Such is the life of a road warrior, she thought to herself. Two hours of podunk middle of nowhere with only Boston and The Clash to keep her company. No radio station would stay with her long enough to make it through one song. She finally gave up and made it her mission to figure out exactly what the lyrics were saying in “Train in Vain.” She was frustrated. This route was new to her, but she’d made the trip a couple of times already and she knew what to expect. There was no one to blame but herself, she thought, as she pictured her CD case laying on her nightstand at home. Next to her bed.
She shook off the thought and drove onward. She turned the volume up and was determined to hear that line. “You said you love me and that’s a fact. Then you left me, so you took that track.” No… “…sewed a felt rack.” Caciphonous laughter, but no. “Said you’d tell Jack.” Um, no. Give it a rest and move on.
“said you felt trapped”
“All the times
When we were close
I'll remember these things the most
I see your body come tumbling down…”
Argh! No.
And so it went for the next hour. Finally, like a neon oasis in the desert of pine trees, she spotted her destination. Exit 145. As she rolled to the top of the ramp, she rolled her head around, loosening the muscles in her neck and shoulders. So many decisions: left to Stuckey’s and a Truck Stop. Right to the hotel, a BBQ shack and a Mexican Restaurant. Her client was a good two hours off the interstate and she’d decided after the last fiasco of trying to get there in the dark, only to find out there was nowhere to stay, this place would do.
I see all my dreams come tumbling down.
She pulled up to the door of the lobby and went inside. Behind the desk was a young kid. Too young to be manning the desk on the evening shift. He was tall and thin and his hands seemed too large for his body.
She drove around to her room, 145, and parked in front of the door. As a child, she’d played the state tag game on family car trips and still couldn’t help but notice a “foreign” tag. The silver Volvo with Vermont plates was parked two spaces over in front of room 147. A weathered bumper sticker reminded her that “Everything is Subject to Change.”
Indeed.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Thy Letter of Infamy, Part 2
Read Part 1.
He seemed startled. “Um… sure!”
She sat down and the game of small talk started. He was in town on business. It was his first night here and his first visit to the city. She directed the conversation with ease and dropped some major hints about what they might be doing elsewhere. He seemed flattered to have the company and a bit uneasy with the aggressive flirting. But hell, that’s what he was here for. It just usually wasn’t this easy for him.
In the elevator he kissed her. It was a sloppy, wet, formless kiss. The kind she detested. Once they were in his room, she quickly started to undress him and avoided his mouth by kissing her way down his skin behind her fingers as they unbuttoned and unzipped. She turned off the lights and they fell into bed. He fucked her missionary style and did so very much like he kissed. It was sloppy and formless.
She pulled some tricks out of her arsenal like gripping his cock tightly when he pulled back. She also ran a finger along the crack of his butt cheeks, teasing at the puckered spot below. He grunted and it was over soon enough. She extracted herself from his arms and pushed the bathroom door closed before turning on the light.
The A stared back at her and she almost whimpered in desperation. She looked at him from the doorway.
“So do you ever tell your wife about these romps you have while traveling?”
He looked at the outline of her body silhouetted in the light behind her.
“I’m not married.”
“What’s with the ring?”
He held his hand up to look at it, as if he’d just discovered it was there.
“Oh… I’ve heard women always go for married men. I thought I’d give it a try myself.” He smiled up at her. “It seems to be working out well so far.”
In a fury, she got dressed and left as quickly as possible. She drove aimlessly for a while and then knew she had to face the inevitable. Her husband would be expecting her and would be ready for a night of sex. He always was when she returned from a trip.
She went in and found he was already in bed. She reached to turn the lamp off and he stirred, telling her to leave it on. He pulled her onto him and kissed her slowly, working his way along her jaw line to her ear lobe, where he nibbled and sucked softly. Though they’d done this for years, she never felt it was stale. He knew where her buttons were and simply pressed them every time.
He rolled over so they were facing one another and reached inside her blouse to play with her breast.
“Let me blindfold you.” Her gaze met his.
“I might blindfold you, but you know I like to watch too much.”
She steeled herself for what she knew was coming.
He continued to kiss her, working his way down to the nape of her neck now. His hand played with her nipple through the fabric of her shirt.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her up. He led her to his study where he turned on the light and pushed her roughly over the back of an over-stuffed chair. He tapped the inside of an ankle with his foot, silently telling her to spread her legs. Leaning down over her, his tongue found her ear again.
“You want to spice things up, huh?” He whispered it.
Before she had a chance to answer him, his hands were under her skirt, pulling it upward around her waist and pulling her panties down around her ankles, where he made her step out of one leg of them.
