poeticdesires

Category: Fisting

  • No Expectations

    I didn’t go into the party expecting to play.  The invitation promised good food, tasty drinks, and friends.  That’s all I needed.  Still, I dressed cute and literally let my hair down, an act I don’t often do.

    People were slow to arrive, but the house eventually filled up with some of my favorite people.  We feasted on turkey, sweet potatoes, and various desserts.  We drank wine and cocktails and recounted stories.  I was happy I attended.

    In my social circle, it doesn’t stay normal for long.  After dinner, people began grinding on each other.  Hugs were close, long, and featured wandering hands.  Finally, one person was bent over and their behind was assaulted by two people at once.  The play of the party had started.

    I ventured downstairs.  While sitting and chatting, a friend asked me to tie them up.  They wanted painful rope.  I was happy to oblige.

    I lashed my friend’s leg into a tight futomomo.  I similarly secured their opposite arm.  I attached the two limbs together with a taut line hitch.  I then stepped back as the other person in the scene began playing with my friend.

    As I waited while they enjoyed their fun, a second friend admired my rope work and then asked to beat me.  I consented.  Before our scene began, I gave my second friend a quick rope lesson on the futomomo tie.

    Right before we were to start my beating, my first friend asked to be untied.  I loosed their binds.  They thanked me for my work.  I was happy they enjoyed their tie.

    My second friend sat in a chair while I sat on the floor.  They used their elevated state to put more power into their punches.  They struck my chest and my shoulders.  My body ached from their strikes for a few days.

    After my beating, I went upstairs for a cup of water before coming back downstairs.  As I entered, a third friend approached.  When my third friend and I had initially greeted earlier, they scritched my head.  Seeing my positive reaction, they gripped my strands tighter.  I then asked them for hair time later that evening.  My re-entry to the downstairs sparked the granting of my request.

    They seized my hair, then rolled it this way and that.  They bit and nuzzled my neck.  Their free hand wandered over my body.  They pulled my head back for a kiss.  My eyes closed, I let myself get lost in the sensations.  They whispered to me, “We should do more of this at Winter Fire.”  I agreed.

    After my hair time, I went back upstairs, went back to chatting with friends.  A fourth friend and I talked about our plans for Winter Fire.  We have a traditional scene we both were looking forward to.  And then I asked a magical question.  “Where is your kit?”

    Back downstairs we went.  In a private room, we closed the door and shared a stare.  They put on a glove.  I crawled across the bed, hung my hips over the edge.  It took no time for their fist to slip in.  I screamed, cursed, moaned.  I told them how I’d missed their fist in my cunt.  And I came over and over again.

    Going into a situation with no expectations can be comforting.  It’s no loss whatsoever if nothing happens.  Going into a party with no expectations and then having more fun than I had imagined possible: priceless.

  • Grind

    The music pounded.  Lights danced through the air.  I sat on the other side of the room and watched as people let their bodies move.

    Metkat, one of Amy’s partners and one of her housemates, stood behind his laptop dictating the playlist for this part of the evening.  MissAmyRed was one of the persons dancing.  Occasionally Metkat set a song to play and himself joined the folks moving as their bodies wished.

    I sat in a chair, nerves taking hold.  Even though I knew that’s where I wanted to be, on that dance floor, even though I knew how good it would feel to let go, I felt tied to my seat.

    I looked around the room, taking in the play.

    As I gazed left, I glimpsed a suspension in progress.  The rigger was an attractive man, tall and broad, strong.  The bottom was a beautiful woman.  I let my eyes drift between the bodies on the dance floor and the pair in their scene.  Later I learned the rigger was Kilawama, one of the people Gray and Amy mentioned in our conversation in the Barn at Rope Camp.

    With a bit of voyeurism under my belt, I relaxed somewhat.  I stood up from my chair, let myself walk the corridor to the more lounge-like area before walking back towards the dancing.

    As I strolled for a spell, I saw Clash.  I’d met him earlier that day, too; he was Amy’s other housemate.  For the week, I was staying in the house’s spare bedroom on the third floor, the same floor as Clash’s room.  We attempted to chat over the din of the music before he had to go back to his rounds.  That night he was acting as a monitor for the event.

    Even though I’d grown more comfortable in the space, I had yet to do what I’d wanted to do all night.  I took my spot in the chair again.

    As I went back to watching, I saw Tandava and Amy setup for a scene.  Also, to my right, I saw a hot fisting scene on a nearby couch.

    I also got into a conversation with a guy who took the chair next to me.  I forget what we talked about though, because of the song that played next.

    I recognized the beat as it began, recognized the music and the voice.

    “I’m sorry, but I know this song.  I have to dance.”

    I excused myself from the conversation, stood up, and walked towards the dance floor.

    Still, I couldn’t step on it, not yet.  There was a column just off the wood.  I leaned against it, moving my head back and forth and swaying my hips.

    She Wants Revenge blasted about me, their song Out Of Control, one of my favorites.

