The Bad Girl

The Good “Bad” Girl

The bad good girl

I think this percentage is off a bit.  In fact, by my stories on here, one would think it would be the other way around.  But in reality, I am really a good girl.

Just a good girl, who occasionally does bad things.

Here’s an example of the good:  I will help the old woman in the grocery store reach something on a shelf that’s too high for her.  (Not that I am tall, but I’m always in heels.) And I will donate to any charity that asks.  I’ve served the homeless in soup kitchens and bought food for the elderly.  I take in any stray animal who darkens my door.  I love babies and children and will move mountains to help a child in need.  And on occasion, I will pay for the person’s order behind me in line at Starbucks.  

And on occasion, I will leave that person a note.  Especially if it’s a hot single dad in line behind me.  Something like, “I’ve enjoyed looking over my shoulder to see you behind me in line, bet it would be even more fun seeing you like that from the side of my bed.  Enjoy your coffee.  Call me when you’re thirsty for “more”. I will save you a place in line.

JUST KIDDING!  I haven’t really done that (yet).  But I have had a few trysts with those single dads in the car line at Rocky Ridge Elementary school.  And then there was that gym teacher.  I loved to hear him blow his whistle.

Guess it was my special way of joining the PTO…like the good girl I am.

goodbad

(Image credits, Pinterest)

Reflecting

Greetings, Readers!  I have been in a contemplative mood lately.  Taking inventory of my quite tawdry life. Thinking back to some of the escapades I’ve written about and plotting my next posts, of the things (people) I did (and have yet to do for that matter), and some I’ve not shared with you.  I worried when I began this blog, that I wouldn’t have enough material in my kaleidoscope of memoirs to keep it going.  But that’s far from true.  There’s always something to dish about.  And so many more people to do.

So as I plan my next trip down slut lane, I will leave you with this…

goodbad

Be back soon with some legendary tales, and the rug-burns to show for it.

 

Fist Full of Dollars, Mouth Full of…

Warning…

I am going to live up to my title…

This is going to be quite tawdry.

During our time together, I helped Viktor embrace his inner Dom.  It wasn’t difficult to coax it out of him.  It was in there and he was very attuned to his natural traits.  He demanded respect.  He was disciplined.  In control of himself and his emotions.  And he possessed a charm that made you want to do exactly what he wanted you to do.  During a few of our trysts together, I had the pleasure of experiencing his hand on my backside, of being dominated and taken by him.

As time moved on, Viktor and I morphed into this incredible friendship where we could be completely transparent with each other.  I found myself in a D/s (actually M/s) relationship (and it’s still going strong) and he found himself searching for a submissive. As fate would have it, he found a young woman in her early 30’s looking for a Dominant.  It seemed a good match.  She was willing to learn and eager to please him in every way.  And he was a patient Dominant, willing to train her to his liking.  Her name was Nadia and life was going well for them.

Although obedient, Nadia had a very bratty side.  She wanted to please Viktor, but often put her own needs first.  She would follow his commands, as it suited her, but often did things her way.  He was very patient with her.  He held her on a long leash, but when he had enough, he yanked it back with incredible force.  And there was always punishment.

Viktor’s punishments were unique and relevant.  He would typically ensure the punishment fit the crime, teaching a lesson.  If Nadia was late, she would be lashed for each minute.  He soon realized she enjoyed the lashing, so he would completely ignore her for each minute she was late.  She hated it and found herself more punctual to avoid it.  Nadia had a very smart mouth and would often speak out of turn.  Viktor turned a blind eye to this behavior, because it was a facet of her personality that he enjoyed.  However, she often towed the line between acceptable and rude.

One Saturday afternoon they prepared to go to Sak’s on a shopping trip.  Viktor’s mother’s birthday was quickly approaching and he wanted to find her something nice. He invited Nadia to join him, as she could provide a second opinion.  She was thrilled to help, but her bratty side bubbled out and she said, “If I go, what do I get?  If I am helping you, I should get something pretty.”  At first, her demands didn’t phase him.  He was so focused on his mother’s gift, that he paid little mind to her antics.  They were supposed to leave at 1:00, go to Saks and have lunch, which would have put them back home around 4:00.  Viktor had a video conference with some clients in Europe at 5:00 and he wanted to get this finished early in the day to make time for the meeting.  Nadia was fully aware of his timeline.  And to be a brat, she decided to run back in the house for something as they were leaving.  Viktor waited patiently for the first five minutes, but then, he became angry.

She climbed into the car around 1:15.  And as she got in the car, she gave him a bratty little smile.  He knew she had done this intentionally.  He knew that she was acting out because she wanted the guarantee of “something pretty” from their excursion.  And as he rounded the corner out of his driveway, he reached down between his legs, unzipped his pants and looked at her.

“Since you are clearly misbehaving, I will need you to suck my cock for the entire drive.  But you are not allowed to make me cum until I say so.  Do you understand me, Nadia?”

Once again, she smiled a bratty smile and said, “Yes, Sir.  I can’t wait!”

She leaned over and began her task of pleasuring him as he drove to their destination.  She loved this punishment.  She loved the feel of his cock in her mouth.  She loved pleasuring him on the open road.  It made her feel like such a naughty girl.  She was lost in her place, when Viktor said, “I am glad to see you are enjoying this.  Maybe if you are a good girl, I will get you something pretty.  But you have to complete the task.”

She came up for air and said, “Oh I will complete the task, Sir.  No worries there.”

Viktor just grinned to himself.  She had no idea what was in store for her.

They arrived at Saks around 1:40.  Nadia’s face was still buried between his legs as he parked the car.  She continued for a few minutes and asked if it was time yet?  Viktor was beyond ready to unload, but had waited for this precise minute.

Pulling her up by her sweaty hair, he turned her face to his.

“Bratty slut.  Your mouth and lack of respect have earned you an applicable punishment.  I hope you learn from this.  I am about cum in your mouth.  You are not allowed to swallow.  You must walk around the store with me, with my load in your mouth, until I tell you to swallow.  If you can do this, I will buy you something.  If not, I guess you will learn to be more careful of when you open your mouth.”