Just as quickly, his cock was buried in her cunt. She held onto the arms of the chair to brace herself. He grabbed a handful of her hair and used that to brace himself. He fucked her hard, varying the pace to stop and look at his cock where it impaled her pussy. He pulled her hair hard and she moaned and arched her back, changing the angle of her cunt. Then he fucked her fast and hard; the sound of his balls slapping her echoed in the room.
She held on and couldn’t believe what was happening. This was an incredible stroke of luck that might buy her another day. Her husband fucked her hard and she momentarily forgot about her predicament. Her cunt gripped his cock on each thrust and she soon heard signs of his impending orgasm.
He came hard and deep inside her. After he caught his breath, he helped her up and kissed her warmly. They walked to the bedroom, hand in hand, and she helped him undress. She went off to the bathroom and as she stepped out of her skirt, she could feel come start to run out of her. That was a feeling she loved. She hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she felt his come dripping out of her.
She started to plot her day tomorrow. The gym might be an option. Or a grocery store closer to the city. It was unusual for her to feel uneasy about getting laid. It was something she did with ease anywhere else.
She unbuttoned her blouse and was shocked to find the mark was gone. She lifted her breast and looked more closely. No indication that anything had been there could be seen. Her skin was as creamy and pale as it always had been. Stunned, thoughts raced through her mind. Maybe it didn’t have to be someone who was cheating after all. Maybe now the average-looking guy at the hotel was finding himself with a new mark on his body. She was puzzled.
Mind still reeling, she walked out of the bathroom and stared at her husband. Already asleep on his side facing away from her, unaware of the new tattoo that now sat on the back of his shoulder. She stood in the bedroom and her mind tried to comprehend the situation. Her husband was so proud of their fidelity. He touted the benefits of a long marriage whenever the subject came up. She was in disbelief.
Sleep was long in coming to her. Not only was she remembering the occasions when he’d sung the praises of marriage, but she now was faced with a certainty she wasn’t prepared for. Her husband had been fucking someone else. She pictured the shapely co-eds that loved his classes. How stereotypical, she thought. Her mind felt numb and she tossed and turned until the sun came up.
When she woke up the next morning, he’d already gone. Off to the gym or the pool or the basketball court. She made a thankfully decent pot of coffee and worked in her home office, following up on the meeting she’d attended. She tried not to think about the tattoo and at times she succeeded long enough to make her wonder if it had even been real.
When he came in from the gym, freshly showered she noticed, she followed him to the bedroom where they chatted and caught each other up on their day. He was determined to get started on that list of chores and decided to do some touch-ups on a recent painting project. She watched as he changed into old clothes, anxious for him to turn around so she could see for herself that it did indeed still exist.
He obliged unknowingly and she was amazed to find it was gone. Gone! She sat on the bed after he’d left the room. Had it really happened? Was it a dream? She felt guilty for silently accusing him of sleeping with someone else. But to be sure, she walked to the mirror and lifted her shirt. She saw only creamy pale skin and breathed a sigh of relief.
She vowed to put all of this out of her head. Chalking it up to the after-effects of too much alcohol, she told her mind to let it go.
They enjoyed a nice evening together. He grilled steaks and as they were sitting down to eat dinner, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find Evan, her husband’s graduate assistant. He had a stack of papers in his hand.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to drop off some papers before we leave town.” Smiling at him, she looked over his shoulder to see his young wife and their 6-month old waiting in the car. She waved.
“Oh, sure. No problem. Come on in.”
Her husband met them at the door and took the papers. After a moment of chit-chat about where he and his family were going for their spring break, her husband wished them a good trip and opened the door. She added her farewell and they both watched from the doorway as Evan turned and walked back to his car. She saw it then, as plain as day… the tattooed letter A on the back of his muscular calf. It was deep red, almost a burgundy color.
He seemed startled. “Um… sure!”
She sat down and the game of small talk started. He was in town on business. It was his first night here and his first visit to the city. She directed the conversation with ease and dropped some major hints about what they might be doing elsewhere. He seemed flattered to have the company and a bit uneasy with the aggressive flirting. But hell, that’s what he was here for. It just usually wasn’t this easy for him.
In the elevator he kissed her. It was a sloppy, wet, formless kiss. The kind she detested. Once they were in his room, she quickly started to undress him and avoided his mouth by kissing her way down his skin behind her fingers as they unbuttoned and unzipped. She turned off the lights and they fell into bed. He fucked her missionary style and did so very much like he kissed. It was sloppy and formless.