    As the half way mark came in the song, I started mentally pushing myself.  It’s just a few more feet.  No one will notice.  No one will judge you.  No one will care.  Do what you always do.  Close your eyes.  Let the music take you.

    I took a step.  And then another.  And then another.

    I let my hips sway, let my arms move.  I found an open area on the dance floor and closed my eyes.  I felt the music in my flesh, in my bones.  I let my body do what it wanted.  I let myself dance.

    I stayed on the dance floor for a few more songs.  I let myself be in this tiny world.  Just the back of my lids, or my feet, or the lights filled my field of vision.  I let my body do its thing.  I let go.

    I felt happy, truly happy, to be in Seattle.  And I realized why they named this party Grind.

  • A Visit

    If it is ok with you, I would like to crash with you Friday night.

     

    Originally I didn’t plan to go to Hot House.  It was scheduled for a Saturday evening, typically a night I work.  In fact, I had scheduled a ten hour shift for that very night.  But more than one friend said they were going.  And Doug was coming down from New Jersey.  And LyricL asked me, as a title holder, to attend the party.  Thus, under the influence of peer pressure, I dropped my shift and RSVP’ed yes to the event.

    So it was with more than a little glee that I received a message from Doug asking for a place to stay Friday night.

    He arrived at my house around 9pm.  We hugged at my front door, holding each other for a long moment, grateful for this random opportunity for a visit.

    I suggested we head out for dinner, my treat.  He objected, the memory of my Waffle House gesture still somewhat fresh.  Instead, he was the one who paid for dinner, sushi at a local hole-in-the-wall.

    As we walked back to my car, he pulled out his cloves and smoked.  From the vantage point of the parking garage, I showed him our downtown.  We spent about half an hour chatting, his tobacco scenting the air around us.

    When we arrived back at my home, the rest of the house was in bed.  We walked to my bedroom.  I stripped down to a comfy t-shirt.  He used the restroom, got ready.  When he climbed into my bed, I asked him if he minded if I slept naked; he didn’t.

    And then, randomly, he asked me where I was during 9/11.

    Okay, I thought.  Guess we’re not having sex.  That’s cool; it’s nice to see him either way.

    We chatted for a long time about a whole range of topics: politics, healthcare, religion (or lack there of).  All of it weighty, heavy stuff.  I adjusted this way and that on my bed, sometimes snuggling with a pillow, sometimes sitting up and animated.

    About an hour or more into our conversation, he finally noticed I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

    “I asked you if it was okay if I slept naked.”

    “Okay.”

    He stood up on his knees, took of his remaining clothing, leaned over, and kissed me.

    I pulled off my shirt.  We leaned back on my bed, onto my pillows, and made out with Tessie over my shoulder.

    He kissed me, teased me.  Sucked on my nipples.  Bit my neck.  I pushed him over.  Teased him with my lips.  Bit his neck hard.  Traced my tongue down to his nipples.  And then farther.

    He stopped me.  Explained he hadn’t been tested in a while.

    I introduced him to the second drawer of the storage container next to my bed.  Pulled out a condom.  Rolled it over his cock.  Wrapped my lips around his dick.

    The fun pivoted.  I pulled out an under pad, gloves, lube.  He went into his things; pulled out his butt plug.

    He laid back down on my bed, his hips on the pad.  I sat just off of the pad, lube bottle at the ready.  As I lubed my hand, I mentioned that I’d had a few lessons recently in anal play.

    I lubed up his hole, pressed my middle finger, and invited myself in.  My digit eased inside of him.  He removed his condom and began stroking his cock.  Later, I inserted a second finger.  He rode the wave of his pleasure.  I closed my eyes.  Felt myself inside him.  Relaxed into the fun of sticking my fingers up a cute boy’s butt.

    When he asked for the plug, he switched positions.  On his hands and knees, he pressed back onto the plug, then rested forward.  Back and forward.  I kept my pressure constant and in place.  Within a few minutes, his plug was in.

    “I’d love to suck your cock,” he said.
    “I’ve got another idea.”

    I pulled out my own plug.  Pulled out more gloves.  Got on all fours on my bed.

    He lubed up his hand.  Slipped his first finger in.  Then his second.  And, quicker than I anticipated, quicker than I knew I was capable of or would enjoy so greatly, my butt plug was in.

    I laid down on my back, the sensations a bit overwhelming.  He laid down beside me, more relaxed than my demeanor.  I tried to emulate his calm, but he had another idea.

    Changing gloves, he pulled out another bottle of lube, stroked my lips, and easily inserted his fist into my pussy.  I bit my wrist trying to quiet my screams.  It felt so good, so right, to be that full.  And yet, I started moaning.

    “More.  More.”
    “My full fist is in.  I can’t give you anymore.”
    “I know.  I know.  I’m a greedy pig is all.”

    I held my plug in my ass as he fist fucked me to an orgasm.

