What choice?

We are in public, the two of us, your back against my chest. A large coat wrapped around us. My hands are wrapped around your waist. For a while. Then they start moving. Up and down. One cupping your sex through your jeans, the other, cupping a full breast.

You give a nervous laugh, and say, "Not here."

As the one hand, grabs one of your tits hard, "Yes here."

You start to protest, we'll be seen, you'll be embarrassed. I tell you to be quiet. Your hands pull at my hands, but mine don't budge. I grind your pants into your crotch. You gasp. I tell you if there was any privacy around here, my cock would be in your mouth, before burying in your cunt.

"Unzip your pants."

"No. No," You struggle a little in my arms.

"Listening?" I smile, put my hand over one of yours and force it down your torso, making it rub as it goes, until I force your fingers to rub your sex through your pants. "I'm bigger then you. I'm stronger than you."

You stop struggling. "Please," you beg.

"Unzip." One hand remains at your breast, the other slides up and caresses your throat. Message is obvious.

Your fingers unzip your pants. "Good girl. Now slip them inside your pants." I feel movement. I can't tell if you are going as you are told, but you have stopped struggling. The hand at your breast gives it one last squeeze before sliding down and slipping under your tank. And back up, fingers playing with your skin until it slips under your bra and claiming the soft skin and hard nipple of your breast.

"Please don't," you plead. "Not here. I'll be a good girl back in the motel room. I'll please you any way you want."

"You'll be a good girl here. And there." I move my fingers from your throat to your mouth. "Suck on them"

You do, "I don't have any choice in this, do I?"

I chuckle. "No. I'm going to play with you here. Then back to the room where you'll be stripped naked and fucked. Bareback. Mouth, Cunt. Ass." My hand, fingers wet from your mouth, slide down your torso, down to your crotch. Slowly slide them into the open fly of your jeans, under the thong, and then two fingers into your wet cunt. A gasp. The fingers move inside you. The hand at your breast mauls and pinches.

You struggle a little as my fingers and hands are busy touching and finger-fucking you. I hear a little sound. Sniffling. I look around and see tears on your cheeks. You turn your head a bit. "You've stripped," a gasp, "away my choices," another gasp as i pinch a sensitive nipple. "I'm just your toy, your plaything."

"You're more than just a toy," I replay, fingers have moved to playing with your clit. "But I get a big thrill taking your choices away from you."

One of your hands slide down between us, open palm ends up between your ass and me. And starts stoking my cock. "Good girl." Soon I start fucking you with short, quick thrusts. And your body stiffens in climax.

My hands hold you against me as your half collapse after your climax. Your head moves around. I suspect that you are scanning the crowds, looking to see if anybody witnessed you being molested. I zip your pants, and give your breast one last pinch.

I release you after one last squeeze. My coat comes from around you and you shiver in the sudden cold. I take off the coat and wrap it around you. "Thank you," you whisper.

"To the hotel room and its bed?"

You look up at me. Your blue eyes still have some tears in them. A little sigh, and your hand reaches for mine. "Yes, I'll be your sex toy today."

"And tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," you reply, some of the embarrassment at being publicly finger-fucked is being replaced by sass.

I laughed. My girl is coming back.

Would You?

I'm thinking of you this morning as I sit here, the coffee maker singing it's song as it makes that black liquid I crave this morning.

But not as much as I crave you.

Your nipples, hard in my mouth. Your mouth and hand wrapped around my cock, your blue eyes looking up at me. Your body under mine, you legs wrapped around mine, as I slowly move within you. My mouth buried against your cunt, licking away at your honey, sucking on your clit. Your laughter. And yes, your wise mouth, your sass.

What would you think, if after fucking you, spooning. I've felt you cum, you cunt squeezing around my hard prick.. I've cum, that same hard cock buried inside of you, pumping my seed inside of you. Your breasts have been in my hand, my fingers pinching your nips. My other hand has ranged over your abdomen and hips, sometimes holding hip still as I moved, sometimes low on your abdomen trying to feel my prick as it moved inside of you. Fingers rubbing your clit. If I didn't let you pull away? If I whispered, lie with me a few more minutes, Babe, let my cock rest in your wet folds just a few moments more. If my hand was hard where it cupped your breast, my arm firm across your abdomen. If I didn't let you go?

Would you lay there? Let me soften inside of you? I know that you want to lick your juices, my seed off of my cock.

