writingdirty2

[writingdirty2]

The is a backup blog for @writingdirty

[writingdirty2]

Eyes and Hands

Of the many strange and wonderful things I’ve seen in the past few years, few were as surprising as the tableau I glimpsed as the elevator doors opened to the party in the penthouse of the fancy downtown hotel. It was amazing, beautiful, decadent, breathtaking, and pretty fucking weird.

Actually, it wasn’t just one penthouse, but three, all opened up to the others to form a sort of club, with a DJ, two different bars, and various sexy and kinky accouterments. Massage tables, a Saint Andrew’s cross, contraptions I didn’t know the names of for tying people to or fucking people against.

I’d been to somewhat similar events, but usually, they were at slightly seedy locals with a crowd that was a mixed bag. This took everything to a new level. The whole place was opulent, clean, organized, and all of the people there were beautiful. Some were waif-like model beautiful, others curved and busty beautiful, others wild hair burner beautiful. There were all kinds of beautiful. Big Chippendale dancer looking beautiful. Assess chap beautiful. Beautiful. (I know I’m teetering into that place where you repeat a word until it has no meaning, but anyway.)

Some of these people were in tuxedos, others lingerie, some in leather or latex. Hell, there was a woman lying on a table wearing nothing but sushi.

I tried not to gawk and hoped my suit was up to snuff. Still as strange as it all was, it was remarkable how quickly I became acclimated to the environment. Within minutes I was touring the place, champagne flute in hand, as if it were an ordinary Saturday evening.

Still, stranger than the whole of the environment, were the little moments it created. Put into an otherworld fantasy, Eyes Wide Shut setting puts you in a particular mind space. The longer you walked around, the further down the rabbit hole you went. Going from room to room seeing people dancing, people kissing, people fucking, people doing naked yoga while someone blew bubbles, it was all so surreal that you felt like an outsider or a narrator, invisibly taking in each scene.

I don’t know if you know this about writers, but for many of us, this is ideal. Emotional distance to just observe and overthink the fuck out of amazing glimpses of the human condition.

One moment that shined the brightest involved nothing more than a glance. There was this dashing Frenchmen, an old acquaintance of mine, who was fucking a pretty girl on a bed in the one of the bedrooms. There was a small crowd of people lining the walls of this bedroom watching. The girl on the bed looked up at me as I passed, and I recognized her. We had been introduced to earlier in the night. I remembered her as sweet, cute, sort of shy, in a longish black dress. Big inky black eyes that seemed to be taking everything in, overwhelmed.

Now she was on the bed completely naked except for black stockings and a garter belt. Her hair was covering most of her face, but one eye was visible, its thick black wing of makeup still perfect, and her fat red lips were still glossy and vivid.

Her skin was a flawless dark tan, her hair black, she was maybe Mediterranean or perhaps Arabic. Her ass was red, with a few perfectly formed handprints overlapping. The gentleman was naked, well built, handsome. He was holding her down by the back of her neck. She was lying on the bed, belly down, and he was straddling her thighs, fucking her in a slow, steady rhythm.

She looked up at me with this smile. It was this opened mouthed smile of pure abandon and joy. It was exhibitionism, flirtation, probably drugs and champagne, and recognition.

It was like, “oh, I remember you! Hi. Look what I’m doing!”

She pushed back against him, I can’t be sure, but it seemed like she was showing off for me. A few strands of her hair stuck to her pretty lipstick. Then, suddenly, the pleasure overtook her, and her eyes flashed. This flash, just before her eyes closed as he fucked her harder, hit me. It was weird that something so visceral, so purely sexual, made my heartache. She moaned loudly, but not a “for show” kind of moan, something uncontrollable, animal, desperate.

I guess it was the authenticity of their pleasure that struck me.

I watched with the rest of the spectators. Perhaps we watched too long, past voyeurism into something else. Some intrusion on the intimacy of the moments after they came, and he kissed her forehead and lips and held her, pulled the sheets around them.

Through the rest of the evening, I kept coming back to that look. That perfect look.

That’s what that night was all about, that look. Oh, and a hand.

There was also a very important hand.

On the other side of the penthouse, my girlfriend Rose and some other friends had created a sort of home base for us in a little back living room. We would all go out and explore, get into little adventures, then come back to kiss and tell.

As I walked back there, still high on that perfect look, I bumped into an amazon of a woman in a corset, stockings, and nothing else. The tops of the cupid bow of her lips were sharp matte red. Her eyes outlined in black, cheekbones severe, haughty scowl that gave her the look of Maleficent.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said, my voice sounding strange in my ears since I hadn’t spoken for all the time I was exploring the party.

She looked me up and down dismissively and then walked around me.

Rose watched me as my eyes opened wide, and my jaw grew slack. I groaned with want. It came from the very center of my chest. Sometimes, somethings just hit all my buttons at once. The confidence of her stride, her big ass, panty-less under her corset. Thick thighs, powerful calves.