Her face showed it all.  That’s quite a task for anyone.  Our natural instinct is to swallow what’s in our mouth…and she was not allowed to.  And she had to keep composure,as they were at a nice store, and she had cum in her mouth.

She lowered her head and began to suck him once again.  He was so turned on by this time, that he was ready to explode in her mouth.  Which he did.  And she held it there as the walked into the store.  She couldn’t even talk, because she would have to swallow.  And Viktor made it clear, she was not to spill any.

They found a lovely gift for his mother about 15 minutes into their visit.  Then Viktor decided to up the stakes.  “If you can hold me in your mouth for another 15 minutes, I will buy you a bracelet.  But you must not swallow.”  She nodded.

As they perused the store, he would walk up behind her and whisper in her ear, “You naughty little slut.  You like how I filled your mouth.  You like how it feels to be my cum slut don’t you.  You wanna feel it slide down your throat, so you can relive the moment don’t you, slut?  I own you.  You are mine.  Be a good girl.  Don’t swallow”

That talk made it excruciating for her continue on with her task.  She was so turned on my his words, that she swallowed by accident. She looked at him in shock, as he had watched her do it.  His eyes met hers and they just stared at each other.  It was affirmation of their   power exchange.  She knew her place.  He knew his place.  They knew who they were together.

And with that realization, he stroked her cheek, kissed her forehead and took her by the hand, leading her to the jewelry department.  “You won’t get anything today, but let’s look.  I know you will do better next time.”  She closed her eyes and smiled, knowing he was a man of his word.  She would do better and he would reward her.

That Viktor is quite a man.

lips

Photo credit, Pinterest

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

Growing up in the Deep South, it was an expectation to date within your own race, culture and religion.

I’ve never liked rules.  And I scoff at expectations.

My poor parents never knew who was coming to dinner. (But lets just say I always knew who was “coming” after dinner.)  My curiosity and adventurous spirit led me to some very interesting encounters with gents from all walks of life.

There was Geoff.  He was a restaurant manager where a few of my friends worked.  He was very dark and brooding.  No one called out sick when Geoff was there.  He ran a tight ship and as much as my friends disliked him, I found his power and control a big turn on.  He seemed to like me also.  We began dating and on the first date, I learned that he was Jewish.  I was fascinated.  We talked a lot about religion.  His very orthodox upbringing. His “rebellion” by dating Christian women.  We talked about rituals and teachings.  I was like a sponge.  I learned so much from him.

And then I thought…time to teach him a thing or two…

Although he was older than me by a few years, he’d not had many sexual experiences.  I feel that his upbringing had a lot to do with that.  I was happy to school him in the ways of the flesh.  He was a very tender lover.  Very considerate.  I longed for him to channel some of that power and control he exuded at work, but it just didn’t happen.  He just wasn’t confident enough yet to blend those parts of his personality.  But I could see a beast lurking behind those big brown eyes of his.  But it just didn’t last long enough for me to bring it out.  Our relationship fizzled before Passover.

There was Ki.  His mother was Korean and his father American.  We went to high school together and the bastard beat me out for Salutatorian by less than a point.  I never saw myself dating him.  He was so focused on school that I don’t think he dated much.  We were always friends (and always in competition) but there was no spark.  While in college that changed a bit.  He began working out and out of nowhere…picked up some serious swagger.  The combination of his new attitude and intelligence made me take an interest in him.  We started going out.  He was a doting boyfriend.  Always attentive.  Almost in a fatherly way.  He would ask if my car had gas, if I’d done my assignments, if I’d paid my bills (and offered to pay if I needed) and always made sure I had groceries.  Not that I needed any of this, but he ensured I was cared for.  For him, it was a learned behavior.  His mother had never worked outside of the home and his father handled everything.  She was very submissive and I feel that modeled what Ki sought in a girlfriend.

And in turn, as a submissive…I made sure he was cared for.  I gave him his first head.  And he was blown away.  He had only had missionary position sex and I opened the doors to contortions far beyond his imagination.   He was such an eager student that we fucked every chance we could.  It’s ironic that he tried to control my life in his own way…keeping me on task with the things I needed to do.  And I controlled him in a sexual way…steering the course of what we would do next.  It was an interesting dynamic.  And he loved nothing more than filling me with his seed when I rode him, only to have me finger myself to taste him afterwards.  Our little hot flame went out as he began testing to get into medical school.  His time was consumed with his studies.  But I must confess…I intentionally kept him up all night in a marathon fuckfest, the night before his first attempt at the MCAT.  Retribution, motherfucker…for beating me out of being Salutatorian.

There was Umesh, my chemistry tutor.  He was from India and was already arranged to marry a woman his parents selected for him.  And for me, in my rebellious nature, that posed a challenge.  How dare anyone decide for another person!  (Again…I was naive and headstrong…I had no idea that it was accepted in his culture)  So I took Umesh on as my student.  We didn’t have intercourse, but we explored far more than the periodic chart of the elements.  I showed him how to make me cum using only his index finger.  How to exact pleasure and pain by sucking my nipples.  I pleasured him manually and orally.  I think I even showed him some new hand job techniques.  He was always so grateful for our lessons. I am sure his knowledge served him and his arranged bride well.

And I ended up with an A in chemistry.

There were so many others I brought into the mix. My family finally began asking if there were any dietary preferences or religious restrictions when I said I was bringing home a date for dinner.  They eventually became accustomed to meeting people from different cultures, so I feel I did them a great service. And I didn’t do it to rebel against them or anyone else, I was truly thirsty for knowledge and experience.  I was able to learn things about different cultures and religions, intimate things.  I learned that at their core, men from all cultures and walks of life seek the same things.  Connection.  Respect.  Pleasure.

And amazing blow jobs.  

ki

On The Radio

The year was 1990.

I was on the cusp of turning 18.  For three years, I’d been in a D/s relationship with a man 16 years older than me.  He was my mentor.  My teacher.  My friend.  My lover.  And he was my boss.

That’s right.  My boss.