    I was high off my cum; he needed a cigarette.  We removed our plugs, cleaned up, and headed downstairs.

    As we sat, me drinking water and him smoking, he came to a realization.  Our hour plus conversation about religion and politics and healthcare had been a turn on for him.

    “Well, yes.  I get that.  I am also a sapiosexual.”
    “That’s what that means?”

    Shortly after, we went to bed.

    The next day we ate diner breakfast before he had to depart.  He was a part of the party setup.

    I was happy for my sixteen hours with my friend all the same, a most unexpected but highly appreciated quite enjoyable visit.

  • Fantasy

    I could not have picked a better song than the one I randomly pulled out of Lee’s bag: Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together.

    I’d already gone over the basic idea of a skit with Shay and Stefanos.  Now with this song in mind, we changed it to fit the lyrics while still going with the essence of my idea.

    Stefanos is a performer; I knew going into Dirty Pig having him help was going to be invaluable.  Shay, functioning as my handler, was a big reason why I did so well.  She kept me calm throughout the competition, but never more so than leading up to my fantasy.  She kept rubbing my back and checking in.  I felt safe in her care.

    Bribes were thrown at the judges left and right, my antics included.  Once, I quietly slipped to the judges’ table and offered cigars and cigarellos, as well as prep service to each judge.  Only Gray took me up on my offer.

    However, as I passed by one judge, she stopped me.

    “I like your true-excited-you more than your sex kitten.  Authentic you is sexy.”

    I was humbled, shocked, so grateful for her encouragement.  I thanked her and then hustled back to the Green Room tent.

    I recruited my friends for countless bribes that evening: alcohol service, tobacco service, bootblacking, massages, sexual favors, and one friend even just wrote ‘Vote for Poetic’ on her ass.  Magically, one person recruited herself to help me even though she had just met me that camp in a class.  It really does take a village to run for a fake leather title, and I am so immensely grateful to everyone who helped me that night.

    As it grew nearer for my turn back on stage, my nerves resurfaced.  I channeled my energy into encouraging my fellow contestants, who were also tied into knots, or just spending moments with Shay stroking my back.

    When Pig #4 went up, it was time for us to warm up.  Shay kneeled down and tested the waters; I was very wet and very ready.

    Once Pig #4 finished, our trio kicked into gear preparing the stage for our show.

    Our props: three cardboard stars, a small crescent wrench, a marshmallow skewer, a plastic ring (about the size of a hand), and a camouflage rain jacket.

    I wore my red teddy (because the night before Gray said it did great things for my ass) and a chain with a lock around my neck.

    Shay and Stefanos pinned their stars to their clothes on the left in back.  I clipped my star to my right boot.  (For those who don’t get the joke, we were flagging ‘Starfucker’ & ‘Star’.)

    We placed a piece of sex furniture on stage, draped the jacket on the sex furniture where Shay would be sitting, and put a chux pad on the floor of the stage where I would be seated.  Also on the floor beside me, I sat a buffing brush, a tin of Black Lincoln shoe polish, and my jar of Huberd’s Shoe Grease.  Both Stefanos and Shay were pre-gloved.  We were ready.

    Shay placed her boot on my chest and I began loving on her leather.  We waited for the music to begin.  The wrong song cued up.  Stage crew quickly fixed it and Taylor Swift’s familiar guitar riff pumped through the speakers.

    I kissed on Shay’s boots as she smiled and reached down to caress my face.  Stefanos stood on the back of the stage, watching, the skewer in his hand.

    Suddenly, he rushed forward.  Screamed something.  Grabbed me by my collar.  Pushed me down to the floor with the skewer.  Shay started screaming, too.  Stefanos shoved me onto the sexy furniture.  I remember hearing Shay yell, “You told me you were single.”

    In response, I gestured back and forth between Shay and Stefanos, and said, “But you’re hot.  And you’re hot.  And boots.”

    Stefanos took the plastic ring, with a handkerchief tied to it, and forced it in my mouth as a gag.  He grabbed my tin of polish, pulled up my nighty, and began beating me all over my body, smearing the black over my skin.

    Meanwhile Shay took the wrench, which was pre-condomed, and started fucking me with it.  Quickly she grew tired of it, proclaimed it too small, and tossed it aside.  Reaching into my Huberd’s jar, she yelled, “You don’t even deserve lube,” and easily slipped her entire hand into my pussy, already previously warmed up by her fist.

    Not done with their hate fuck of me, Shay and Stefanos switched.  Shay came by my head; Stefanos went down to my feet.

    What I write now I know from accounts both from those involved and those who saw the show: Stefanos dipped his hand into my Huberd’s, showed it to the crowd (big man hand and all), and in one fluid motion sunk his entire fist deep inside my cunt.  My eyes were closed, so I didn’t see it, but apparently I got a standing ovation, including everyone at the judges table.

    Stefanos pistoned his fist.  I moaned, screamed, and squirmed, pleasure racing throughout my body.

