Month: September 2015

The Good Girl’s Guide to Anal…

I will openly, honestly and unabashedly admit it….

I love it in the ass.

There is something about anal that is so primal.  So taboo.  So dastardly.

I know that most women (let me clarify I hate generalizations like “most women” but know that I am speaking from my pool of friends and acquaintances) don’t regularly allow visitors in the “back” door.  They reserve this entrance for birthdays or anniversaries.  Or let’s be real…if your man cleans out the gutters, or refinishes the floors…he deserves anal, if he wants it.  But still…letting him fuck you in the ass is usually reserved for special occasions.  

Why is that?

Is it because you just don’t like it?  He doesn’t like it?  Is it because it’s perceived as being wrong or immoral?  Is it because you are uncomfortable with the mechanics of it…after effects, etc?  Because if approached properly, it can be amazing.  I don’t know if anyone else reading this has had a g-spot/anal orgasm simultaneously, but it is something you will want to celebrate.  It’s so fucking good, you may find yourself calling your mom to tell her about it.

Let’s open up and talk frankly about the ass.  The single most important thing  when engaging in anal is to make sure there is proper lubrication.  You cannot skip this step.  It is the difference between disaster and bliss.  It is imperative that you are well lubricated or it won’t happen again for 10 years, regardless of the gutters or floors.

Make sure you are clean.  As women, we often stress over our bodies.  And I will digress off the anal over to oral for a quick minute…but have you ever not enjoyed having someone pleasure your orally because you were stressed that your ‘hoo-hah’ was less than pleasant?  I know I have.  Not that it needs to smell like Bath and Body Works, but we all want to be so fresh and so clean, clean.  Over the years, I have found ways to ensure I am comfortable with my scent.  I have not one time had a complaint from anyone who has been up close and personal or front and center with her.  And so I encourage you…make sure your back door is clean and then let your anxieties go.

Go slowly.  Being able to venture around back makes some men very excited.  Make sure your partner knows that this is a process that is not to be rushed.  I am more aroused if he fingers my ass first…and when using lubricant, it ensures there is a slippery path for his grand entrance.  Whether you are using a plug or a dildo, or the real thing…take it one inch at a time and don’t forget to breathe.  Stay in close communication about what feels good and what doesn’t.  It may take more than one attempt to go “all in” but it’s worth the try.

As you become more comfortable, try double penetration.  While he is tightly in your ass have him fuck your pussy with his fingers or a well-lubricated dildo.  Or better yet…one that vibrates so he can enjoy it as much as you do.  Now that’s what I call double trouble.

Remember this…there is a cardinal, hygienic rule when it comes to anal.  After entering the back door, he is NOT allowed to enter the front door, without first cleaning himself.  There are certain “things” that should not be mixed together and this is very important.  Front door first, back door second…good.  Mouth first, front door second and back door last…even better.  (I am not an ass-to-mouth girl…I am in healthcare and could never go there with what I know) But ass is always last.  That rhymes so it should be easy to remember.

So why not get a bit liquored up and give it a spin?  (First time is a little easier if you’re tipsy) Why not try something taboo?  Why not surprise your guy with a welcome mat for the back door….one that says, “Come in, we’re open.”

Who knows…he may clean out the gutters without one single reminder this year.

Ass up, ladies.  Make it happen.


(Disclaimer.  This post was written by a masochist.  Please note all references to pain or discomfort may be minimized given her unique and twisted perspective.) 



Split in two

Pulled apart

Good and Bad

Light and Dark

It takes one

To make the other

As one is child

And one is mother

But which comes first

Tells the tale

Of which will win

And which will fail

Why choose just one

Of the two?

Why deny the whole

The entire you?

Why shroud one

While the other is free?

Why deny yourself

Such sweet duality?


(Photo from Pinterest)




The Purge

So in the last two weeks, I have written a total of 10 posts.

