poeticdesires

Category: Gen Fiction

  • Your Kiss

    ~ a poem ~

    Our kiss didn’t end the moment our lips parted. The warmth of your breath, your mouth, lingered on my skin. Even as I stepped back. Even as I smiled and told you bye. Even as we walked away.

    I felt your kiss throughout my day. In moments that came without warning. In thoughts of you. In stolen seconds where I turned my head to the side, looked down, and smiled. In breaths where all I wanted was you here, near me, and your lips on mine again.

    Your kiss gave me energy throughout my day. As work tried to tear me down. As people gave me misery. Your kiss gave me joy. Hope to get through. Happiness at the thought of you. And glee, knowing I would be able to kiss you again so soon.

    Your kiss caught me randomly, at times. When I waited in line for food. As I looked for something or other on my desk. On the walk to talk to someone. You were there. Hands in my hair, on my neck. Lips against mine. Breath and passion and longing. And we were kissing all over again.

    I was glad no one could hear my thoughts. Feel what I felt. The heat of it. The wanting. The joy. That kiss was ours. Our moment. Our break from the everyday. Our embracing of each other. Connection and passion and need and home.

    As I make my way back to you, I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about you. Don’t want to stop remembering. Living in that moment. And looking forward to the next time we kiss.

  • Zipper

    ~ erotica ~

    His face was blank, cold. He worked quietly, except for the muted snap. He held the ribbon with one hand and lined up the medical staple gun with the other, making sure his aim was just so. He was creating art, cruel art, for his enjoyment.

    This went on for what seemed like forever. Line up the ribbon, line up the staple gun, check his aim, and crack. Another piece of metal into my skin.

    I tried not to move or make a sound. Tried not to meep or shriek. Tried to keep my breath from slipping into staccato. If I reacted, gave any indication, I knew two things would happen. One, he would be pleased that his torments were taking effect. And two, his treatment of my flesh would be worse. More art would adorn me. More pain inflicted. And his big flourish would be that much more to take in.

    For it wasn’t just the pattern he created that thrilled him. It wasn’t just the zigzags or loops or whirls, the curves raised above my skin. No, it was the final pull, unzipping his zipper, that gave him his real thrill.

    When he was finished with his work, he took a step back and admired his craft. A small, almost undetectable smirk, emerged on his face.

    He set down the staple gun and slowly walked behind me. I felt his body next to mine. His crotch against ass. His chest against my shoulder blades. The musky smell of his cologne drifted into my nostrils.

    Following the rules, I slid my arms behind him. Delicately gripped his ass. Lifted and exposed my chest. Propped up his art. Made my body ready for his fun. My head rested on his shoulder. I looked up at him for a few breaths before turning my head and closing my eyes.

    He reached over my body and danced his fingertips along the pattern of metal. With every touch I had to keep myself from jumping. I could feel even the whisper of the air moving over my skin as his hands took in his work.

    This was the most staples he’d ever put in me. And I knew there was only a few more breaths before the wave of pain and pleasure would arrive.

    “Ready?”

    I inhaled. Gritted my teeth.

    “Yes.”

    I felt him lift up on the ends of the ribbon, which he’d placed above each breast. The moment was about to happen.

    But as he lifted, he didn’t jerk. Didn’t yank. Just lifted, pulled, harder and harder yes, but slowly. I felt my skin stretch as he raised me up, up. I felt my spine compress as I tried to rise with his hands. At a certain point, though, all I could do was hold still. Take in the sensation.

    Pop.

    The first two staples at the ends of the ribbon released. I muffled a cry, but I knew he heard it anyway.

    His hands remained high, pulling at the next pair of staples. Keeping my chest arched up towards the heavens.

    Pop.

    The next two staples partially broke free of my skin. I felt the jerk of the ribbon on the next pair, and tried to quiet a shriek. I could feel the smile on his face, seeing me endure his torture.

    He lifted the right side higher now. My chest contorted, trying to alleviate some of the pain.

    Pop. Pop. Pop.

    Three more staples broke free. A tear for each slid down my cheeks. He bowed his head and lapped up the droplets.

    The ribbon no longer crossed on itself, looking now like an angled number six.