Would you lay there, letting me intimately possess your body, whispering words about how it felt, just lying there, not moving, not fucking, my cock still buried within you. Would you tell me how much pain I had caused your sensitive nipples and how much that had turned you on. How you expected to have bruises from my hand on your hip. Would your gently chide me for biting your shoulder as I came? Would your tell me how you had felt each spurt as I pumped my seed up into you?

Would you lay there and listen as I told you about how your nipple had been rock hard in my hand. About how I felt your fingertips move against your clit as I was buried inside. About how it felt when your pussy spasmed around my rampant cock as you came. Tell you the noises you make as you fuck. The moans, the whimpers, sometimes saying, 'Be Gentle.' Sometimes 'Fuck me harder. Harder, HARDER!' About the involuntary gasp when you came, and the long slow sigh afterward.

Would your let me fall asleep holding you in my arms?

A little less fun

Been thinking about you this weekend. Often thinking about you leads to my dick getting hard. Is this the sort of desire that you want to cause in men. The mere thought of you causing erections? Not thinking about blue eyes or hair the color of honey. Not thinking about your D-cup tits or your tight cunt. Just thinking about you.

You incite that much lust in a man. Not thoughts about gentle kisses and walks hand in hand. No, I'm talking about pushing you face down over a table, pushing your skirt up, pushing your panties out of the way, then a quick hard thrust up into your cunt. And thrusting until a climax. Or maybe skip the cunt. Lube up the prick and take your ass. Thrust deep and hard. One hand holding your shoulders down, the other on your head keeping it down as my prick pounds into you. Until finally I get off and fill you ass full of cum. If you didn't cum, tough shit, you've got your fingers.

What would you think of me then? My cum leaking out of your body, your flesh still bearing the imprints of my fingers. Using you like a sextoy. With a hard swat to the ass as a final insult.

Or does it turn you on. Does it make your pussy wet and your nipples hard knowing your incite those nasty thoughts? Make you want to play with yourself? Does your hands slip up your skirt? Slipping inside your panties, that is if you even bothered with them. Fingers sliding inside the bra cup searching from that nipple that needs twisting. Do your fingers gently touch your clit? Or do you stuff two fingers up your snatch because you can't find a cock to ride?

Temptress.

Succubus.

Witch.

You can't be Lilith, the first temptress, your hair color is wrong. She was a redhead, you're a blonde. Was she one of your lovers? Did you fuck her hard? Shove your fist up her cunt? Did her heart break loving you?

Jerked off thinking about you this morning. I'll jerk off again tonight thinking of you. Of you sucking my cock. Of it disappearing down your throat. Playing with your tits as you suck. Of watching you play with yours as it slips between your red painted lips. Until my cock is buried deep and I feel you swallow trying to get me off.

When I feel that urge build in my balls, that delicious tension, I'm going to pull out and cum all over your face and tits.

It will be beautiful.

“Oh my God,” A. mumbled looking at the words streaming across the computer monitor. Who the fuck would send me this shit, she wondered. Fingers danced across a phone keypad and she stood there waiting for the other phone to be answered. Fucking boyfriend didn’t answer.

She read the words a second time. The words made her hot. Problem was that she was one of a hundred other little chicks in a cube farm with no fucking privacy. It was only iron control that kept her from reaching under her skirt to that little nub that gave her so much pleasure. Shit. Back to work, she thought.. If it was the stupid boyfriend, she was going to tie his cock in a knot.

Lunch, The Italian Village, West Monroe, the best place in The Loop for Italian. And within walking distance of the office. Only problem. On the way back from lunch a text message popped up on the phone.

You're the sort of girl that Mothers tell their sons to stay away from.

The Bad Girl.

The one that is going to corrupt their son.

The girl that thinks that fucking on the first date is a grand idea. He brings the cock, you'll bring the condoms and lube.

You're the sort of girl that Fathers lust after. They want you in their bed rather than that frigid bitch their wife has become. With you they think that they would feel that the fire hadn't gone out.

You're the sort of girl the other girls at High School and College hate. After a night, or lunch time quickie behind the bleachers, the boys aren't happy with hand jobs. The next girl had better swallow.

I know that you would rather have a hard cock than another pussy as a playmate, but how many of the Mother's daughters did you corrupt on a whim?

Hell's Bells, whom didn't you corrupt?

Bad Girl.