She pulled some tricks out of her arsenal like gripping his cock tightly when he pulled back. She also ran a finger along the crack of his butt cheeks, teasing at the puckered spot below. He grunted and it was over soon enough. She extracted herself from his arms and pushed the bathroom door closed before turning on the light.
The A stared back at her and she almost whimpered in desperation. She looked at him from the doorway.
“So do you ever tell your wife about these romps you have while traveling?”
He looked at the outline of her body silhouetted in the light behind her.
“I’m not married.”
“What’s with the ring?”
He held his hand up to look at it, as if he’d just discovered it was there.
“Oh… I’ve heard women always go for married men. I thought I’d give it a try myself.” He smiled up at her. “It seems to be working out well so far.”
In a fury, she got dressed and left as quickly as possible. She drove aimlessly for a while and then knew she had to face the inevitable. Her husband would be expecting her and would be ready for a night of sex. He always was when she returned from a trip.
She went in and found he was already in bed. She reached to turn the lamp off and he stirred, telling her to leave it on. He pulled her onto him and kissed her slowly, working his way along her jaw line to her ear lobe, where he nibbled and sucked softly. Though they’d done this for years, she never felt it was stale. He knew where her buttons were and simply pressed them every time.
He rolled over so they were facing one another and reached inside her blouse to play with her breast.
“Let me blindfold you.” Her gaze met his.
“I might blindfold you, but you know I like to watch too much.”
She steeled herself for what she knew was coming.
He continued to kiss her, working his way down to the nape of her neck now. His hand played with her nipple through the fabric of her shirt.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her up. He led her to his study where he turned on the light and pushed her roughly over the back of an over-stuffed chair. He tapped the inside of an ankle with his foot, silently telling her to spread her legs. Leaning down over her, his tongue found her ear again.
“You want to spice things up, huh?” He whispered it.
Before she had a chance to answer him, his hands were under her skirt, pulling it upward around her waist and pulling her panties down around her ankles, where he made her step out of one leg of them.
Just as quickly, his cock was buried in her cunt. She held onto the arms of the chair to brace herself. He grabbed a handful of her hair and used that to brace himself. He fucked her hard, varying the pace to stop and look at his cock where it impaled her pussy. He pulled her hair hard and she moaned and arched her back, changing the angle of her cunt. Then he fucked her fast and hard; the sound of his balls slapping her echoed in the room.
She held on and couldn’t believe what was happening. This was an incredible stroke of luck that might buy her another day. Her husband fucked her hard and she momentarily forgot about her predicament. Her cunt gripped his cock on each thrust and she soon heard signs of his impending orgasm.
He came hard and deep inside her. After he caught his breath, he helped her up and kissed her warmly. They walked to the bedroom, hand in hand, and she helped him undress. She went off to the bathroom and as she stepped out of her skirt, she could feel come start to run out of her. That was a feeling she loved. She hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she felt his come dripping out of her.
She started to plot her day tomorrow. The gym might be an option. Or a grocery store closer to the city. It was unusual for her to feel uneasy about getting laid. It was something she did with ease anywhere else.
She unbuttoned her blouse and was shocked to find the mark was gone. She lifted her breast and looked more closely. No indication that anything had been there could be seen. Her skin was as creamy and pale as it always had been. Stunned, thoughts raced through her mind. Maybe it didn’t have to be someone who was cheating after all. Maybe now the average-looking guy at the hotel was finding himself with a new mark on his body. She was puzzled.
Mind still reeling, she walked out of the bathroom and stared at her husband. Already asleep on his side facing away from her, unaware of the new tattoo that now sat on the back of his shoulder. She stood in the bedroom and her mind tried to comprehend the situation. Her husband was so proud of their fidelity. He touted the benefits of a long marriage whenever the subject came up. She was in disbelief.
Sleep was long in coming to her. Not only was she remembering the occasions when he’d sung the praises of marriage, but she now was faced with a certainty she wasn’t prepared for. Her husband had been fucking someone else. She pictured the shapely co-eds that loved his classes. How stereotypical, she thought. Her mind felt numb and she tossed and turned until the sun came up.
When she woke up the next morning, he’d already gone. Off to the gym or the pool or the basketball court. She made a thankfully decent pot of coffee and worked in her home office, following up on the meeting she’d attended. She tried not to think about the tattoo and at times she succeeded long enough to make her wonder if it had even been real.
When he came in from the gym, freshly showered she noticed, she followed him to the bedroom where they chatted and caught each other up on their day. He was determined to get started on that list of chores and decided to do some touch-ups on a recent painting project. She watched as he changed into old clothes, anxious for him to turn around so she could see for herself that it did indeed still exist.
