i want you to fuck me.
i like to be fucked hard.
really hard.
i want you to take me by the arm,
turn me over,
and fuck me in the ass first.
i don't want you to warm me up,
or prepare me for it in any way.
i just want to be face down
on all fours
when i feel you push your way into me
grab me around my hips
and fuck me so hard
that your balls slap against my ass.
my asshole is tight
my pussy would be dripping
i want to feel you deep inside me.
i want to hear you grunt like some kind of animal
and say things to me
that you would never say anywhere else
or to anyone else.
i want you to call me your little whore
your dirty little slut
because at that moment
that is exactly what i will be.
i want you to grab my hair
and pull my head back
and jam yourself into me
over and over and over.
i want you to fuck my ass until it is raw
then pull out when your cock starts to twitch
and cum all over my back.
after you have rested for a minute,
and you won't get longer than that,
i want you to roll me over,
pull me up,
and bring your cock right up to my face.
i want to take your balls into my mouth
while you stroke your cock.
i want to lick the place behind your balls
and tell you to jerk your cock for me.
that's it. jerk that cock for me.
jerk it harder.
right in my face.
that's right.
i want to see you jerk your fucking cock.
i will be fingering myself while you do this.
i'll make sure you see that.
while you are jerking yourself off for me
i will put my lips near the tip
and let a little saliva dribble down your shaft.
jerk it harder for me. come on.
i'll grab your balls. squeeze them. then squeeze my nipples.
don't stop. i want to see you cum for me.
jerk it harder. faster. my face is an inch from your shaft,
you are breathing hard, telling me how bad you want to fuck my cunt.
my dripping wet cunt.
jerk that cock for me.
tell me how you want to fuck me.
think about slamming me up against a wall
and fucking me so hard that my ass slaps against the wall.
come on. jerk it for me.
now cum for me.
my mouth is open for you.
cum in my mouth and all over my breasts.
you fucking cum for me.
you are screaming now.
i want to feel your hot cum all over my lips.
i want you to cum for me.
right now.
4.10.2006
4.08.2006
massage
I started a small company with a friend making things a few years ago. At one point, a woman called us, wanting to do a trade for one of our products. She was a massage therapist.
My friend, who had, as she put it, always wanted to have an "experience with a woman," laughed when she told me about this - the massage therapist was a lesbian - and she asked me what kind of of a "trade" I thought we should offer.
Later, that evening, I drove in the pouring rain to get my massage. While I drove, I thought about my business partner and what it would be like to sleep with her. We had come close several times. I had been dating a string of women who were all very athletic, ambisexual types. Jock-girls, another friend called them. (Strangely, the men I dated were fabulously straight - muscled, beer-drinking, hairy-chested, stay-away-from-my-ass kind of men. Go figure.)
But she was not at all a jock-girl. She was, in fact, very much like me - slim, arty-looking, and definitely feminine. So for some reason, the idea of touching her felt odd. Like touching myself, I suppose.
When I got to the massage therapists house, I had to run for the door, but got soaked anyway. She opened the door, and I smiled inside. Just my type. Tall, tan, fit, boyish. She took me up some stairs to a musky smelling room filled with candles. How very perfect.
Her hands were as strong as they looked. She did a form of Thai massage, so she was lifting my arms and legs up, gently stretching and pulling me, bending me at the waist and using her entire body to press me over or lengthen my muscles. At times, she was so close, I could smell her breath (minty) and her hair (Aveda).
After a few minutes of this, she laid me back down, smoothing out my hair, and then took my right leg out from under the white sheet she had just put over me. She started at my toes, and slowly worked her way up, kneading and pressing. I was in a sort of daze, but when she started moving up my inner thigh, I woke up. Way up.
She slowed down and began to go a bit deeper. I was reminded of a game I used to play with my girl friends when I was little where I would close me eyes and hold out my arm, palm up, and my freind would slowly draw her finger from my wrist up towards my shoulder. The point of the game was to guess when she got to the crease of the elbow. NOW, I would say, always too soon.
So I was thinking NOW! NOW! But she kept moving up, until she was smoothing her fingers over the crease where my leg meets my pelvis, a mere breath away from my most definitively awake pussy.
She did this for at least a minute, which felt like an hour, and then stopped, pulled the sheet back over me, and started on the toes of my other leg. I reminded myself to start breathing.
This time, though, as she moved slowely up my calf, working the tendons, sliding under my knee, I found myself thinking about my business partner. I was supposed to meet her at her house after the massage to talk about something. She said she might be in the shower when I got there. I imagined her, freshly showered, lying in her bedroom, which she always kept very spare and clean.
By now, the massaging hands were back up next to my pubic bone. I was no longer even trying to hide how much I was liking this. I could hear her breathing change, too. She began to let her fingers slip a bit, which wasn't hard considering the state of things, and my hips rose to meet her.