She frowned down at the little screen on her phone. As a matter of fact, there were those two soccer moms, one had been pretty hot. A Bishop, he wasn’t. He actually wanted a boy and when she started to grow tits . . . And the two cops. The cops had been the most fun. Big strong guys. Partners. Didn’t mind sharing. Shared her in the same bed one afternoon when they should have been on patrol. Left her bruised and sore. That had been fun.

But being tangled in the sheets of past carnal pleasures wasn’t helping her figure out who was sending her this shit.

She turned into her building and had to sprint for the elevator. And just made it. As it was she all but slammed into some guy on the crowded elevator. Her nose and tits were pressed against a chest that spoke of hours in the gym. Hard body. Gray pin-stripe three piece suit, beige trench over one arm. Looking up, salt and pepper hair and moustache. And tall. Blue eyes dancing with humor behind steel rimmed specs. Hint of a smile on his lips. His free hand reached up and tapped the brim of his gray fedora in salute. He smelled male, made stronger being in close proximity. His musk, overlaid by the morning Old Spice aftershave, oiled leather, and something that she couldn’t quite pin down, but made him seam just a little dangerous.

And rose. She turned her head slightly. He had a rose tucked into the top button hole of his suit coat. Not some modern rose, but some old variety that hadn’t had the scent hybridized out of it. She smiled back at him.

His hand slid up between them, the back of his hand brushing against her left breast. She had to forgive him that because how crowded the elevator was. But pulling the flower from his lapel and tucking it behind her left ear was rather too much. Then running his fingers over her blonde tresses was way too intimate.

“A., this is our floor,” one of her colleagues of the cube farm called out. It stopped her from taking the flower and shoving it up his nose. She left the elevator without a glance back.

Back in her cube she pulled the flower from her ear meaning to throw it away. But looking at it, she couldn’t. The man may have taken liberties, but he at least had given her a flower, something that nobody else had done for long while. She sniffed it enjoying the scent of . . . .

She sat down hard. That scent she couldn’t identify. Gun Oil. Shit. The hand that had put the flower behind her ear had been gloved. A subtle bulge and glint of metal under the left armpit. An automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. And that hard chest, a bullet proof vest. Fuck. What had been a throwback to ‘50s film noir was now a current threat.

She worked the rest of the day, ears half tuned to the sound of pistol fire and sirens. Kept checking the Trib’s website for news of murder.

She kept a watch for people following her on the way home. When her boyfriend opened their apartment’s door, she clung to him for comfort. He confessed to being the one who had sent her the sexy messages. He copped them from a blog he'd found. She didn’t care.

The world had become a little less fun.

-------------------------------------------------

The original idea for this story was to try to write a story of what drove A. Secret into the lady's in Relief. Started to write it. Got the two 'e-mails' written. Started writing A.'s reaction. The first reaction went OK. The second where she runs into the guy in the elevator did not go the way I planned. The guy was just supposed to be a taller person. One that A. figures out had looked down the front of her dress in the elevator.

Shit. Left turn into film noir. Three Piece Suit guy is now packing a sidearm. Dangerous. Writing A being thrilled with this guy looking down her dress just didn't make sense to me.

Funny how you plan a story out, start writing, and the story runs off in its own direction.

SO777

Two Sides of the Same Coin

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An unexpected gift

I walk around the figure kneeling on the blue cushion. I admire and want to run my fingers through the natural blonde tresses. I know she is a natural blonde, the dusting of freckles across her nose and fair curls her sex hide behind are evidence enough.

I do not say anything for two circuits around her. She doesn't move, she's been well trained. Her legs were tucked underneath her, back straight, head bowed. A faint sheen of sweat makes her skin glow. "Who is your Master," I bark.

"You are the slave's Master," she said, her head still bowed. She licked her lips.

"How did you get here?"

"Master Samuels brought the slave here. The Master ordered the slave to tell the new Master that he acknowledges his debt to you and the slave is presented as payment on the interest."

"Stand." She rose gracefully and soon stood up straight, shoulders back. One pleasant surprise, a long dark tail came from between her butt cheeks and fell down to her knees. A nice ornament on her body. I went behind her and unlocked the handcuffs and slave collar.

Her hands went up to her throat as the collar came away from it. "Are you manumitting me?"

"You are really too pretty to free," I told her. "But I need to know what limitations there are on your enslavement. And those are not questions that can be asked of somebody wearing a collar."

A nod and nervous licking of lips, "There were no limits."