He obliged unknowingly and she was amazed to find it was gone. Gone! She sat on the bed after he’d left the room. Had it really happened? Was it a dream? She felt guilty for silently accusing him of sleeping with someone else. But to be sure, she walked to the mirror and lifted her shirt. She saw only creamy pale skin and breathed a sigh of relief.
She vowed to put all of this out of her head. Chalking it up to the after-effects of too much alcohol, she told her mind to let it go.
They enjoyed a nice evening together. He grilled steaks and as they were sitting down to eat dinner, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find Evan, her husband’s graduate assistant. He had a stack of papers in his hand.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to drop off some papers before we leave town.” Smiling at him, she looked over his shoulder to see his young wife and their 6-month old waiting in the car. She waved.
“Oh, sure. No problem. Come on in.”
Her husband met them at the door and took the papers. After a moment of chit-chat about where he and his family were going for their spring break, her husband wished them a good trip and opened the door. She added her farewell and they both watched from the doorway as Evan turned and walked back to his car. She saw it then, as plain as day… the tattooed letter A on the back of his muscular calf. It was deep red, almost a burgundy color.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Thy Letter of Infamy, Part 1
Sunlight filtered in through the gauze-like sheers and she lazily opened her eyes. Events of the last 12 hours replayed themselves in her mind and she couldn’t help but cringe. She didn’t do married men. It wasn’t her thing. Make no mistake… she traveled a lot for work and had gone for quickies with men in places and situations that would make many women blush. She was a prideful bitch working in a man’s industry and she grabbed opportunities by the balls. She worked hard and she played like a man.
Even her husband thought so.
She’d lost track of the number of rounds they’d had last night. The guy was her height, after she’d ditched the 3-inch heels that had pinched her toes all day long. Dark hair and dark eyes. Everything that she didn’t usually go for in a man. Yet, he was a damned fine salesman, because he’d managed to get her in the sack.
A wave of nausea rode over her and she sat on the edge of the bed until it passed. At least he didn’t want to stay, she thought to herself as she fought with the miniature coffee maker. She hated hotel coffee. There was a fortune to be made by having Starbuck’s hook up with room service. But that was a fortune for another day.
She flipped on the light in the bathroom and shielded her eyes from the harsh brightness until they adjusted. Splashing cool water onto her face, she drew a hand towel across her cheeks gently. She stared at her reflection noting the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair gave the appearance of that “just fucked” look. The whites of her eyes were a little bloodshot.
She was washing off the remnants of last night’s makeup when she saw it. About an inch tall, the letter A appeared on her right breast, a couple of inches above her nipple. It was deep red, almost a burgundy color. She gasped and at the same time began washing it off, wondering where it had come from to start with. She didn’t remember anything other than the romp with the guy. Come to think of it, he seemed a bit over-zealous. He took the term ‘quickie’ literally; he fucked and ran.
She rubbed at it harder, noticing that it wasn’t washing away at all. A mild sense of panic mixed with irritation began to bubble its way to the surface. Not only wasn’t it going away, she was making the area around it red by scrubbing so hard.
She tossed the washcloth to the floor and tried another approach: she scraped at it with her fingernail. Still, nothing happened. The A glared at her in the mirror.
Just then the phone rang. It was her wake-up call. If she didn’t get moving she’d miss her flight. She wanted to be out of this hotel, this function, this town, so she could put this behind her. And as she scrubbed more furiously in the shower, she felt another wave of nausea when she tried to think how she was going to explain this to her husband when she got home.
Home. She unpacked quickly and said she needed a shower to wash away the travel grime. She dropped her clothes in a pile and silently cursed as she saw it was still there. Cupping her breast in her hand, she raised it to get a closer look and was shocked to see it was unmistakably a tattoo. It had to be.
Like many other things, she was experienced in this, too. She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. The tiny ladybug on her right ass-cheek seemed to twitch its wings at her. That one was from another drunken night, this time in college. Five other women she’d been friends with had the same ladybug tattooed on their asses.
She turned her attention back to her breast, comparing the colors and the depth of the designs. This tattoo wasn’t fresh. There was no angry, inflamed skin surrounding it. It looked as if it had been there for years.
She numbly went through the motions of a shower and thankfully was able to get dressed before her husband came in. They chatted about her trip and about his work. He’d given his last lecture of the week and spring break the following week promised the chance for him to get to that “honey do” list of chores.
She groaned inwardly as she realized that it was going to be even more difficult to hide this from her husband if he was going to be around the house for over a week. And she had no other work trips pending at the moment.