One lovely thing about sex with women - they know, for obvious reasons, exactly what to do. She had a finger in my pussy and a finger in my ass before I knew what was happening. When I took a breath to say something, she bit me lightly on my nipple, and I gasped a bit and managed to say something about getting my money's worth, which made her laugh.
This part would be really hard to describe without some kind of, um, visual aide, but she sort of vibrated the finger in my ass while she slid another finger in my pussy and began to sloooooowly finger fuck me. And then, her mouth was on my clit, and it was all over. No searching for the clit, no working around the clit, just her tongue, right on it, right away. She flicked it a few times, fucked me deeper, and then started up a steady thrumming, all while somehow managing to keep up some kind of counter rhythm with the finger, or was it now fingers, in my ass.
I can honestly say, that with the exception of the one I was about to have later that same night, this was the first orgasm that felt like it would never stop coming - like my body was splitting open and I was just spilling out everywhere.
When I got back in the car, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I drove through every red light to get to my friend's house. When I knocked on the door, her roommate let me in and said she had gone to bed. I stopped for a minute outside her door, but only for a minute.
She was exactly where I had imagined her, and I stripped and crawled in, my body still coated in the oil from the massage. There was no conversation - she knew immediately what was going on. And the best part? This was, and is to this day, the best sex I have ever had.
I thought I would have to take the lead somehow, but she immediately crawled on top of me, licking and sucking my breasts, sliding her hand between my legs. I loved the feeling of our bodies together, each exactly the same size as the other, both slick and sweaty, completely flexible, and so soft.
I came, and then she came. We could not get enough of each other. She pushed me back down and pulled out one of her toys, easing it slowly into my soaked pussy while fingering herself. I squeezed her nipples while she fucked me. She pulled out and sucked hard on my clit. I came a second time, now half off of the bed, crying. I couldn't stop crying for several minutes.
We lay there trying to catch our breath for a minute, and then I pulled her on top of me. She was smiling now. Eyes locked, we just moved together, clits sliding over flesh, until she whispered, I want to cum with you. And we did. Barely moving. I could feel her shuddering for a long time.
I love cocks very much, and men are ok, too (!), but there is a certain quality about fucking a woman - especially fucking a woman who really knows how to fuck - that cannot be easily described. And I don't mean the pure crap you see on the "lesbian" porn videos aimed at men, where the straigtest girls known to man stick their long-nailed fingers into each other's shaven pussies and moan for the camera. I mean, two woman who actually want each other.
We never, ever did that again. We never even talked about it. She is married now and I never see her. But she holds the record.
My friend, who had, as she put it, always wanted to have an "experience with a woman," laughed when she told me about this - the massage therapist was a lesbian - and she asked me what kind of of a "trade" I thought we should offer.
Later, that evening, I drove in the pouring rain to get my massage. While I drove, I thought about my business partner and what it would be like to sleep with her. We had come close several times. I had been dating a string of women who were all very athletic, ambisexual types. Jock-girls, another friend called them. (Strangely, the men I dated were fabulously straight - muscled, beer-drinking, hairy-chested, stay-away-from-my-ass kind of men. Go figure.)
But she was not at all a jock-girl. She was, in fact, very much like me - slim, arty-looking, and definitely feminine. So for some reason, the idea of touching her felt odd. Like touching myself, I suppose.
When I got to the massage therapists house, I had to run for the door, but got soaked anyway. She opened the door, and I smiled inside. Just my type. Tall, tan, fit, boyish. She took me up some stairs to a musky smelling room filled with candles. How very perfect.
Her hands were as strong as they looked. She did a form of Thai massage, so she was lifting my arms and legs up, gently stretching and pulling me, bending me at the waist and using her entire body to press me over or lengthen my muscles. At times, she was so close, I could smell her breath (minty) and her hair (Aveda).
After a few minutes of this, she laid me back down, smoothing out my hair, and then took my right leg out from under the white sheet she had just put over me. She started at my toes, and slowly worked her way up, kneading and pressing. I was in a sort of daze, but when she started moving up my inner thigh, I woke up. Way up.
She slowed down and began to go a bit deeper. I was reminded of a game I used to play with my girl friends when I was little where I would close me eyes and hold out my arm, palm up, and my freind would slowly draw her finger from my wrist up towards my shoulder. The point of the game was to guess when she got to the crease of the elbow. NOW, I would say, always too soon.
So I was thinking NOW! NOW! But she kept moving up, until she was smoothing her fingers over the crease where my leg meets my pelvis, a mere breath away from my most definitively awake pussy.
She did this for at least a minute, which felt like an hour, and then stopped, pulled the sheet back over me, and started on the toes of my other leg. I reminded myself to start breathing.
This time, though, as she moved slowely up my calf, working the tendons, sliding under my knee, I found myself thinking about my business partner. I was supposed to meet her at her house after the massage to talk about something. She said she might be in the shower when I got there. I imagined her, freshly showered, lying in her bedroom, which she always kept very spare and clean.