Since early childhood, I’d always wanted to work in broadcasting.  I read everything I could get my hands on.  I watched how newscasters spoke.  Their inflections.  Their mannerisms.  How they changed the tone and tempo of their speech to make a point.  It was almost an obsession.  And not only on television, but also…

On the radio.

We began talking when I randomly called the radio station one evening.  He was impressed with my voice and asked if he could record me making a request.  Of course, I was flattered and agreed.  We found ourselves talking every night.  Through the phone, I began recording the nightly “Top Nine at 9” countdown.  A few weeks into it, he asked if I could come to the station and do some production (commercials, morning show intros, etc) and I was thrilled to do it.  He then put me on the payroll and I began working there twice a week.  I loved it.

He taught me how to work the control board.  How to announce and promote songs to help move them up the charts.  How to record commercials.  He helped me find my inner actress, as I began developing characters for the morning show.  He taught me so much and our attraction grew from there.  I was always far more mature than most girls my age.  By this juncture in my life, I’d had more experience than most twenty-somethings.

And out of nowhere, the relationship became physical.  And once we started down that path, there was no turning back.  We fucked everywhere.  In his car.  At his apartment.  At the radio station (on the general manager’s desk).  We had this all-consuming lust for each other and we could not contain ourselves.  We also had a deep friendship, which made it even more intoxicating.  I didn’t realize what we were doing at the time, as he never labeled it, but he was my first Dom.  He taught me to serve him.  To pleasure him.  To take whatever he wanted to give me.  I was a natural submissive.  I soaked up all of the knowledge he bestowed and honed my skills.  And as I reflect on our time together, I can now see that he was a bit of a sadist.

One evening, I was at the station, working the board with him, when he began taking my clothes off, while I was on live radio.  I was a bit rattled, but as he taught me…I was to stay focused when on air and complete my task.  I managed to finish my segway into another song before he lifted me up onto the counter and began devouring me. I was so in the moment that I almost forgot to put on the next song.  But I regained my composure and played the next one.  As I prepped a long segment of music (four in a row) to give us more time, I’d hoped he would resume his meal…but instead, he pushed me to my knees and rammed himself deep into my throat.

Three songs played as I sucked his cock.  He taught me how he liked it…deep and slow.  And I obliged.  As the fourth song began to play, he pulled me up, turned me around and spread my legs open from behind…

His fingers dove deep into my dripping slit.  He was rough in his pursuit of my spot.  I was so close…so very close…and the song was running out.  I pulled myself together (with his digits still probing inside me) and announced the weather.  It was so hard not to moan while he finger-fucked me.  But I kept composure, once again, and got through my lines.

I prepped for two songs in row by the same artist.  I thought it would give us time to finish our tryst.  He pulled his fingers from my sloppy wet cunt and had me suck each and every one of them clean.  He then bent me over and fucked me from behind for a couple of minutes, directing me to then suck his cock clean.  The second song was running out.  I was getting panicked that I would miss my cue, so I rushed through his directive and grabbed the mic to speak.

As the first words fell from my salty lips, I felt him grope my backside, spread open my cheeks and push his large cock into my ass.  I know I must have gasped on air.  It hurt.  But it was so hot and so primal that I pushed myself into him, practically begging him to fuck me deeper.  He rode my ass relentlessly.  Growling.  Squeezing my flesh with his fingers.  Pulling my hips on his cock as hard as he could.  Lifting me up off of the floor as he penetrated me.  I’d never had anal like that before.  It is where I first recognized my masochistic tendencies.

Once again I pulled myself together to announce an upcoming contest.  He was still inside me.  He was pounding my ass as I spoke to thousands of listeners.  I could barely get audible words out of my mouth. As soon as the mic was off, he pushed my face down on the counter and filled me with his hot load.  He growled under his breath, “next time you try to rush through your directives, I will fuck your ass harder.  And you will take it.  Understand?”  And boy did I understand.  I couldn’t wait for the next time.

And we fucked like that for years.  On air.  Off air.  In the production booth.  At remotes.  We fucked every time we could.  Anytime.  Anywhere.  And yes…

Even on the radio.  

on the radio

The Halftime Show

The year was 1992.  I honestly do not remember who was playing in the Super Bowl.  I am sure I could Google it and provide you with those additional details…but that’s not what we want is it?

His name was Tim and we met at the gym (the same place I met Tony).  He was a stockbroker by trade that took his workout regime very seriously.  He was ripped.  His arms.  His torso.  His legs.  He was Adonis-like in form and had a baby face to go with that body…complete with dimples.  It was almost too much to take in.  His voice was deep and authoritative.  He was outgoing and friendly.

And we had immediate chemistry.  He was 37 and I was 20. He took the lead and helped me learn my way around the gym.  We started a tumultuous relationship.  On again.  Off again.  Hot sex.  Bad arguments.  More hot “make-up” sex.  Off again.  And we stayed off for a while.  We would see each other at the gym, where we would exchange niceties as we went about our business.  I’d begun using the aerobics room to work on dance routines as I belonged to a belly dance troupe.  It gave me a quiet place to rehearse, with mirrors and little distractions.

One day, I felt someone watching me.  It was Tim.  He smiled that boyish smile and i found myself wet, thinking of how he would feel inside me.  He motioned for me to come to him.  I walked over as he brushed the sweaty hair from my face.

“You are an amazing dancer.  I didn’t know you could move like that.”

I blushed and said, “Thank you.  You’ve seen some of my other moves. Guess I was saving these for a different time.”

His tone was serious, “What are you doing Sunday?”

I had no plans, but didn’t want to seem too available.  “I’m not sure.  It’s Super Bowl Sunday.  I may go to a party. How about you?”

He grinned, “I am having a party.  Come to mine.”

I smiled at the thought, but then remembered how volatile things became when we were together.  I hesitated.  “Maybe, I will.  I will let you know.”

He pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear, “I will pay you.”

Pay me? For what? 

“I want you to be my halftime show.  I want you to strip.”

I was a little taken aback.  Not that I was offended.  Not being prudish.  Just surprised that he wanted to put me on display like that.  But I was intrigued and flattered.