“That’s Maria, but don’t bother, she’s kind of a bitch,” she said with a roll of her eye but a good-humored smile.

“I know, it’s super hot,” I whispered.

I don’t think Maria heard, but she looked back at me for a second, cut her eyes, gave me a plump pout before she turned the corner.

I didn’t exactly follow her, but I decided I would explore the party some more, maybe, you know, in the general direction she headed in.

I immediately noticed that the party had somehow moved to a new level. There were fewer spectators as everyone seemed to get in on the action.

I kept my eye out for Maria and saw her flirt with a tall, athletic-looking man with a shaved head, make out with a woman who looked like her twin sister, and giving a schoolgirl a spanking on the balcony. After that, I lost her, so I went back to home base.

Rose and I had planned beforehand to mingle separately during the beginning of the party, then meet up at the home base just after one in the morning.

It felt good to fall into her familiar arms after so much strangeness. We kissed, and the sights I’d seen swirled with the familiar desire for her. We smiled at each other. We didn’t need to tell each other stories about what we had seen. Not yet. We didn’t need to explain, just revel in them.

Our little home base was empty as we flopped onto the large bed and kissed. Our hands hungry for each other.

I wasn’t so much for public sex. I mean, having it, not watching, but our seclusion and the excitement pushed through the uncomfortableness. I wasn’t even phased as people started coming into the room.

A man in a white suit with long dreads came smiling in, leading two nearly naked women. He had a slight Caribbean accent, as well as an overly serious manner, and that left Rose and me hiding our snickers. It was fun having more people there. A little dirtier, a little more risqué.

With him was a thin, bespectacled woman in her early twenties with the wide eyes of someone who had never been to this sort of party. The other woman, I realized, was Maria.

Some others came in as well; an older man and woman sat on a couch nearby, she on his lap as they watched us and the threesome. I saw more faces at the door of the room, one friend smiled knowingly from the crowd.

Maria and her two friends didn’t really acknowledge Rose and me. They laid on a nest of pillows that were just next to the bed and started whispered negotiations and seductions.

Rose kiddingly cut her eyes at me, knowing I had a crush on the girl in the corset. We laughed it off and then fell into more kisses.

There was something profound in how new kisses between long time lovers could be. In a room crowded with other people kissing and onlookers gawking and whispering, we were both putting on a show and trying to shut out the distractions.

We quickly took off the clothing that were blocking the important parts. She slipped off her panties and pulled up her dress. I pulled my pants off. She slipped her breasts out of the top of her bustier, and I immediately touched and kissed them.

She bit my lip, and I pulled her hair. We smiled as we wrestled, and my cock rubbed against her.

I heard the familiar sound of a Hitachi start next to me. The three on the floor moaned and kissed and shifted to find a better angle.

Just as I slipped into Rose, the woman in the corset stood up and sat down on the bed next to us. She didn’t engage with us, she was directing the scene on the floor, but she simply sat down on the bed to get a better angle.

The thing was, she sat down right on my hand.

I was slowly fucking Rose. We continued to kiss and whisper dirty things to each other and, in general, enjoy fucking in a room full of strangers.

I wondered if Maria was aware she was sitting on my hand. She had to be. I don’t have small hands. I thought perhaps it was just incidental. Something that happens when a bunch of people are fucking in the same room. I wasn’t that experienced in orgying.

As I thought that, and Rose wrapped her legs around me, Maria pushed her ass down and ground against my hand. She looked over at me for a second, with no real smile or acknowledgement, and then bit her extra fat bottom lip and slid back a little, so that my hand was no longer under her ass, but between her thighs.

Rose’s head fell back and her eyes closed as I pounded into her. She looked more than lovely, hair a splash of black curls against the pillow, breasts pushed out and nipples hard. She felt perfect, tight and wet, as I fucked her.

Meanwhile, the girl on the floor writhed and gasped as the Hitachi buzzed away.

Maria leaned forward and kissed the pretty girl on the floor. As she did, her pussy pressed against my hand. I carefully turned my hand, cupping it. She looked back at me as she kissed the girl. A mix of pleading and contempt in her eyes.

She was really working the bitch thing.

“Fuck me,” Rose whined.

“Oh my god,” the girl on the floor gasped.

My fingers pressed against Maria, finding the outline of her lips, then the bump of her clit. My mind twisted, and I groaned as my finger slipped into her as my cock slipped into Rose. I heard the Hitachi get turned on high, and the girl on the floor cursed and struggled and moaned louder.

Maria leaned forward and held the girl on the floor down while pushing her ass towards me. Two of my fingers just barely fit in her, but she rode them hard anyway.