By now, the massaging hands were back up next to my pubic bone. I was no longer even trying to hide how much I was liking this. I could hear her breathing change, too. She began to let her fingers slip a bit, which wasn't hard considering the state of things, and my hips rose to meet her.
One lovely thing about sex with women - they know, for obvious reasons, exactly what to do. She had a finger in my pussy and a finger in my ass before I knew what was happening. When I took a breath to say something, she bit me lightly on my nipple, and I gasped a bit and managed to say something about getting my money's worth, which made her laugh.
This part would be really hard to describe without some kind of, um, visual aide, but she sort of vibrated the finger in my ass while she slid another finger in my pussy and began to sloooooowly finger fuck me. And then, her mouth was on my clit, and it was all over. No searching for the clit, no working around the clit, just her tongue, right on it, right away. She flicked it a few times, fucked me deeper, and then started up a steady thrumming, all while somehow managing to keep up some kind of counter rhythm with the finger, or was it now fingers, in my ass.
I can honestly say, that with the exception of the one I was about to have later that same night, this was the first orgasm that felt like it would never stop coming - like my body was splitting open and I was just spilling out everywhere.
When I got back in the car, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I drove through every red light to get to my friend's house. When I knocked on the door, her roommate let me in and said she had gone to bed. I stopped for a minute outside her door, but only for a minute.
She was exactly where I had imagined her, and I stripped and crawled in, my body still coated in the oil from the massage. There was no conversation - she knew immediately what was going on. And the best part? This was, and is to this day, the best sex I have ever had.
I thought I would have to take the lead somehow, but she immediately crawled on top of me, licking and sucking my breasts, sliding her hand between my legs. I loved the feeling of our bodies together, each exactly the same size as the other, both slick and sweaty, completely flexible, and so soft.
I came, and then she came. We could not get enough of each other. She pushed me back down and pulled out one of her toys, easing it slowly into my soaked pussy while fingering herself. I squeezed her nipples while she fucked me. She pulled out and sucked hard on my clit. I came a second time, now half off of the bed, crying. I couldn't stop crying for several minutes.
We lay there trying to catch our breath for a minute, and then I pulled her on top of me. She was smiling now. Eyes locked, we just moved together, clits sliding over flesh, until she whispered, I want to cum with you. And we did. Barely moving. I could feel her shuddering for a long time.
I love cocks very much, and men are ok, too (!), but there is a certain quality about fucking a woman - especially fucking a woman who really knows how to fuck - that cannot be easily described. And I don't mean the pure crap you see on the "lesbian" porn videos aimed at men, where the straigtest girls known to man stick their long-nailed fingers into each other's shaven pussies and moan for the camera. I mean, two woman who actually want each other.
We never, ever did that again. We never even talked about it. She is married now and I never see her. But she holds the record.
4.07.2006
woman on the verge
So, just for fun, I just wanted to let you know that I will be at the big Starbucks at Astor Place today anywhere between 4:45 and 6:30 or so.
I probably won't have a laptop with me, and I don't know when I will get there or how long I will stay, but if you are there at any point during that time, know that somewhere in the room, there is a woman on the verge of an orgasm. ;)
I probably won't have a laptop with me, and I don't know when I will get there or how long I will stay, but if you are there at any point during that time, know that somewhere in the room, there is a woman on the verge of an orgasm. ;)
4.04.2006
trains
So here is the story I promised you. Actually, there are two that are intertwined - they both happened in one week - just around the time that I started writing here. They are related, as you will see, because they were the result of a decision that I made while on the way to the train station of a particular city, which I can't really name for reasons that you will also see. I wanted to use the trip I was about to take as a kind of try-out for some of my ideas.
I was late getting to the station, and I needed to modify my ticket to add on another destination, which took even more time. The women said that I would probably miss the train, but I could go to the office to ask about a later one. So I stood in another line for customer service, but when I got to the front, the woman was hurried and rude. She said that I would not be able to transfer my ticket and that there was nothing she could do.
I pleaded with her, pointing out various possibilities, and was starting to get very upset when a man came out of the back office. He saw that I was upset and came over to find out what was going on. The woman explained, he looked at me, and then he asked me to come back to his office.
I followed him back. The funny part is that, in my mind, my "try-out" hadn't actually started yet. I had been thinking about what I was going to do once I was actually on the train! So, at this point, I was just very upset at the woman, and glad that he was going to try to help me out.
He motioned for me to sit down and he rifled through some papers on his desk. He started filling out a form, and told me that while he could not change my ticket, he could give me a voucher to use on another ticket.
I was suprised, and thankful, and told him so. He asked me where I was going, I told him, and I tried to make conversation for a minute, since he had been so nice. I asked if he took a lot of train trips, since he probably could ride free, and he said, yes, he always went to Atlantic City to gamble. He asked if I had been there, I said no, and right then, I saw where this was going.
