Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica


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Pool Side

I daydream for a substantial period of time everyday. And, everyday does include nights. See, it’s become increasingly difficult to sleep as I’ve aged. Being that I’m not very good at just about anything, daydreaming has become a hobby of mine. A world to which I can escape the insignificances of life: work, incapable friends, broken vehicle on the side of the street, sleepless nights.

That day I might as well have been dreaming because that sort of behavior doesn’t happen very much, at least to me it doesn’t, I might even guess it is the sort of event that isn’t well received by the puritan police. We all know them, the notable republican congressman condemning illegal immigrants while hiring one for over a decade; the married pseudo-christian bound to a bed while being flogged by his mistress just to repent during Sunday mass. The sort of folk who hide their human behavior while attacking another’s.

Any who, I was sitting pool side, feet dunk inside the water to stay cool in the heat of the summer, accompanied by a good amount of strangers, of course. Enough of them to maintain the many ‘proper’ facades we are expected to wear at different social gatherings, you know, the self-policing type of deal! So, I sat there with my usual daydreaming face: staring into space. I mustn’t been deeply in dreams because this particular young gal caught my eye. She was a young woman whom I had dated for a very brief period of time. It was very short amount of time. I had just gotten out of a long term relationship and thought the best way out of the downer was to hookup with a hot little thing. It proved too much, too soon for me as I skipped consummation day and never contacted her again.

Seeing her in cotton-wet-tight bikini sent waves of regret that caused quite the stir in the pool. I did my best to keep calm, to ignore that she was probably as physically gifted as a female or male can be. — Proportionate, symmetrical I believe are the fitting adjectives the fitness aficionados like to use — For every well placed drop dripping down her chest onto her navel was a perfectly tanned and crafted body part. I was an idiot but, so goes life.

She had noticed me long before I her… I came to learn after she approached me and were consequently physically removed from the premises. She advanced towards me from inside the pool, walking and swimming the length of its Olympic size. We had already began conversing by the time she pulled my legs apart, situating herself between my legs; her underarms resting on each of my quads. The memories of our conversation, well, her monologue, are vague. I paid more attention at her barely covered top, and did I the same to the shape of her mouth enunciating whatever it was that she was speaking.

One unheard, perhaps even purposely ignore, word after another had her hand through the left leg of my brief-style swim trunks. No, her hand wasn’t the reason for my invigoration rather, the shape of her nipples piercing through the sheer-cotton bikini top. I like to believe she reacted to me and went ahead to prove that my regrets would be a thing of the past.

The strokes were slow and steady at first, running her fingers up and down as her wrist moved likewise. It made it feel as if a continuous stroke, giving me absolutely no time to catch the daydreams quickly slipping away into reality. I was fixated on her hands, the feeling of soft skin up and down the shaft all the way to the head, back down to the sack, which she’d grasp with her thumb. A few times she squeezed the shaft so hard that it made me want to grab her by the hair and force her mouth on me from the desire to cum inside it.

Whatever little time we spent reacquainting with one another was just the exact amount of time required to rush through courting and romancing right into fornication. She pulled down my briefs by the front, securing them neatly under my scrota. She jerked me as if a chef preventing his dish from being ruined by high flames: hard, fast and relentlessly. It was enchanting to hear her speaking out loud about tasting her ass, the spread of her pussy wet and waiting for it to be tossed. I salivated from the thought of her moist self against my lips rubbing lust throughout my mouth. Had I been myself at that point I would have taken the time to imagine how shapely and colorful she must be. The world would have heard the revelry created by male against female under euphoric confluence, that’s the sort of dream I would have had.

Her breast came lose by the directed grinds of her chest against my legs. Just when I thought I was about to come down into the pool and feel more than her hand, her mouth engulfed me whole in one deliberate shove of her face into my crotch. I exploded like balloon over high flames, she came up with cum dripping down her chin and a cum bubble still expanding on her opened mouth. She was going to dive in for seconds when jealous bystanders rushed to pull us apart. She was pulled out of the pool with an obvious display of debauchery: cum against her breast and mouth, smiling at me as if she’d won some sort of price.

As for me, I was also covered in synergy of semen and saliva. I was still erect, still throbbing, totally unconcerned that I was being wrestled and shoved out of the grounds. My mind was fixated on my remains against her body… she, licking them from her lips and my cock still seeking further gratification.


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Moral Injury

Neither the Las Vegas skyline during the dawn of dusk just when the desert mountains in the horizon start to give way to sprinkles of neon lights up and down the avenue, nor the neo-trance music aimed to push young hearts into “funtoxication” complimented the fact that I was stuck at a nearly filled to capacity AARP Boulevard Pool venue gathering at the Cosmopolitan. Not that I am a sprouting bean but, at least two decades of life experience separated me from the next youngest attendee.

I remained at the edge of pool staring due south South towards the disappearing distance that made the strip lively. It is of little wonder why this place is known as Sin City. This is where capitalism thrives and people die; where hopes are lost and adventures won; where calves protrude and men intrude; where ignorance is of use to the women that know how to abuse. I stood chest out, shoulders back, and armed with morals dissecting and accusing the evil in the place that would have gratified me at different stage of my life.

Soon enough the cool of the night suffocated the avenue, with it taking the sole beauty that gave solace: those very distant mountains that gave this empty place a heartbeat. I wondered how, singles as well as couples being surrounded by so much irony, rejoiced at the potential to “succeed” or “fail”. Whatever those two verbs mean to anyone. I looked down at passer-bys, at busses loaded with cash(people) to embrace slot machines. They walked into the casinos in groups of coins, dollars, twenties and hundreds. Each with visions of wealth beaming out of their hopes. I wasn’t one of them; no sir, I wasn’t. I was the voice of reason, of honesty… and so I returned to my drenched prejudices to complain.

Standing in Sin City yet, I could hardly accept that even my one vice hadn’t been clenched. Cheap wine took the place of American Rye Whiskey. I sipped on white and red wine trying to fit in. Eventually, I struck a conversation with two mature women about their attire, my attire and their unexpectedly fit physiques. They were very educated women. They spoke of their young tree-hugging ways, college tuition, the state of American greed, the days of free drugs and, activism.

The Swiss women came to the desert for the same reason as I: to gain a competitive edge on the *competition* by attending an invitation only, business conference. The place finally didn’t seem as repulsive as I’d concluded earlier. They brought a pulse to a place in need of one. At 10 PM, the hosted party at the Boulevard Pool venue ended. They looked at me, asked to head down to the sports bar to watch the Rugby Championship.

They switched the cheap wine to cheap beer and began to root like only a soccer nation fan can. For a country disinterested in anything but American pride, a crowd gathered around us to root for a sport that will never again matter as it did that night. Their tight dresses, flexing arms, and perky butts had the attention of everyone each time they rose to cheer; me included. I still don’t think I saw much of the men but, I can vividly tell you what each was wearing and how many times I got a peek at their underpants tightly adjusted to their persona. I even caught a smile when each noticed my head tilted looking for a more appropriate viewing angle.

It took us a while to leave the sports bar after the game. We remained behind small chatting and flirting. Men after men failed to draw their interest away me. I was sort of happy about it, about the idea that they were there with me while everyone else attempted to infringe my joyful times. The harassment eventually got to the three of us. The one with long blond hair down to the small of her back stood up, grabbed my hand and in her native tongue instructed and motioned us to leave. We dashed out to the strip hailing down cabs. They ran ahead of me with their high heels in their hands in what appeared to be some sort of plot to leave me behind.

They stopped for a moment speaking to one of those very trendy fellows searching to make a quick buck by handing out strip club cards and directions to a good time. I caught up to them looking somewhat alarmed, I wasn’t really going to spend money at a strip joint to see teens spreading their ideas to me for a dirty dollar. Yet, that’s exactly what happened. The two women convinced me to join them in some sort of bodyguard duty to prevent drunken men from approaching them at the strip joint. Easy picking, I’m a gentleman and easily influenced as well. So, there wasn’t much to do but to accompany them.