“What time do you want me there?”

“Be there around 7:00.  Have about 30 minutes of dances ready.  I will give you $200 for your time. I want you sexy, not dirty.  Many of my co-workers and clients will be there. No women.  Strictly a guy-thing.”

And at that, he turned and left.  And I realized…it was Friday.

Holy shit!  What do I do?  Which songs?  What do I wear? I was nervous and scared and I LOVED IT.  I went to my car and pulled out all of my music.  I needed to find the perfect songs for the occasion.  Before I knew it, it was dark and the gym was closing for the night.  I’d worked out searching for inspiration…for 3 additional hours and had lost all concept of time.  But in the end, I felt prepared.  I selected six songs.  Everything from AC/DC, to Prince, to Van Halen to James Brown.  It was a sexy playlist and I had special moves for every song.

On Saturday I spent most of the day shopping for stripper-wear.  But came up with little more than some thigh high fishnet stockings, a black lace corset, long black gloves and a black cowboy hat. I had a little black dress and boots perfect for the occasion.

Sunday arrived and I was beyond nervous.  I almost backed out.  But the adrenaline junkie within me took over and I found myself on his doorstep at 7:05.  He ushered me in a side door and had me wait in his bedroom while his guests watched the game.  He brought me a strong cocktail, which was the liquid courage I needed.  I tossed the drink back and waited for my cue.  I’d already given him my “mix tape” and he had it poised and ready.

He opened the door and took my hand as he led me to his game room.  There were about a dozen men there.  All of them were surprised to see me.  Tim turned the stereo on and introduced me as a “close friend” who came to entertain them.

“Tonight, you will remember this halftime show far more than the game itself.  Feel free to tip this young beauty as you see fit.  But no groping.  She is a lady and I hope to have her back for future parties.”

At that point, I heard the first riff from Back in Black and I found myself in the zone.  I’d brought a kitchen chair to the center of the room and straddled it as I began my routine.  I had them in the palm of my gloved hand as I mixed belly dance with burlesque.  By the third song, Prince’s Darling Nikki, I was down to the corset and cowboy hat.  I closed out the routine with James Brown’s Man’s World, a slow and decadent song where I received the most tips, in nothing but my boots and a g-string.  I felt like a goddess.

I received an additional $100 in tips and a roaring round of applause with lots of inquiries about my availability for other parties.  I was not prepared for that type of reception.  And Tim looked like the hero to all of his friends.

“You were amazing. I am so proud of you…and I am so turned on.  Fuck me here.  In front of them.  I want them to watch us.”

I was not prepared for that.  But at this point, I’d had another strong cocktail and I was game for the exhibition.  I looked at him and pulled the chair over to the side of the room, where I motioned for him to sit down.

I knelt in front of him and unfastened his pants, pulling them down slowly.  I could feel his hard cock beneath his boxers as I pulled them off.  I provocatively pulled my g-string off as I mounted him on the chair.  His friends were quiet as they watched us.  I think they were shocked that we were so audacious to fuck right there…in front of them.  He pulled me down on his cock hard as he rammed himself inside.

I gasped with delight as I rode him.  He squeezed my breasts and kissed me as he pounded my hole.  I remember how amazing it felt to come unglued and orgasm in front of a group of strangers. They were speechless.  The game had been back on for over 30 minutes, and the TV was not even turned on.

But they were.

Best halftime show ever.  I don’t know who won the game that year.

But I felt victorious.

the hat

 

One Hit Wonders-Hotel Valdosta

I am back after a lengthy hiatus.  I would love to report that my absence was from some extended hedonistic orgy in a far away tropical land.  But that was not the case.  A little thing called “life” broke in line, stepping in front of this pleasure seeking vixen and I ended up having to do responsible shit…you know, all the crap that has to be done…

When all I wanted, was to be the one getting “done”

During this responsibility-fueled sabbatical, I did quite a bit of thinking.  And reminiscing.  And fantasizing.  And….(you get the drift).  I thought about the gents I’ve written about and the fun times had by all.  I realized that I’d left out some of my favorite stories of the “one-hit-wonders” of my decadent past.

For several years of my career, I traveled.  I traveled from one side of the state to the other, often leaving on a Sunday night…to return home on a Friday.  The money was great, which helped my family.  But the hours were long and I was away from my kids, which was the major downside.  Along the way, I found opportunities to bring them with me and turn my obligatory business trip into a mini-vacation, while I still managed to work.  It was a win-win.

But for the most part, I traveled alone, but rarely did I find myself alone for long.

Early in my career, I went on a business trip with a colleague.  She was training me to take over a region, she had formerly managed.  She could see that I was more than capable of doing the job and left after one day of training…which left me on my own for four days.  It was my first time traveling alone.  It was nice.  I worked hard during the day and then I did whatever I wanted to do at night.  No kids to bathe…no dinners to cook…no husband to fight with.  The first evening, I stayed in my room and ordered room service.  The second evening, I ventured out to the hotel’s lounge and met several interesting people over free wine and appetizers.  On the third night, I went back to the lounge to see my new friends, where I met Alan.  He worked for Target and had just been promoted to a regional position.  He was tall and very muscular, with a shaved head and a devious smile.  We hit it off immediately.

He was charming.  We sat outside by the pool and talked about everything from work to kids to sports to history.  He was a great conversationalist.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time with him.  Around 8:00 that night, he said, “I am going to head back to my room to call my kids and check in on them.  I will be free in about 30 minutes.  Why don’t you come by and we can rent one of those overpriced movies to watch?”

And I thought…okay.  Sounds fun.  I will do the same.  So I called home and talked to everyone.  I emailed my expense report and prepared some items for work the next day when I heard a knock on the door.  It was Alan.

“How about that movie?” he asked.

“Sure. Let’s do it.” I said.

I had no idea he was about to fuck my brains out and ruin me for days afterward.  Really.  No idea.  I honestly thought we would watch a movie.  (My naivety astounds me at times).  

We arrived back at his room as he made a half-hearted attempt to find a movie.  In a fit of frustration, he flung the remote on the bed and said, “There’s nothing I really want to watch, how about you?”