Rose was building to an orgasm. I knew her sounds and the feel of her body. She held on to me tightly. The sound of the girl on the floor coming and the buzzing of the vibrator and Rose and the girl I was fingering all coalescing with the feel of Rose tightening around my cock and then Maria tightening around my fingers and I felt myself closer and closer.

“Stop, stop, too much!” yelled the girl on the floor as she shot up with a laugh.

We all stopped and, for a moment, looked at each other. The man in the white suit turned off the Hitachi.

Rose looked at me and let out a giggle. Then she looked to her left and saw my hand between the girl’s legs and ground up against me. She smiled and glared.

“Is she wet?” Rose whispered into my ear.

I just whimpered a bit in the affirmative.

“Does it feel to get everything you want?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

Maria eyed us, her pout growing a bit.

“It looks like she doesn’t like it when you stop,” Rose said, biting my earlobe hard.

“You’d better keep going then, but don’t forget you have to keep fucking me,” she said with a wicked grin.

Maria closed her eyes as I finger fucked her, my fingers finding the ridge of her g-spot. Her body rocked against me. Rose slapped me, wanting more of my attention.

When I started to come, I lost my momentum. Maria grabbed my wrist when I slowed and kept fucking herself on my fingers. Rose pushed up against me, riding out my orgasm and hers.

It was all a bit too much. All the sounds and bodies and heat. I tumbled off Rose and away from Maria and laid on the other side of the bed. My body and brain suddenly exhausted.

I saw flashes of movement. Rose and Maria kissing. I felt myself pushed and pulled, then the lightning and thunder of getting slapped across the face.

“You’re not done!” Rose said, roughly grabbing my hair.

“If you are going to finger someone while fucking me you better at least make her come,” she said, a little smile creeping from under her mean face.

Maria smiled a wicked smile.

“Thank you, seriously, I was just getting going,” Maria said to Rose, both of them shifting on the bed around me.

The girl who was on the floor climbed on the bed as well, smiling and glowing with the “I just came” glow. She leaned on one arm and watched us.

Rose pulled my hair again as Maria swung a leg around and straddled my chest.

“He’ll make it up to you. He’s pretty good at this,” Rose explained as she helped Maria straddle my face.

I hadn’t even caught my breath before Maria’s slick, smooth pussy covered my mouth.

Though I could barely hear them with the strong thighs covering my ears, I made out:

“He better be able to get it up again,” Maria said.

“Oh, he will,” Rose said, grabbing my hair and making sure I did a good job.

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#mine

[writingdirty2]

Are people using the group chats? Any good ones? Any ones for NYC people? Any ones for erotica writers?

[writingdirty2]

Also drink water. We are all infinite beings full of wonder and magic.

I’m not sure who needs to hear this, but one of the most common symptoms of anxiety and stress is trouble breathing and a tightening of the chest. 

So take a breath. Slow down. See how you’re feeling. It’s a shitty combination right now, but knowing it for what it is can be a huge help.

[writingdirty2]

I realize that last story is from 11 years ago and needs some editing, but onward and upward I say. You get the point. She was hot. I miss her.

[writingdirty2]

The Callipygian Sublimation

(I miss parties and pick up play and kissing strangers.) She is a candy stranger. Perfect in the way someone you don’t know at all can be perfect. Her small breasts and her ample hips and soft swell of an ass that seemed nearly impossible on her tiny frame. Her thin waist and her wild hair. A mass of curls and 

She is new to this, but she’ll do just fine. In fact, it’s hard to find regulars with an attitude so perfect for these games. Right for me, that is. Everyone wants something different from places like this. The Venn Diagrams of our emotional, physical, and sexual wants. Cross-indexed by our needs.

She is smart, very smart, enthusiastic, acutely aware of her own desires. She isn’t in this to see, she is in this to get what she has needed for a while but didn’t have a name for. She wants to play, but not for keeps. Those words would be what a doctor would write on my prescription if there were doctors for such things.

Her thighs just barely fit into her thigh high socks. A little roll of chubby skin escapes the tops. She is not a big girl, though. She is just on the edge of thick. She is a bee-stung lip. She is one of those body types that makes my hands fist in my pockets because I just want to bite her and make her squirm.

We had met in the flashing lights and dull moans of a different kind of party. My sweet girl and I were there, and somehow our attentions trapped this exotic girl in our sights. We both danced with her. Pressed our bodies altogether. Made plans to all three of us to meet up sometime for a very suggestive “something.”

This time, though, it was just the stranger and me. My girlfriend at home, told about those whole thing and jealous of both parties but excited to hear the details.

Our negotiation was simple; we weren’t going very far. While I enjoy a complex meal with courses and a layered palette, sometimes all you want are the basics. A perfect meal of bread and meat.

My hand on her side, the warmth of her skin through the thin shirt I backed her into a wall and pushed my nose into her hair. My lips brushed her ear. My body pushed into hers. I wanted to revel in my most basic kinks. My hand on her ass, rope coiled around her, her thigh high socks. These are the fetishes that sucked me into this world.