A limo pulls up to the curb to pick us up. The “entrepreneur” who had succeeded bringing customers to the gentleman’s club hands us tickets for discounted entrance and free drinks. We hop inside the limo and by golly of cheap spirits and wine, the women pull out a bag full of cocaine. I stare at it, they stare at me and proceed to inform me that we would be having that at the club. Ha! Plenty of time for me to plan an escape.

We spoke about our families back home, traded pictures and laughs. Once at the club we were directed right to the back. The worst of fears scared my feet cold. I should have fled at that point but, for whatever reason I followed them to the back of the room where red night lights allowed just enough visibility to see alluring figures staring in our direction. We wedged ourselves in a corner, opened up a tab to be expensed as business entertainment then began to drank the night away until a suitable candidate came to give my companions a lap dance.

I stared more at the women enjoying the dance than did I at the gal fully nude parading her well sculpted physique in all directions. I washed them kiss the striper, slap her ass and touch themselves. I hadn’t felt that much vigor since losing my virginity at twenty six years of age. The bag of coke held firmly in my hand. What in the world was I to do with it? I had never ever held one. I looked it, placed it on the table in which the stripper danced then, the woman with shoulder length blond hair grabbed it from me and asked the stripper to leave. Off to the bathroom we went. All three of us, half wasted, jammed into a stall drawing lines of cocaine atop the toilet paper dispenser.

We traded line snorts, kisses and gropes until about a quarter of the bag was left. We walked back to our spot; I watched them get one last dance from the very same girl then left in search of a regular bar with cheaper drinks and less of a greed for cash. A beggar accompanied us for some twenty minutes of a walk time to a rather cowboy-sh looking bar. I ordered some more cheap beer as did they. While they got lost in the bathroom to finish off the white substance, the bartender, a sweet young girl from back east brought me a wet cloth to wipe my nose that revealed to have just sinned. We struck a friendly conversation until the girls returned. We spoke of her mostly, of me, well, what led to the happy nose and what not.

At the bar we danced to country songs and sang until the mixture of alcohol and street drugs sent us into the street exited to find the way back to the Cosmopolitan on the south end of the strip. More of the same continued during the ride back to the hotel. The girls took turns sitting on my lap kissing me and grinding pelvis against my pants. In all honesty, against my unbuckled pants with more of me than should have been out peeking back at them. I zipped up and stared at their bottoms as each exited the taxi. We laughed through the casino and into the elevator to the west tower. I clicked my floor on the elevator… they theirs.

We stood on opposite ends of the elevator, laughing, breathing heavily and deviantly looking at one another. My floor, the 48th, came first. The doors didn’t really get a chance to open much before the lady with the long blond hair down to her waist pressed the “close door” button repeatedly. “Be a gentleman and walk us to our quarters, won’t you?”
I didn’t even know I responded because by the time my body managed to find an equilibrium between sanity and drugged induced oblivion I sat naked on the bed looking up at them on the inside ledge of the window butt naked dancing for me.

Their bodies could have been clones of one another other. The type of body that young American women are sold as a must by propaganda. They differed from each other in bodily hair. One was bald down below; the other had a landing strip. Maturity had never looked this delicious. The bag of coke still had some life in it. The one with the long hair down to the small of the back and landing strip stayed up seducing me from a window. The second girl came down, slide her tongue inside the bag — it came out white in residue — then, she kissed me numb.

Covered in sin I grabbed a fistful of hair and directed her towards my cock. She sucked with an experience I had yet to live. The soft, thin and straight hair tickled my lap, a tickle that had me fantasizing about the long hair of the woman still dancing on the inside ledge of the window. Both of us stood up simultaneously and walk in that direction. On the nightstand, an opened Whistle Pig bottle of Rye looked at me. I reached over, grabbed it and brought it with me. I still wonder how it got there. We stopped in front of the window where I looked up straight at the pussy of the beautiful dancer in front of me. Through the break of her inner thighs the city gleamed at me. I took a deep breath, inhaling what residue was left of cocaine on my nose, and thought about all that was to remain behind when I left Vegas.

I dropped my head to realize I was being orally stimulated. Suck and suck, gag and gag, the noises of a stellar performance. On the ledge, legs spread, speaking in her native tongue coupled to “Viva Las Vegas” in that sweet accent, said the second lady. She looked towards the nightlife missing on feeling alive along with us and shook her ass after running one of her digits right split down the middle. She arched her back and I stuck my face right where the warmth of Las Vegas knew I would like. I bit, licked, sucked pussy and ass. Her hair tickled my face fancy, tickled my dick harder. She tasted of lust waiting to come out without care or judgment.

She must still have my paw prints on her butt. What do I know! I don’t even recall but waking up mid day with the two passed out by my crotch with stains of dried cum on their faces. “Not bad,” I thought to myself then, stood up inspected their bodies for quite a long time and, awoke them to say goodbye.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I’m told; but, what am I do to with the moral injury leaving with me? At home it surely doesn’t feel the same as it did coked up, drunk and with my penis being shared by two women.


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Wet Nurse

It was his idea. He came up to me, stared me down as if a beggar looking at royal buffet through a protective glass and said: “Honey, the debate of wet-nursing becoming increasingly open both here and overseas gave me an idea. I do hope that you are open to my suggestion. I know that in the past you’ve declined the idea but, we can not continue as we have until now. For your sake, for my peace of mind, I plead that you accept.”

He had spoken to everyone; to family members, to friends, to strangers. He nurtured the approach for months before presenting it to me hoping to deliver a convincing speech. I would have thought that the failure for support would have changed his mind but, a stubborn man he stands tall. He still thought the idea was life changing and assure we needed to undertake it.

I asked about his parents response… what his Reverend brother had to say. He chuckled, then broke into a nervous laughter. His family was short of dishonoring him, shunning him if he dare carry it out such evil. Unholy they said. The devil speaking through him, boiling in his veins trying to get out to affect innocent souls. Serves him right. The innocent fool he’s always been. His mother slapped him square in the face. Ha! Worse than he got when he and I met.

I was a call girl. He the happy recipient of a date his classmates had hired. I stopped my profession shortly after meeting him. Found an everyday job and set my life in a more appealing track to his evangelical upbringing. The basic flaw, his know-it-all older sister knew me intimately well. Let’s just say that I am not well liked by his family. Yet, he and I are bound to one another by this thing called love. His family can’t come between us. Even if we all stand on different sides of the fence of this issue of wet nursing.

See, libido flows out of me by the mere sight of a hot body. I have physical experience to lose and still have left over to give out to humanity. I’ve tried to entice him just about everyday since the prom night. Not a kiss that night, not even a little stroking for the virgin boy. And so on has been our lives for quite a while. He catches me late at night pleasing myself; watching the tingling type of movies that would make any other man smack into my cheese like a glass of wine looking for coupling. I sit in the bed soaked in desire, many times short of begging to be pleased. Most for nothing! He lets me down smoothly by stroking my hair, kissing me softly, telling me that soon enough upon our marriage it will happen.

So, my initial reaction when this “wet-nurse” idea first surfaced was to hush it despite the fact that it excited me. On the surface I played it cool, “hush, honey,” I said. “Non-sense!” It was brought up a few more times over the past year. All in passing, of course. I, for his very sake, never accepting it. I just didn’t want to introduce us, him, to a place where he might not have been comfortable.

But, that night something changed. He looked like he wanted me to take part in it just as much as I wanted to do it. He, well, seemed excited by the idea of someone else being balls deep in my mouth. “No more than sucking will you do!” he exclaimed. That was all the soothing he was going to allow. And His approval was required to select a wet nurse. And just one person. No more than one. Just that one until we are joined in matrimony. Then he’d take over the job. I was told I could perform oral however I desired. And, that he was to watch to maintain proper order.