    “Fast or slow?”

    He’d never given me a choice before. He’d never put this many staples in me before, either. Fifteen little pieces of metal in my body. Fifteen little glints reflecting the light he shone on my skin. Eight more still had to be released from my flesh. Now I would decide how that would happen.

    “Medium.”

    Even in my pain, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to be just a little bratty.

    “Hmm,” he said. I heard the amusement in his utterance.

    He relaxed his hold on the ribbon. I relaxed my chest back down.

    He ran his left arm across my neck, lifting my head up. His right hand held one end of the ribbon.

    He pulled.

    Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

    Each staple released as he jerked at the ribbon, jerked at my skin. My body reacted without my will. Staccato breaths on each pull. New tears on my face. Muffled weeps with each shock of pain. And finally, on the last staple, he held it. And held it. Just at the threshold of release.

    “Beg me.”

    “Please. Please. Please hurt me. Take it out of me. Relish in my pain.”

    There was a split second where his grip relaxed. And then his arm swung out hard and the staple flew out of my skin. I screamed my pain. Cried into his arm.

    He melted his body against mine. I felt his hard cock against my ass. He rubbed his cheek against my face and sighed his pleasure.

    Even as I cried, my pussy throbbed from the pain and ecstasy of his art.

  • Xavier

    ~ erotica ~

    “What are you looking for tonight?”

    He sat in seiza, black kimono and matching pants perfectly pressed, arranged just so. His face was plain.

    “Something different.”

    “I have rope. You have your body. From there where would you like to go?”

    “Hmm…”

    You could always find him in the same spot every Friday night, on his personal mat, under the same suspension frame, ready and willing to tie all comers.

    “Hemp, jute, or MFP?”

    No one knew which he liked more. If he even had a preference. He was aloof, mysterious.

    “MFP?”

    “Humiliation?”

    “Um. Yes?”

    I really didn’t know what I wanted. Didn’t know what to expect from him. Had no idea how my night would go. But I knew he intrigued me, so why not push a boundary.

    “Are your clothes destroyable?”

    “Yes.”

    “All of it, down to your shoes.”

    “Ah.”

    “Take off your shoes.”

    I’d seen him tie all types.

    “What is your safeword?”

    “Red.”

    “Any play off limits? Any hot buttons?”

    “Use safer sex supplies if the spirit so moves you. Otherwise, have at. I’m feeling very orange tonight.”

    Different bodies. Different genders. Levels of dynamic.

    “Any health issues? Medications. Nagging pain. Stupid little things going on.”

    “Nope. I’m good.”

    Sometimes he was just the guy that took the pretty girl up and brought her back down.

    “Last time you ate? Any alcohol?”

    “Dinner about two hours ago, and no.”

    Sometimes he was sensual.

    “Anyone I should talk to before we start? Any dynamics? Partners?”

    Captivating.

    “Nope. I’m single.”

    I loved to watch him play, however he played.

    “Who do I contact if something goes wrong?”

    “The DMs on duty are all my friends. They’ll know what to do.”

    And, on the occasion, he was mean.

    “Are you ready?”

    Now those were the best.

    “Yes.”

    “Good. Then we begin.”

    I don’t know where the knife came from. Maybe the sleeve of his kimono. Maybe it was on the mat beside him but I just didn’t see it. All I do know is that he sprung up, lightning fast, and was at my neck in an instant.

    A hand in my hair. The blade against my skin. He traced the tip along my chin before gliding down. One quick flick. A small tear in my sundress. He released my hair. And then rip. My dress was spilt in two down the front. I wore no underwear. One more yank and the fabric was off of me. I was naked in a matter of seconds.

    A knee to the back of my thigh had me on all fours on the mat. I heard the familiar soft thumps of a rope coil flung free. He wrenched my wrists from the mat. Tied them together by my lower back. Jerked up. Pulled on my hair. Attached the rope to my mane. Added in tension. More tension. Craned my neck back.

    I looked up at him, nervous yet thrilled at what else he had in store.

    He looked down on me, face still blank. Eyeing me as if he were puzzling something out.

    He sunk down to his knees, his crotch inches from my face. Instinctively, I licked my lips.

    “Do you require a condom for oral sex?”