I pull up her skirt, and I am again treated to the softness of her bottom. The slightly frilly panties of a somewhat girly girl.

She fidgets when I undress her in public. Of all the things we did last time, this was the most out of her comfort zone. That is, fuel for embarrassment, and that is a gift. I pull the pleated skirt up and tuck it into its own waistband. I tug at the bits of her panties that try in vain to cover that ass, and I pull them to the center so that they are nothing but a g-string, and all can see that lovely callipygian prize.

I am very close to her, never leaving her body alone. My legs against hers, my hand on her thigh or bottom.

“Did you take off your bra?” I whisper in her ear. I am playful, conversational.

She nods.

This is only the second time we have played together, really the first in earnest. I move my hands up her thin waist, and I cup her breasts. As I said, they are small, which almost seems wrong for a girl like her with her thick thighs and big ass, but I like it. She is not my usual, she’s lovely and different.

I massage and grope them. This is edging around a line. The line between playing, the cold spanking or dominating that can go on, and something softly intimate; dangerously so. We are prepared to play with hitting and tying, but the rest is murky.

Plus, there is the rule. The rule is there, like a door in the distance. To put it crudely, I can’t touch her pussy. This isn’t my rule or her rule, it’s my girl’s rule. We haven’t even started, and already that rule is throbbing in my memory. As well the sweet image of my girl’s thin fingers trying to beat mine to slip into the wet secrets of this girl was making me anxious.

I focus on the rope. The rope will always slow me down and make me concentrate.

The rope goes like this:

I take it out of my bag, black and hemp, and a little rough. I pull a little bit, and it unfurls. Then my arms are around her, my mouth a centimeter from her ear. I pull her arms behind her back and wrap the rope, which is doubled, around her forearms twice. I twist and wrap the rope around itself and tie and tie.

Then the rope goes across her back and around her left arm. I smooth the doubled rope under her breasts, my thumbs tracing the outline of the bottoms of them. She is pushing back into me.

The rope goes around her and then loops around the part tied to her forearms. This forms a sort of bight, and I pull and pull, and there is the first wrap around her. Then again, my arms slip around her, my lip brushing her neck, which she exposes to me, a simple weak moan for more. Around the back to slip the rope around the bight again, then around her body once more, this time over her breasts.

Already her shirt is pulled taught, her breasts more prominent. Again to the bight, then up over her shoulder, some slight intricacy going in and out of what is already there and then the pull that cinches and those breasts and trapped between all that lovely rope. Then back and put on the sides of each breast to further capture them, and then she is turned around abruptly so I can see my neat little trick.

Those little breasts standing as far at attention as they can. Her mouth a little slack and breath a little ragged.

Through the thin t-shirt, her nipples are straining now. I tug on them through weak and frustrating cotton.

She is closing her eyes to the mingling little potion of pain and pleasure dripping into her veins. She is a good girl.

I spin her around and bend her over the high leather bench. It’s sort of like a pommel horse without the handles. My hand feels hot on the cool skin of her ass. It is soft, as I’ve said, again and again, soft well-lotioned skin. As I almost lazily spank her once, then twice, I picture her coming out of hot showers every morning and anointing her body with rich perfumed lotions and oils.

I am spanking her, but my other hand is all over her. I tug on the ropes, my hand around the thick knots in the back. I tug at her mass of curly black hair. I even snake my hand between leather and shirt and take hungry handfuls of her imprisoned breasts.

I spank and spank and then trail nails down her inner thighs. I spank her inner thighs, picturing how the vibrations work their way into intimate spots. I spank her ass, low and in the center, knowing I am almost spanking her sex at this angle.

She is more than moaning. This isn’t the soft caught breath of someone simply being spanked, this girl is taking the hits like thrusts right into her. I wonder if I could make her come this way. The next time I hit her, my fingers trail onto her inner thigh, and I feel some wayward heat and wetness. My fingers claw at her leg. I want to just slip one finger up and under that inch of cotton. She is pushing her body back at my hand, begging to let me.

Spanking becomes sublimation for the driving need to penetrate her. She pushes her body towards me, and the hardness under my thin pants rubs against the softness of her thigh.

I step back.

I step away, twist my neck this way and that to get the tightness out.

We are both panting, and I pull her up and push her against a wall. This is a good moment to rest. We take a break. We breathe. This is far more intense than I thought I would be. We are watching each other’s reactions.

“I have a rule, I mean- my girlfriend and I do.”

She nods, moving into me, lips on my cheek. She is half listening, but mostly drunk on the spanking.

“I can’t- touch you-” I move my hand down her stomach, stopping on the top of her panties, just above where I can start to feel warmth radiate. “Here.”

“Okay,” she says simply.