For a few weeks we planned the event. We crafted quite the delightful plan. We agreed on a type of fellow, a place, a time, we thought of it all. We even engaged in innocent fun where I got to stroke him, he got to trace my lips, one time even getting to taste the sweet in me. The planning was exciting. I got to see him engorged, his veins wound around his girth begging for me.

The idea of something other than digits in my mouth was a pleasure. I welcomed being in the position. I didn’t sleep for weeks in anticipation. I wasn’t worried about myself, but was about him. How would he take seeing me at work? How would he react to another man thrusting his hips into my face? Oh, I didn’t care. I wanted the satisfaction I once had and for so long now have missed.

The first day we went out to choose someone one nothing went right. We bickered and argued all day long. He ended up sleeping at his mother’s. I went out with the girls, and drank myself to sleep. The next time it was smooth. We never spoke as to why we argued but, I think he was jealous that his “possession” was going to be possessed. I simply wanted some and I think he knew it.

We picked up a few guys at different places. I flirted with them, and made dates to meet them. A total of four guys we picked that looked healthy enough to give a dose of wet until my marriage. We had a six month screening period where I would meet the fellows, break the news and hope they’d approve. Two never went beyond the first date. They were simply blokes good for nothing but a fine lay. Not what he wanted so, I kindly skipped over them.

After the six months, two candidates were left. They had both met my fiancé and became rather friendly. Even meeting up to watch ball games on Sunday nights. Never did I catch them speak to one another about the arraignment. They were simply guys being guys. The first candidate, I liked him most. He seemed like a closet freak, while the other, he seemed less experienced and was the nicest of both. He took me out on purely friendly dates, while the first insisted on a view of the package he was never going to have. I gave a peek more than once; innocent fun it was all to me. I at least needed a look into the treasure chest with desire of taking it all.

The day we selected the winner it was so much fun. We all gathered at our house late at at time when all the neighbors were asleep. We sat on the couch talked and watch stimulating television. After raising the testosterone and estrogen in the room, it happened. My fiancé hailed, “WET NURSE” and we had them undress to inspect the packages. I was mightily disappointed by the one I liked the most. It would have been best to get a look at him early on not waste six months of thoughts of him in my mouth. The second fellow got both our votes despite him too, being less than I wanted to have. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I’m told… I went close to them, grabbed both in my hand, stroke them a little, asked, “what do you think, honey.” He nodded, I stroke some more then asked them to put their clothes back on and leave; that they would get a call in the morning.

We just couldn’t go through with it that night.

In the morning it was he who called the second fellow who’d we chosen to be our wet nurse. Told him that he would get a call each and every time I wanted some. All he had to do is come over, unzip, release in/on me and resume his day.

I still think of that period in our life. The time when I was nursed for the survival of our relationship. We wouldn’t have made it. I know we wouldn’t have. I am in too much of a need of adult play all of the time to have withstood two more years of solitude. We still see him in town, waving at one another from a distance. He turned out to be more than anticipated. At the end, he acted like my man wasn’t even watching. He’d grab my head and let me have it. Telling me how well I did, how well my mouth felt, how sweet a juice I received to drink… didn’t I agree…


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Professor Robinson

Mr. Robinson from the Movie, The GraduateDr. Robinson: As I see it, you have three options if you’d like to graduate on time, Benjamin. You must restart, update, or reach a non-related to the dissertation agreement with me. It’s due in a month. It is up to you how to proceed.

Benjamin was fully cognizant that a month’s time wasn’t enough to neither correct, or begin a new dissertation. It had taken him months to get this far! He wondered why, after all the supervision sessions leading up to today’s, did she wait until now to tell me that the thesis isn’t good enough to even be graded? There really wasn’t any three choices. The feasible decision was to reach an arrangement, both he and she knew that. With a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity upon graduation, what was he to do? Outright fail by trying to update or restart the thesis?

Benjamin: I feel like I’m behind the eight ball. I don’t have but the choice imposed upon me; let’s examine the alternate plan.

Dr. Robinson: How bad do you want to graduate? If you are anything like I was, you should be willing to do just about anything to enter the “real” world. Either that, or spend another year here; and, I’ll make sure of that.

Benjamin: I’m pretty sure I want to graduate this year. I have to. My family has pulled a lot of favors to get me a job upon graduation. If I fail, the chance won’t be presented again. I’ve been warned about it.

Dr. Robinson: I tell you what. Go home, read that dissertation over, ensure that your best option isn’t to update or start it over. We’ll reconvene here in my office at Levermore Hall tomorrow. I’m here by 9AM. You may come anytime after that up until noon.

That night Benjamin didn’t sleep reformatting, correcting grammatical errors, even adding substance to his dissertation. By four fifty AM, seven cups of black coffee, he had given up. He didn’t think much about what the alternative presented to him could be. At worst, he thought, grading final exams and papers, perhaps carrying some books for the professor, even if he had to bring her donuts and coffee each morning.

He fell asleep on the study desk to awaken bathed in stress at around 10 AM. He gathered himself, took a bath, got dressed, grabbed his dissertation, toss it in the garbage and left to meet with the professor. The walk from the dorm to the office was about 15 minutes. He walked it the same as any other day, accompanied by the sounds of whistles into the wind.

He mockingly greeted a few of his classmates before entering Levermore Hall. He walked up the stairs to the third floor, took a left a the top towards her office, the proceeded a few feet to her door. He’s welcomed in, asked to have a seat: “Well, what’s it going to be, Ben?” It took no time at all to inform her that he’d selected the alternative path to graduation.

Dr. Robinson: Close the door for me, will you.Return to your seat and lets enter the arrangement.

The door closes, Benjamin turns around to the view of the professor sitting on the desk with her right leg crossed over the left, and skirt raised to her crotch. Her panties had question mark patterns throughout. She didn’t bother saying much.

Benjamin quickly nodded in agreement as if hypnotized by the question marks on the undies. The professor had very long and strong legs. And her scent was reminiscent of the unknown, had he been in a better mental conditions, he would have quickly familiarized himself with the scent.

Dr. Robinson: I’m going to tell you how this is going to work. You tell me when I should stop, and how far you want to go.

She stands up, walks over to the smart board. Stands with her legs spread apart accentuating her shapely calves, and draws her skirt up to waist level. She faces the smart board and starts to add line items. She talks while writing, assuring him that he could still go back to his paper and fail if he wishes.

Dr. Robinson: See this ass — smacking herself on the left cheek; you can have it, maybe, if you go through with every choice I give you. If you complete them all to my satisfaction, you get both a grade “A”, and me. You are currently failing, so I think you should be pleased about this option.

On the board it read:
F = Be gagged with a “gag-ball”.
D = Digital stimuli.
C = Masturbation with digital simulation.
B = Once you climax, I’m going to collect it, smear it throughout my vulva, my ass, then force you to lick it clean.
A = If you like what I propose, and I enjoy how you’ve handle it. You get to tie my hands behind my back, and return the favor.

Dr. Robinson: You don’t have to masturbate me. You can use whatever you are packing, that is showing erect on your pants right now, and shove it anywhere you want. Also note that it’s not pick one or the other. To get to a higher grade, you must first pass the lower grade.

Benjamin: Can we talk about this first? I’d like to shift things around, if I can.

Dr. Robinson: The door is right behind you. You don’t come in here with suggestions. You take note of what’s on the board, and be ready with the answer tonight after my last class. I’ll be right here. You may leave now, and close the door behind you.

Benjamin is one people whose never met a smart person, he finds a flaw in everything, and everyone. But he had always been at the mercy of the attractive and dominant Dr. Robinson. At the University, it was well known that there was no leniency in her world. Because of her looks, she was the most demanded adviser in the faculty. From geeks to athletes, they all wanted to say that Dr. Robinson advised them.