Most of these have been explicit tales of the decadent things I did in my youth.  Everyone has a past.  There’s no getting around that.  But my past is particularly colorful, to say the least.  And I hope you’ve enjoyed reading as I’ve cleaned out my closet.

But I have a confession to make….

I wrote this blog to purge.  To put it all out there to put it behind me, once and for all.  It’s been great to relive some of my wild times and equally as good to look back in disbelief that I did some of the things I did.  I was fearless in my quest and I am thankful that I emerged from my twisted path without visible scars…a more enlightened individual.

And this individual is now part of a couple.  She is part of something wonderful, something real and something life-changing.  And this blog as it is now, does not honor the man in her life.  Her Master.  Her One.

So I am leaving the past where it belongs…behind me.  It was a fun ride, but like most roller coasters, the ride is over when its over.  And that part of my life has been over for 20 years.

I am shifting the premise of this blog to the present.  Taking down the dirty little stories of yesteryear.  Replacing them with new categories.  After all, I have a vast amount of sexual experience under my belt….why not put that to good use?  I am sure many of you readers have advice to share.  Let’s make this a forum to share questions, answers and advice.  Staying positive.  Helping each other. Paying it forward.

Time for a change.

Moving forward…



The Weirdos,The Creeps and The Rejects

Summer 1994

When you work as an escort, you meet all different types of men.  If you think about it…what type of man pays to have sex with someone?  In my experience, I found that they fell into many different categories.

The Travelers…these men logged more miles in the sky than a Blue Angel.  They were away from the drudgery of their day-to-day lives for extended periods of time.  Travelers commonly worked in sales or management.  They were usually bold in their requests and most of them tipped well, as their expense accounts were as big as their egos.  A typical evening would begin with conversation and would quickly morph into…”I want you on your knees, sucking my cock.  Look me in the eyes while you do it.”  I like a person who knows what they want…

The Nervous Novices…it took every ounce of nerve for them to make the call to the agency.  They don’t really know how to express what they want.  Most of these men are wounded by society, past relationships or their own pitiful opinion of themselves.  For me, these were some of the most challenging clients to predict.  I recall having dinner with a very shy young man who just wanted someone to talk to.  He told me about his life with abusive parents.  He needed someone to listen.  Another client only wanted me to hold him…him fully dressed, me completely nude.  Another one didn’t know how to ask for anything other than missionary style sex.  So I finally asked him…”is this what you really want, or is there something you’re not sharing with me.  Tell me how you want to fuck me and we can make that happen, this is your hour.”  He was a nervous wreck, but turns out…all he wanted was for me to straddle his face while he licked me.  And if memory serves…for a nervous novice…he was pretty damned good at eating pussy.

The Hedonists….I only had a few of these creatures.  But it was party all the time for this group.  Mostly middle-aged and wealthy, these gentlemen liked having instant gratification.  For me, these were usually house (mansion) calls. They wanted to display their opulent lifestyle and decadent ways to those of us hired to serve them.  They wanted to have whatever they desired…they wanted it brought to them, immediately….they wanted lots of it….and afterwards, it was time for the next plaything to arrive.  I recall making a visit to one of these hedonists, seeing 3 other working girls leave with wads of cash in hand…as I was arriving.  And as I left, another escort drove up.  There was nothing remarkable or memorable about the visits…other than their impressive Rolex collection, or the imported marble in the bathroom.  But the return on investment for the minimum time and effort…was always spot on.