I hadn’t seen anything that interested me either.

“You know what I want to do?” he asked.  “I want to kiss those full lips of yours.  I’ve wanted to all night. May I?”

And then it finally hit me!  OMG.  How silly of me….of course.  He was trying to weave a web of seduction.  My slut brain had been lying dormant and I didn’t detect the signals…but it was only a matter of seconds before I flipped the switch.

“Silly boy.  You don’t have to ask permission.  In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.  Just take what you want.”

That was the nod he needed to proceed.  He was adept and experienced.  Although, I’d opened the door of opportunity (and my thighs) quite wide, he continued on with his seduction.  He massaged every part me as he removed my clothing.  His lips grazed my neck. My ears.  My back.  My breasts.  He took his time and was relentless in how he enticed me with each touch.

His body was amazing.  His large stature and fit physique were a sight to behold, but there was a large scar on his abdomen.  It was where he had been stabbed as a teenager. He was part of a gang and spent a part of his life running with the wrong crowd.  And that just turned me on even more.  I was about to fuck a real bad boy.  I was about to bang a  member of a gang…ha! 

I recall how his mouth felt as he spread me open.  He told me, “You will never forget me.  I will devour this pussy and no one will ever compare.” He’s right, thirteen years later, few have had his talent for oral expression.  I remember hearing myself scream in ecstasy. I remember how his bald head felt in my hands as I held it tightly between my sticky thighs.

He eventually came up for air.  His face glistened with me as he whispered in my ear.  “You liked that, didn’t you?  Now you’re really going to like what I am going to give you.  I am going to fuck you hard.” He pulled my legs on his shoulders and slid himself inside my throbbing cunt.

His cock was fucking huge.  He filled every inch of me and more.  He teased me with his rhythm.  He would pound me hard and fast and then slow and deep.  And he would all but stop, pushing into me until I begged him, truly begged him for more…and then he would fuck me like a wild animal.  This went on for hours.

We fucked all over his hotel room, knocking shit over that got in our way.  He picked me up and fucked me against the bathroom wall, so we could watch it in the mirror.  Then he put me on the bathroom sink, facing the mirror, my knees on the counter with my ass in his face…so I could watch him lap me up.  That was fucking hot.

We got in the shower together and fucked some more.  He told me to suck him clean before we lathered up.  I guess I shocked him with my own oral skills, because he could not hold back any longer.  I will never forget how he grasped the shower rod and almost pulled it down.  He pushed my mouth away and shot his warm seed all over my face.

He lathered my body from head to toe and I reciprocated.  I loved the feel of his skin.  Once we were clean from the ditty deeds we’d done, we got dressed.  He walked me back to my room, made sure I was in and safe, kissed me and returned back to his room.  It was almost 3:00 am.

The next morning we passed each other in the lobby as we made our way to the coffee station.  “Good morning” he said, with that devious smile.  “You look rested.”

“So do you.” I smiled.  “It was great meeting you, Alan.”

And just like that…I turned and walked out to my car, headed to a meeting.  Keep in mind, I could barely walk and my entire body was sore from the night before.  It’s that kind of sore that makes you giggle under your breath.  The feeling that you’ve done something naughty and each movement is a reminder of how well you were handled the night before…

Sigh…

And then I realized…the money is great and the job is fun, but this is definitely a perk of working on the road.

image

 

 

 

“Real” Sex-Burning Love

Fall 1992.

I lived in off-campus apartments with 3 other roommates.  There was the exhibitionist bartender, Mary.  She walked about the apartment naked.  She rarely ate and had a different man in her life every week.  There was Jen, originally from Minnesota-‘don’t cha know’ who kept to herself.  And there was Maura.  She was from Jersey with jet black dyed hair and the attitude to match it.  And there was me…the straight-A student with a naughty side that overshadowed anything they were capable of doing.

Late that summer a new student moved across the hall from us.  His name was Levi (pronounced Levee, NOT Lee-vI).  He had just moved to the states from the Bahamas.  His skin was the color of honey.  Hair a sun-kissed blond.  And his eyes were a translucent hazel.  He had a strong British accent, with a twang from the islands.  He came from old money and drove a brand new white Jaguar.  He caused quite a stir among the girls at the apartment complex.  Dashing good looks.  Cool name.  Great accent.  Beautiful car.  Everyone was after him.  But he was aloof.  He paid them little attention.

One day we showed up at the apartment laundry center at the same time.  We talked as we washed our clothes.  He was quite smart and charming  I could certainly see why everyone was taken with him.  I found myself attracted to him, but wondered if he was “bad” enough for me.  We didn’t speak again for several days, when he approached me in the parking lot.

“Doing any laundry tonight?” he asked.

“Not tonight.  Think I’ll do it tomorrow.” I replied.

He grinned.  “Good.  Then you’re free this evening?”

I felt a flutter in my belly.  Was this price charming asking me out?  I decided to play it cool.

“That depends.  If you’re asking me to do your laundry, then no.  I am not free…I am quite expensive.”  I smirked.

I could tell he was impressed with my witty response.  He said, “No.  I wasn’t thinking of doing laundry…”

I decided to play along…so I asked.  “What were you planning on doing then, Levi?”

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “I was hoping to do YOU.”

Talk about direct and to the point.  Out there in the parking lot, he basically asked to shag me.  I loved it.  I do love a man with large balls…the balls to say what’s on his dirty, twisted mind  Maybe this pretty boy was bad enough for me.

I felt myself blush.  I struggled for a biting response, but I was so shocked by his brazen proposal, that I had nothing.  And before I could respond.  He said, “So it’s on then.  I’ll see you at 8:00.  My place.  The roommates are gone tonight.  It’s just you and me.  Oh…and wear those lacy black panties you were folding at the laundry the other day.  I’ve been thinking about them since I saw them.”

Now I really had nothing.  How do you even respond to that?

I managed to mutter, “Okay.  See you then.”  And we both went on our way.  I closed the door behind me and sighed….did that just really happen?  What the hell do I wear (besides the black, slutty panties?) He made me nervous.  Very nervous.  I was accustomed to being the most experienced.  The most confident. And here he was…outranking me.