I laughed at this point, because I had been so utterly clueless up to this point. But, then I really looked at him and thought, god, could I do this? He was in his late fifties or so, balding and thin. We talked a bit more - he told me about past trips he had taken, and I panicked a bit. I said that I should go. He said he would walk me down to the platform where the next train would be leaving from, and I could wait in some office that was down there.
So I followed him out of the room and down the escalators to the platforms. He was walking very close to me, putting his hand on my arm to guide me around corners. I could see he was sweating a little bit.
When we got to the platform, he asked if I wanted to wait in the office, but when he showed it to me, I got a bit nervous and said that I would be fine on the platform. He stood next to me, somewhat awkwardly for a few minutes, and then leaned toward me conspiratorily. Come with me to Atlantic City next weekend. I'll pay for everything, plus more. I know I don't look like much, but I will make it worth your time.
Uhhh. Shit. I am speechless, even though I knew something like this was coming. The first feeling I have is that my heart is breaking. He is so... he is just open... hanging there, waiting, knowing that I am looking at him and imagining us... trying to imagine us...
The thing he doesn't know is that I do have a bit of a thing for older, let's just say, not the most attractive, men. Not that this is all I like, by any stretch, but there is something about his raw... need, or his complete fantasy adoration of me that is some odd form of a turn on.
Just then, one of the employees standing on the platform came over to him to ask something. He moved away quickly. He had to go back to his office for something, and I told him I would wait. After he went up the escalator, I stood there for a moment, but decided to leave. I wrote my email address on a piece of paper and gave it to another worker there to give to him, and then left the station. I took a much later train and never saw him.
So, part two, I am on the train. But now, I am humming a bit inside, wondering what I will do about the train man. The train is fairly empty, and I take a seat in one of the back cars. There is a woman sitting in the next row up, across the aisle, and a man just behind me. I glance out of the corner of my eye - he is in his mid-thirties, looking out the window. The woman is reading a book. Perfect.
I move into gear, which was not hard, given what had just happened earlier. I positioned myself so that I knew the man behind me could see me through the cracks of the seat and got to work. I started by stripping down to a tank top, under which, of course, I had no bra. I ran my hands over my breasts as if I were just smoothing down my shirt, and my nipples started to respond. After a few minutes, I had a feeling that I had his attention, but wasn't sure. So I stood up to get my back out of the bin above me so that he could get a good look.
I took my wallet out of my purse, and caught his eye. I said something about going to the cafe car and could he watch my things. He said sure, if I would get him a beer.
A few minutes later, I was back with two beers, handed him one, sat back down. This was going well. Now I took it up a notch.
I looked as if I were just watching the scenery go by outside, but every few minutes, I would sort of trail my finger from near my lips, down my neck, and over my breast. Then I would do nothing for a minute, and then start again. Occasionally, I would arch my back a bit, sitting forward in the seat, stretch a little, and then settle back into the seat to start again.
After about twenty minutes of this, I stood up to get something else out of the bin, and, surprise, he said something like thanks for getting the beer, and where was I going, etc. So we started talking, and I was in the seat next to him within five minutes.
Now it was getting dark. I had about an hour before I knew he would be getting off, so I had to move more quickly. I decided to tell him about the station man.
I told him the whole story above - the rude woman, the office, the voucher, Atlantic City, his hand on my arm, the offer. The guy was riveted. What did you say?
I told him what I had done, and he asked me why I thought I had reacted that way. I said, because, even though I toy with the idea, when I imagine having actual, all the way, sex with someone for cash, something in me balks.
He asked if there was any amount of money that would have made me do it, which actually made me think. I said that if he had just wanted to watch me, or have me watch him, or if he had had a particular fetish that did not include intercourse, that I could imagine doing that for money, or some kind of valuable exchange.
While we were talking, I had put my coat on my lap. At this point, my hand was circling my pussy, and as if on cue, he asked what sum of money I was imagining. I said that I hadn't the slightest idea, and it would, I suppose, depend on, first, what he wanted me to do, and second, how much he, well, valued me... or valued the experience.
So I said that maybe what I would do was to spend a short period of time with him first, for free, to see what he thought. Then, if he liked it, and wanted more, or wanted it again, he could make some kind of offer based on how much he felt it was worth. Then I could just say yes or no. Or, he could just send me things, and I would respond based on their value to me.
But wouldn't this just be the same as being a prostitute, he asked.
Yes. I thought it was the same, though perhaps a degree less because I wasn't willing to have sex. But, I told him, the part that I found most attractive about it was the clarity of the exchange. The exchange of something valuable for something I could give, that was also valuable, made the relationship very... clean, or something. No bullshit.
I am, I think, ever so slightly, or perhaps more than slightly, a bottom. So the idea of someone knowing exactly what they wanted and who was willing to make it happen, is extremely exciting to me.
My fingers had found my clit by this point, and were getting warmed up. So, apparently, was he, as his questions began to get more specific.
Would you touch their cock?, he asked.
Maybe, I said. I think that would depend on the arrangement. And, perhaps, the cock!But I said liked the idea of a no-touch rule. In fact, for some, that is one of the hottest boundaries.