The Weirdos, The Creeps and The Rejects…These are the ones I hoped I’d forget.  These are the unfortunates out there who HAVE to pay for sex.  There is no other option.  The weirdos usually request off-the-wall things.  I had one who wanted me to cry when he fucked me.  I couldn’t do it, so I left and had another girl take my place.  She would do anything.  Another fellow asked me to use pliers to torture his nipples as I sat naked on his chest.  It was a stretch for a young 21 year old, but I managed to do it.  He thanked me a million times and tipped me for the experience. (Note, when he called the agency another time and asked for me to come back, I made sure I was “booked” and couldn’t make it).  The Rejects are the assholes of this category.  They are angry at the world.  Angry at women.  Angry at anyone who has ever done them wrong.  They want to take it out on whomever is in front of them.  The sex bordered on violent and they always tried to argue about money.  One even tried to argue about wearing a condom. I won that battle, but he was a real jerk.  Before leaving his hotel room, I dipped his electric razor in the toilet where I’d just peed and put it back on the sink.  I hope it jolted his sorry ass when he plugged it in.

So as much I as enjoyed my time as an escort, there were a handful of clients that were real assholes.  I quickly learned to spot them ahead of time and could usually manufacture a reason to leave and ask for a replacement. Because readers, I may have been working as a call girl, but I was no one’s whore and I refused to be treated as one. Best to just get out of that situation and try my hand (mouth, body) at (on) something (someone) else.


Photo from the movie Belle Du Jour, 1968


The Minute Man

The year was 1988.  It was early autumn and football season was in full swing.

A certain football player on my high school team took a strong liking to me.  His name was Chuck.  He was  a tall, well-built, All-American guy.  The kind of guy your find in the yearbook voted, “Most Likely to Succeed” or “Best Athlete”.

Students looked up to him.  Some even idolized him.

Teachers respected him.

And he did nothing for me.  I think he was too “squeaky clean” in appearance to appeal to my decadent tastes.  But he was persistent.  Relentless, in fact.  I finally agreed to go out with him.  I was a sophomore and he was a senior. My friends thought I was crazy for not jumping at the chance to be on his arm.  But I really had no interest.

We went out on a couple of dates.  He mainly talked about himself.  About football.  About his oldest brother…who played football for Georgia Tech.  He knew nothing of me.  He had no clue who he was talking to.  I listened and wondered if my time with him would earn me popularity points in the social hierarchy of high school.

By the third date, he began to make his move.  I could see it coming a mile away.  I guess he was accustomed to the typical high school girl, who was naive to his game.  But I had years of experience on this joker.  I felt like a kitten playing with a ball of string.

He had his arm dangled around me, in an attempt to feel my breast.  I excused myself to the bathroom before he attempted his rudimentary grope.  Foiled….

Then when I came back from the bathroom (we were at his brother’s house watching a movie) he rested his hand on my leg.  I recall that I almost laughed out loud.  Let’s face it, by this time in my life…I’d already had relationships with much older, sophisticated men.  He eased his hand up towards my groin, when I grabbed it and said, “what are your doing?”

He was shocked that I’d stopped him.  He gave me this long explanation of how he was so attracted to beautiful I was…how he could have anyone and he wanted me…blah, blah, blah.  How we should take this next step. How we were meant to be together.

I snickered to myself and pondered my dilemma.  Do I let this bumbling novice have his way with me, or do I give him a run for his money?  I decided to play with him a bit.  I acted so innocent.  So scared.  He reassured me it would be okay.  He told me it may hurt, but that I would like it.

And then I got pissed…because I realized that he’d said these things to countless girls before.  Innocent girls.  Defenseless girls who didn’t know any better.  And he happened to pick the wrong girl this time.  I began kissing him and straddled his lap.  He was a bit surprised.  I know he thought he’d won the battle.  I began stroking his cock with my hand, through his jeans.  He took it out and I proceeded to give him the best hand job of his young little life. And right before he came, I stopped.

“I am sorry.  I can’t do this.  I shouldn’t be doing this.  This is wrong.”

He was a befuddled mess.  “What?  What do you mean you can’t do this?  You made me this way.  You need to finish what you started.”

And at this point, instead of finishing my handiwork….I gave the pompous bastard a piece of my mind.

“No.  I won’t be one of the girls you take advantage of.  Now take me home.”

He tried to be forceful, but I stood my ground and asked his brother to drive me.  His brother was surprised to see me ready to leave so soon, but took me home, nonetheless.

