In the meeting.

As in, I came while the meeting was happening as I was remembering this night.

How? No vibrator, no hands, just by crossing my legs and squeezing the muscles together, like I was doing the other day. That's it.

And I feel like I could do it again right now...


public places

Well, after months of relative quiet, I decided to take a break and do something fun yesterday.

A few months ago, someone sent me a particularly generous gift. He said that he would like to meet me, even though I made it clear that I don't do that. If things happen spontaneously, I often - as you know - go with it, so to speak, but I don't plan meetings with people I have been in touch with in other ways.

But I wanted to give him something back. And I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun if he knew I was in the room, but didn't know which person I was? I did a version of this game last year when I went to a Starbucks on a certain date/time, which I posted online. No one, of course, figured out which one, out of all of the women with laptops, typing away, was the one (though there may have been more than one!) on the edge of cumming.

For this version, however, I told this guy to go to a large, busy public place of my choosing (it was indoors) at a particular time. I told him to find a place to sit for awhile and said that I could show up for any length of time within the hour. The important thing I wanted him to know was that I would have a vibrator directly on my clit the whole time (I just got a tiny one that is controlled wirelessly and I put the controls in my pocket) and that I would, at some point during the hour, cum.

I LOVED this! In fact, I came twice, just for good measure. I never even looked over at the guy (actually, I wasn't entirely sure which one he was, either). If you had been sitting nearer to me, you might have heard my breathing change a bit, or noticed when I pinched my nipples for a minute. And at the last minute, I arched my back a little, pushing my clit harder against the vibrator. But that's all.

He wrote me later in the day saying that he felt as though he had memorized every woman in the place, but still had no idea which one was me. He made a few guesses, which were wrong. He also said that it took him a while to be able to stand up to get to a private place where he immediately jerked himself off, hard and fast.

I told him, predictably, that I wish I could have been whereever he went, mouth open, hands up my cunt, waiting for him.


disassembly line

My clit is aching today.

Why today? I couldn't say. I have been traveling for the last week... maybe I have been working too hard.

But here I sit, legs crossed, squeezing my thigh muscles together every few seconds, which sends a rush of pleasure from my swollen cunt down my legs and up my stomach to my nipples.

Here is what I wish was possible:

I want to set a time, like 3pm on some boring work day. At that moment, everyone who would like to participate would start stealing touches to their hardening cocks. You'd start feeling the precum dampen your underwear, shifting in your seat in anticipation if you are at work, or stripping naked if you are at home, porn on, cock in hand.

Then I would just start down the list. You would have five minutes to cum for me and then I would go on to the next cock. So by the time I called, you would be ready. Desperate, even. Needing me to hear you jack off for me while I pumped my pussy with my wet fingers. Feeling like you will die if you don't get that rush, that hot spurt, while you grunt into my ear.

I want to be your release.

If anyone is around this afternoon, I could at least satisfy some part of that fantasy...



Behold... she lives.

If you have emailed me in the past month or so, then I have not received it. My email account was discontinued because I didn't check it for so long. (I am sure there is some deeper meaning in this.)

Not only did I lose all of my email archives, but I lost all of my addresses as well. So if you have not heard from me in awhile, well, you will never hear from me again if you don't email me.

This is just the way it will go - now here, now not here... but, as you know, when I am on, well, I am on. Very, very on.

Keep in touch...