I glanced down at this point, and was not surprised to see that he was, well, very interested in what I was saying. He was in a suit, so I could see his own cock, clearly defined, straining against the material of his pants. He saw me looking and looked a little embarassed.
By now, my fingers were dipping inside, feeling the wetness there.
So would you touch yourself for them?, he asked. Or would you just talk to them?
Again, I said, I though that would depend on what they wanted. He said that he would want me to touch myself.
How convenient, I said, because I already am...
I let the coat drop down my arm a bit, so he could see that it was moving rythmically, my clit was swollen and hard by this point, my breathing getting quicker.
The woman across the aisle looked over at this point, and I stopped. She turned back and I smiled at the guy. He whispered, keep going.
My hand started moving again, and he asked if he could touch me. I laughed and said, absolutely not! He actually couldn't touch himself either, because the woman was right there, so he could only watch.
I talked to him quickly now, and I won't tell you what I said to him, only that I could see a growing circle of precum on the outside of his pants. I asked him to tell me what he wanted to to with me, and... well... he told me. He was a bit violent, which I liked, though not so much that I felt scared.
The conductor walked by, announding the next stop, and I froze for a minute. Then I told him to look me right in the eye and that I was going to cum for him, and I didn't want him to take his eyes off of me. He talked me all the way through it, and I came so hard, I had to close my eyes for a minute.
He did take my hand for a minute after that, and brought my fingers to his mouth.
When we stopped, he gave me his number. He put his face very close to mine and said that he would absolutely pay to do something like that again.
I keep walking up to the line and not crossing it.
I was late getting to the station, and I needed to modify my ticket to add on another destination, which took even more time. The women said that I would probably miss the train, but I could go to the office to ask about a later one. So I stood in another line for customer service, but when I got to the front, the woman was hurried and rude. She said that I would not be able to transfer my ticket and that there was nothing she could do.
I pleaded with her, pointing out various possibilities, and was starting to get very upset when a man came out of the back office. He saw that I was upset and came over to find out what was going on. The woman explained, he looked at me, and then he asked me to come back to his office.
I followed him back. The funny part is that, in my mind, my "try-out" hadn't actually started yet. I had been thinking about what I was going to do once I was actually on the train! So, at this point, I was just very upset at the woman, and glad that he was going to try to help me out.
He motioned for me to sit down and he rifled through some papers on his desk. He started filling out a form, and told me that while he could not change my ticket, he could give me a voucher to use on another ticket.
I was suprised, and thankful, and told him so. He asked me where I was going, I told him, and I tried to make conversation for a minute, since he had been so nice. I asked if he took a lot of train trips, since he probably could ride free, and he said, yes, he always went to Atlantic City to gamble. He asked if I had been there, I said no, and right then, I saw where this was going.
I laughed at this point, because I had been so utterly clueless up to this point. But, then I really looked at him and thought, god, could I do this? He was in his late fifties or so, balding and thin. We talked a bit more - he told me about past trips he had taken, and I panicked a bit. I said that I should go. He said he would walk me down to the platform where the next train would be leaving from, and I could wait in some office that was down there.
So I followed him out of the room and down the escalators to the platforms. He was walking very close to me, putting his hand on my arm to guide me around corners. I could see he was sweating a little bit.
When we got to the platform, he asked if I wanted to wait in the office, but when he showed it to me, I got a bit nervous and said that I would be fine on the platform. He stood next to me, somewhat awkwardly for a few minutes, and then leaned toward me conspiratorily. Come with me to Atlantic City next weekend. I'll pay for everything, plus more. I know I don't look like much, but I will make it worth your time.
Uhhh. Shit. I am speechless, even though I knew something like this was coming. The first feeling I have is that my heart is breaking. He is so... he is just open... hanging there, waiting, knowing that I am looking at him and imagining us... trying to imagine us...
The thing he doesn't know is that I do have a bit of a thing for older, let's just say, not the most attractive, men. Not that this is all I like, by any stretch, but there is something about his raw... need, or his complete fantasy adoration of me that is some odd form of a turn on.
Just then, one of the employees standing on the platform came over to him to ask something. He moved away quickly. He had to go back to his office for something, and I told him I would wait. After he went up the escalator, I stood there for a moment, but decided to leave. I wrote my email address on a piece of paper and gave it to another worker there to give to him, and then left the station. I took a much later train and never saw him.
So, part two, I am on the train. But now, I am humming a bit inside, wondering what I will do about the train man. The train is fairly empty, and I take a seat in one of the back cars. There is a woman sitting in the next row up, across the aisle, and a man just behind me. I glance out of the corner of my eye - he is in his mid-thirties, looking out the window. The woman is reading a book. Perfect.
