poeticdesires

Category: Gent

  • 6.25hrs

    My throat is sore.

    My good karma must currently be off the charts. By some miracle, my work for this Saturday shrunk, and I found myself with a night off which I spent with the Gent at his place.

    I arrived at 7pm. At 1am, he said it was time for me to go, explicitly waiting (without telling me) for an extra fifteen minutes because he dislikes my quarter hour distinctions. I then pointed out the flaw in his plan: I was naked and also needed to pack a few things. He dropped me off at my car at 1:15am, quarter hour added anyway.

    I had his cock in my mouth tonight. It was delightful. He pushed me, trying to get me to deep throat him, softly encouraging my efforts. I sunk him in further than I had anyone else to date. I want to learn to deep throat, or, more accurately, I want to be able to control my gag reflex. I want to decide when and if I gag. I’m sure I’ll be getting plenty of practice from my friends in the near future.

    Only once during the night did I feel my dominance really manifest. I’m not sure how long I worked on his cock, but at a certain point he stopped me and got me to instead go back to working on his chest. I had previously kissed, caressed, and lightly bite his nipples.

    However, after his request for me to scratch him while I worked on his cock, I took the leap that he liked pain. I bit, hard, and gripped the muscles of his back, sinking in my finger nails. This seemed to do the trick. He began biting my neck, jerking himself harder, and he soon came.

    I was very submissive tonight, spending most of my time in some manner of undress and often the person initiating physical contact. He intentionally did not touch me til he saw fit to start playing.

    One memorable moment was towards the beginning. He wanted me to masturbate to a cum. If you read some of my previous blogs, you will learn this is difficult for me. I often need ‘assistance’, either in the form of someone else’s hand or something plugged into a wall. He was insistent. He felt I could do it. Hearing him say this got me hornier.

    I was slow to start. He, of course, wanted to watch. He had me lie so he could see my hands at work. I asked if he was allowed to help me. He said he wouldn’t touch me. That wasn’t the kind of help I had in mind.

    His voice is sexy. I can’t nail down the specific quality, other than to say it isn’t about bass or tone, but more the attitude. His quiet confidence comes across even in his speech.

    I asked him to not stop talking; it didn’t matter what he spoke about. I actually can’t remember what he spoke about as I fingered my clit. By the time I finally reached my hand down, after having switched my hips for some minutes and listening to him, I was beyond wet. We, thankfully, had set a towel down on his sofa as a precaution.

    As I began to masturbate, with his voice in my ear, I knew it would not be long before I asked for permission. He, however, made me wait; he wanted me to suffer a little. When he finally gave his consent, I thanked him and yelled my usual obscenities as my body rolled around on his couch. I loved doing this for him, cuming for him.

    I came for him many more times tonight. Twice more as I fingered myself. About a half dozen times while bent over his couch, his fingers in my pussy, his free hand spanking me. And a few rolling orgasms as I gave him head while he fingered me.

    I was curious if I would have been able to cum just from his asking, whispering, commanding it into my ear. He believed I could’ve tonight; I was that turned on. But he wanted to wait. He wanted to make me cum with his voice when he wanted. For being a novice, he sometimes shocks me with his spot on answers.

    We talked, a lot, again. I got the ten cent tour of his home, which is way cleaner than any home I’ve ever lived in. There was cold pizza, yoga demos, and a three minute meditation experiment.

    His clothes didn’t come off til right before his dick came out. I tried to kiss him all night; we still haven’t. And his penis did not enter any of my orifices, save my mouth. 

    All-in-all, it was a randomly fun night.

  • Interesting

    He hates that word. Hates it probably as much as I hate the word ‘nice’.

    Tonight was my second date with “the Gent”.

    “You’re dangerous; I’m loving it.” – my text to him on the way home; ‘Toxic’ was the first song on my radio.
    “Stop Texting. Drive safe.  Good night Mrs. Desires.”- his reply.

    “I’m knee deep in training.” – his text to a friend that I read over his shoulder.
    “Am I training you or are you training me?” – my magical question for the evening. (His text was referring to his work.)

    “Who do you care about? Your mother? Your father? Your ex?” – me
    “Yes.” – him, as he cleared off my car.
    “Why?”
    “Because I care about them more than they care about me.”
    “Good answer.”

    It was snowing. Not at the start of our date, but by the time I was driving home there was enough accumulation to make my trek take way longer than my bladder wanted to allow.

    I really had to pee. “No one can top you like you can top yourself.” – DeepEnd, while I panted and cursed during a recent workout.

    I didn’t stop driving til I got home, accept once at a shitty traffic light.  The unrelenting pressure on my abdomen, coupled with my heightened state of arousal, made me cum.  I cursed the light, and the Gent. I crept into my house as quietly as I could. I tried to not wake anyone. I hoped I succeeded.

    My head, right now, is still swimmy from the alcohol and the orgasms. I came two times in the bar. As I rode his knee, I grabbed his coat, pulled his ear next to my lips, and told him, “You have to tell me to cum.” I’ve been trained well.

    I came about a half dozen more times on my ride home. I cursed him and adored him for the cruelty.