The next day at school, a defeated Chuck tried to walk tall and brag to his friends of his conquests.  He said we’d had sex all night.  And that he was my first, etc.  I knew it was coming…I’d seen it so many times before.

But I was ready.

My friends seemed impressed when word spread of our tryst.  They wanted details.  And here’s where I got my revenge…here’s where I vindicated the others who had been advantaged before me.

My friend Shelley, “Tell me what happened.  This is big news. How was it?”

I reluctantly said, “Well, it all happened so fast.  I don’t know how to describe it.”

Shelley was experienced so that didn’t satisfy her at all.  “Tell me more…I want details…all of them.”

I looked down and said, “Well…it only lasted about two minutes.  I thought it would be longer, since he’s older, but it went by really fast.  All I could think of was The Minute Men we just studied about in history.”

She cackled with laughter.  Before lunchtime word had spread of his less-than-stellar performance.  He was furious but knew it was of his own doing.  After all, he was the one who said we’d had sex.  I simply expounded on the story.

Ironically, the name stuck with him.  I recall the homecoming game that year.  When they announced the seniors on the football team, the called his name…”here’s number 24, Chuck Connor, the Minute Man.”

Guess this time, I was the one who scored the two-point conversion.


(Photo from Pinterest)

The Good Girl’s Guide to Cock Worship

I don’t like the term “blow job”
It insinuates a “task” to be performed…a “job” one must do. It feels obligatory.
I prefer the concept of cock worship.

What is the difference, you ask?
One is a task. The other is a privilege.

When I worship my One, I think of it as a spiritual offering. I am giving him an immense indulgence. Letting him know how much I love and adore him with every lick. Every stroke. Every suck. Every nuance of my mouth. Seeing my mouth as a portal to his pleasure.

I usually begin by massaging his scrotal area. Sometimes rubbing a small part of his ass. I move my hand up to the shaft of his cock and stroke it softly and slowly. I then lick the tip of his head, teasing him before I take him all into my mouth. I do this in slow motion, savoring each and every inch of him as I slowly move my mouth up and down.
I take my time. I want to give him an unforgettable experience every time his smooth head parts my lips.

There is no agenda.  There is no timeline.

I lose myself in the adoration, the ritual.  I suck, lick, massage, stroke and consume him…for long sessions at a time.  I taste his balls, play with his ass and suck on his nipples.  I do anything to show him my reverence.

The focus is not solely on his orgasm.  Trust me, we get there soon enough.  I am centered on his journey to bliss, not the destination itself.  There have been times that I have worshiped his cock for almost an hour (with breaks of course) pouring out devotion comparable to that of a Buddhist monk.

And my reward is sweet.  And salty…

For the bad girls who want to be the best at being bad…here are a few tips to achieve Nirvana as you embark on your pilgrimage to cock worship.

  1. Know what he likes.  My One prefers a soft suck, not hard suction.  I have the tendency (when aroused) to give a Hoover vacuum a run for its money, but I have to remember how he likes it.
  2. Time is on your side.  If you are committing to a session of cock worship, then go all-in, without agenda.  Without a timeline in your head about giving head.  Just lose your head and do what you do.
  3. Make it a joint effort.  Please don’t forget about the boys.  Hold them.  Caress them.  Lick them.  Stroke them.  Show them some love.  You’ll be glad you did.  Use your hands and your mouth in tandem.  Pure ecstasy.
  4. Tease and play.  Have fun with it.  I sometimes play coy and ask if he likes it…do you want me to stop…should I keep going?  If I feel him coming close to orgasm, I may back off and prolong the experience.  Make it fun.  Keep it light.
  5. To swim you have to swallow.”  Marilyn Manson got it right with these infamous lyrics.  You have revered.  You have worshiped.  Now it’s time to accept your communion.  Let it flow down the back of your throat like holy wine, knowing you have paid homage to this demigod.