“But next time, when she is with us-”

Our mouths brush against each others. I’m really not sure if kissing is alright. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes in a place like this, a spanking is a spanking. It was not discussed, but perhaps this is off-limits for other reasons, for other people.

“That will be-” she smiles, “very interesting.”

I’m overthinking. Her lips are painfully fat and sweet, gloss nearly all licked off. We are almost fighting not to kiss. Brushing closer and closer and then some minute barrier is passed, and the world is the taste of new lips.

Then swirling and whirling down against her. Her hands naturally coming up and over her head, so my hands can instinctually pin them there. Suddenly our acts seeming almost comically rote. Top, bottom, bend, spank, moan, grunt, repeat; but this kiss is different and separate from that.

I stop.

Something inside of me taps me on the shoulder. She stands there, where I left her, looking dazed, her lips glazed, her legs unsteady. I picture my girl kneeling in front of her. I imagine the two of them, my girl’s full lips on this girl’s. My girl is thinner still than this one, yet buxomer. How would they match up? Who would take the lead?

I realize that I summoned up a phantom of my love to save me from the fact that I was heartbeats away from devouring this girl, curly hair, and all.

Perhaps it was something about this place. People lose their individual grace in the somewhat dim light. Bodies become bodies, and acts become acts, and sex is free and all around. Limitations of the world are left at the door, so the simple rules of lovers also seem to waver.

I step in and kiss her again. It was that tender kiss that said it was over, at least for now. I turn her slowly and sink into the familiarity of untying someone. I hug her and kiss her once more, and we speak in hushed tones for a bit, and then we part, off to find other trouble to get in.

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[writingdirty2]

I fell like back in the day, going to Impact, seeing you with the whole crowd, it was all such a fun time. Do you think things can ever go back to the way they were?

No, I can say pretty definitively that they can’t. And I hope that they don’t. I realize that the way this time in my life was portrayed on the internet looked incredibly fun, exciting and great but it wasn’t. I was in an abusive relationship (and I wasn’t the only one) and what was posted on tumblr or seen in public spaces like Impact was such a small snippet of what was actually going on offline. Post-relationship, other things that have happened offline have included a call-in and a failed restorative justice process that resulted in my ex being banned from spaces like Impact and other parties that were frequently posted about here.

So no, I don’t think things will go back to the way they were and that’s for the best. But that’s not to say that things can’t be fun and great! Despite the relationship that lead me into it, I met a great deal of my dearest friends through Tumblr and the NYC kink scene. Unfortunately, many of us had similar experiences of abuse in the scene but we continue to heal together and we’ve fostered our own community. We have loads of fun still, though it can be harder to broadcast for lots of reasons. But rest assured, I’m still a freak, love kinky sex and play, in private and (occasionally) public settings. We’re onward and upward here!

[writingdirty2]

how do you feel about strangers flirting with you on the internet? yay? please don‘t? indifferent?

In general, I don’t like flirting with people who are physically far away. In fact, I’m pretty against it. Flirting with people online who are in the NYC area can be lovely.

[writingdirty2]

I have such a crush on you but I'm very intimidated by the gorgeous people you play with.

It’s true, I play with gorgeous, smart, wonderful people. I’m amazingly lucky. I miss so many of them very much. Anyhow, a crush is a lovely thing to have. Wallow and revel in it. Roll around in it and enjoy it.

[writingdirty2]

A prompt, if it inspires you: chubby girl desperate to please her daddy 💞

(Done as a 30 minute Pomodoro. It went where it went.)

She studied him all day since they had all day to study each other. She liked the elaborate breakfasts he made and how he insisted on making the bed. It made her feel a little helpless when he wouldn’t let her help, but she guessed that was the way he liked it.

She had chores too. He said, “if I’m going to let you stay with me, you have to be a good girl and do as you are told.”

She liked chores. Well, she hatred chores. It was kind of complicated and made her head spin, but she supposed it was a good thing that he was somehow found a way to make her get wet just from washing and folding clothes.

Still, during the day, there were only so many chores she could do, and only so many times she could get kisses between his working in his office and going out for groceries and so on.

Part of her brain understood what he was doing. How he ignored her, how he tested her, how he teased her, and embarrassed her. Still, she just wanted to please him. She wanted to make him happy. God, she just wanted him to throw her down and fuck her. She wanted a lot of things, and every day they were in the same apartment, she wanted them all more and more intensely.

Looking in the mirror as she finished the laundry, she laughed at herself. It had only been four days, and she was already desperate.

While he worked, she sat down and made a list of all the things she knew he liked. She went through old emails, the emails they had sent when they were first dating, and she pulled out the tidbits of information he had given her.

She took the list and started putting together an outfit. She laid out makeup and planned how she would wear her hair. She went into the bathroom and drew a bath. She took her time. Scrubbed her face and shaved her legs and even in between them, knowing how he adored that. She did her hair in pigtails and did her nails in pink and gave herself big pretty eyes, outlined in black with the sharp wings, just the way he liked them.