    As the song grew to a close, Stefanos slipped out, returned to my head.  Grabbed my hair.  Tilted my body up.  Pulled my nighty up over my head, wrote P-I-G in polish across my chest, and threw my head away right on the last downbeat of the song.  He and Shay walked away.  We could not have performed better if we had tried.

    Almost immediately Stefanos rushed back, asking me if I was okay.  There was huge applause.  I reassured him I was fine.  He helped me to my feet.

    I stood downstage center, with Shay and Stefanos genuflecting at my boots.  Carol Queen threw a t-shirt up onto stage.  Gray waved his leather gloves at me.

    I didn’t know what to do except stand there and smile, as if to say, ‘Yeah, that just happened.  That’s my cunt.  Glad you like it.’

     

    My Dirty Pig Experience

    – Pep Talk

    – The Rules

    – Introductions

    – Pop Question

    – Fantasy

    – And The Winner Is…

    – Gifted

  • Cuddles

    Text me, don’t knock.

    I took my things upstairs. Dumped my kit just inside the door. Then walked across the hotel. Made my way up to the suite. 


    Here.

    A few breaths later, the door opened. The room was dark. I stepped inside. Saw shoes by the front. Thought, to be polite, I should take off my boots.

    I sat my jacket and water bottle on a table. Bent down. Went for a lace.

    He grabbed me by my hair. Pulled me into his room. Closed the door. Threw me against the bed. I stumbled, knees on the floor, leaning against the mattress.

    “Now you can take off your boots.”

    I stood. Leaned against the tall bed. Reached down. Unlaced my first boot. Tugged it off. Threw it and my sock aside. Repeated. My lacing, intricate, takes time to unwind.

    He sat on a comfy chair in the corner. I took off my badge. Put it on a table. Rested my glasses next to it.

    I sat on the floor at the corner of the bed. Faced him. Had one knee up. Pulled my legs in tight. Looked at him as he read.

    “Why are you wearing your dress?”

    I turned around. Stood up on my knees. Reached down. Pulled my gray mesh dress off. Made sure to wiggle my ass. Unhooked my bra. Flung my clothes in the pile with my boots.

    “How many RopenSpace tattoos do you have?”
    “Not many. Just four.”

    I smiled. One of the of temporary tattoos sat just above my ass crack. His comment reminded me.

    “Take off my boots.”

    I crawled over to him. Went for his left foot first. Rolled his pant leg up. Unlaced his leather. Spread the two sides. Worked the laces loose. Rested my head on the toe. My hands held his heal. He pulled his foot out. I set his boot to my right. Worked on his right. Put it by its mate.

    “Would you like to taste my cock?”

    I reached up. Unbuttoned his pants. Pulled out his cock. Took him into my mouth. Licked his balls. Enjoyed it all. I’d missed the taste and feel of him.

    He stood up. Pushed down his slacks. They landed in a puddle by his ankles.

    “Take off my pants.”

    I pulled them from his feet. Put the fabric by his boots.

    He grabbed my hair. Fucked my face. I sat on my feet. Rested my hands on the small of my back. Took him as he wished.

    “You make it so hard to just read and go to bed.”

    After 69 and 96. After fisting and rimming. Titty fucking and cuming.  Passed out.  Slept.  And the next morning I did the walk of pride, happiness, and enjoyment back to my hotel room.

  • Winning

    “Your blogs have been pretty intense lately.”

    Yeah, about that…

    I realize as of late that my entries have been heavy. Life, contemplating my place in this world, how I got here and where I’m going, heavy. And I realize that is not what one would instantly expect from this blog.

    Don’t get me wrong, and I will just say this to be blunt: I’m gonna write whatever the fuck I want here. That has been my goal from the start, and if that ever changes I don’t know if I’ll blog anymore.

    Still, I don’t want to give people the wrong impression. My life is pretty fucking good. Occasionally I’ll have these moments when it is actually pretty fucking awesome. Not perfect, but definitely awesome.

    Case and point (and bringing the sexy back, as it were), there was definitely a good hour and a half at Winter Fire where I was absolutely winning.

    I had arranged a playdate with Shay Saturday evening. In the lobby of the hotel, we discussed what we wanted from our scene. She was interested in fire play and positions training. That sounded great to me, my only stipulation being I was not in the mood for penetrative play.

    Heading down to the dungeon, we found a massage table by the far wall and setup. My friend Alice came by to watch and practice her fire play, to which both Shay and I consented.

    We started our scene with me just in my black wrap dress. Shay was pleasantly surprised at how accessible it made me as she took the single piece of cloth off to reveal my nakedness beneath the fabric.

    Shay inspected my body as she ran me through several poses. She wanted my feet in specific configurations, as well as my hands. There were variations between service poses versus more sexual poses. It all rung my service/submissive bells quite well.

    As Shay went through the poses, she constantly rubbed all over my body both with her hands and her boots. I was incredibly turned on by the end of her instructions and quizzing.