I must say, all of this writing makes me want to praise his member…


(Photo credit, Tumblr)

A Working Lunch

There are some foreboding sayings that infer that one shouldn’t fool around at work.
“Don’t put your meat where you make your bread” or “Don’t get your honey, where you make your money.”

Personally, I never pay attention to anything that begins with the word “Don’t”….to me that word does nothing more than present a challenge…something for me to rebel against.

Needless to say, I didn’t heed the warning. Not only did I have an affair with a co-worker, I had multiple trysts while traveling for work.

Such a bad girl.  

While working as a healthcare consultant, I met a charming executive director of the facility I was auditing. His name was Kyle. He was a couple of years older than me, in a loveless marriage like myself. And he was incredibly sexy. We had so many different sessions.  He was always ready for a good time and knew how I liked to be handled.

I recall driving back from the southern part of the state when out of the blue…my phone rang.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Driving.” I said

“How close are you to Macon?”

“About 40 minutes” I answered.

“Pull down your panties and rub your clit.”


“Do it.  I want you hungry for me.  Meet me at the Applebee’s.  I am at the bar.”

I couldn’t get there fast enough.  I did as he told me…I found that I loved masturbating while driving.  I came quickly despite the traffic around me.  And before I knew it, Applebees was on the horizon.

He was sitting at the bar and hadn’t noticed me come in.  I walked up behind him and said, “Is this seat taken?”

He turned and smirked at me, “It is now.”

Before I knew it, we had already downed a couple of drinks.  Not being accustomed to drinking in the MIDDLE OF A WORKDAY, I felt a little tipsy.  I got up to excuse myself to the bathroom, when he whispered, “stay in there and wait for me.”

WHAT????  In the bathroom?

I walked into the bathroom and it was empty.  Whew.  I did what I needed to do and moved to the last stall.  It was a little bigger than the other one.  I heard the main door open.  My heart stopped, waiting for him to come into the stall.  But it wasn’t him.  Someone went into the stall next to mine.

Then I heard the door open again.

It was him.  OH SHIT…there’s someone else in here, and he’s here.  IN THE WOMEN’S BATHROOM!!!

He quietly walked into my stall and neither of us said anything.  I was so nervous.  I’d had sex in a public place before, but it was an abandoned public place…and I was 17 years old then…not a professional having an affair with a co-worker.

We waited for the other person to leave and he began seducing  me right there in the stall.  He sat me down on the toilet, facing his cock and I sucked him hard.  He took my panties off and hiked up my skirt.  He sat on the seat and I straddled him.  I held onto the rails on each side of the stall and lowered my wet pussy on his rock hard dick.  It was so steamy and hot.  I moaned as he pushed me down harder.  He held onto my ass and spread me open to get deeper. We would quiet ourselves as women came in and out.  But we never stopped…he stayed inside me the entire time.  We fucked for what seemed like hours and came together.

By the time we emerged from the confines of the stall, we were both drenched in sweat.  My hair was wet and stuck to my face.  He was a disheveled mess.  And then we walked out of the bathroom.


As we opened the door, we noticed that there was a waitstaff meeting going on right in front of us at the bar.  I felt my face flush with embarrassment.  I could tell by the way they looked at us, that they knew.

But there was no shame in our game.  We sat back down in our seats and ordered another round of drinks at the bar.

That’s how you do it.  Like a boss.


Picking Up the Tab

Oh no, I insist…let me.

I developed a well-defined clientele while working for Elite Escorts in the summer of ’94.  Most of them were professionals traveling through my area on business…looking for a bit of R & R.  Being a sales person by trade, I found an enigma in this line of business….what should have been a short sales cycle morphed into a long sales cycle. One would think that a sex-for-services transaction would be an “impulse buy” much like retail.  You know what you want and you go in and buy it.  Done.