    “Not at all.”

    I eyed his crotch. The warmth from his slap lit up half my face. He grabbed my throat.

    “Open.”

    I parted my lips. He pulled his cock out from his pants. Stroked it with his free hand. Was already quite hard. Teased his head near my mouth. Stayed just out of reach of my tongue.

    “Let me lick it. Suck it. Enjoy it. You’ll love it when I blow you.”

    This time his cock smacked my face. Once. Twice. Then he slammed his cock into my mouth. I gagged. Then relaxed my throat. Used my tongue a little. Moaned from having him inside my mouth. He didn’t move his cock, just kept it there until I almost lost my breath.

    He stood up. Looked down on me. Cock still hard and out.

    And then he pissed all over my face. Into my hair. I turned my eyes away.

    “No longer so talkative?”

    I looked up at him. Rage. Pure rage. And lust. Carnal full body lust. I wanted him even more.

    “No words are necessary when you’re having fun.”

    I spat at him. Sprayed his piss and my spit onto his kimono. He was down, hand on my throat again.

    “You’re fun. More fun than the rest.”

    “So I’ve been told. Thank you.”

    His lips met mine. We kissed, our tongues almost fighting in the playful way young lovers sometimes do. I never imagined he could kiss that well.

    He sat back. Reached over my body. Untied his rope. Rested in seiza in front of me. I didn’t know what to say, so I said thank you. He closed his eyes, nodded. Looked on me.

    I was high, a rush of hormones from the scene. He was more fun than even I dared hope. I lept up and was about to bop off to the shower when he tilted his head up and asked a simple question.

    “Next Friday?”

    “I’d love to. See you then, Xavier.”

  • Talk

    ~ a story ~

    “Hi.”
    “Hey.”

    It was the same as it had been between them for some time now. Short. Curt. Never outright rude, but not warm either. Like any other day. Except today wasn’t any other day.

    He saw it. Normally there was a moment, a split second of eye contact, and then returning to their respective worlds. But she didn’t give that today. Didn’t even hint a glance in his direction.

    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.”

    She tried to hide her tears. Turned away from him. Threw her dishes into the washer. Made a dash out of the kitchen. He caught her arm as she attempted her escape.

    “Bani, what’s wrong?”
    “Not today, okay? Not today. I can’t talk to you today.”

    She wouldn’t look at him.

    “Bani?”
    “No.”

    She pushed him away. He let go of her arm.

    And then he saw it. The bruise on her face. The tears in her eyes. She must have been crying for hours.

    “Bani. Was it?”
    “No, it wasn’t him.”
    “Bani, you can.”
    “It wasn’t him. It was his frat brother. He wanted a turn with the new hot piece of ass and when I screamed no he came across my face so hard I fell on the floor. He went for my skirt, but I kicked him in the balls and ran.”
    “Edgar?”
    “I texted him. He called me a lying cunt and said we were through.”
    “I’ll.”
    “You’ll do what? Nothing. That’s what you’ll do.”

    Bani moved towards the hall.

    “Stop.”

    He grabbed her arm again. She lashed out.

    “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to stick up for me. When was the last time you said more than hey to me? A month? I started seeing Edger and you just dropped out. Where was my friend? Where were you Chris?”
    “You had Edger.”
    “A frat boy who spent more time stoned than in class. Who cared more about my cunt than anything I had to say. Who half the time kicked me out of his bed after we fucked. Yeah, we were totally gonna last.”
    “Bani, I.”
    “You what? Didn’t want to bother? Didn’t care? Had no time for someone who’s known you since we were eight. Someone who told you Cassie could go fuck herself for being so mean to you in fifth grade. Who helped you through Pre-Calc and Calc. Who is half the reason you even made it into this fucking school.”
    “You are the reason I’m here.”
    “What are you?”
    “I came here, I applied to this college, because I knew you wanted to go here. Because I knew you would go here. Knew you loved the campus. Loved the Greek system. Loved the classes and the faculty and and and. You didn’t shut up when you came back from your visit junior year. So I thought, if you were here, I had to be here. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else. I didn’t talk to you for the past month because I couldn’t. Not knowing you’d just be running off to see Edgar that evening. Dragging yourself back home at god awful hours from the frat. The smell of him on you.”