"None?" I asked surprised, there are should always be some limits.

"None," was her whispered reply.

That is almost scary. With no limits, I could do do anything I wanted to her and she couldn't stop me. Bigger breasts, Knock her up. Rent her out as a prostitute. Just as long as I was willing to pay the medical bills. "Duties?" There were some places even I did NOT want to go to.

"Warm his bed. Cooking. Cleaning. He had me go to Pilates three times a week, Yoga twice a week."

Samuels liked his toys trim and limber. For that matter, so do I. "I will add weekly belly dancing to that."

She nodded, but then, what else really could she do.

"And schedule a trip to the piercer," I say pinching a nipple. I think a slave just does not look right unless the nips and umbilicus have the glint of gold or silver in them.

Eyes went wide. Another nod.

"Kneel."

A brief look of sadness in the bright blue eyes and she gracefully knelt. Her hands went immediately behind her back. I found her neck amazingly slim as my hands went around it. I took a moment to feel her pulse. She froze when she felt my thumbs on her throat. I gently squeeze to remind her what I was and what I could do to her. I locked the slave collar around her neck reclaiming my property. "Follow me," I told her. It was time to see what carnal pleasures my new toy would bring me.

----------------------------------------------------

This came to mind this afternoon while NOT watching the Superbowl.

SO777

A bit of hemp . . .

A. Secret posted 'Give and Take' 30 December 2008. Another delight from her pen. If you have not taken the time read it, please do so now. I will not be offended if you have to adjust your clothing or step out for a moment after reading it.

The first comment I made to her post was:

"It is a subtle pleasure possessing not only the body of a beautiful, strong-willed woman, but also her mind and soul. There are quiet ways of making that she has no choice. Telling the waiter, 'And the lady would have . . .' And then feeding her the appetizer that had been ordered. Invading her space more than Mulder did Scully's while out on the town.

It sounds like an all-consuming affair. Moments stolen from the mundane world. Cock buried deep into female flesh. Tongue licking hidden folds. Whimpers and cries in the night. Screams of passion in the middle of the afternoon. What stories could be read in the twisted damp sheets.

I would enjoy watching you with another woman. Pleasuring each other with lips, tongue, and fist. Knowing that when you laid back thinking that you might take a breather, I would be spreading your legs for my rampant cock.

The one thing that I do not know if I could do. Sooner or later I would long to take away all control from you. A bit of hemp, or polished leather and brass. The choices are endless.

I would have to balance the pleasure of seeing you helpless, tied to the bed, with the fear of not having you by my side."

After a comment by her on my comment, I posted a second comment:

"I look at you across the rehearsal dinner table. You are looking beautiful tonight. Your eyes were bright and twinkling, a smile on your lips. An attractive bride's maid dress that fits your figure perfectly.

I'm excited too. I love being with you. The long walks in the forest. Skinny dipping. Late night talks at the Driftwood Coffee Shop. Your whimpers as I bury my cock deep within your body. I love watching your face as you climax. I am going to risk your laugh, your tight body, your hand in mine, all that by taking you someplace that I don't know if you are willing to go.

I look into your eyes and jerk my head towards the door as I get out of the chair. You smile, nod, and you follow my lead. We ran into the bride and groom on the way to the door. They are a lovely couple that we have known for years. I shake his hand while you gave her a not quite chaste kiss. I'm not surprised. Your torrid love affair with the bride had been the talk of the town for months, and I know that you two are still thick as thieves. Me, I’d been in too many bar fights with the groom. Sometimes I was by his side, sometimes I was the one trying to beat the shit out of the SOB.

I am a little envious when the ring bearer, a young lad of maybe 4 years of age who stopped us by grabbing your skirt. You stop and bend down to talk with him, giving him the attention that I crave. He did not know where his mommy was. You comfort him and take his hand. We walk him back to his mother. You showed tenderness helping some kid that you do not know. Some would say, out of character, but I know better. You are a strong woman, both in body and will. AND you are quite self assured. A strong, self-assured woman is a sexy woman. However, you understand that being tender, being kind, from a position of strength does not mark you as being weak. There is a lioness in there.

When we get to our hotel room, your eyes go wide looking down at the leather cuffs and ropes lying dark against the white chenille bedspread. You glance up at me for a moment, then look back at the bed, a sheen of nervous sweat on your forehead, your bosom.