But in my case, it turned into a long sales cycle…it became relationship sales.  I began to understand each client’s needs on a deeper level and they didn’t want to go in and just buy what they wanted…they wanted me.  I turned each qualified/worthy client (those with the expendable income to invest) into repeat business. It was amazing.

I knew that the 3rd Tuesday night of each month was reserved for Tim, an engineer who worked in research and development for a pharmaceutical company. He was 35, born in Korea, but lived in Canada.  He was married with 2 children. His sexual tastes were basic and he usually asked me to stay the entire night.  The sex was okay and we spent a lot of our time talking.  I learned a lot from him about the pharmaceutical industry.

There was Andy, a sales rep who traveled the world, but lived in my hometown.  He was also married and he and his wife had no sexual connection.  He was probably my favorite regular.  He loved to put a chair in front of the hotel mirror and watch himself fuck me.  He taught me how to control my gag reflex (a skill that I later found to be quite lucrative).  He was always bringing me gifts from Europe.  I still have some of the jewelry he gave me.  And when I put it on in the mirror…I think back to watching him fuck me.  Yum.

There was the good doctor, Robbie.  He was a surgical resident at the local army hospital.  I usually made house calls to see him.  He always wanted me on top, with my legs extended up to his neck.  I remember one night he requested I come see him at the hospital.  I had no idea there were certain hospital rooms designated for physicians on call for 24 hours.  He was able to adjust the bed at an angle that allowed me to ride him, just like he wanted.  And the trapeze (used for traction) was an added bonus.  I could leverage myself while I rode his cock for maximum pleasure for both of us.  I looked him up not too long ago.  He’s a successful orthopedic surgeon in Louisiana, now.  And looks just like he did 20 years ago.

There were a handful of nameless clients who were not memorable to me, but I was obviously memorable to them, as they regularly used my services.  One, that I can’t recall his first name, was an A & R rep from a record company.  He always stayed at a very nice hotel and his room usually had the in-room jacuzzi tub.  He had a fantasy of receiving head underwater.  I didn’t know I had it in me, but I did it.  I could only hold my breath for about a minute before coming up for air.  But I kept diving down to see if I could last longer each time.  Ironically, I think it’s where my interest in breath play began.  Nice guy. Kinky as hell…but nice.  And he always came with concert tickets.

I learned through these experiences that most men are afraid to ask their partners for what they want.  There was an underlying fear of rejection that kept their dirty little fantasies bottled up.  I feel like I did a public service allowing them to have what they really wanted.  To watch themselves fuck me.  To fuck in a hospital bed.  To have someone suck them underwater.

And then there were a handful who were so fucking good in bed, that I considered picking up the tab and paying them.  There was the older Russian gentleman.  I know he was involved in some type of illegal shit because I got this vibe that he could break my neck in a matter of seconds.  But he drank my pussy like a fine vodka and fucked my brains out.  I was a swooning mess, desperately trying to say “thank you” in Russian, each time I left him.  “SPASIBO”

And there was the police detective who was hung like The Secretariat.  Jesus-effing-Christ, the man was huge.  When we fucked I always came.  I used to wonder if the reason he called a service for sex, was because his cock was just too big for the average gal to handle.  And trust me, it was uncomfortable at times…but I loved that feeling of fullness.  And again, at the end of the session, I wanted to tip him.  Years later I saw him at daycare.  He was picking up his daughter and I was picking up my son.  There was a brief moment of recognition and I was a wet mess for the rest of the night.  If memory serves…I went home and fucked the hell out of my (then) husband that night, thinking back to my time with him.  DAMN….

I had some really great times.  I met some great people.  I met some wretched assholes (their stories are for another post) and I learned my craft.  I was a professional, after all.  It was business….but the invaluable lessons I learned about relationships, communication, sexual mechanics and the fine art of listening, has made me the person I am today.  I feel lucky to have had those experiences.

And I wonder where The Secretariat is now….

the mirror

Photo credit from Pinterest

Sex and the Married Man

Fall, 1992.