    Now it was Chris who couldn’t look at her.

    “If you asked me to, I would find him. Both of them. Kick their asses. Maybe even kill them. Anything you asked of me, I couldn’t stop myself from saying yes. From doing it. I love you Bani. Have loved you since forever. Will love you til forever.”
    “Chris, I.”
    “Don’t talk. Not now. Not when I finally said it. Finally let it out. Just let me hold you and pretend it’s third grade all over again and I’m guarding you from the scary dark place. Can we do that, not talk, just for a little bit?”

    Bani nodded her head, stepped forward, and accepted his arms around her. She nestled her head into his chest and let herself quietly cry some more. And, if she had looked up, she’d have seen she wasn’t the only person emotionally wrought that evening.

  • Salivate

    ~ erotica ~

    He had a curious grin on his face.

    “Why are you smiling?”
    “Because it’s you. It’s actually you.”
    “You did read the model release form, correct?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And my name was on the letterhead.”
    “Yeah, but. You don’t think you’ll actually meet the head of the company on your first audition.”

    Another one, fresh from the farm, looking for fame. How cute.

    “First audition?”
    “Yes Ma’am.”

    And he Ma’am-ed her.

    “You do realize what kind of porn we make here?”
    “You make all kinds of porn, Ma’am.”
    “Yes. What was your name?”
    “Samuel.”
    “Of course. Yes Samuel, we make all kinds of porn for almost every genre.”
    “Then this is where I want to be.”
    “Really. Why?”

    He seemed taken aback by her question. But then he stopped, gave it a few breaths of thought, and spoke.

    “Ma’am, I left home because no one there could understand me. I grew up in a very strict religious household in a very closed off town that had one way of thinking and being. And that way was not who I was. I realized that pretty early on and kept quiet about it. But then I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided to just leave. Packed a bag and came here.”
    “Why here?”
    “You’re the reason why I found my courage. I found your stuff, clips of your porn on the Internet, and for the first time I realized I wasn’t alone. Other people wanted, if I may be so crude as to say, the same kinds of dirty nasty downright wrong sex I dreamed of since I first starting jacking off. The kind I thought only I loved. The kind I knew, if I ever told anyone in my town, would have me beat or worse. To learn I wasn’t alone. To learn there were other people, lots of other people like me. Of course I had to come.”

    For the first time, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

    He was a cookie cutter image of down home raised 100% American red meat. Just what her audience would eat up. But there was also a genuineness in his eyes. He meant every word he said. Everything out of his mouth rang true.

    Standing there, naked in front of her, lights shining on his tanned skin, completely naked, cock out for the world to see, yet this boy was comfortable. Relaxed even. A light went on in her head. There was possibility in this boy.

    Still, she needed proof.

    “You listed Anything Goes as your preferred porn category. Do you really mean that?”
    “Yes, Ma’am. Until I yell Red, I’ll take it all.”
    “Well, we don’t have to start out with that today. How about just a test shoot. Are you up for that?”
    “Yes, Ma’am. I’d love to.”
    “Good. Andre!”

    She yelled for her assistant. He hurried into the room, latte in hand.

    “Thank you, my love.”
    “He’s cute,” said the tall gay man.
    “Indeed. Andre, darling. Take off your clothes.”
    “Ms. Hunt, I.”
    “Andre, you’ve been good to me this past year, learning everything I’ve taught you quite quickly. Up until this moment, your performance has been excellent. Do not disappoint me now. Take off your clothes.”

    Andre took pride in his wardrobe, dressing to fit his status as Sandra Hunt’s right hand. Well balanced colors. Polished shoes. Silk ties. Removing his clothes felt dirty, beneath him. What he didn’t realize was that Sandra was about to reward him for his work.

    “Samuel.”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”

    There was a look in Samuel’s eyes. His stare didn’t leave Andre from the moment he walked into the room.

    “Samuel, you are going to suck Andre’s cock. He, as with all my employees, is regularly tested for STI’s. You, by merely being here for this audition, have also been tested and come up clean. Are you comfortable sucking Andre’s cock?”