He spent the entire day debating one thing: If he could be digitally penetrated. When it did happen, would he enjoy it enough to turn homosexual? He pondered about the idea over and over. Hours he spent on his bed looking up at the ceiling with the sight of the professor’s bottom in his mind. To get a piece of her; he thought risking heterosexuality was worth it. So he got up, had a small snack, took a long shower, “I’m going to masturbate just to last longer” — he thought, then got dressed in a sweat suit. Easy on, easy off was the idea. He was shooting for an “A”, and there was no holding him back. He went in and out of scenarios about how badly he was going to shove his penis inside the Dr. He was going to bound her hands to the desk, put her on her knees and have her swallow him up to the scrota. He came up with the idea to shave himself to appear bigger. He feared that in her years of experience she was going to find him small, which he sort of was…

Gagging DeviceWhen he opened the door to Dr. Robinson’s office, there was a digital recorder, bright lights, handcuffs on a seat, as well as a gagging device with a red ball attached at the center. The professor wasn’t around. But a note read, “Sit and wait for me.”

It took about 20 minutes for her to return to the office. She was held up by the dean of school.

Dr. Robinson: How are you, Benjamin. Do you have a grade in mind?

Benjamin: I do!

Dr. Robinson: Care to share the grade and why you’ve selected it?

Benjamin: I’ve had no other thoughts than your bottom in my mind. And, if I’m going to work this hard to have a shot at valedictorian, I’m going to do it thinking that I also violated every rule in the conduct policy of the University; getting a piece of you, of that fine “onion” that upon seeing it just makes me want to cry, is what I want.

Dr. Robinson: Fair enough. Let’s review the grades and their actions. By the way, because you speak so eloquently of wishes, I’ve just decided to updated the actions tied to one, or maybe more of the grades. Hope you don’t mind. Remind me about grade “F”, oh, yes. Gagged and I just appended to it, handcuffed.

Benjamin: How do we start?

Dr. Robinson: Shut up! Undress! I’m going to strip down to my undies. I’ll remove my bra as well. Once gagged and handcuff, I’m not stopping. You better be positive this is what you want. On second thought, sign this here paper stating you are willingly entering this arrangement.

Benjamin: Why shall I do that?

The professor turns her back to him, leans over, and asks him to come touch her. Anything he wants to feel. Benjamin walks over, puts both his hands on her buttocks, and lightly spanks them.

Benjamin: Ok, I’ll sign it! That’s what I want, to have intercourse with you… more so than the means to get there.

Sexy Professor's Mid-SectionHe strips down to nothing but his socks — no need to remove any underwear, he didn’t wear any. The professor switches on the video camera along with the spotlights. The focus is on her desk with mounds of paper all about it. He’s already aroused by seeing that the professor does not look like the rest of her colleagues. She’s closer to one a female athlete than she is to any professor. She’s not young, but she’s not elderly either. She’s somewhere in her late forties, early fifties. Her physique has handled the passing of time well. The signs of maturity present on her face speak of just that, she knows what she wants and how to attain it, while her body reeks of decadence.

Dr. Robinson: Back to the “F”. Lay on the desk face up, and place the hands to each side. Do you need further description? You don’t get it? As if you are Jesus the Christ about to be crucified. The desk isn’t long enough for you, so bend your knees, and put your feet flat on it.

Before Benjamin moves, the professor grabs the gagging device and approaches him. His eyes opened wide, instantly perspiring.

Dr. Robinson: Oh, don’t be shy. Here let me show you how my mouth feels. I’m going to bite your lower lip, then get on my knees and swallow you for quick second. Give you a taste of what I can be like.

So she does as described. Benjamin is no longer sweating. He’s now looking down enjoying the time it took for her mouth to cover him, then quickly withdraw. It’s obvious that his heart has stopped pumping blood everywhere else in his body simply to direct it towards his average-size penis. The head is considerably wider than the body, Dr. Robinson comments on him not being exactly what she expected, but it will have to do. He responds with a cliché that gets him slapped and hushed instantly.

Dr. Robinson: No, no, no. You don’t get to speak anymore. If you are going to taste the secret, penetrate the secret, you’ll have to take it like you men love to tell us women to take it.

The gagging device goes around his head, the ball fits his mouth perfectly. Benjamin now has no option but to listen. He can only speak through heavy nostril exhalations. He might not want to, but his eyes too, will speak for him, telling the professor of his feelings on the matter. It feels like hours to him, the moment it takes to be gagged and walked over to the desk. The incoherent noises speak of the proper engagement of the gagging device.

After laying down as instructed, two sets of handcuffs bound him uncomfortably immobile. The papers on the desk were never cleared, which added to his discomfort by preventing a totally flat surface.

Dr. Robinson: Ah, you look adorable, really, Benjamin. You must have a look… laying on my desk, naked. Yet, you are still failing. That was your “F”. Tell me how it feels to be underway to a passing grade? Oh, I’m sorry. You can’t speak. Say, it’s time get to studying. Don’t mind me, but I just noticed that you are smaller than I expected. I do hope you didn’t freshly shave for me. Expecting me to be delighted by the “optical” illusion that you are bigger than you really are. What a shame! It’ll have to do, you’re all tied up already. What was the “D” again? Oh, yes. Digital stimuli! One of my favorite words, I have you know, Benjamin: “stimuli”. Spread the legs nicely my little pupil. Spread them without shame, I like the feeling myself.

Out of the desk drawer comes out this tube with the label covered by its price tag. Legible is the “-ese” part of the name. Benjamin’s head is off the desk looking down at what’s going on. The professor pours the agent sloppily on her hands. It drips all around his thighs. She apologizes, saying that she’s a tad messy handling liquids, then proceeds to kiss his inner thighs closely to his crotch. While kissing him, she brings her hand around his right thigh and starts to massage him ever so closely to his bottom. His glutes-clench raising his buttocks up and down from time to time in fear of the unexpected. His nerves were getting the best of him but, the ball shoved halfway down his mouth just didn’t allow eloquence to express how it truly felt.

Dr. Robinson: Here, look at me.

He looked down at her, and as she swallowed him, in went her index finger. He was so concentrated by being inside her mouth that he failed to realize the ease by which she slipped inside him.

Dr. Robinson: There, there, honey. I think you might be ready to go up a grade. Say… we work towards a “C”? Aw. How easy was that!

She had her right hand underneath his right leg, and her left hand jerking him. The harder she shoved her hand down the shaft, the harder she pushed in with the right. Benjamin couldn’t look anymore. Had the indistinguishable sounds been proper verbiage, the warnings that he was about prematurely ejaculate would have escaped. But the only sign of pleasure was that of the aggressive sound of air rushing out of his nostrils. Before she even became excited about the prospects of what she was about to do, Benjamin was shooting about. He dripped everywhere.

Woman Licking Ice Cream from Her HandDr. Robinson: Boy, dear boy. But, you appear to have been backed up. Here, look at you on my hand. That was quick work for a “C”. Let’s see, what was grade “B” again? Oh, yes! I’m going to collect as much as I can to smear it about me. Ah, I bet you enjoy the sound of that.

His eyes opened wide as softballs. Had he been a slug, they would have also reached far out of his face towards her.

The professor brought her hand to her mouth and cleaned some of the residue off of if. With that same hand, she reached down, pulled her underwear to the side, and sat on the semen spread about his abdomen. In a grinding motion she collected every drop she could. Those remaining on her hand, she smeared on her ass; the view stopped time.

She walked on the desk and stood over Benjamin’s face; each foot to one side of his face. It was time to remove the gag ball. Dr. Robinson leaned down, reached behind his head and unsnapped the lock to the leather-belt.

To be breathing heavily, Benjamin was very calm. He didn’t say a word; his eyes were fixated up at the professor’s crotch, admiring his residue against her vulva. He wasn’t given chance to catch his breath. She squatted down and slapped him across the face. He looked up at her; “What the F…”, another slap interrupted him. “Sh, Sh, Sh, no talking, remember!”, said she. He was at a loss, he tried to move but his arms were tightly bound against the desk preventing him from moving much.