    Transitioning to the table, she had me start on my stomach. Though we had had a brief fire play encounter during the opening ritual, this felt more connected and definitely more intense.

    Shay traced lines of flame over my body, down my back, my legs, gliding the curve of my ass. The warmth was intoxicating. Alice practiced with Shay’s supervision. I moaned from both their touches.

    And then Shay got mean. Instead of softly swiping the line of flame, she began smacking my skin. “What? I have to make sure it’s out.” I yelped and cackled through the pain.

    Flipping me face up, Shay again danced fire across my skin. Bringing out her cups, she tried her darnedest to make my skin look like I was attacked by an octopus: no luck.

    She smacked my nipples with her fire wands, and then smacked my nipples with her hands, again “making sure the fire was out”. She danced flame down my legs and over my cunt (talk about a mind fuck).

    Back on my stomach, she pulled out a spritz bottle and blew balls of flame in the air. The heat came in bursts, warming my body.

    Shay again went for my ass. No more hair and no more dead skin as a barrier, her smacks to the extinguished flame were stingy tortures. Soon I could take no more heat on my cheeks. Happy with her torments, Shay decided we’d had enough pyro pleasantries.

    She helped me from the massage table, making sure I stood up without tipping over. Running through the positions again, I remembered them well. I love rising to the occasion and all.

    Shay brought me back to standing and aftercare ensued.

    As we were finishing up, Stefanos ventured over. With another set of eyes to watch me to as I came back down to earth, Shay went about gathering her things and cleaning up our area.

    “You look like you were set on fire,” said my pinch supervision.
    “I was,” I said, smiley floaty happy.

    Stefanos was in the dungeon awaiting his next playdate. He came closer to me, brought his leg in between my thighs, and asked, “We’re suppose to have a playdate, aren’t we?” He lifted his leg up and down, massaging his leather chap against my crotch.

    “Yes, we are.  We still need to schedule it.” I let my hands and chest rest on his body, trying to not lose my wits in the moment.
    “What did you have in mind for it?”
    “I was thinking we’d try me sucking your cock and then you fisting me.”
    “You want to try it or you want to do it?”
    “I want to suck your cock and then you fist me.”
    “Fisting, you say. You want to schedule that?”

    Stefanos raised his hands to my arms, softly pushed me back to the table I had just occupied with Shay for fireplay (the same table she was in the process of cleaning) and encouraged me to sit on it. I did so, lying back as before.

    “Fisting, hmm?”

    He reached over to the safer sex supplies on a nearby table, gloved up his hands, and poured four packets of lube onto one.

    Standing by my crotch, he looked over my body, locking eyes with me.

    “Fisting, yes we can schedule that. How about right now?”

    Stefanos rubbed his excess lube onto my crotch, at which point Shay returned.

    “Hey baby. What’s up?”
    “Oh, just your normal spontaneous fisting.”
    “Really, cause poetic said she’s not in the mood for penetration.”
    “It’s good! We’re good!” I exclaimed.

    I quickly rattled off something about how I wasn’t in the mood before but I was certainly in the mood for what was about to happen.

    Thinking while horny, I asked Shay to snag a chuck to put under me before we got too far into my “aftercare”. Slipping it under my hips, Shay happily joined in on the fun.

    By then, Stefanos already had multiple fingers in me. “I’m just doing want the pussy wants,” he explained to Shay. Truer words were never spoken.

    [For those of you who are counting, this makes the second time I’ve been randomly fisted as aftercare (the first being when I met Ava Amnesia at Summer Camp 2011). Did I mention my life doesn’t suck? Yup, winning.]

    Stefanos, having two hands gloved, put his second hand to use when he asked, “Poetic, do you like a thumb up your ass when you’re fisted?” Is there any other answer to that quesiton than, “Yes.”

    As Stefanos stimulated two of my holes, Shay asked if I liked vibrators on my clit when I’m fisted. I mumbled something about liking them but they were not necessary, though I enjoyed clit stimulation. Shay, being ever so kind, fulfilled this desire. Hopping up onto the massage table, she reached over my body and massaged my clit while her husband was almost to the point of being full inside me.

    As per my usual, I was quite communicative with both Shay and Stefanos during my “aftecare”. Soon the magical moment came when I told Stefanos, who by now had four fingers in, to push. He did, and slipped his full fist into my cunt.

    And then I was gone. Lots of gibberish ensued, including some of the hottest dirty talk I have ever experienced. Shay (Did I mention she is super hot with a sexy sexy brain?) started talking dirty to me, asking me if I liked having Stefanos’ fist in my cunt. Of course I moaned my pleasure at having his fist in my cunt, how I was a dirty whore, how great it felt when Shay rubbed my clit, how full my pussy felt with his hand inside me.

    By now Stefanos had inserted a second finger into my ass as he also worked inside my cunt.

    At one point I was so excited I lifted my pelvis up, bridging my body, as I fucked his hand. And somewhere there is a picture of this very moment (I know because I saw it on a projector screen in the Atrium the next night).