He had written once that he liked subtle lips, just a little pink gloss.

It was interesting, to base every choice on his preference. It made her body feel possessed, even before she gave it to him.

She wore a little crop top she found in her suitcase. A cut off baseball shirt that was white with a pink collar. She wore it with no bra, which was something she never did, because, well, she was a big girl with big tits.

She pulled on pink knee-high socks, the thing he seemed to talk about the most. She looked in the mirror and blushed. Her belly pouched out, and her tits looked enormous in the tight shirt. The smooth bare triangle between her legs seemed extra naked.

She considered a schoolgirl skirt or booty shorts, but in the end, she decided just the shirt and the socks.

She put on a little perfume, the one he had given her, and gathered her courage. She went over to his office and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She peaked her head in only.

“Daddy, are you done with work?” She said, with just a touch of the little girl voice she sometimes put on when they played.

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, just finished up. Did you do all your chores?” He asked sternly, though she knew his eyes were on her chest.

“Yes, Daddy. I finished everything. I did it all like you said. But-um-” her confidence waned a little.

“Yes?” He asked, getting up and closing his laptop.

“I think you should have some chores sometimes too,” she forced out, walking into the room.

She stood tall, on her tiptoes, as his eyes moved up and down her body. She felt the cool air from the open window on her bare pussy, and it made her shiver.

“Is that so?” He said, folding his arms.

She swallowed.

“Yes. That is so, Daddy. Because I’m being very good. I’m doing everything you say and so, um, you should, um-” all of her words seemed to disappear as he walked closer.

“I should do what?”

She looked down, unable to look into his eyes.

“You should have chores for me. You should have to eat my pussy. Every day. After work. I think you should have to. I should come to your office every day, and you should have to eat my pussy,” she said in a rush, her cheeks feeling like they were on fire.

He stood in front of her and stroked his chin. He had a little stubble that day. She wanted desperately to feel it against her cheeks, her lips, rough against her body.

“Oh? And what if I don’t?” He said with a grin.

Her eyes went wide. She wasn’t expected that. Her mind raced.

“Um, then, um, then I’ll come in here every day, and, um,” she looked around. “I’ll come in here every day and sit on the floor and spread my legs,” she sat down on the rug and leaned back against the wall and spread her legs wide.

“I’ll come in here, and I’ll just have to finger myself and show you how pretty it is. Because I know how much you like to kiss it, Daddy. I know it’s your favorite thing, especially when it’s all smooth. When I’m fresh out of the bath, and you like to bury your face in it.”

His eyes were focused between her legs, and she spread herself open, and he seemed to shudder, and she rubbed her pink clit as she continued.

“And, and, and, if you don’t, then I’ll just push you down and sit on your face, Daddy. I’ll make you kiss it. I’ll mush it down over your face and make you lick it until I come. That’s what I’ll do, Daddy. So, so you better do it,” she whined, her voice getting higher as her fingers moved between her legs.

She heard a thump as he went to his knees, and a smile spread across her face.

Then one of his hands was on one of her thick thighs, and the other pulled her hand away.

“I think you are forgetting who makes the rules,” he said, his voice strained.

She bit her bottom lip and pouted up at him.

“Did I, Daddy? You don’t want to eat my pussy?” She said, starting to close her legs. He held them open and groaned.

“I-you, listen, little girl, we are going to have a serious talk about that, after I’m done,” he said, sliding to the ground and burying his face between her thighs.

“Oh, no, a serious talk. I hope I don’t get a spanking,” she said before her words turned into moans.

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[writingdirty2]

Ask me questions. Anon on. https://writingdirty2.tumblr.com/ask

[writingdirty2]

Pigtails

She was okay with being naked. She didn’t mind walking past my open windows or if I snapped a picture of her every once in a while. I liked that. I liked how much she enjoyed her body, lounging and showing off her curves without a hint of the embarrassment that is drilled into women. But the pigtails made her mortified.

It was funny how she tried to talk me out of them, explaining how sexy she looked with her hair down or up or this way or that.

“You said I could have you any way I wanted,” I started seriously, though I was holding a pair of rabbit ears.

She pouted, which she knew would only make me both harder and meaner.

“I did,” she admitted.

“Are you no longer comfortable with that arraignment?” asked, putting the rabbit ears down.

“No, no!” she whined, deliciously confused.

“Then pigtails,” I said, dropping two little hair bands and a brush on the bed next to her.

She pouted and grumbled as she brushed her hair into shape. I stopped her when I saw how she is doing it.

“No, not in the back, the pigtails go up on top of your head.”

She glared, but she did I what asked.

Her thighs were thick, and her large breasts swayed as she fixed the pigtails so that they were just the way I wanted them. I smiled, and although she tried to keep frowning, I knew she liked making me happy.