Dr. Robinson: The work to earn grade “B” is pretty simple my dear boy: lick me clean!

Once again she slapped him, but this time harder than any she had before rupturing his bottom lip enough to bleed. She sat on his face, and by sitting on it, it wasn’t a slight hover giving him the freedom to frolic as he wished. No, this was a forced shove of her secret on his face. She rubbed it back and forth, sideways, even up and down slapping him with her secret right on the mouth. She stood up for a minute to admire his face reflecting the combined fluids of his saliva, semen and her secretion. His eyes were teary, not from crying, but from the inability to breath from time to time when she pressed harshly against his face asking for a brutal suck.

She sat on his chest, looked at him dead in the eyes, reached down to his face, and bit his lip drawing blood again. While biting his lip, she rhetorically asks, “is your dissertation worth an ‘A’?” He tries to speak once more, and this time he’s hushed by a squeeze of his testicles.

Dr. Robinson: I warned you not to speak one too many times, my student. But, here. I’ll make you feel better.

She scooted down his stomach towards his knees, suffocating his penis with her bottom until coming to rest on his knees. Her mouth came towards his scrota… He gasped, gasped and gasped, and she had yet to put him in her mouth. When he thought he was about to enter deep in her mouth…

Dr. Robinson: Oops, Benjamin! Is that your anus I feel? I’m sorry! I wanted to review some of your grades.

She digitally stimulated looking straight at his eyes. He was enjoying it, enjoying it a little too much. So she decided to make him feel better. She grabbed him and slapped him against her mouth. “Are you going to come again, young mister? I’ll put you on my mouth and make little-you try to reach back at my throat.” Not soon enough does she finish her words that she manages to simultaneously push two fingers in him. He almost died and had to speak: “You are going to make me cum.”

Dr. Robinson shoved him in her mouth all the way in. He moaned like a woman being stimulated in the sweetest of spots, then she withdrew it from her mouth, pulled it down towards his knees and released it to slap against his lower abdomen. She again stood over his face. This time inserting her finger inside her, followed by slow sucks of the finger.

Dr Robinson: Had you not spoken, you would have fucked me. Take the “B” and get out of here. Except, you’ll be getting to your dorm wearing only your sweat-top. Disagree?

Benjamin: I do not. Release me. But, I want to request you to turn around. Please, let me masturbate looking at you.

Dr.Robinson: I’d do you one better. You sound so cute begging for more.

The professor released him, then pushed him against the wall. Turned around for a minute so that he could admire her. She was sweet enough to spread herself apart with her hands so that he could see the rainbows of pink in colour. Then, to his surprise, she slapped his penis between her butt cheeks, and roughly moved up and down until he came again.

Before he realized that his dissertation had take a turn for the best, he was pulling the sweat-top down to cover himself on the way back to the dorms… the happy boy had forgotten about all the work wasted on his thesis.

Dr.Robinson: Poor fool. Doesn’t he know nobody ever reads those!


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Cockpit

The Venetian Hotel, Las Vegas Nevada
It’s no secret that Las Vegas, Nevada is an overplayed bachelorette destination. But, that is precisely where I’m taking my girls. Not one of us has ever been there, and well, I plan to make it memorable even if it lacks creativity. There is seven of us making the trip. Our stay will be at The Venetian, one of the better known hotels in Vegas. I’m looking for an old world charm in a place where sin leads to heavenly creations. I understand that the financial impact will be costly, but I don’t care. This event has been in the works for two years, and now that is time to have it. I want it to be where I want it to be, cost me even a slap on the face. So, The Venetian it is.

It’s May 29th, the day of our flight, and the party has already started. The stretch limo sounds like a chicken coop with the compiled voices of seven excited woman reverberating throughout. I’m trying to leave all the creativity for Vegas, but this skimpy bridal gown doesn’t exactly scream prudence. I have a feeling that I’ve started something that I just won’t regret doing. My girlfriends are the coolest bunch of accomplices anyone could ever encounter. So, we’ve all purchased trashable-mobile-phones that can only be used for texting, and phone calls. There will be no capturing of graphical memories from the “hen night”.

Mid way through to the airport, most of my companions are mildly under the influence of B52s, though I think the shots have been mostly kahlúa. I am not drinking, my wit is as sane and alert as it can be. I don’t want to miss a second of this here journey. Upon arrival at the airport we are rushed to the terminal because the plane just happens to be waiting for, specifically, our party. I think we might have been running a few minutes late. Our suitcases are checked for proper safety, then brought to the gate with us. Someone takes them from the plane door of the Boeing 747 to load in the cargo section. He’s very cute. Had I me hands on him…

We board the plane, find our seats right on the “business class” front area of the plane. I’m row A, seat 2. I want to be on the isle, looking forward to check the cockpit. I’m a fanatic of planes and purposely selected A2 so that I can try to view the flight from where I’ll be seated if the cockpit door is left open. I’m more excited about the possibility of being allowed in there than I am about the bachelorette party.

Emergency instructions are presented to the passengers, the plane takes off, it levels out, I am ready for the five hour flight. The crew welcomes our party, and congratulates me. We are served more drinks as if needed. I take my drink, but leave it untouched on the tray. I am just too excitement about being so close to the front of the plane that I can’t concentrate on anything other than the thought of the door to the front-control room opening. I can hear my girlfriends chit chatting about the plans for the first few days. I’m glad they are here to worry about all of it for me. I am mostly concerned about making the view from the cockpit memorable, the rest I hope is a blur.

A quarter of the way in to the flight a few of my girlfriends are already asleep, those awake are rowdy enough that the crew members need to settle them down. The captain comes out to greet the passengers. He notifies the cabin that the door to the front will be open for sometime, anyone wishing to view the front is welcomed. I wait quite a while, no one comes up to the front. I presume that not everyone appreciates planes as I do.

Pilots in cockpit, mid-flightI’m apprehensive about coming to the front, so I take the drink that’s been sitting on the tray and gulp it. It’s encouraged me to stand up and head towards the cabin, I knock outside the door, the flight attendant sees me and comes over. I inform her of my obsession with planes and that I would like to view the goodies piloting the plane. She tells me to wait that she’ll inform the captain. Soon enough I’m looking at the sky ahead of us, the captain welcomes me aboard. We exchange small talk about my plans in Vegas, my chosen dress for the flight, and the controls all over the cockpit. I’m as excited as a teenage girl attending her first dance. He stands up from his chair and asks me to please sit down and “take” the controls. I’m jumping about like I’ve won some sort of price.

Sensual Bride in CockpitThe two other “pilots”, the first, and the second officer look at the captain in disagreement. But, I still sit, put my hands on the controls and instantly become saturated with lust. I would have exploded were I not a human being. I clench my legs, tightly closing my thighs as if it could help prevent further desire from seeping out of me. I’m uncharacteristically shy, I feel that if I get off from the seat, spots of my reaction from touching the sidestick controllers will reveal my wants.

I look back at the captain, he notifies me that it’s time to return to the cabin. I take a deep breath, stand up, quickly look down at the seat and sigh in relief. There is nothing to divulge that being in the front of the plane aroused me. The captain grabs my hand, and leads me towards the entrance to the cabin. Before we arrive at the door, I stop, look back at him and tell him that I’ll be at the Venetian in Vegas. He takes down my information and tells me he’ll meet me there. He escorts me to my seat, kisses my hand goodbye and returns to his duties.

Minutes after, and a few drinks to feel daring, I head over to the cockpit again. The flight attendant fetches the captain, he greets me outside where we engaged in flirtatious dialog, after-which he leads me inside the cockpit. I close the door behind us, and quickly remove the skirt from my “wedding” gown. He stares me down in deep thought, then walks to the front, delegates flying duties to the first officer and walks back to me. I push him against the wall next to the second officer and kiss him. I go for his belt, but he holds me back to unbuckle it himself. He slips out and I grab it with my right hand while using my left to place his right hand on my bottom.