    I’m fairly certain at some point a crowd of onlookers formed, but with so much stimulation going on my attention was absolutely not on the individuals who wanted to watch the show.

    Needless to say, that hour and a half was so many different levels of awesome. I couldn’t tell you how many times I came. I can’t quite articulate how mind blowing it is to have two amazingly hot people all about you and your pleasure. And the feeling of having my pussy be so full and pleased… I really do love fisting.

    Saturday night at Winter Fire was absolutely full of win.

  • An Excerpt

    ~ erotica ~

    [Note: The following is an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo project.  Enjoy…]


    I knelt on the ground, my head bent down, naked, waiting. He told me to wait. Told me he would be back. But when he’d be back I did not know. The chain around my neck, and it’s lock by the top of my sternum, weighed heavily on my chest.

    When would he return? Would he return? Was this a test? All I wanted was my Daddy. All I wanted was his cock. On me. In me. My mouth. My ass. Wherever he wanted. I wanted my Daddy.

    I heard footfalls, the familiar click clack of his boots on the wooden floor. Daddy was coming. Daddy was back. Daddy was home.

    He opened the door and closed it behind him. I didn’t look. I knew he didn’t want me to look, knew he liked it when I just waited, same as he had left me, same as he wanted me, on my knees, hands on my thighs, head bent in supplication to him.

    I heard the click clack as he walked to his chair right in front of me. Out of my periphery I saw those familiar boots, and those familiar chaps. I smelled his cologne. Even from those few feet away, I felt his heat. My Daddy was ready for me, wanted me, needed me. And his boy needed him too.

    “Stand.”

    I curved my toes under and glided up, my head still bent.

    “Look at me.”

    And, finally, I saw his face. His salt and pepper beard. His sky blue eyes. His jet black hair.

    “I missed my boy.”
    “I missed you too, Daddy.”
    “At my knee.”

    I rushed towards him, gripped his leg tight, and rested my head at his knee. He caressed my head, his leather gloved hands in my hair. My head instinctively leaned into his touch, leaned into each stroke of his hand.

    And then came the grip. He held onto my hair and pulled my face towards his. With his free hand, he unzipped his jeans which he wore under his chaps. Out came his massive and hard cock, the cock I had so missed, that cock that would soon be inside me.

    Daddy pushed my mouth onto his cock, all the way in, down my throat. I gagged at first, but made myself relax. My Daddy was in me again. I couldn’t be happier.

    He pulled on my hair, moving my head back and forth on his cock. Stroke, stroke, hold. Stroke, stroke, hold. Daddy had taught me how he liked his cock sucked, taught me how he would use my body for his pleasure.

    Once he pulled them out, my hands eased up to my Daddy’s balls. With each pause at the back of my throat I was to squeeze as hard as I could. This meant my Daddy would soon cum. My Daddy loved it when I squeezed his balls.

    Stroke, Stroke, hold/squeeze. Stroke, stroke, hold/squeeze. He grew faster with the rhythm, faster and deeper in my throat. I gripped harder and harder, so much that my hands hurt, but I didn’t care. It was what my Daddy wanted, what my Daddy needed, and I would do anything for his pleasure.

    And then it came, my Daddy’s grunts as he spewed into my mouth; warm cum filled me. I love the taste of my Daddy’s cum, love it when he cums in me, in my mouth, in my ass, just in me.

    Pulling me up by my hair, my Daddy encircled his arms around me as he kissed me, licking his cum from my tongue, filling my mouth now with his own tongue. Oh how I missed him, his dick, his tongue, his cum, my Daddy all in me.

    But he wasn’t done yet.

    As my Daddy lapped at his cum in my mouth, one of his hands now gripped one of my ass cheeks and a finger played with my asshole. My Daddy was especially horny and wanted yet more of me. I leaned my ass back into his touch, wanting more than just his finger playing with it.

    And then I was turned around, bent over, my hands on the floor. Daddy gripped my hips and pulled my ass into his mouth, licking and lapping at my hole. He spit into my crack. He licked and sucked all he wanted.

    His first ungloved finger slid in and I gasped from the surprise and the sensation. A moment later, after working me good, his second slid in. Daddy was opening me up good and wide. Sure enough, his third finger soon followed.

    I breathed. I screamed. I cried my pleasure as my Daddy stuck in a forth finger deep inside me. Daddy was going to do it. Daddy was going to give me my greatest pleasure, my favorite pleasure.

    A moment later, my Daddy’s full fist slid inside my ass. “Yes!” I moaned as Daddy began pumping his hand in my ass, ramming me hard. He punched my prostate, bracing his arm in front of my thigh both so that I wouldn’t fall but also to give him extra leverage, extra pushing as he pummeled my insides how I loved.