To help cope with the tinge of anxiety, my bartender roomie, Mary, decided I needed a drink…just to take the edge off.  She made me some concoction that loosened me up as I got ready for my rendezvous across the hall.  I wore a sheer black shirt and cut off denim shorts.  I know…not date worthy, but we were staying in.  The shorts made my legs look fabulous.  My hair was fierce and I felt sexy as I knocked on his door.

I simply was not prepared for what I saw when he answered.  He was shirtless.  I was speechless.  He complimented me on my ensemble as he ushered me into the apartment.

“Have a seat.  What do you want to drink?’ he asked.

I had already had more than my limit, but before I could stop myself, I said, “Surprise me, Levi.”

I heard the cork pop and realized he had opened a bottle of champagne.  Oh crap…champagne?  Really?  Champagne had a very sexual affect on me.  I knew I’d be bent over his couch after two sips.

He brought out some glasses and poured us both a glass.  He toasted, “to laundry”

I don’t remember how we transitioned into the fuck fest we had.  He was very knowledgeable and aggressive.  He flipped, spread and rammed me as he pleased.  After he came several times, he said, “I need to recharge.  Dance for me while I stroke my cock.”

How sexy.  This man had some serious chops.  I loved the opportunity to dance for him.  We found some music on the stereo and he lit a couple of large pillar candles on the table.  He then gave me some instructions.

“The candlelight is so sexy.  I want you to take your time.  I want to see every inch of your body.  Spread those legs and let me see that glorious pussy that I am going to keep fucking.  Don’t stop dancing till I tell you.”

I was still a bit tipsy, as we finished off the bottle of champagne.  I started my “routine” on the floor.  Carefully choosing my moves.  I crawled to his feet, flipped to my back and opened my thighs for him to see.  I lifted my ass off the carpet and did a sexy grind for him as I touched my clit.  He loved it. I loved watching him watch me, while he stroked his hardening cock.

I rolled back over on all fours and crawled closer to him, allowing my breasts to spill onto his lap, grazing his cock.  He loved it.  Now the challenge was to get back on my feet, gracefully.  So I dipped down to shift my balance before standing and threw my ass in the air to keep it sexy.

Little did I know, the candle was close to the edge of the table.  My sexy sashay caused the flame from the candle to come in direct contact with my right ass cheek.

I was burned.  The flame scorched my exposed ass.  I was too shocked to mutter a sound.  I couldn’t believe it was happening.  But then the pain was too much.  I cried out.

He realized what had happened and immediately took me into the bathroom for a closer look.  It was a significant burn.  He made a decision.

“Get some clothes on.  I am driving you to the ER.  NOW.”

I quickly dressed, placing a homemade bandage on my burn, and got into his car.  He took me into the ER, helped me check in and left soon after they got me into a room.  He had class very early the next morning.

Can you even imagine my embarrassment?  How do you explain such things to an ER nurse?  There were questions like, “can you tell me what you were doing when it happened…followed by, did your clothes burn into your skin…followed by…so there were NO clothes that burned to your skin?  I finally just looked at the young RN and said, “look…I was doing a dance for my date and got too close to the candle.  I had been drinking champagne and my judgement was off.”  She smiled and said, “we see all kinds of things in here.  No worries…we will get you patched up.”  I managed to get some treatment and went home around 4:00 that morning.  Maura picked me up, in her bathrobe…with a towel on her head.  Seriously…no shame in her game.  Levi came over to check on me that morning before his 7:10 class.

“How are you, Joan of Arc?”  I was groggy from the champagne and pain medicine.  And I am sure I looked horrible.  But I managed to pull myself together.

“I’m okay.  Just sore.”

“I bet you are.  That was a nasty burn.  I am so sorry that happened to you.”  he said.  “Next time, we will make sure the candles are up a bit higher, because I want to see the rest of that dance.”  And he kissed me on the forehead and ventured on to class.

I was out of commission for a few days.  I made up a story about a more appropriate injury for my friends and family.  Only Maura and Levi knew the truth.  He moved to a house later that month.  Seems his parents bought him a nice 4-bedroom next to campus.  And I didn’t see him at school often.  He was more focused on living the dream, than attending class.  I heard he moved back to the islands sometime in 1993.

So, that was my stint with prince charming.  All in all it was a fun time.

I still have a small scar on my ass cheek.  It was always a topic of conversation with subsequent suitors.  I usually told them It was an injury from my childhood caused by getting too close to a space heater.  I did tell a few of them the truth…which was typically followed by, “i want a dance, too. ”

And I always obliged their request.

But with NO candles.

candle2

View From the Top…

I’ve been a bad, bad girl.

For most of my life.  At least for the last 30 years.

There have been so many (so very many) tantalizing trysts in my past, that I find myself forgetting about some of them.  And then, all of the sudden, I am transported back to a different time and place.

Just like that.

During lunch today, I drove through downtown.  My city is rather small and the downtown area is less than impressive, although they do try to “revitalize” it about every ten years.  The sun was shining.  The air was crisp. it was a gorgeous fall day.  I breathed in the air and began to reminisce about some of the fun times I’d had downtown. Then my jaunt downtown turned into a trip down memory lane.

It was the summer of 1991.  I was working in a pharmacy while attending college.  I had more suitors than I could keep track of.  A few remnant boyfriends from high school.  A few older gents, some married, that I saw from time to time.  A handful of college guys that wanted more than a study date.  Life was good.  I could take my pick any day of the week. I was never without a date, if I wanted one.

And then there was Vernon.  Yes…his name was Vernon.  He sat next to me in my Microeconomics class.  He was attractive and smart…and a bit cocky.  He wore a tie to class each and every day…even in the hot Southern summer.  He dressed better than the professor.  He set his sights on me and was relentless in his pursuit.