I jerk him slowly. I’m an addict for the feel details on a manhood; I can spend hours caressing the engorged body. The first officer puts the plane on auto and stands up to have a view of us. I’m kissing and stroking… “I bet the two officers are staring at my buttocks”, I think to myself. The daring tease, even if shy, I am. I turn my back to the captain, slide his penis between my inner thighs and hold tightly to my crotch. I grab my undies, push it to the side, stare down the gentlemen looking at me and grind my crotch on the captain’s manhood.

The captain tries to insert it in, but I say: “no, no, not now.” I continue to slap my buttocks against his pelvis secreting on him. Down below at my crotch his head peeking out is visible. I reach down for it, push the head up and slip it inside of me only to jump off of instantly. I turn face to face, squat down and put him in my mouth. His hands reach for my face, but I slap them away. I’m the only one controlling how much “richard” goes in my mouth. I play around with the head sucking the sides and running my tongue on the tip while my hand pulls back the skin on the shaft to ensure I see, and suck all I can on the tip.

I’ve always found it meritable when sucking a sizable man to self sooth; my left hand reaches down, I pull apart the lips with my thumb, and index finger and proceed to rub my clitoris. The plane hits a single disturbance and it goes deep into my mouth. But, I don’t gag. I lost those reflexes long ago before this very moment. Even the unintentional shoving into my mouth goes unnoticed. I retrieve him, look up at the captain and slap his penis against my lips.

“Captain, care to share?”, I ask of him.

There wasn’t a need for a response, both horny fellows zipped down and quickly. They were much more to write about than was the captain. So much so that I debated trading partners. I wish I didn’t have to bypass them, but the captain, well, I did enjoy his size. In time of need, beggars can’t be choosers. I place the “Cappy” back in my mouth, grab each boy with each hand to jerk them. Have you ever had a feel of three men? One on each hand? The other in your mouth? You should try it. It’s less of what you think it is, and more of what you don’t think.

I’m versed enough swallowing whole that I can look to the sides to check how the fellows are responding to my hands. They are enjoying it, but not enough. So, I release “Cappy” grab the fellow to the left and gobble him for a few mouth fills, likewise I do to the follow to my right. Were I more daring I’d want to swallow the outcome of this venture from all three of them. Yet, I’m here to feel “Cappy” inside of me. I turn around to give him my back. He is allowed to go inside of me to fulfill his whim. He grabs my hips with both hands and slows in entry until his pelvis meets my buttocks.

His body slops against me increasingly harder making it difficult to stroke the officers. He slams against me, bouncing my body about as if going through turbulence. It’s much a joy, the sound of clashing bodies, the sound of wet vulva against a penis, the sound of jet engines flying at over five hundred miles per hour, and the sound of making the three of men enjoy me. It would make anyone lust into climax. “Officers”, I say. “I’m going to turn around, you can remove my underwear. I’m going to lean, spread my legs, put my hands against the wall, and you will finish, all three of you, wherever you desire. Smack your penises against me. Let me feel them hit my vagina. Don’t forget that the ass, too! It wants to reach sin city covered in prayers. I’ll return to my seat counting my blessings, leave the prayers written on my skin so that I may read them and smile about what you’ve done.”


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Prison Break

Woman Behind BarsHave you ever been held in captive solitude… for a prolonged period of time? Not days, not weeks, not months, but years? It can opaque the brightest of faiths. For too long a time I hoped for my return to general population. I prayed, I begged, I even meditated with the sole objective of changing my fate. I prayed to the Good Lord, begged to anyone who’d listen, even sought the power of the inner self. But, as time dictates, I am to go nowhere; I am to stay in place. Stay in this 4 feet wide by 6 feet long solitary cell. It’s dark more times than not. It’s difficult to tell the passing of days; whether it is daytime or nighttime outside, I never fully know. Not that it matters. I sleep when sleepy, eat when not depressed…

Prison TrackOne hour a day, at differing times each day, I’m taken outside for a round-about the track. I see no one, just my shadow casted on the floor by either sunlight or a spotlight. That was my life until depression saw it fit to send me a companion. I call him “Candy”. He’s a short little alien-looking something who consoles me when sad, and advises me when I’m unable to keep primordial drives from surfacing. He’s been with me since the day I stopped crossing out “counting-sticks-of-five” on the walls. Twelve hundred and eleven of those sticks before I wrote his name (Candy) on the wall. That’s when he came. Since then things have been very different. Depressing, lonely, but still different.

Candy, with his ugly-toothed-smile and big bright eyes, was sitting on the bed rocking his legs. “No, don’t do it. You can get through this without it”, sang he. I have finally lost it, was my initial reaction; but, having no choice, I welcomed the company. That day we spoke until it was time for my round-about walk. He made me happy. I was finally in the company of someone who didn’t judge me, nor cared where I was, and why. Before I walked out the cell he said, “I’ll be right here when you return. Stay strong and No, don’t do it. You can get through this without it.”

I didn’t really care to ask what he meant. I know what he referenced. For sometime now I have planned an escape. With nothing to lose and a world of peace to gain, why shouldn’t I? He wasn’t go to convince me otherwise.

The walk went as all in the past. Alone and thinking of what should be done.

Candy’s voice was audible throughout the walls of solitary. It bounced around from corner to corner right into my ears. “I know what you will do, I know what you will do. And I tell you, that is something you should not do.” I smiled, at least someone wanted to talk to me, even if trying to dissuade me. He was at the very same spot as when I had left. Still swinging his stubby little legs on the air. He was a rather ugly little thing yet, charming.

I informed him that I had for once decided what to do. That I needed to break-out one way or another. “I know. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here for you”, said he. I laid down to bed, tired from doing nothing. He sat on the corner, closed his eyes and also went to sleep. Hours later when I awakened Candy wasn’t around. It made think it was all but a made up story from delusion, but when I readied myself to carry out the plan. He came out of the corner; only his big bright eyes were visible. He startled me straight.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But do know that I, well, I don’t agree with this you are trying to do”, said Candy.

“Never-mind my business, you said you’d still be here”, said I.

I’ll do as you please, I just don’t agree”, he said.

The cell had double doors. The door to the inside was a normal steel-bars cell door. It was about 4 feet wide, and contained steel bars running from the top to the bottom at about 5 or 6 inches apart. Two bars, one at the top and another at the bottom ran from side to side. At the very bottom there was an opening where food trays were placed through. The door in front of the steel-bar-door was about 2 feet away from the inner door. It was a solid steel door with an eye-opening some 4 feet high from the floor. The opening was about 8 inches wide and 4 inches tall. The door prevented much light from coming in to the cell, as granted guards viewing accessibility to me.

I removed my clothing, turned my back to the barred-door, grabbed a bar with each hand, pulled my legs apart from one another then hinged at the hips to ensure my glory was promptly visible upon opening the “visibility” gate. I heard it squeak open, Candy disappears. For the first time in a very long time a woman’s voice greets me. My heart sank. The plot won’t be as successful with a female guard. I was about to go back into my bed when she asked me not to move. For what was left of my hopes, I obliged.

The female guard walked towards me, ran her hand right down me and said: “But baby, you aren’t even wet.” She left the food on the floor and walked away. Had I any hopes left, it would have been a vastly disappointing. It was the same story the next time the door opened. I spread my legs, grabbed two solid bars running down the length of the door, and leaned forward. It was her again. She walked over, said the very same thing as last time, but this time she ran her fingers down my bottom as well as vulva, and said: “We are getting closer, honey.” She placed my meal on the floor and left.

Candy sat silently next to me. Looking down, sometimes humming, at all times swinging his little stubby legs. He knew I didn’t walk to talk. So we sat there waiting for me to initiate dialog. It must have been a week’s time before I decided to speak, a week before I saw another male guard. When I did, I was ecstatic. Candy smiled and said it was time to carry out that “break-out” I so longed for.

