poeticdesires

Xavier April 28, 2013

~ 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.”

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Wavelength April 27, 2013

“Your brain is unlike any I’ve seen before.”

I laid on a table in the middle of a study, head tied down so I would not move. TwistedView loomed over me as Neuromancer sat by his computer, watching as the data came in. An EEG helmet rested against my skin, multiple points touching through my hair, reading my brainwaves all the while.

First TwistedView punched my chest. I took in the pain and pushed it back out through my breathing. Next he struck my chest with his cane. I used my shrieks and cries to take in and release his strikes. He repeated this pattern, punching first and then caning, my thighs.

For a few last readings, Neuromancer delicately stroked my right leg.

Once complete, I sat up and we chatted.

Neuromancer marveled at how my brain worked throughout the small scene. I never went away, always staying present in the moment. For him, when he was in throws of pain, he lost himself in the sensations. Other masochists he’d previously scanned lost themselves as well, floating away during their scenes. But my brain never stopped processing as I felt each blow inflicted upon me.

He asked me to talk about my experience of the scene. I explained that my masochism was rooted, at times, in almost a sense of service. The pain the person wanted to inflict on me I took in, processed, and expelled back out into the world through my breathing, my shrieks, my cries.

Yes, I still loved it. Loved the pain. Loved experiencing it, processing it, and seeing how far my body could be pushed. But I also loved the simple act of being the vessel for the sadist’s torments, being that which the sadist used to fulfill their dark desire.

When I told my friends about Neuromancer’s findings, my Big Bro summed it up best:

“Poetic, over thinking things? Who would’ve guessed?”

/snark

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Vixen April 26, 2013

Her tail hangs on the wall across from my bed. Her diadem lives in my bag of chainmail jewelry. Her boots, moccasin style, are occasionally worn without her preferred outfit: my black wrap dress.

She is one of my alter egos, a persona I love to don when I’m feeling sexy yet playful.

I sometimes think of myself as a vixen, with all that might entail. Sexy. Confident. Gleeful. And, of course, foxy.

She is older than my school girl, more wise and life lived. She is less humble, less demure than my school Gir sometimes can be.

I initially encountered her during my first summer at Ren Faire. Many people walked around the gravel encampment, most in personas that seemed appealing. Was I a bar wench? A lady of the court? A scoundrel or rapscallion? A pilferer?

As we circled around the fairgrounds, I came upon a store that sold, among other things, fox tails. At once I knew: one of those was mine.

I thought about a tail dyed red, but that didn’t seem right, even if it was one of my favorite colors. No, I found a black one, felt it, and at once knew it would be mine. I bought it and attached it to my backside immediately.

When I wear my tail, I have a little more pep in my step. I swing my ass a little more. I feel more like a me I love.

I’ve worn my tail in times where I needed comfort. Or when I wanted to be silly. Or sexy. Or just cause.

I have many personas, all of which I love. But Vixen… She is one I am so glad I found. I will never let her go.

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Until… April 25, 2013

My head throbbed. Pain pulsed from the base of my neck up into my brain, out through my eyes, around my forehead, and at my temples.

It was a migraine, the first I’d had in years, and only the third in my life.

“I’m feeling nauseous” turned into “You need to drive” in a matter of seconds. I climbed into the passenger seat while Gray took the wheel.

Immediately, as soon as I buckled my seat belt, I began crying. The pain was too much. Too much now. Not now. Why now? The last few precious moments I had with Gray and all I could do was quietly weep.

He had me recline my chair, lie back, cover my eyes. He told me to eat his yogurt, but I didn’t want to risk throwing it up.

My car was running low on gas. We had to stop.

“Do you want a receipt?”

“No.”

I didn’t care about gas or my credit card. All I wanted was to stop the pain. All I wanted was to not make him miss his plane. All I wanted was for these last few minutes with him to be about something other than my head. I hated my body for betraying me.

“I need something to concentrate on.”

We started talking. We began a conversation about Game Of Thrones. He’s read the books. I’m watching the television show and reading after. We caught two episodes the night before.

We discussed the characters, specifically my favorites who, if they die, I will stop watching. We talked about themes in the show. We talked about anything to make the time pass, to make myself forget about my head.

When I peeked from beneath my arm, I saw it. He was pulling into the airport. I had a new reason to cry. What little time I had had with him in my car was about taking care of me, not about enjoying the the moments with him.

He pulled in, grabbed his things from the back. I lurched out of my seat, stood by the front.

He stepped over. He opened his arms for a hug, and caught the corner of my mouth for a kiss. I turned my head and returned his affection. Kissing once. Twice. Thrice. Four times our lips met and parted. My head didn’t hurt, my mind didn’t wander from our moment, standing in the airport drop off lane, embracing a man I loved.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Safe travels.”

And he walked away.

I got into my car, my head throbbing a little less, and made my way home.

All while driving, through wrong turns, pit stops, and moments of sorrow, I thought about my Senpai, missing him already, until the day I’d see him again.

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Talk April 24, 2013

~ 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.

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Salivate April 23, 2013

~ 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.

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Relaxed April 21, 2013

~ 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.

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e[lust] #45 April 21, 2013

Photo courtesy of CreativNooky

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #46? Start with the newly updated rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Bringing Toxic Sex Toy Facts Out of the Attic

How Do I Get My Wife to Dominate Me?

I Need This

~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Speaking the unspeakable

#safetytipsforladies

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Quarrelsome April 20, 2013

~ 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.

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Penetrated April 19, 2013

~ 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.”

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