I declined his offer to “study” together.  I declined his offer for coffee.  I declined his offer for lunch.  But he was not deterred.  He was a nice guy, and for me…that was the issue.  I didn’t want a “nice” guy.  I wanted the bad boy…or better yet, the bad man.  And Vernon wasn’t my type.  But finally, one day I decided to take him up on coffee.  I was shocked  because we really hit it off.  His anal-retentive ways blended well with my fly-by-the-seat of my g-string ways.  His uptight demeanor was a nice complement to my free-spirited attitude.

We went out on a few dates and he was the perfect gentleman.  (And always dressed like he was on his way to a corporate meeting)  Things progressed at a snail’s pace and I found myself becoming bored with him.  I had my “exit speech” planned and was about to let him down easy, when I saw a glimmer of hope.  He was driving and looked over at me with a devious smile.

“Let’s take a drive.” he said.  There was a confidence in his voice that was sexy.  He then pulled in behind a Sherwin Williams paint store.  He worked there.  We parked in a place that could not be seen from the road and he began kissing me.  His tie came off.  And then my shirt.  All of my clothes.  All of his clothes.  We fucked on the trunk of his car and he wasn’t that bad.  The guy had some chops.  I could tell I was more experienced than he, but I still had a good time.

We fucked often, usually in his car or on his car.  And then one evening, after dining downtown, we took a drive up a winding parking garage at the Bank of America building.  Although I enjoyed our time together, I was becoming bored with our typical routine.  He wanted us to stay in the car, since we were on top of the parking garage, in plain sight.  I decided to take control of the scenario and insisted we get out of the car.  We put a blanket down on the parking spot beside us.  I pulled his pants off and sucked him right there in the open.  I told him to lie down on the blanket.  I wanted to control him.  I felt the beast inside me clawing to come out.

Channeling my inner Domme, I mounted his cock and fucked him as if he were my sex slave.  I paid no mind to his needs. I rode him furiously.  Ramming my body with his body with each movement.  Harder and harder.  I was high on the adrenaline.  I was high on making him…the anal-retentive, uptight Vernon…my bitch.  I used him for my pleasure.  When I felt he was close to orgasm, I would stop.  I wasn’t finished with him and didn’t want him to cum until I was ready.  I honestly cannot even remember if he said anything, or protested when I made him wait.  But I didn’t care.  He was mine.  His cock was there for my pleasure.

My knees were getting sore, as the blanket had moved exposing my skin to the bare concrete.  I quickened my pace and we came together.  In the aftermath I noticed abrasions on both my knees from our intense session.  I didn’t care. The inner beast craved pleasure and nothing kept me from my goal.  Looking back, I was in a very dark place.  If ever I was a sadist, it was then.

We were quiet on the drive home.  The beast began to retreat and I morphed back into myself again.  We kissed goodnight.  After I got home, I took a shower and tended to my poor bruised knees.  I felt a sense of pride from my battle scars.  It represented a different version of me…one I’d yet to embrace.  I liked it.

The next day, Vernon wasn’t in class.  He never missed class.  NEVER.  I worried that something was wrong.  On a break between classes I used the phone in the library and called him.  There was no answer.  Later that day, I called his work and they told me he wasn’t there…he was in the hospital.  WHAT???  Had he been in a wreck on the way home?  What happened to Vernon?

His co-worker told me which hospital and I called his room.  Vernon answered.

“Hey.  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay.  Just had a tear from last night.”

I was puzzled.  A tear?  What could he have “torn”?  After all, I was the one with the bloody knees.

He whispered into the phone so the patient in the other bed couldn’t hear him, “You fucked me too hard last night.   You split me and I am in so much pain, I can’t pee.  They have me on pain medicine.  They are sending me home soon and said I will be okay in a couple of days.  But we can’t do that again”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked and embarrassed.  I apologized and then tried to relive the evening in my mind.  As I reviewed it, I remembered hearing him moan.  I remembered hearing him beg me to stop. I was so consumed with lust.  So consumed with my pleasure, that I didn’t care.

Our relationship fizzled immediately afterwards.  I think he was a bit “gun-shy” after that incident.  I felt terrible.  I would never want to put anyone in the hospital.  I resolved to never venture into “Domme-mode” ever again.  Then, a few weeks later…a fellow classmate and I were chatting, when she said, “He’s such an asshole.  Plays like he is all about business, like he’s a nice guy.  He is all about who he can screw.”

I was surprised that anyone would ever say anything like that about the super straight, squeaky clean Vernon, I knew.  She went on to say, “He pretends to be so nice, but treats women like shit. He begged me to go out with him and about 3 dates into it, he got forceful with me.  When I broke up with him, he talked about me terribly.  Such a jerk.”

And just like that…I no longer felt bad for injuring him.

In fact, I laughed out loud.  And today, as I drove past that parking garage, I laughed again.  Poor Vernon.

Wonder if he still wears a tie everyday?

on top

 

 

The Student

Winter of 1988.

We met through a mutual friend, who said we were perfect for each other. He was almost 18 and I’d just turned 16.  His father was a dentist.  He attended a school in another county.  He was nice-looking, very tall and very smart.  His name was Joe.

Joe had all the traits of a confident, popular high school senior, except that he was painfully shy and socially awkward in certain scenarios.  He was most awkward when interacting with girls. I seemed to put him at ease.  And, I took him on as a project.

Our relationship began as a friendship.  We would attend different school functions in support of one another.  It gave us time to hang out and get to know each other in a comfortable setting.  But I found myself becoming more and more attracted to him.  I found myself thinking about him sexually.  Wanting him.

He was just so innocent.  So shy and nervous.  When we crossed the line from friendship into interest, our first kiss was a bit of a disaster.  But we kept at it and he grew more confident.  We began going on dates and instead of going to the movies as we said we were…we would end up in the backseat of his Volvo, making out to whatever was on the radio.  We never consummated the relationship.  He was very hesitant to go there.  I seemed to understand why.  I think it was performance anxiety.  He was still a virgin.

Joe knew that I was experienced.  More experienced and confident than he was.  I clearly knew what I was doing and he still fumbled about when trying to get into my jeans.  So I began to take on the role of coach, mentor, trainer to him.  You see, I knew the relationship we shared would not go anywhere.  Although we had so much in common on the outside, we were wired differently.  I knew that he couldn’t give me what I needed, even at such a young age…I knew who I was…what I craved…I understood my dark desires.  And Joe was truly too nice of a guy to handle my tar black soul.