When I heard footsteps that appeared to be coming in my direction, I took position as I had those two previous times. By golly, when the door opened it was that female guard again. This time she didn’t use her fingers, instead she knelt in front of the door, put her face in and licked me through the cell bars. “Mami, you are a wet girl… waiting for me I hope.” She tried to do as good a job as she could using her fingers, her tongue; the closeness of the bars prevented her from shifting her face around for a proper performance, but her fingers in me while her tongue massaged my anus more than made up for the lack of maneuverability. It was more than I had anticipated. As uneventful as it was, it was the most alive I had felt in years. It made me ignore she was a woman. All I cared for was for her return so that she could properly satisfy me.

The immediately ensuing time I did the very same thing. Again, she massage my guilty pleasure with her tongue, fingers and nose, then she asked me to turn around and get on my knees. I was confused by the request. Does she want to talk to me? I asked myself. As I get on my knees and put my hands on the bars she grabs them and pulls me towards her where my face is stuck between the bars. She crossed my hands hugging the bars and handcuffed them each to adjacent bars where I couldn’t move. I was stuck kneeling face first into the bars.

She calls for who is obviously not a guard; whomever he was, he was a large man and not in stature. She slides her hand through the bars, grabs a chunk of my hair and forces my face forward hard against the bars as if wanting to drive it through it. “I like your plentiful naughty secret against my mouth. But I like to watch a mouth handle a man. Open your mouth nice and wide that I want to see you gag on him”, said the female guard.

I opened my mouth and this girthy, large headed, vascular-ly healthy and throbbing thing shoved in making me gag instantaneously. Not only had I never been gagged, but I hadn’t practice in more years than I cared to remember. There was no compassion from these two. She held my face in place, while his hips thrust forward banging onto whatever part of my face stuck outside the bars, as well as banged against the steel bars. The noise of metal upon metal form the door thrashing about screamed throughout solitary.

It was a struggle to breath, but listening to the woman closely talking to my ear invigorated me. “Bad girl in solitary. Is he being bad to you? Do you like the feeling of a mouth filled with a large man? Are you getting wet? Do you like being controlled? Do you like being abused in that pretty little throat of yours? I’m going to watch you inhale and exhale globs of him! I like watching the eyes tear from your inability to handle a mouthful.” On and on she went talking to me.

He pulled out of my mouth just to slap my lips with him. The feeling of it against my lips brought memories of being young and innocent struggling to satisfy my first partner. This was the most alive I had felt in various years. Whether I enjoyed it or not, I didn’t yet know. But I did know that if being captive in solitude had a breath of freedom, this was it. I was finally beginning to feel free, to feel like the walls around me no longer controlled me, but helped me see life.

Between the two, and my scooting over on my knees, the door was opened. The female guard slid on her back between my legs and commenced to tongue all about me. She was dirty about it. She slapped my naughty girl, bit it, fingered it and gently massaged pleasure out of it. I secreted like any grown woman without satisfaction in years would have. “Yeah, let me watch you flow guilty slut.”, she said. It weakened me enough to instantly forget I had a man shoved down my throat. I tried to look down with the corner of my eyes but I couldn’t. The man held my face against the bars banging away. I had not noticed that he had climax until I tried to breathe and swallowed a mouthful. “Keep swallowing. I don’t give a free man that you are choking”, he said in the most of raspy and manly voice I had heard in my life. He shoved his pelvis hard into me, there was no where I could go. The pain on my wrists from the handcuffs was now visible. They were raw-red, not bleeding yet, but soon enough I imagined. A small price to pay for freedom, I thought to myself.

I both consumed his residue, as did I exhale some of it out of my nostrils. “You should see this, honey”, he said to the woman. “This is the lewd type of gagging you like to watch me do.” But she wasn’t going anywhere. She was going at me as if she were the one who hadn’t received a good eating in years. She squeezed my butt cheeks hard and plenty, even held my entirety between her teeth… oh, i imagined the good feel of having a mouthful of woman between the lips.

I came, not once but a few times… and the blockage of my air pipes enhanced every second of it. It was as if I was between life and death seeing “the light” for the very first time in my life. I came on her mouth like the man I still held in my mouth did. When he finally pulled out, globs of him were still caught around his penis, stretching back to my mouth. I gasped for air as if jumping out of the ocean after almost drowning. I inhaled deeply… he looked at me and asked I clean him before he goes. I sucked him nice and well, taking long enough to feel the nuances of his manhood in my mouth that the aggressive thrusts failed to show.

Before they left she gave me quite a hard spanking… as she said, “to remember that there is a new bitch in town”. My days were no longer solitary after that. Candy would heal my delightful wounds before the next encounter came about. I loved the reminder of raw skin. It became my life. Candy would talk to me, tell me that I was a good girl for doing bad things. That he would remain, not go anywhere if just to watch.

The encounters were daily after that. Sometimes she alone, other times a few men took turns making the time in solitary special, but to me, this was my prison break. I was not only alive, but free to feel the taming of a libido that had long ago escaped.


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My Boss’ Wife

Yes, I wanted to have her just as much as I wanted to revenge the treatment I had received from my boss throughout my tenure at PMC. I had grown increasingly tired of his antics, his arrogance… of his incompetence. I was shocked to learn that she was his woman. I couldn’t fathom that this man had other qualities aside from the disposable ones I’d endured from him.

They were the mismatching couple. He wasn’t exactly eye candy, while she was chiseled out of seduction. Her walk exuded a sexual confidence that lured the stares of all the geeks in the IT department. It left them dreaming of orgasms between formulas and algorithms. I can only imagine the thoughts of geeks prematurely defeated upon a sight of her undergarment sliding down her bottom.

Evil BossEach time I saw her I couldn’t think but of hurting her painfully enough to prevent that alluring strut from disrupting weeks worth of work days. It wasn’t just the idea of having her with out a care for her well being, but that knowing I was somehow releasing my frustrations from years of ill interactions with my boss gratified me. His wife was going to be responsible for his behavior hard enough that when they copulated, she’d think back to how I handled her. That was my goal.

My advantage over the guys fantasizing about her was that queries regarding development of new software had to go through me. She, well, she was a project manager brought on solely to entice the male clientèle to stick around if just to gawk. If anything was to be engineered, it had to touch my hands. My chance came not a full year after she was employed.

One of our major clients would only speak with me, yet my boss wanted all communication to go through her… and rightly so. It was her job, and my “in”, to carry out my plans for her. To engage her more with the client, my boss scheduled an “Entertainment” meeting between all stakeholders. It was she, the client, his two assistants and I. The entertainment was in form of a fun diner, a local sports event, finalized by a drink at the Water Lounge. The Water Lounge was the latest craze in the city specifically meant for entertaining corporate clients. It had it all from drinks, to beds, to meeting rooms. It was locally known as the “finalizer”: not one contract that entered the venue left unsigned.

I purposely arrived late to diner. I had already informed the client that I would be doing so, as I wanted them to feel her out. I was delighted to learn that diner was a success. I greeted the client, greeted my boss’ wife, then sat down for dessert and a neat Presidential Rye. I didn’t converse much, I mostly smiled, nodding my head in agreement. I covered the bill, and off we set out to watch the sporting event. The sporting event was of my choice. I had not revealed to anyone what it was. We boarded the limo, and I instructed the driver to drop us off at the newly created arena down at the southern tip of the city.

Ballroom Competition FloorWhen we arrived, a big billboard atop the front entrance to the area welcomed competitors as well as spectators the Dance Sports’ 32nd Dance Competition. Everyone was taken aback, they didn’t expect the sporting event to be, well, a dance contest. I brought them down to our booth that was coincidentally placed in perfect viewing distance from the center of the dance floor. There was a buzz in the arena. Not the type created by loud cheers and drunken fanatics rather, one created by music coupled to entranced fans anticipating the duel between some of the best interpreters of dance of this century. I had a second drink, another Rye, Dad’s Hat. I situated my guests then informed them that I would return in a few minutes. They were so excited by the presence of dancers on the floor that they didn’t notice I was gone much longer than I had alluded.