I move into gear, which was not hard, given what had just happened earlier. I positioned myself so that I knew the man behind me could see me through the cracks of the seat and got to work. I started by stripping down to a tank top, under which, of course, I had no bra. I ran my hands over my breasts as if I were just smoothing down my shirt, and my nipples started to respond. After a few minutes, I had a feeling that I had his attention, but wasn't sure. So I stood up to get my back out of the bin above me so that he could get a good look.
I took my wallet out of my purse, and caught his eye. I said something about going to the cafe car and could he watch my things. He said sure, if I would get him a beer.
A few minutes later, I was back with two beers, handed him one, sat back down. This was going well. Now I took it up a notch.
I looked as if I were just watching the scenery go by outside, but every few minutes, I would sort of trail my finger from near my lips, down my neck, and over my breast. Then I would do nothing for a minute, and then start again. Occasionally, I would arch my back a bit, sitting forward in the seat, stretch a little, and then settle back into the seat to start again.
After about twenty minutes of this, I stood up to get something else out of the bin, and, surprise, he said something like thanks for getting the beer, and where was I going, etc. So we started talking, and I was in the seat next to him within five minutes.
Now it was getting dark. I had about an hour before I knew he would be getting off, so I had to move more quickly. I decided to tell him about the station man.
I told him the whole story above - the rude woman, the office, the voucher, Atlantic City, his hand on my arm, the offer. The guy was riveted. What did you say?
I told him what I had done, and he asked me why I thought I had reacted that way. I said, because, even though I toy with the idea, when I imagine having actual, all the way, sex with someone for cash, something in me balks.
He asked if there was any amount of money that would have made me do it, which actually made me think. I said that if he had just wanted to watch me, or have me watch him, or if he had had a particular fetish that did not include intercourse, that I could imagine doing that for money, or some kind of valuable exchange.
While we were talking, I had put my coat on my lap. At this point, my hand was circling my pussy, and as if on cue, he asked what sum of money I was imagining. I said that I hadn't the slightest idea, and it would, I suppose, depend on, first, what he wanted me to do, and second, how much he, well, valued me... or valued the experience.
So I said that maybe what I would do was to spend a short period of time with him first, for free, to see what he thought. Then, if he liked it, and wanted more, or wanted it again, he could make some kind of offer based on how much he felt it was worth. Then I could just say yes or no. Or, he could just send me things, and I would respond based on their value to me.
But wouldn't this just be the same as being a prostitute, he asked.
Yes. I thought it was the same, though perhaps a degree less because I wasn't willing to have sex. But, I told him, the part that I found most attractive about it was the clarity of the exchange. The exchange of something valuable for something I could give, that was also valuable, made the relationship very... clean, or something. No bullshit.
I am, I think, ever so slightly, or perhaps more than slightly, a bottom. So the idea of someone knowing exactly what they wanted and who was willing to make it happen, is extremely exciting to me.
My fingers had found my clit by this point, and were getting warmed up. So, apparently, was he, as his questions began to get more specific.
Would you touch their cock?, he asked.
Maybe, I said. I think that would depend on the arrangement. And, perhaps, the cock!But I said liked the idea of a no-touch rule. In fact, for some, that is one of the hottest boundaries.
I glanced down at this point, and was not surprised to see that he was, well, very interested in what I was saying. He was in a suit, so I could see his own cock, clearly defined, straining against the material of his pants. He saw me looking and looked a little embarassed.
By now, my fingers were dipping inside, feeling the wetness there.
So would you touch yourself for them?, he asked. Or would you just talk to them?
Again, I said, I though that would depend on what they wanted. He said that he would want me to touch myself.
How convenient, I said, because I already am...
I let the coat drop down my arm a bit, so he could see that it was moving rythmically, my clit was swollen and hard by this point, my breathing getting quicker.
The woman across the aisle looked over at this point, and I stopped. She turned back and I smiled at the guy. He whispered, keep going.
My hand started moving again, and he asked if he could touch me. I laughed and said, absolutely not! He actually couldn't touch himself either, because the woman was right there, so he could only watch.
I talked to him quickly now, and I won't tell you what I said to him, only that I could see a growing circle of precum on the outside of his pants. I asked him to tell me what he wanted to to with me, and... well... he told me. He was a bit violent, which I liked, though not so much that I felt scared.
The conductor walked by, announding the next stop, and I froze for a minute. Then I told him to look me right in the eye and that I was going to cum for him, and I didn't want him to take his eyes off of me. He talked me all the way through it, and I came so hard, I had to close my eyes for a minute.
He did take my hand for a minute after that, and brought my fingers to his mouth.
When we stopped, he gave me his number. He put his face very close to mine and said that he would absolutely pay to do something like that again.
I keep walking up to the line and not crossing it.
4.03.2006
women with laptops
I have an idea:
What if I were to go to a Starbucks at a particular time and place, both of which I would post here?
That way, you would know I was there, maybe reading, or writing, or talking to someone, and all the while, slowly working myself up. But you wouldn't know exactly which woman I was.
I love the idea that you would study each of the women there, trying to see which one was, at the very moment you were looking at her, dripping wet. (Of course, there may even be others besides me.)