I remember showing him how to remove my bra with one movement of his wrist.  How to caress my breasts, teasing my nipples.  I showed him how to kiss me on the neck to turn me on.  I demonstrated how to successfully get inside my jeans, with minimal effort. I explained a woman’s anatomy and showed him what felt good.  I let him experiment on me.  My body was like his laboratory and he was an eager student.

I remember the first time I took his cock in my mouth.  He came in a matter of seconds.  He was so embarrassed and apologetic.  But I explained that the only way to increase his endurance was through practice.  So we kept going there.  Eventually, he showed me what he liked.  He began to understand himself and his desires.  He learned how to communicate what he wanted from me.  How he liked it when I licked his shaft before taking him deep in my throat.

We carried on like this for weeks.  Each “date” was a tutoring session.  I taught him how to please me manually and orally. He became accustomed to giving and receiving pleasure.  He became more confident. He was morphing into the young man of my dreams.  But still, I knew it wouldn’t work long term.

One night after a long playdate in his car, he looked at me and said, “I am ready”

I was confused and said, “Okay.  I need to get home soon.  Let’s go.”

He said, “No.  I am ready to have sex…with you.”

I remember thinking how proud I was of him…that he not only knew he was ready, but he said it.  He told me.  I was impressed with his confidence.

I said, “Okay.  When do you want to do this?”  I felt like a teacher scheduling the final exam.

He said, “I will pick you up on Friday.  Be ready.”

Friday quickly arrived and I readied myself for our date.  I spent more time getting ready than I typically did for our sessions.  I wanted this to be special for him.  After school, I borrowed my mother’s car under the premise of getting hairspray at the store, but really, I bought my first pair of black thigh high stockings.  They were so opaque they were almost like tights and looked great under the black skirt I wore.  I felt confident and sexy.

He arrived a few minutes early and spend time chatting up my parents.  They liked his squeaky clean appearance and the fact that he came from a good family.  I rounded the corner from the hallway to the kitchen and our eyes met.  He was wearing a white Polo button down shirt with jeans.  He looked great.  He saw me and I could tell he was pleased by the way he looked me over.

We left my house around 7:30.  Instead of going to our favorite restaurant, he drove me to a place we’d never visited before.  It was close to his dad’s practice and had just been purchased by a developer (today there’s a car dealership there).  The road was clear, but completely deserted.  It was perfect.

Joe got out of the front seat without saying anything and walked around to open my door.  He took me by the hand and I assumed we would be moving to the backseat.  But first, he pinned me to the car and kissed me like he never had before.  I was shocked and excited.  He opened the door to the backseat and before I got in, he reached up my skirt and pulled my panties off…never uttering a word.  He then guided me into the car, shut the door and made his way to the other side.

He sat next to me and held my hand.  We rarely held hands, but it was nice. For a while, we just laughed and talked.  Then he looked at me, as he brushed my hair from my face and said, “I want you.”

Even though I was his teacher.  His mentor.  I felt a tinge of nervousness.  I was nervous about going all the way with him. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and laid it across the front seat.  He then carefully removed my sweater, and then my bra. We kissed and he pulled me on top of his lap.  He fondled my breasts and teased my slit.  I felt his hardness through his jeans and asked if I could taste him.  He opened his door and removed his pants outside, turning to face me in the car.

“Come here.  You know what I like.”

I sat on his side of the car and sucked his hard cock from the open door.  It was intensely hot.  He held my face and knelt down to kiss me.  Then he said, “Lie down and scoot back to your side of the car.  I need some room.”

I felt him mount me and for the first time, I felt him inside me.  He was rather well-endowed and filled me quite nicely.  Neither of us said anything.  We just looked into each other’s eyes and sank into our own rhythm.  He pulled my legs up and went deeper.  We never lost eye contact.  I knew when he was getting close to orgasm.  I could read it in his eyes.

He stopped and took me by the hand to pull me up.  He then got back into the car and sat down for me to straddle him.  I was still wearing my thigh highs and sat atop his lap, easing him into my sex.  He held my body tightly as I began to move up and down on his hard shaft.

He broke the silence, “How do I feel?  Do you like how I feel?”

I was eager to give him feedback, “You feel wonderful.  You fill me up and I don’t want to stop riding you.”

Hearing that turned him on as he grabbed my hips and began moving me to his rhythm.  Faster.  Harder. Deeper.  I came almost instantly and he was not far behind.  I will never forget the look in his eyes as he unloaded in me.  How intense. How amazed.  How grateful.  How sated.

Afterwards, I stayed on his lap and we held each other.  He nuzzled himself in my long hair and breathed me in.  We shared a certain closeness…an intimacy.  Something I’d yet to experience, and I later realized what a profound effect it had on me. Finally it was time for us to go.

On the way back, we stopped at a drive thru and ate.  We had been so eager that we forgot to eat.  We laughed and joked on the way home.  And as usual, he walked me to the door and gave me a goodnight kiss.  But there was something different in the way he walked…carried himself.  He was a man.  And at the time, he was my man.

Eventually our relationship fizzled and we went our separate ways by the Spring.  He graduated that year and moved cross country to attend college.  One day, I received a letter from him.

The first page of the letter talked a lot about his life in college, his new girlfriend, his family and then on the second page…written as a separate note, was a letter thanking me for taking the time to show him how to treat a woman.  He referenced everything he learned from me and how I made his first time so special.  He went on to say that if he lived to be 100, he would never forget that night in late February where he lost his virginity.  He would never forget how patient I was with him.  He said in the letter that I was more than his first time, I was his first love.  He closed the note in a way that was closure for both of us.

It will be 28 years this February and I’ve never looked him up on social media.  I have never attempted to find his number or contact him in any way.  I drove by his dad’s practice and noticed his sister had taken it over, since his father retired.  I don’t want to know Joe now.  Our time and our purpose was long ago.

I want to keep him alive in my memories, just as I remember him.

in the car