    And there it was. She saw it, plain as day. The way his eyes shot open. The lick of his lips, salivating over the idea of what was to happen next.

    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. Andre?”
    “Yes, Ms. Hunt?”
    “Stand next to Samuel.”

    Sandra turned and pressed record on the small digital camera a top a tripod beside her.

    “Let’s see. Andre, will you need a chair?”
    “No, Ms. Hunt.”
    “Samuel, will you need a pillow for your knees?”
    “No, Ma’am.”
    “Samuel, will this be the first cock you’ve ever sucked?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. Think of this as a lesson. One that will help you in your coming years.”

    Sandra glanced down at Samuel’s cock. Whereas before it was barely at half staff, he was now standing a full attention.

    “Samuel, first you’ll want to stroke Andre’s cock. Think of how you’d want your own cock touched, caressed. That’s good. Now, don’t forget the balls. Use both hands. Can you hear Andre, how his breathing’s changed. That’s what you want. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. You want to try to read to Andre’s reactions. Listen to his body. His non-verbal cues. Also he may guide you with his hands. Andre.”
    “Yes. Yes, Ms. Hunt.”
    “Put your hand on Samuel’s shoulder and push him down. Good Andre. Now Samuel. See how Andre’s cock has grown a bit. He’s becoming aroused. Do you like that, knowing it’s you who’s making this happen?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Are you ready to take him in your mouth?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.”
    “Good. First, lick your lips. I imagine your mouth is already wet, salivating even, at the idea of Andre’s cock in it. Start out with just licking the tip. Good. All around it. Now close your lips around the head. Be sure to cover your teeth with your lips. Now stroke his cock with your mouth. Up and down. Up and down. All along his shaft. How deep can you get him in your mouth? Can you take more of him? More? You feel Andre’s fingers in your hair. He’ll guide you. Glide you along his cock. Encourage his cock deeper into your throat. Do you like that? How Andre is using you. Making you take his cock. Making you take all of him. Fucking your face.”

    Sandra didn’t know how far Samuel would go. Didn’t know yet how far she could push him. But the thought of this fresh face, his fresh mouth, his cherry ass, and all the money she could make off of him made even the harden Sandra Hunt quiver at the thought.

  • Relaxed

    ~ a story ~


    “So, how is he paying for this ride: cash, grass, or ass?”
    “The second option, actually.”
    “Oh.”

    I should not have been surprised. It was 4/20 after all. But it wasn’t until he answered my off-the-cuff question that I remembered the date and the preferred way many folks celebrated it.

    Still, the next few moments shocked me. I watched as Zane opened the baggie of weed. There wasn’t much there, but he was only rolling one joint. York sat shot gun. I stayed quiet in the back.

    As Zane packed the rolling paper, he and York were laughing and chatting. The ride back had been full of giggles from me, but now I was stunned silent.

    When Zane finished, he used York’s lighter to spark up the joint. He puff-puff-passed. York took a hit, then pivoted his body back towards me.

    “You want some?”

    While they were smoking, I thought about how I would answer this question. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was going to say until I actually said it.

    “Sure. Thanks.”

    I had to remind myself the point was to inhale. I mentally encouraged my lungs to suck in the smoke. There was this almost perfect moment when I puffed, puffed, and then held the air in my lungs. When I let the smoke escape, feeling way too cool for school in the amount of smoke that came out, a small mellow came over me. This was not like the weed I’d had many years ago in my less than fruitful times. I didn’t giggle like mad or find everything hysterical. Instead I just sat, relaxed.

    The weed came around two more times before the joint was done. The guys chatted. I sat back and just tried to remind myself they actually like me as a person, wanted me there in the car. Just be cool may have run through my mind a few times.

    During my last taste of the weed, I puff-puff-relaxed. I looked at Zane. His eyes. His hair. His smile. I remembered the off-the-wall conversations we’d had. How I liked being around him. How whenever I saw him I smiled. How I wished I saw him more.

    Hey, I like him. I think I want to fuck him. Maybe more than fuck him. Okay, high or not, don’t say that out loud.

    I didn’t.

    The joint finished, we all disbursed.

    Zane and I both immediately went home. As Zane drove, I saw that his driving had changed. Zane loved to speed, so when he was going way under the speed limit I worried. I texted him.