    With his hand so close to my crotch, he soon began stroking my cock as well. It was so much, oh so much pleasure as my Daddy fucked me right. And then, oh my god, and then Daddy bent down and started sucking my balls too. I could barely stand, could barely think of anything but all the sensations, all the pleasures running through my body.

    “Daddy, please! Oh god, Daddy please!”
    “No!”

    Daddy pounded my ass harder, squeezed my cock firmer, and lapped at my balls even more.

    “Please please please, Daddy! Oh god, please let me cum. Please Daddy, I want cum for you. I want to cum for you. Please!”
    “No!”

    Daddy sucked both my balls into his mouth, held his knuckles against my prostate, rotating around, and gripped the base of the shaft of my cock.

    “Fuck! Daddy, please! Please!”
    “Cum!”

    The world went tumbling as Daddy flipped me onto my back, my cum racing from my body into his mouth, onto his face, lapped up and on him. He used his hand to milk my cock, pulling every last bit of cum out of me for him to enjoy.

    Daddy slowly eased his fist out, then brought his face to mine. His kissed me softly as I tasted myself on him. He let me lick his face, lick my cum off of him, before kissing it from my lips again.

    His hand caressed my cheek, then cradled my neck, lifting me up off the ground. He softly placed my head back by his knee where I rested, waited, happy to have my Daddy back home.

  • Busy Day

    With the sacrifice of my Saturday a given, an unintended consequence arose. All of sudden I only had one day left at camp. One day to go to class. One day to play. One day to make everything happen.

    When I woke up Sunday morning, I already had a tight schedule. One class, four play dates, participating in an elaborate scene, and I still wanted to spend some time with friends. I wondered how I would make everything work.

    Quickly getting up, I showered, changed into a cute dress (cause this was my last day, dammit, I was going to look good), and headed to breakfast.

    After food, I went to the one class I knew I wanted to make, Playing Well With Others. I had already taken one of Vesper’s classes and knew that this one was a must see.

    As luck would have it, two of my cabinmates attended. We shared a futon couch as Vesper spoke, asking everyone questions, engaging the entire class in the conversation. The discussion focused on Monogamous and Polyamorous relationships, how they differed, and elements that were important to every relationship.

    At the end of the class, with most everyone gone (including my cabinmates) I found myself in a conversation with Vesper and one of the other class attendees. As one would expect, we mused on relationships and life in general.

    As it was soon time for lunch, once our extra-class discussion came to a natural end, I asked Vesper if he’d like to have lunch together. I had felt a friendly vibe from him from our initial meeting and wanted to get more time to chat. He agreed. We strolled down to the Dining Hall.

    During our meal, he flagged the camp organizers over. Vesper’s flight home was that evening and he needed a ride to the airport. I was now very happy I’d asked to spend some time with him.

    As the organizers thought on who could give Vesper a ride, an idea occurred to me: I could.

    Yes, my schedule was tight, but I could postpone a playdate for later that evening, opening up the time I would need to get him there. With Vesper happy to have a ride with someone he actually knew, we called over to the organizers; problem solved.

    Of course, this opened up a new can of worms for me, but I do love rising to challenges.

    And thus began my three hour whirlwind.

    First their was lunch with Vesper, chatting and laughing and such. Then, right after lunch, I rushed back to the cabin, changed, and waited for my first play date: cigar play lessons on the grass in front of my cabin.

    I told the gentleman with whom I played simply, “You scare me. I appreciate that.”

    He replied, “The way I get girls to play with me is I scare them.”

    “Like I said, you scare me and I appreciate that.”

    He requested my clothes off. I left on my red underwear with the words “I HATE U” printed on them. I think he appreciated that.

    After smoke-and-heat-and-ashy fun, and the promise of more play together at some time in the future, I grabbed my things and caught a taxi to the Dungeon for my second play date.

    Jim was waiting for me. I was five minutes late.

    We found a sex swing, setup two chucks (one in the swing and one on the floor), and then began our fun.

    The date was Jim’s idea. He quickly cleaned my boots before licking my leather and slipping his hand inside my pussy.

    “You have to be quiet; they’re having a class.”

    Behind Jim, across the Dungeon, I saw a group of people sitting in folding chairs having what seemed like an intense conversation.

    I wanted to scream as Jim’s fingers danced inside me. Orgasms rolled, but I had to muffle myself, my hands often covering my mouth, quieting my ecstasy.

    When we finished, with about ten minutes to spare, Jim and I chatted for a moment.

    As we spoke, I kept looking down at his boots. In a moment of asking for exactly what I wanted, Jim granted me permission to kiss his boots. I kissed and caressed his leather, allowing myself to get lost in the smell and sensation, but only for a few precious minutes.

    Cleaning the swing and collecting my things, I put my dress back on. I thanked Jim for the fun and then ran off.

    Arriving at Vesper’s cabin, I was right on time. He said his goodbyes before we walked to my car.

    During the ride, we again got to chatting, learning still more about each other. My initial vibe was confirmed in that car ride. He’s a cool guy; I could definitely see us being friends.