On the bed, I laid out pink thigh high socks. Special ordered for girls with generous thighs. A cute little pink t-shirt that was far too small for her. She squeezed into both, acutely aware of how much I was enjoying watching.

I looked at her expectantly.

“No panties?” she asked, looking around.

“No panties, but you did forget something,” I said, looking down at the ears.

They were fuzzy pink and white. One ear was very erect, while the other was bent and wouldn’t stay up. She picked them up and glared at me as she put them on. They sat just behind her pigtails, making her look ridiculous.

Her voice became breathy, a little higher, whiney with all the words dragged out.

“You’re dressing me like a little girl. I’m not a little girl,” she pouted, her voice the very opposite of her complaint.

“I know you’re not. I don’t want a little girl. I want a smart, mature, grown woman. I want a woman with a degree and a good job and a life plan. I want a brilliant equal who puts that all aside and pretends to be a silly innocent little girl just for me,” I explained, closing in on her.

She pouted a little more cartoonishly and looked down at the floor.

“And you hate it, don’t you?” I asked as I got to her, kissing her neck.

“Yes!” she whined, though her eyes rolled back as my hand took her generous breasts and squeezed.

My hand then moved down, down, to her soft belly, to her thick thighs and then between them.

“Hate it, hm? So you aren’t wet at all then,” I said, slipping my fingers over the perfect smoothness of her mons.

Her eyes closed and she shook her head.

“Nope, not wet at all, you don’t even have to check,” she said, the transformation complete and her voice a squeaky little girl’s.

But I did check, and my fingers slipped into silky wetness that spelled victory.

Then in a whirlwind, I was pushing her down on the bed, my hand on my belt.

“Well it’s a good thing you aren’t a little girl, you are just a rabbit. And you know what rabbits like to do,” I said, pushing her legs apart.

The best smiles were when they tried desperately not to and failed.

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[writingdirty2]

Kitten

[writingdirty2]

[writingdirty2]

Note, I have ten short stories that are exclusive on Scribd and five of those stories are available are really well done audio versions.

While millions of people are staying home to reduce the spread of COVID-19, Scribd is making our digital library of ebooks and audiobooks free for everyone: scribd.com/readfree 

🤩T A G G I N G E V E R Y O N E🤩  

[writingdirty2]

I’m fascinated by people’s desks and bedrooms. I’ve reconfigured for working at home.

[writingdirty2]

Wake Up

Somewhere in between dreams, I heard the shower start.

Opening my eyes sometime later, I found myself bathed in gray light coming through white linen curtains. Then I watched the naked legs of a woman in a towel walking back and forth in front of me as I laid on my side, trying to decide whether I was awake or not. Occasionally those legs were followed by a nervous black cat who batted at the towel.

There were the distant smells of soap, shampoo, perfume, and all those sweet feminine scents I associated with her.

For a few moments, sleep took me again, like an undertow dragging me into the waves.

Seconds or minutes or hours later, I awoke with a start and sensed her near. She was far less nervous than the cat.

There was something remarkable about the transformation that took place when she took off her clothes. In the street, she put so much thought into her style; her glasses, her stompy boots, her fishnets, and her leather. Buttons on her messenger bag proclaimed various affiliations; political, musical, sexual, and comic. From sarcastic t-shirts to exposed garter belts, every detail told a story.

Naked, all of those hard edges became soft, and all that black cotton and leather gave way to smooth expanses of skin somewhere around the shade of coffee with too much milk. Her nipples were Belgian chocolate. The only ties to her clothed self were the ring through her lip and the tattoos on her arms, but in the light of the morning, they looked more like flowers than angry missives.

I still saw the same woman though, passionate, fiercely angry, fiercely loyal, fiercely beautiful.

On one of her thighs, I saw the light purple bloom of a bruise that I didn’t give her. For some reason, it made me hard. There was no hair between her legs, though there had been the night before, that made me groan and wonder what she was up to.

I remembered slapping her ass the night before and the way she liked to wrestle with me teasing me until I was hard, then she shook her head “no” with a smile.

“You have to take it,” she whispered, breathy and playful.

I let myself fall into the memory, allowing it to turn into a little dream, before I awoke once more to her standing over me, naked, with a cup of coffee.

She was holding my coffee mug, and she was holding it just a little too far for me to reach. She took a sip, sighed, and put it on the nearby dresser. Her smile was both mischievous and knowing.

“Will you be good for me?” she asked sweetly, though her tone had more than a little demand in it.

“Probably,” I admitted.

She frowned for a moment, considering my answer. She then leaned down as if she were going to kiss me but instead took my right hand in hers. I let my arm go slack as she guided my hand to the corner of the mattress.

The handcuffs were still latched on to the bedposts where I’d left them the night before when she’d been tied down and hurt, the way she’s explained she wanted to be. That the way it was with us, I did what I was told, even when she was the one tied up. We both liked it that way.