    We’re not going to fuck, but I want to fuck him. He pretends like he’s in control. He pretends like he decides. Really, it keeps bouncing back and forth, like an endless tennis match. My dominance is passive aggressive. He likes the games we’re playing.

    “Are you a happy drunk? A horny drunk?” – him
    “I’m happy, horny, handsy.  All the positive drunk qualities.” – me

    I felt him up. My uninhibited self wanted to feel his arms, the solid muscle of his biceps that I’d been staring at all night. Wanted to rub his back. Wanted to grip his ass. 

    He dressed down for the occasion. I dressed up; I had work in a nice corporate office beforehand.  Clingy cleavage top.  Dress pants.  My ankle high Timberland boots.  A jacket.  All of it matte black.  Under my dress pants, I didn’t wear underwear. 

    He paid for the first two rounds, the drinks we nursed while we played pool. I paid for the last two, the two rounds that each included a shot and a beer.  I got us very…happy.

    I love eye contact.  Once as we talked, I grabbed his chin and turned his eyes towards me.  He looked, for only a moment, and then turned away.  I turned his face towards me again.  And again.  And again.  I liked looking into his eyes, trying to guess what was going on in his brain.

    I close my eyes when I play.  I close my eyes when I cum.  I let myself get lost in the sensations.  The touch.  The heat.  My chest, my breathing.  I soak it all in, fall into the chasm of my body, never wanting to come up for air.

    He adverted his eyes as he bounced his knee against my clit, but I caught him, once, looking at me. I caught him seeing my ecstasy. I wondered what it would be like to see him cum. I wondered if he would later masturbate to my face as I rode his knee while we sat in the crowded bar, and I reveled in the delicious warmth that raced through my abdomen.

    He was very poised, very matter-of-fact that I was writhing against his knee in such a public place. Very ho-hum about me wanting to cum for him. He was good at projecting his confidence.

    “I want your cock in my mouth.”

    I was not going to fuck him tonight. Mother Nature, and my need to torture him, had sought fit to  prevent that. But the idea of him filling my mouth did excite me, but only to the point of teasing him. I would not have given him enough to make him cum, though apparently that had never happened to him before. Not yet, that is.  Plans…

    I like this boy, this new adventure, this creature that pushes me, enthralls me, that makes it hard and yet so easy.

    We played five games of pool tonight. I won, 3-2. More accurately, he lost two, I lost one, he won one, and I won one.

    And we did it, again.  Our first encounter lasted 6.5 hours.  This one, 5.25 hours, with no movie as filler.

    I wonder what he’ll want to do next Friday.

  • Friday

    “You moan like a porn star.” – Slut to me

    “Oh, they just put on Metallica. I feel sorry for you. That means you’re going to get punched.” – Murphy to Slut

    I recently had a roller coaster of a Friday.

    It started off well. I drove SkinnyBitch to work, getting to spend quality time with her in the car. She picked on me a little, as she is wont to do. I laughed it off, enjoying the playful conversation. Heading home, I finished up a blog I had started earlier in the morning and posted the entry before I began to get ready.

    I had, shock and awe, a date.

    It was a lunch date with a recent friend. We planned it the night before on a whim, so there was little to no pressure going in. We initially met at the theatre where we would later see the movie we’d chosen, Shame.

    The movie started at 2:30pm; we met at noon. Wandering around, we stopped by a store to buy a hat, and then found ourselves at a Starbucks. I got my hot chocolate, the impetus for choosing Starbucks, and they purchased lemon pound cake because apparently it is their addiction.

    We sat and talked for some time before transitioning to lunch. We swung by a touristy restaurant, chatted more over our meal, and then headed to the movie.

    I will not go into a full review of the film, but I will say I enjoyed it for a few different reasons. 1- There was as much said in silence and stares as there was in words and actions. 2- The cinematography brought a level of intimacy between myself and the characters that was both painful and beautiful. 3- The story centers around a sex addict; there is a lot of sex. But the moment that most turned me on, though, involved no fucking. It involved the main character sitting at a bar, a woman waiting for her drink, and him describing how much he wanted to eat her pussy. Just words, his voice, and the look on his face. I get warm thinking about it even now.

    After the movie, we wandered a bit more. We hit up a bookstore, then tried the Starbucks again, but it was full. We settled on a quite casual dining place, took the spot in the back corner, and talked more.

    Our interactions last 6.5 hours. It was…interesting.

    After exchanging hugs, I jumped into my car and sped away. I had a party to go to.

    Arriving at home, I quickly ran upstairs to use the restroom and then came back down to chat with my roommates. And thus, the quick moving crash began. DeepEnd and SkinnyBitch were to leave the next day. DeepEnd had a family emergency. We talked about schedules, the puppy shuffle, and their flight plans.

    I only had about thirty minutes before I needed to be out the door again. I found some carbs to down, since I had not eaten dinner, and changed into a quick cute outfit. I packed my toy bag and headed out.

    On the way to pick up Slut, and on the drive to the party, I felt deflated. I wondered if I should have still gone. I wondered if it would have been better if I stayed home with them. I felt like shit. But I didn’t tell Slut or bother DeepEnd or SkinnyBitch. I drove to the party, I smiled for the people in attendance, and I hoped I would feel better.