    You okay?

    Yeah, I’m great.

    Alright…

    While smoking, he mentioned how he can’t speed when he’s high. I proceeded to watch him in my rear view mirror. We were going in the same direction, so I made sure he was okay until my exit. I then texted him again, asking if he got home okay. He did.

    Sitting in the back of Zane’s car, smoking a joint and shooting the shit, was the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time. I was mellow, mostly carefree. The stress of my days melted away in the haze of smoke surrounding us.

    I’m not saying I’m going to turn into a pothead. I don’t have the money to afford it, nor do I have a hookup. But what I will say… Sometimes people just need to chill.

  • Quarrelsome

    ~ erotica ~

    Our best fucks always happened after fights.

    We’d start off screaming about something in the living room and soon find ourselves naked in the bedroom, though often we didn’t get that far.

    Occasionally we’d begin ripping each others clothes off while still in the middle of the argument. Those were fun.

    Aggression was not our normal modus operandi. He was sweet, too sweet, when it came to sex. Gentle caresses along my flesh. Soft strokes of his cock in my cunt. Constantly checking in. Worried he might hurt me. Kind and considerate and boring as shit.

    That is, until we really lit into each other. Or, more accurately, when I really lit into him. Then he didn’t care. Pounded my pussy til I was sore. Pulled my hair. Bit and scratched and flung me this way or that. It was the best sex, the fucking I always wanted.

    Towards the end, I started picking fights all the time. Made things up. Got on him about trash or dishes or bills, anything I could think of to get him angry and his mad cock inside me. Since I knew the end was coming, I wanted to be cuming as much as I could before we were done. I was going to miss his hate fucking.

    It wasn’t the fighting that ended us. It was his sweet manner.

    He didn’t take control. Didn’t stand up for himself. Didn’t make his needs known, unless I started yelling. He didn’t tell me how much he hated his job. Hated the part of the city we lived in. Hated the ways I picked on him. Even hated my dog. Turns out he’s allergic; never mentioned that before he moved in.

    When he finally blew up at me, he told me all the things he should’ve been saying from the start. I wondered why he’d been my boyfriend in the first place.

    And then we had our final fuck. Took me right there on the dining room table.

    The thing that set him off: dinner. Pizza. White pizza with extra basil. He wasn’t a fan of basil. Thought it too aromatic, over powering.

    “Should’ve ordered it yourself,” I said, flopping open the box. The savory smell filled my nostrils.

    And then he was on me. First I was bent over the table. And then I was on the table, legs spread wide. He used the belt around my dress to drive my pussy onto his cock, fucking me with the ferocity I loved. He put his hand around my neck and growled while he took me. My hands circled his wrist, and I smiled and moaned while he ravaged me. I loved every minute of it.

    When he came, he pulled my face down onto his cock and I swallow it all. Then he slumped over, panting, and finally said it.

    “I hate fighting. I hate being this guy you want. I can’t fight you anymore.”

    And he walked away.

  • Penetrated

    ~ erotica ~

    “Turn your ass towards the camera.”

    She did as she was told.

    “Spread your cheeks. Wider. I want to see your asshole before I fill it.”

    She didn’t like this angle. She wanted to see her Master, glimpse his face on the screen as he ordered her around. Still, she always did as she was told.

    “Have you been training like to I instructed?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Good. Because if you haven’t this will not be fun for you. We both know, no matter what, this is going to be fun for me. Go get the package I sent you.”
    “Yes, Master.”

    She scurried across her room, picked up the box, and placed it on the bed.

    “Open it.”

    She tore at the packaging. Inside was filled with tissue paper. Lifting the delicate wrapping, she saw it.

    “Master?”
    “Get the bottle of lube.”

    It sat on her end table.

    “Turn your ass towards me. Spread your cheek with one hand. Lube up my pretty little hole with the other.”

    It was his hole, his mouth, his body, to be used in anyway he saw fit. She remembered that, loved that, as she pumped lube onto her fingertips and caressed her opening for him to watch.

    “More. Good. Stick a finger in. That’s it. Shove some more lube inside. You’ll need it next.”