His name was Tony.  We met at the local gym.  I was 19 and he was 32.  He was a bodybuilder who worked security at the nearby top-secret nuclear weapons site.  He had such an attitude about himself.  I was immediately drawn to him.

“You’re not doing that right,” he said.

I looked up from the machine I was using and our eyes met.  There was a long stare and uncomfortable silence.  Then I remembered…I needed to respond.

“Really?  I am new here and I have never worked on this machine.  Could you show me how to do it properly?”  I smiled as I batted my eyes at him.

He looked into my eyes and with his sexy smirk said, “Oh yeah, I will show you how to do it right.”

Before I knew it, he was standing behind me, not an inch separated his body from mine.  He guided me in the proper form and use of the machine I was using.  We did several reps together before he stepped away.

“I am Tony.  I’m a regular here.  Let me know if you need any help.”  And just like that, he was gone to the free-weight section to lift with his friends.

I was smitten.  He was very good looking with an amazing body.  He was confident and sexy.  And I had to have him. From that day forward, I paid closer attention to what I wore to the gym.  I dabbed on a little makeup and ensured I smelled wonderful, despite how badly I was sweating.  I was disappointed…I didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks.  Just when I’d given up and ditched the pre-gym beauty regimen, I heard his voice behind me.

“Good to see you again.”

I turned to look at him and caught him checking me out from behind.  I smiled and said, “Caught you looking!”

“Of course I am looking.  Who wouldn’t notice you?”

We talked for a bit and he asked me to have lunch with him after our workout.  I agreed and we ventured to a local Applebees.  Over lunch he looked at me and said, “You know I’m married.”

Shit. Crap. Damn.  Motherfuck.  I always have luck like this…the good ones are always taken.  But this time, I decided to dig deeper.  “Why are we here then?” I asked.

“To eat lunch.” he smirked.

What a smart ass!  I could tell he enjoyed playing with me, so I gave it back to him.

“You are right, Tony.  We are having lunch.  But my question is…what is for dessert, lover?  I know what I am hungry for.” I was rather pleased with myself as I relaxed back in my chair and awaited his response.

“Finish up.  We are leaving.” he said.

I didn’t know if I’d offended him?  Misread his cues?   Overstepped?  I took a quick bite as he paid for the check.  We walked out as he said, “you are riding with me.”

I got into his black Mercedes convertible as he peeled out of the parking lot.  Nothing was said on the drive to his place.  I was nervous and confused by his demeanor and really didn’t know what to do.

We arrived at his condo about 10 minutes later.  He instructed me to wait in the car for five minutes before joining him.  I did as I was told.  I knocked on the door and he answered it in his boxers.  He pulled me into the house with a bit of force as he laid me out on the sofa and kissed me.

Before I knew it I was completely undressed.  And before I knew it my feet were on his large strong shoulders and his enormous cock was stretching my pussy as he entered me.  He pushed so deeply inside me that I gasped from the sensation.  I’d never felt anything quite like that.  He pushed deeper again and again.  The rhythm of how he fucked me was pure ecstasy.

“Do you like that, baby?  Do you like my big dick inside your tight little pussy?  Tell me you like it.”  His thrusts were harder and deeper and I was about to cum when he said, “Say it.  Do you like how I fuck you?”

I couldn’t hold back any longer and I screamed, “Yes…don’t stop fucking me” as I had an amazing orgasm.  He came at the same time and we both just sat there in silence for a few minutes.  We got dressed and as he drove me back to the gym he said, “She is on night shift this weekend.  I want to fuck you every night she works, got it?”

So forceful.  So demanding.  I freaking loved it.  I said, “Yes I’ve got it.  I want as much of you as I can get.”

And so it began….my first real affair.  Although I was blissfully single, he was not.  And I learned the rules of engagement quickly and effortlessly…like a good girl should.

More to come…and come….and come.