If there were other women with laptops so that I would blend in, I could even bring mine and write a post, live, describing what I am doing/thinking/imagining that you could read later.
I am going to have to think about this some more, but I like the idea.
What if I were to go to a Starbucks at a particular time and place, both of which I would post here?
That way, you would know I was there, maybe reading, or writing, or talking to someone, and all the while, slowly working myself up. But you wouldn't know exactly which woman I was.
I love the idea that you would study each of the women there, trying to see which one was, at the very moment you were looking at her, dripping wet. (Of course, there may even be others besides me.)
If there were other women with laptops so that I would blend in, I could even bring mine and write a post, live, describing what I am doing/thinking/imagining that you could read later.
I am going to have to think about this some more, but I like the idea.
dying
Damn. I was just reading over
***
that post yesterday, and now I am so worked up again
***
thinking about it. I just wanted to let you know that
***
every time you see this "***" it means I have stopped typing for a minute, and am gently squeezing my nipples, but in a way that no one around me (I am in a Starbucks) can tell that I am doing it.
***
My nipples are both hard and sore now. I would tell you the story that I promised you yesterday, about another sexwithstrangers encounter, but if I did, I would have to go into a bathroom stall and try to masturbate standing up
***
which seems more trouble than it is worth.
*************
Damn. But I might have to. Because I am imagining you reading this right now, getting hard, thinking of my nipples, and
***
what can I do?
***
So, wait a minute, I am going to go. Don't you wish you were here, and could slip into the bathroom after me? This is another fantasy of mine, of course, but you wouldn't
***
be allowed to touch me. Just to watch me.
***
Ok. I am dying. I am going to go. I will tell you about it in a minute.
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
Back. Damn. You wish you had been there! ;)
Luck for me, it was a private bathroom.
***
that post yesterday, and now I am so worked up again
***
thinking about it. I just wanted to let you know that
***
every time you see this "***" it means I have stopped typing for a minute, and am gently squeezing my nipples, but in a way that no one around me (I am in a Starbucks) can tell that I am doing it.
***
My nipples are both hard and sore now. I would tell you the story that I promised you yesterday, about another sexwithstrangers encounter, but if I did, I would have to go into a bathroom stall and try to masturbate standing up
***
which seems more trouble than it is worth.
*************
Damn. But I might have to. Because I am imagining you reading this right now, getting hard, thinking of my nipples, and
***
what can I do?
***
So, wait a minute, I am going to go. Don't you wish you were here, and could slip into the bathroom after me? This is another fantasy of mine, of course, but you wouldn't
***
be allowed to touch me. Just to watch me.
***
Ok. I am dying. I am going to go. I will tell you about it in a minute.
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
Back. Damn. You wish you had been there! ;)
Luck for me, it was a private bathroom.
4.02.2006
hostel man
I was travelling all of last week in another country. On one of the last nights, I stopped in a hostel in a very rural area and was out at the local bar when the owner of the hostel, whom I had checked in with earlier in the evening, stopped in for a drink.
He nodded at me when he came in, and stood for awhile up at the bar. I was talking to some of the locals, sitting around a low table in the corner. He came over later in the evening and joined in the conversation, which, at that point, was focused, inexplicably, on an in depth discussion of cows - milking cows, grazing cows, the intelligence level of cows... you get the idea.
He sat down next to me and made a few comments - we were all laughing at this point. A man across from me was just finishing up the first of what was to be a long, arduous string of jokes about cows, when I felt a hand on my knee.
I thought for a minute it was an accident, because he quickly removed it, but after a few minutes, it was back. This time, a bit further up my thigh.
I didn't look at him, and I laughed, which didn't seem out of the ordinary, given the trajectory of the conversation. For a moment, I thought, I should get up. But, to be honest, the man was, and is, beautiful. He is in his early forties, very fit, really good looking, and let's just say that the way he was touching me felt, well, practiced. So I stayed put.
As you could probably tell from the last post, I love the challenge of trying to maintain coherance while getting more and more aroused. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, he worked his way up my leg, until his fingers were just brushing my clit through my jeans, and I worked to keep up my side of the conversation.
No one could tell what was happening because of how the table was situated, but there was one older man on my other side who kept glancing down. I think he had a sense of what was going on, and when he stood up to excuse himself, I could see that, yes, clearly, he had known exactly what had been going on.
After an almost unbearable half hour or so, the hostel owner squeezed my leg very tight, then his hand was gone. He stood up and put on his coat - saying he was going back to the hostel. He looked at me for a minute, and then went out the door. I had to think about what to do for about ten seconds, then waited a calculated ten minutes, and then said goodbye to everyone at the table.
I walked out onto the road, which was, by now, so pitch black that I could only see the outline of the trees on either side to let me know that I was going in the right direction. I started walking up the hill.
About halfway up, there is a small field where I had seen two ponies earlier, and I heard someone call me just as I passed it. I climbed over the fence, and as I dropped down on the other side, he came up behind me. The man had my jeans around my ankles in about three seconds.