    She did as she was told.

    “Now pick it up.”

    It was heavy, which made sense. It was big. Bigger than she’d ever taken before.

    “Lube all around it.”

    It looked like a freakishly large tear drop. She thought this ironic. She was sure there would soon be tears.

    “Now bring the tip to my hole. Keep spreading your cheek with your other hand. Is the tip against my hole?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Good. Push.”

    It was as she knew, at first. The familiar relaxation, letting go, letting something in. Only it kept getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger. She eased it in slowly, asshole spreading, as her Master watched and spoke.

    “That’s my good little slut, getting her asshole spread wide open for her Master. Filling my hole to the brim.

    “How does it feel, my little slut? To have something of mine in you. To feel it slide into your ass. Filling your hole. I want to see you take it. Take all of it. All of it. Me filling you to the brim.”

    She worked it in slowly, an eighth of an inch at a time. Breathing. Relaxing. With his voice, imaging it was his hand pushing the plug into her. His slow movement, filling her ass up.

    “Fuck!”

    It was in. All the way in. Her ass stretched more and filled fuller than ever before.

    Her eyes were soaked with tears she willed herself not to cry. Her body shivered from the over stimulation, wanting desperately to cum.

    “Master, may I?”
    “My little slut took all of it. Sucked my plug into her ass just like I told her too. Turn around, I want to see your face. Are those tears?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “From the endurance?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “You are going to endure a bit more for me. Position five.”

    She paused for a moment before accepting his command. Lifting her torso up, she sat back, her ass against her feet, her hands on her thighs. She tried her best not to groan as her own body weight pushed the plug in just a little farther.

    “Good, my little slut. Position six.”

    She tucked her toes under, lifting her body up just a little. She spread her knees, showing her Master her slut pussy. She interlocked her fingers behind her head. Sat back on her heels.

    “Good, my little slut. Play with your clit.”

    She licked her fingertips and began rubbing herself. Her body could barely take any more sensation. But she pushed through. She would do anything her Master wished.

    “I want to see my plug in you. Position seven.”

    She turned, ass up in the air, back arched, arms stretched out in front as her tits tickled against her bed spread.

    “Did I tell you to stop playing with yourself?”
    “No Master.”

    Her hand went back to her clit.

    “Start hitting my plug with your other hand.”

    She was forced to balance her body on her face and shoulders, but she didn’t care. Every inch of her body was energized, fueled by her Master’s cruel lust. She slapped the plug’s base while playing with herself, her ass and pussy right in front of the camera for her Master to see. She moaned despite herself.

    “My little slut.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Cum.”

    She gasped. Bit her bed spread. Rubbed her clit faster. Slapped her plug harder. Panted. Her body convulsed. She screamed, “Thank you Master. Thank you Master.” And came as her Master watched.

    When she finished, she sat in front of the laptop in position five, plug still delightfully inside her.

    “My little slut, it’s getting late. I have to go to bed, and so do you. But before we part, position seven.”

    She turned and stretched out her body.

    “Now, relax and pull out my plug. Slowly. Just as slowly as when I ordered it into your body.”

    She gripped the base and eased out the teardrop. New tears entered her eyes as the plug left her ass. Her Master was leaving her body. Taking away that piece of him she’d accepted into herself. She worked the toy out, trying to enjoy each minuscule sensation as it exited her ass.

    When gone from her hole, she returned to position five, plug in hand.

    “You will do this every third night for two weeks, just as we have just done. My plug in. You playing with yourself. Cuming. And then pulling my plug out.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “And you will remember whose name to scream, who to thank each time my plug is filling you up and making you cum?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Until next time, my little slut, when on the fifteenth day I will be there in the flesh, and it will be my hand penetrating you.”

  • Orals

    ~ erotica ~

    “How was your test?”
    “Brutal.”
    “I thought college was suppose to be about learning. This shit feels more like torture.”
    “Indeed.”

    ~

    “When examining the works of. Of. Copley. When examining his portraits. On the whole. One sees. Oh God.”
    “This is not religion class, Ms. Lane. And though Copley’s work is magnificent, I do not believe anyone has seen God in his art. Start again.”
    “Yes, Mr. Cecil.”