When my name was presented to crowd, I could hear the ruckus coming from our booth. Everyone in the booth was screaming my name; Samantha, my boss’ wife, included. I didn’t win, though I expected to, I always do. My partner and I came in at sixth place, a solid showing for a nine-to-five fellow. I tried to shower and change quickly as not to leave my guests waiting longer than they had to. At the dressing room I needed to calm my nerves. This happens to me at every competition, the butterflies are more interrupting after the fact than they are before or during. Out of my bag I pulled out a Tirado Corn Whiskey, took a gulp to feel at home and headed back to the booth.

An enthusiastic and warm welcome received me back at the booth. Samantha jumped on me squeezing, kissing even shoving me. The client was walking around simulating a bad Paso Doble, and the other two people, both women, jumped up and down screaming my name. After some flattering chatter it was out to the Water Lounge. For the duration of the limo ride we joked around, even I had to expose my abdominal muscles for the ladies to touch. I had somehow become sexier than ever before. Samantha was audacious enough to tell me that if I weren’t a colleague she’d love for me to go Latin-macho on her and control her like I controlled my partner during the contest.

I noticed she didn’t say married, so I accepted her words as an indication that I would be welcomed to fulfill my lust to “disable” that sultry strut of hers. It didn’t even take reaching the Water Lounge for the client to accept Samantha as the point of contact. She was charming, attractive (much more than I) and tonight a bit tipsy and exposing herself high up the legs to everyone. We dispersed quickly once at the venue. The client and his assistants went straight for the bar then the dance floor. Samantha remained behind with me still speaking of the competition.

Hair BunThe opportune chance to bring peace to years of abuse at work couldn’t be passed; I reciprocated her aggressive flirtations with quite the direct intent. I slid my right hand to the back of her head grabbing the slicked hair-bun, and pulled down on it exposing the length of her neck to me. I drew close as if to kiss her neck, but instead I drew close to her ear and told her I was going to hurt her. “You are not man enough to try” was her sarcastically-toned response. While still holding her hair-bun, I maneuvered my left hand to her backside and with a violent snap, I tore the string-panty from her body. “These aren’t a must where you are a going”, said I. I released her and asked her to follow me. She ran her index finger down my spine in a waved motion, then ran it back up in a straight line. “Calling for help?”, she mocked.

We walked downstairs to meet the client one last time. He was pretty intoxicated, so were his assistants. Through the loud music and despite his inebriated state I was able to inform him that Samantha and I had to leave, that the limo would remain behind for their convenience. He hugged me, offered me another drink that I politely declined. He then hugged and kissed Samantha on both cheeks as customary of him. “Until next time my. Have a drink on me.” were his last words to us that evening.

“Aren’t we leaving?”, Samantha asked.

“It’s simple enough an instruction, that of following”, responded I.

Night Sky Line“That’s out of character for somebody my husband puppets daily”, was her response. I didn’t say anything. We walked upstairs to the meeting room scheduled for us. I walked to the windows and opened the blinds giving view to the city skyline. She followed me to the window, rested her right shoulder upon it, looked down to the lower buildings and proceeded to expose her breasts by pulling the top of the dress to the sides. I looked down her neck to her shoulder and her arms. It was no wonder my boss had married this woman; she’s no effort to admire.

“As I said, that’s out of character for someone who my husband puppets on a daily basis.” I took the extension to the sentence this time around as an invitation to hurt her. Whether I misunderstood her intentions wasn’t a care of mine. It really wasn’t a care how she felt about my aggression, all that matter was imprinting my whim upon this women so that she may go home still throbbing, still dripping of me… to lay besides that foolish man she calls husband with residues of my actions still inside of her.

“It’s a wonderful night, the sky is clear, apartment lights sing to the night. There is no better night to learn how much you can handle as a woman”, I exclaimed. She didn’t say anything for a minute, only continued to look down to the buildings, smiled, sighed and began to rub her breasts. She turned fully towards the window; the sight of her figure against the city skyline made her the most desirable architectural wonder present in the city. I removed my bow-tie, unbuttoned my shirt, then pressed my body against hers… pressing her against the window. She pushed back, telling me “You haven’t the permission, miss.”

I was being deterred by the sight of her beauty sparkling against the city scenery. What was I to do? I completely removed my shirt, and pressed her hard against the glass window. She tried to speak but, I covered her mouth with my hand. “It’s my turn to taunt”, I said to her. I instructed her to reach back and pull me out of my pants. She struggled somewhat removing my belt, but finally managed to expose me. I lifted her dress. “You direct me, put where you want it.” She lead me to her vagina, already moistened. “Wet me with you, let him feel your secretion. Do not put him in.” She guided me throughout the area leaving me nice and moist.

“That’s enough. Put him where you don’t want me to pierce.” She’s a bright lady. She moved me up to the center of her bottom. I adjusted her butt cheeks creating a receiving space for the head to thrust into. She was now looking back at me from the corner of her eyes. The feeling of her dress upon my anatomy was as seducing as feeling the orifice of her buttocks firmly against me. I freed her mouth and simultaneously shoved in with a quick motion. Her mouth opened big, she tried to jump off but I didn’t allow it. I held her hair bun tightly while thrusting in again and again. The collision of my pelvis against the bottom resonated with a “Please, don’t hurt me” that gradually grew intensely pleasurable. Initially her voice alluded to fear and pain, but with each aggressive thrust into her butt the statement changed demeanor. It seemed to have become a mantra for her. “Please, don’t hurt; please don’t hurt me”, repeatedly escaped her lips. She was now enjoying the sensation of a welcomed pain.

“Don’t tell me not to hurt you!”, I finally said. I then proceeded to lift her dress, wrapped it tightly around her waist, and struck her on the right butt cheek. She labored to change her mantra… finally repeating: “Hurt me, please hurt me, please… hurt me.” I would have felt badly, had I been a caring partner at the moment but, I wasn’t. The sound of her voice intoxicated me, and the feeling of her skin clashing against my hand made me want to leave hand-prints on her butt for her man to see that she’d been had.

I withdrew, quickly taking a knee and sinking my teeth on her butt. “Spread them”, I said. I licked, bit and smacked her bottom with the conviction of a fulfilled man. She jumped each time my hand landed on her bottom. She tasted bitter sweet. While I was enjoying collecting payment for her husband’s actions, I didn’t like that he wasn’t there to witness what she had endured.

“Torso on the table, legs wide apart.”

I removed her dress and watched her walk over to the meeting table at the center of the room. She quietly rested her torso on it, and pulled the legs apart. “I’m ready”, said she. I walked over, ran my mouth up and down her bottom, including the thighs, then pierced her; swapping entrances every few strokes. I had run out of ideas as to what to do to build immunity to my boss in future interactions. All that was left was for me to climax.

I withdrew from her bottom, and situated myself at the orifice of her vulva. I spilled out, some inside of her, some not. “Squeeze”, I instructed her. “Squeeze”. I wanted to see me drip out from her vulva down to the floor. Once satisfied, I stood her from the table and placed her on her knees. “Gag yourself, let me watch me get lost in your mouth.” She tried time and again, as if trying to entice a second reaction from me. But, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of… well, willingly satisfy me.

“Gag, and hold deep. Look up at me. That’s enough. On the table face up.” were my last commands. I made her climax more than I had intended. I left her there to collect herself. I walked away with her aroma entrenched in my mouth.

The next morning a handwritten note atop my keyboard read: “Is a drop of blood normal? I didn’t realize I would enjoy the pleasure of pain. How long will the pain last? There are slight bite marks on both my cheeks. Can I see you in my office?”