He was leaning back against the fence and he pulled me down on top of him, holding my waist with one hand and bringing his other hand around the front to find my clit. I could feel his erection pressing into my back as he slipped his fingers inside of me. I was trying to get my feet out from my jeans, but I still had my shoes on, so at some point, I just gave up...
He finger fucked me slowly at first, and then harder and harder, while he rubbed himself against me. He definitely knew what he was doing. After all of the build up, my clit was rock hard, and he played with me for a little while - bringing me to the edge, my breathing ragged, moaning, then pulling back and going slow. He slipped more and more fingers in, pumping me harder and harder, and then, finally, he let me cum, biting me on the neck as I literally gasped for air.
Just after I came, I felt him take hold of himself with one hand while he kept his other hand in me, moving in and out of my pussy. He started jerking off, which just got me going again, and I came really hard as I felt him cum all over my lower back.
We still hadn't said anything to each other, and we still didn't speak as he cleaned me off, and slowly pulled up my jeans. He stopped to kiss me - a wonderful kiss which I can still feel, and then walked down the hill. I continued back up to the hostel.
The day after, when I checked out of the hostel, we spoke very formally to each other, but we were both smiling. It was one of those experiences that seems like a dream - on the plane on the way back, I just laughed every time I thought of it.
This is not the only experience I have had like this - I'll tell you about another one that happened a few months ago later. But this is one of my favorites so far - it was so fast and delicious...
He nodded at me when he came in, and stood for awhile up at the bar. I was talking to some of the locals, sitting around a low table in the corner. He came over later in the evening and joined in the conversation, which, at that point, was focused, inexplicably, on an in depth discussion of cows - milking cows, grazing cows, the intelligence level of cows... you get the idea.
He sat down next to me and made a few comments - we were all laughing at this point. A man across from me was just finishing up the first of what was to be a long, arduous string of jokes about cows, when I felt a hand on my knee.
I thought for a minute it was an accident, because he quickly removed it, but after a few minutes, it was back. This time, a bit further up my thigh.
I didn't look at him, and I laughed, which didn't seem out of the ordinary, given the trajectory of the conversation. For a moment, I thought, I should get up. But, to be honest, the man was, and is, beautiful. He is in his early forties, very fit, really good looking, and let's just say that the way he was touching me felt, well, practiced. So I stayed put.
As you could probably tell from the last post, I love the challenge of trying to maintain coherance while getting more and more aroused. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, he worked his way up my leg, until his fingers were just brushing my clit through my jeans, and I worked to keep up my side of the conversation.
No one could tell what was happening because of how the table was situated, but there was one older man on my other side who kept glancing down. I think he had a sense of what was going on, and when he stood up to excuse himself, I could see that, yes, clearly, he had known exactly what had been going on.
After an almost unbearable half hour or so, the hostel owner squeezed my leg very tight, then his hand was gone. He stood up and put on his coat - saying he was going back to the hostel. He looked at me for a minute, and then went out the door. I had to think about what to do for about ten seconds, then waited a calculated ten minutes, and then said goodbye to everyone at the table.
I walked out onto the road, which was, by now, so pitch black that I could only see the outline of the trees on either side to let me know that I was going in the right direction. I started walking up the hill.
About halfway up, there is a small field where I had seen two ponies earlier, and I heard someone call me just as I passed it. I climbed over the fence, and as I dropped down on the other side, he came up behind me. The man had my jeans around my ankles in about three seconds.
He was leaning back against the fence and he pulled me down on top of him, holding my waist with one hand and bringing his other hand around the front to find my clit. I could feel his erection pressing into my back as he slipped his fingers inside of me. I was trying to get my feet out from my jeans, but I still had my shoes on, so at some point, I just gave up...
He finger fucked me slowly at first, and then harder and harder, while he rubbed himself against me. He definitely knew what he was doing. After all of the build up, my clit was rock hard, and he played with me for a little while - bringing me to the edge, my breathing ragged, moaning, then pulling back and going slow. He slipped more and more fingers in, pumping me harder and harder, and then, finally, he let me cum, biting me on the neck as I literally gasped for air.
Just after I came, I felt him take hold of himself with one hand while he kept his other hand in me, moving in and out of my pussy. He started jerking off, which just got me going again, and I came really hard as I felt him cum all over my lower back.
We still hadn't said anything to each other, and we still didn't speak as he cleaned me off, and slowly pulled up my jeans. He stopped to kiss me - a wonderful kiss which I can still feel, and then walked down the hill. I continued back up to the hostel.
The day after, when I checked out of the hostel, we spoke very formally to each other, but we were both smiling. It was one of those experiences that seems like a dream - on the plane on the way back, I just laughed every time I thought of it.
This is not the only experience I have had like this - I'll tell you about another one that happened a few months ago later. But this is one of my favorites so far - it was so fast and delicious...
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