    Penny bit her lip, gripped the edge of his desk, and dung in her nails. Mr. Cecil knelt down and again pressed his lips onto Penny’s clit.

    “When examining the portraits. Mmm. Of. Mmm. Of Copley. One sees. One sees his exper. His exper. His expertise. In capturing. Detail. Form. And the human fa-a-ace.”

    Penny’s voice rose an octave as her hips tilted up.

    “The human face, you say?” said Mr. Cecil through teeth gripping Penny’s mons.
    “Yes. Sir. His a-bil-i-ty. To paint. Life. Like. Portraits. Surpassed. His. Con-tem-por-ar-ries.”

    Mr. Cecil relaxed his teeth.

    “Can you give an example of this skill?”
    “Yes, Sir.”

    Mr. Cecil resumed enjoying Penny’s pussy.

    “Copley was so. So detailed. In his work!”

    Mr. Cecil slid two fingers into Penny’s pretty pussy.

    “So detailed, Ms. Lane?”
    “So detailed! That portraits. Featuring! Men wearing. Formal white wigs! Include. Include powder. From. From their. From their wigs. Kissing.”
    “Kissing?”

    Mr. Cecil stood, wrapped his free arm around Penny’s neck, and pivoted her body up. As he brought his lips to Penny’s mouth, embracing his ever eager student, he pistoned his fingers in and out of her hot pussy. Penny squealed, tasting her pussy on her mentor’s lips, on his tongue, in his mouth, and cuming on his hand.

    Mr. Cecil grabbed Penny’s hair, tilted her head back, and said, “Kissing?”

    “Kissing their shoulders.”
    “Very good, Ms. Lane. A+ on your oral exam.”

  • Never

    ~ a story ~

    Never read his Twitter feed before bed. If you do, you’ll start dreaming of him even before your eyes close. You’ll wish for what you can’t ever have, imagine a life you’ll never live, and bath yourself in what-ifs til your heart groans.

    Never comment on his blog. No matter how awesome you think his latest tattoo is. No matter how sweet his cat looks on his shoulder. No matter how much you just want to say hi. Reconnect. See how his life’s been. You know how his life’s been. You read his blog.

    Never mention his name. Your friends are tired of hearing it. Of this new thing he did, this new adventure he’s taking. Maybe he’ll invite you, even though he always forgot your name. Your friends know the reality you are unwilling to accept. Your friends have tried to be kind, patient. Your friends are tiring of your emotional broken record.

    Never leave the house without a book. You’ll need to plunge yourself into another world on the bus trip to work. During your lunch break. On the walk back. If you don’t, your thoughts will turn to him. To his pretty brown eyes. His baby face. His trim frame. The way he looks when he’s jogging. When he’s engaging a crowd.

    Never look at his Facebook. Ever. You don’t want to know his status update. You don’t want to see her name, whoever she is. The latest in his line of perfect perky girls he’s dating, a string of blonde-haired-blue-eyed-Barbie’s since college. You’ll only print out pictures of her, scratch out the eyes, and draw mustaches all over her face. Facebook is forbidden.

    Never go to the reunion without a friend. Preferably someone from high school so they know to distract you when he walks in. Hopefully they’ll get your attention away from the door for more than five minutes in the night. And, when he does arrive, if they are clever, they’ll get you to not notice him for a breath or two.

    But, above all else, never speak to him. Not ever again. Because the last time was enough. He didn’t even get the first letter of your name right. Didn’t remember your tutoring him. The study prep. The homework help. The ride home when his car broke down on the side of the road and you just happen to pass by a minute after. He offered you a bit of cash, but you said no. And then he was out of your car, gone into his home. No thankful hug, or a dared dream kiss.

    And then graduation, when you were finally going to say it to him. How much you loved him. All the times he’d made you smile just from the beauty of his face. How you couldn’t imagine yourself with anyone else anywhere in the world.

    Except he proposed to his girlfriend. Right there. In the middle of it all. And she said yes. And there were cheers. And they were hoisted above the crowd, carried away. And you were left alone as the mass of people emptied out of the gymnasium. And when you’re Mom put her hand on your shoulder and asked if you were okay, you said, “Never better.”.