    I gave him a hug before he flew away, and then I flew back to camp. I still had two play dates and a psycho drama to perform in.

  • Fisting Is Fun

    Before we began, we had a little laugh. This would be the first time we fisted using a glove and lube.

    When I walked upstairs for my Fisting class, I was a little nervous. Inherent in the premise for my presentation is a slight flaw: I needed a demo fist.

    I knew this, and hoped that someone I knew, a friend, someone I was comfortable with would show up. When I walked into the room, only one person was there, a gentleman I had not interacted with before. Uh oh.

    I walked back downstairs and found Gray. I explained the situation, saying my class may turn into a discussion since I was not comfortable with someone I did not know fisting me. He said that would be okay but he encouraged me to wait, saying he’d heard some folks talk about attending my presentation. Also it was still early, with other classes soon to let out.

    Taking the opportunity to ask a small favor, I inquired if he could possibly be my demo fist. He said he would try to make it, allowing that the other classes needed to be in a good place for this to happen.

    I took Gray’s advice and headed back upstairs. I informed the gentleman we would wait for about ten minutes before starting. As I spoke, two more people entered. Already things were looking up.

    After the waiting period I had about five people in the room, so we began.

    I started talking about why I wanted to present on fisting. I mentioned how people in the past have told me this particular sexual act to them was scary because they’d only seen it in porn. I talked about how I loved fisting and how it is one of my primary sex acts.

    I talked about intention, how it had taken me many years to learn to take a fist. I warned against self sabotaging a session, going in with only the intention of having fun. I spoke about how much fun I had when I did it.

    And then Gray arrived.

    After our snicker, we began with the demo. Soon enough, Gray’s full fist was inside me.

    Through my orgasms, I spoke about the different ways I’ve found for achieving orgasms using a fist (vibrating, “fucking”, rotating, pulsing).

    After a question from one of my students, I spoke about different body positions for fisting. Working together, Gray and I rotated to show fisting from the side. Slipping out, I got on all fours and Gray was able to fist me doggy style.

    We covered different spots to stimulate (the G spot, above and below the cervix, as well as the cervix itself).

    I mentioned ways the bottom can assist in the sex act. I personally love being able to push my hips against a fist, in essence fucking the hand.

    Above all I stressed communication, the bottom constantly talking and asking for what they needed as well as the top consistently checking in.

    Many orgasms and screams later, Gray slipped out, needing to check on the other classes. Demo complete; class dismissed.

  • Passions

    We arrived five minutes early, groggy but excited. Inretrepida gave me a ride Saturday morning from The Naked House to the Grue, for which I was quite grateful. Otherwise I would’ve had to take three buses for about one and a half hours.

    As we entered we deposited our shoes to the left and deposited ourselves to the right on a nearby couch. As more people filtered in, we crept downstairs for food: bagels, yogurt, juice, tea, and coffee.

    I returned to my comfy couch and chatted with folks as they arrived. Soon, though, we were encouraged to make our way downstairs. It was almost time to start.

    As I stood in the back leaning against a wall, Gray approached.

    “Are you planning on teaching today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, then I’ll use you as an example.” Always happy to be used.

    With all the attendees ensconced in the couches and floor space of the basement, Gray began. He stood in front of a bookcase draped by a white sheet with various pieces of paper naming different spaces in the house taped to it. Otherwise it was blank. This, he explained, was our schedule.  We were going to create our day.

    “Think about something you’re passionate about. Hold that thought.”

    And then his example began.  Gray pointed to me, saying I would demonstrate the process for adding a class to the schedule as he narrated.

    First, I pondered what I was passionate about. Putting my finger to my lips, I looked up and away, searching for my idea. And then it came to me. A smile burst onto my lips as my finger swung from my mouth and pointed to the sky, proclaiming my idea.

    With the thought for my class acquired, I scurried to a coffee table full of pre-cut pieces of paper and sharpies. Selecting a piece of paper and a marker, I wrote the name for my class – Calling All Ashtrays: Cigar play from the bottom’s perspective. Gray read the name for my class as I wrote it. Affixing two pieces of tape to my piece of paper, I chose a time slot and spot for my class.

    With my example now finished, Gray opened up any and every one to add their classes to the schedule. I stepped back and watched as people filled the white sheet with their passions.

    On my way back to my spot, Gray quickly spoke to me, saying if I wanted to teach another class I could. Since he mentioned it, I decided I would. Heading back to the table, I wrote on another piece of paper – Fingering 401: Fisting is Fun! I then added my second class to the schedule.

    Almost immediately, there were changes to the schedule. I wanted to go to Inretrepida’s Self Suspension class, so I moved my cigar play class back. Gray wanted to attend one of my classes and another presentation in the same time slot; more switching. Once everyone was happy and assured they would be able to not only teach their classes but attend the one’s they found interesting, we settled back down.

    With everyone’s passions listed, and everyone ready to go, Gray sent us off to share and learn.