    The small show put on was quite fun. I found myself smiling before I even knew I had. Unfortunately, not only was I battling an understandable funk, I was also tired. I found myself yawning a lot.

    After the small show, the space opened up for play. Murphy setup by a hard point. Slut was the first he strung up. I took on my Cabin Bitch-ly duties and assisted, feeding him rope as needed.

    As I watched them interact, I could not help but smile. I loved the way they connected, played with each other. I remembered why I wanted to come to the party in the first place: to be with my friends. Watching them, helping them, made me feel better.

    As Murphy cycled through his multiple ties of multiple people, all the while with me feeding him rope, I also chatted with folks. I gave away a Moo card. I saw an old work acquaintance from back when I was in college. My mood rose.

    And, later, Murphy made me fly. I giggled a lot, dropping into a whimsical headspace. As he tied, I was curious about what harness style he would use. I paid attention as best as I could while endorphins raced through me, and planned to try to replicate his work later.

    As I came back down to Earth and he removed the lines, I asked him for some advice. I wanted a rope reading list. I have many rigger friends, from who I’ve learned a lot, but I have not yet taken the time to read as much as I’d like to about the subject. He gave me a list of about five books (one of which I purchased recently for an incredibly affordable price).

    After my time in rope, I gave my hugs goodbye. It was late, I was sleepy, and I still needed to drive home. Slut stayed with Murphy, as I suspected she would, and I made my way back to base.

    As I slipped into bed, a full day behind me, the mixed emotions of it all lulled me to a brief, but deep, sleep.

  • Happy Hour

    Tonight I was suppose to be working til 11:30pm.

    Instead, I found myself at Happy Hour, arriving around 7:30pm. Immediately, PrudeNate came up to greet me. It had been a while since we last saw each other. We hugged, and he engaged me in conversation as I stripped off the trappings of my job: black zip up hoodie, black polo work shirt, and my hair tie. I flipped my head down, shook my hair about, and flung my head back up. I was off, and happy for it.

    I continued my greetings around the room, hugging FancyDancer, PenBeatSword, Devi, and Amethyst. I was back home, which I had missed so very much.

    I settled in, ordered dinner, retrieved a drink, and chatted.

    As I relaxed into being with my friends for the first time in a month, The Doctor eased into the room with a wayward soul in tow. The Gent had settled in by the bar, not understanding the kinky happy hour was in the room through the bay doors. With the Doctor’s assistance, the Gent found his intended destination.

    I, noticing he seemed new and was a rather attractive black man, stood and waved him over. I introduced myself, along with the rest of the group, and we invited him to sit and chat. We were our normal friendly selves, though I occasionally snuck a whispered comment to Big Sis. Like I said, he was quite attractive.

    The subject of my scene name came up. He seemed very interested in my writing. My friends praised my talent. He wanted to hear my poetry. Pulling out my iPhone, I looked up my blog and found Written Raw. Devi departed to get another drink from the bar; Amethyst accompanied her. I adjusted over to sit next to the Gent.

    Though I was nervous, I managed to read my work aloud into his ear. Our legs touched as I willed myself to concentrate on my words, hoping beyond measure that my tempo would not falter, that I would be able to convey all my emotions in that moment to him.

    I warned him this particular poem was not sexy, having already mentioned that I write erotica. When I concluded my reading, he disagreed with my assessment.

    We then eased into a conversation about kink in general and my predilections in particular. He stated each question asking that I treat him as if he knew nothing. This was thought provoking and intriguing and challenging. I appreciated the mental exercise.

    He could not stay long, though. Before he left, I gave him a hug goodbye.

    With my distraction departed, I slipped back into my normal Happy Hour self, breezily socializing with folks, drinking, and having a blissful merry time.

    As I stood in the doorway from the bar to our room, Pen passed by. I greeted him again, mentioning we had not seen each other since Halloween. He acknowledged the long hiatus, but slyly pulled out his knife. He asked if I would like another taste. You can guess what my answer was.

    Though I’ve attended Happy Hour off and on for the past year and a half, I had yet to experience the closet…until tonight.

    We slipped in and he flipped open his blade. The dulled edge danced against my throat, across the back of my neck, my cleavage. I ground my hips back into his crotch. I breathed heavily. I loved the feel of his blade.

    He wanted more time, more fun, more play (just like before). He pulled my hair, he squeezed my hips, and we kissed. Our styles were the same, and I found myself not wanting to stop feeling his lips against mine.

    There was mention of Winter Fire, and possibly playing before that. He wanted to do so much more with me. He dangled the carrot of tying Dig up. I was more than happy to nip at the request.

    Exiting the closet, Big Sis schooled me in the one rule of the closet: secure a look-out. I then returned her favor soon after my exit; she enjoyed a midnight kiss while I chatted with FlostonParadise and SkinnyBitch.

    My evening wound down as SkinnyBitch and I grew tired around 11:30pm. After a brief stop at McDonalds for salt and carbs, we were on our way home. I had a new boy to write about, my time in the closet to chronicle, and much sleep to be had.

    And to think, I was suppose to work tonight.