I go behind you, and quickly unzip your dress and push it down off your shoulders. It catches for a moment on your arms. You glance down at the dress, unaware of my act, then lower your arms and let it fall, pooling at your feet. I pull you into my arms for a hard kiss, a hand in your tresses holding your head still as I rape your mouth with my tongue, nibble under your ear. When I release you, you lick your lips, a nervous habit you have. But the trust is in your eyes again. The fear is still be there, the discomfort about being vulnerable.

I half drag, half lead you to the bed and roughly push you down on it. It is rather a struggle getting the cuffs wrapped around your wrists and ankles. And the squirming did not stop as the ropes went taut, stretching you, making you helpless. My eyes devour you, your trim body half covered by the basque you had worn that day, the white hose still covering your legs. Your skin is shiny from sweat, your breathing shallow and quick from a bit of fear. I cup a breast, slipped my finger between your folds. The nips were little hard nubbins, your were already wet.

I lift your head up and put a blindfold over your eyes.

As you struggle and squirm, I strip. You freeze for a moment when I claim a nipple with my lips. When I suck on your clit and invade your secrets with two fingers, your hips arching up driving my fingers that much deeper into you.

I pull my fingers out and present them for you to lick and clean. The groom slowly pushes open the closet door and steps out. To say ‘cock rampant’ would be an understatement.

I backed up a step or two as he climbed up onto the bed. A moment later, his latex covered cock is buried hilt deep into your cunt. Your answering gasp is music to my ears. The ancient rhythm of thrust and arch, whimper and slap of wet skin against wet skin was heard in that room.

A bit later, my own rampant cock by your soft lips, you first gave it a lick, and start to suck on it when you froze, another cock ramming deep into your cunt. The realization that two cocks were present, that two men were pleasuring themselves with your body, hit. You opened your mouth wide and sucked my dick deep into your mouth.

Too few moments later, a male shout of pleasure , and he collapses on top of you, his cock sliding out of you.

A short cuddle and the groom got up off of the bed and headed for the bathroom. Five minutes, and he was dressed and heading out the door.

After the groom left, I gave it a couple of moments before taking off the blind fold. You blinked a couple of times before looking up at me. What were you going to say?"

There is an interesting problem writing a piece like this. How far to go? The woman in this story is not a character created by me. So have to be careful what I do to and with the character. I want to push things, but I don't want to push things too far. Go to a place where the creater of the character is uncomfortable, you might not be able to play with that character any more.

So I review what she included in her post, share her with another guy, share her with a woman, blindfold. In one of the comments, she states that bondage makes her 'squirmy even thinking about it'. Gives me some ideas. Sounds like it is time to order some rope.

A dialog New Year's Eve between ez cheeze and her gives me a final point, gentleness. A strong person being gentle is not showing weakness. They are showing that they are strong enough to be gentle.

The Photographer's Eye

The first story follows on 'A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words....' posted on PocketSecrets on 9 December 2008. A repost by A. Secret where she 'speaks' to a photographer who watches in on a tryst and the photographer's reaction to the event. Be sure to read her posting. Her blog is listed as one of the ones I visit.

A photographer is by nature a voyeur, you are there to record an event, not participate in or react to it. So even if the event is erotic, you think exposure and framing, not your own arousal. That comes later when you have processed the film and are looking at the contact sheets of the negatives or project the slides on the wall.

I read the story, enjoyed it, and posted a comment about making the woman 'Mine'. When A. Secret asked a leading question, I decided to let out the words that had been bouncing around the back of my head. And now, here it is.

"I would capture on film each new part of your body that would be exposed as you stripped for him. And unwittingly, for me.

Yes, I would record the look on your face as you came from his mouth, but I would also record the look of sexy self confidence on your face that would be evident when you looked down at him after you ran your fingers through your loose heavy hair.

I would want to record the look on your face the first time his cock penetrated your cunt, possessed your ass.

I would wish that I'd brought a movie camera, wondering what images I would miss as I changed rolls of film. 36 images is all that you can get on a 35mm roll of Tri-X Pan.

After he came, I would go to the darkroom with the film and process it. And make many prints.

Since I knew how to find you when you went to visit your lover, I could find you again. And this time, I would have that movie camera with me. So I could record the look on your face, and the sound of your voice, when I told you of the images of lust that I had of you."

A. Secret's response to my words was positive, and triggered thoughts was to what happened next. But that is another posting for another time.

SO777.