When she clicked shut the first cuff on my wrist, I raised an eyebrow. She gave me innocent eyes; I yawned. She lazily walked around the bed and pulled my other hand into the other handcuff. Then she made her way to the foot of the bed and found the rope I’d left there. I looked down, straining my neck a bit as she tried to approximate the knot I’d made around her ankles a few hours before. I wasn’t sure how accurate it was, but I couldn’t pull my legs free.

She pulled the blanket and the sheet off of me, and I felt, suddenly, the weight of my powerlessness. She looked down at me with her hands on her hips, naked, smiling, planning.

“Are you ready to earn your coffee?” she said with a challenging glint in her eye.

“It’ll be cold by then,” I answered calmly.

She rolled her eyes and knelt on the bed next to me.

The slap was, to be honest, a little too hard and a little too close to my ear. The world swam and spun for a moment.

Then she leaned down and kissed me hard and hungry. She slipped a hand into my hair and pulled me into her kiss. She sucked at my bottom lip, she slipped her tongue deep into my mouth, then she bit my chin. When she was finished, she pushed herself up and put her knee down on my arm. The pain was dull, and my body tensed with desire. She swung her other leg over me and settled down so that she was straddling my chest, just below my neck. She put her hands in my hair again and looked down at me with the look of someone inspecting a pet.

“I know you want to lick it,” she whispered.

Her fist tightened in my hair, and as much as I didn’t want to give in, my eyes moved down her body from her breasts to her little belly to the hairless, slightly tan-lined triangle between her legs.

“I know you want it more than anything,” she said and pushed her knees into my arms.

Between you and me, the pain was nothing. I could shut off the pain easily. The want was huge, though. The shame about the desire really didn’t make sense, but so what. The shame felt good. It all swam and swirled in my head and made it, so the words got stuck in my throat.

“Beg,” she said simply, as if commanded a dog at the dinner table.

There was a beat, and she watched my face as I fought with the word. Honestly, it didn’t take long for the need to win. Need always won with me.

“Please,” my body pushed the word out.

Then she pushed herself up a little, the pain where her knees were on my arms intensified a bit, but then the pain and everything else was gone, and it was just her pussy on my mouth, and everything was the taste of her.

There are things I’ve done, sexual things, that pulled me in other worlds, but there, under her, I went to one of the most specific and interesting places I’ve ever gone. Time stopped, and my ever wandering mind focused. All there was in life was her smooth pussy on my mouth and my tongue straining to slip into her. All there was in life was the need to please her, to find her clit, and find the angle that would make her squirm and moan.

She took my hair in her hand again and guided me. For a second or two, she let her full weight press down on my face and cover my mouth completely, then it was all wetness and the building anxiety of suffocation. I squirmed and moaned into her, and she held my hair harder, pressing down again and riding my mouth as my lungs burned from lack of air.

When she let me go, I gasped, but just long enough to get enough oxygen so I could keep going.

I found the little motion that seemed to make her moans go up an octave. I slipped my tongue around the curves and folds of her as she pressed down on me, then I pushed my tongue as deep inside of her as I could. She road my face, one hand tight in my hair, the other on her breast.

“Don’t stop,” she said, then loud enough to echo through the room, “don’t you fucking stop.”

My tongue ached as I kept it hard for her to use. Then she dropped down on me again, and I was drowning. My mouth and nose were covered by her as she came on my face, her moans distant as her thighs pressed tightly against my ears.

It went on and on until my hands were fists, and my chest was on fire. An instinctive and biological fear took over me as my body begged for air. When she finally pulled herself off me, my whole face was wet from her, and my eyes stung for tears.

After a moment, she fumbled with something, and I felt one hand freed, then the other. Then I held her, and she kissed my neck.

After she came, a transformation occurred, as it often did. She rolled into a ball next to me as a few tremors tore through her. Orgasm gave way to aftershock, which gave way to emotion. I felt her sob, and she held me.

“Tell me that was alright,” she whispered, suddenly sounding small and a little broken.

“It was perfect. It was more than perfect. It was amazing,” I said, holding her tightly.

“Tell me you love me,” she demanded.

“I do, I love you,” I said and covered her face with kisses.

“I’m not greedy?” she asked, her voice cracking a little, the cruelty so far removed from her voice that I could hardly remember it.

In that moment, I realized how much I needed to explain to her. I knew it wasn’t the time, but the fact that she thought she was greedy in giving me exactly what I wanted was so far from anything I expected.

“No! It’s exactly what I wanted. I feel like the greedy one. I swear it was perfect,” I said, hoping she understood.

She cuddled into me and held me tightly.

“Promise?” she asked into my neck.

“Promise,” I swore.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly.

“Thank you,” I whispered back.

We ended up going out for coffee.

End

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