She took these worries to bed with her, where she intended to have a few hours of denial: sleep. Reaching to turn the lamp off, something caught her eye. On top of the ever-present stack of books on her husband’s nightstand, she saw The Scarlet Letter.
The audible gasp shook her. She picked up the book and flipped through it, stopping to read the notes her husband had written in the margins. “Symbol of sin.” “Secrecy.” “Adulterer.” That one was underlined.
She closed the book and rested it on her chest while she tried to recall the story’s plot. She remembered something about the minister. Flipping through the pages with more determination this time, she took a while to find the passage where the minister exposes his own scarlet letter - seared into his flesh.
She drew the covers up tightly around her and thought about her situation more critically. The man from last night had seemed almost anxious to fuck her. Not anxious to get in her pants like most men were, but… almost desperate. She tried to find an explanation that made sense of all this nonsense and while not getting anywhere, she drifted off to sleep.
Dreams came quickly that afternoon and they were a mish-mash of images left over in her brain. A meeting with a client that, in her dream had her taking him into a dressing room and sucking him off. Then she was at the airport, detained by security and taken to a small room where she was stripped and searched by several men and a woman. The woman had been rougher than any of the men, forcing a thumb deep in her anus without so much as a warning.
Then she was dressed in the somber high-necked garb of the woman in The Scarlet Letter. Her stiff wool smock was adorned with the dreaded letter A, yet she walked through the modern day: a meeting for work. Her colleagues were all dressed in their business casual attire and they glared at her with scorn as she walked in. The only available seat was next to a man similarly dressed in Puritan garb; a minister. The unmistakable white collar seemed to choke him.
A PowerPoint presentation flashed on the screen at the front of the room showing pie charts and graphs. The speaker seemed to drone on and on and the minister leaned closer to her and began to whisper. She leaned toward him with a slight shake of her head indicating she hadn’t heard him.
“Check your Blackberry,” he whispered again.
She reached deep in the folds of her woolen skirt and wasn’t surprised to find her Blackberry. She scrolled through her email and found something with the subject line, “A.” She opened it.
Burning shame may blaze upon thy bosom. Wouldst thou invoke shame unto another? Wouldst thou plot evil against another in order to serve me? Thou mayest search the multitude for one to sway. Prithee, make haste. Thy letter of infamy serveth as Heaven’s own method of retribution. I would enjoy upon thee to find another upon which to bestow my gift. Be thee not afraid. Betray me not.
She awoke with a jolt, breathing fast and fighting down the feeling of panic that threatened to grip her. The dream was still very real in her mind and she thought she knew what it meant. She had to give the letter away. It made sense. The urgency with which the guy from last night had wanted her. His determination and anxious demeanor. He was giving the letter away. She knew that had to be the answer.
As she dressed, she started to plot. Her job afforded her the opportunity to be the slut she really was. She went from town to town, bar to bar, fucking men at whim. But in her town, she was that other person - the good wife. Her husband’s colleagues from the university admired them for having such a strong marriage. In a time when the number of divorces meant new faces at every faculty event, this was rare… and well respected.
She wanted – no, needed – to find someone to test her theory on. And she needed to do it now. She was mortified that her husband might see the mark. The desperation she remembered from last night’s conquest crept into her.
She drove fast along the two-lane road that took her toward the city. She didn’t know how to do this in her town and her mind raced with possibilities. She pulled into the parking lot of a popular after-work hangout. The cocktails were half price from 4 to 7pm and she definitely thought the lubrication would help.
She ordered a gin and tonic and started to scout. There were few men around the bar. There was a group of 4 women at a table nearby. They seemed to be celebrating some event or another and had gotten a good start on happy hour before she arrived. A few men buzzed by their table, stopping to chat and check things out. She checked their ring fingers. After three drinks and having narrowed down her options to the bar manager or a busboy, she headed out. The gin had settled her a little and she was glad for it.
Next she found herself pulling up at the valet at a swanky downtown hotel. Surely between the conventions and other business travelers, she could find a man who was looking for a quick fuck. She did this all the time, but there was something about being near home. It was like kryptonite. It seemed to suck the confidence out of her.
She sat down at the bar and ordered another glass of courage. This seemed to be more promising and she took stock of ring fingers around the room. Not a sure thing, but hopefully it would narrow down the options. A few stools down from her, a man sat alone. The gold band on his finger seemed to sparkle in the light and she wondered if the alcohol was playing tricks on her.
He was average. Nothing about him stood out, she realized. In any other situation, she’d not have looked his direction twice. But this was not any other situation. She stood and walked the short distance to where he sat.
“Can I join you?”
Read Part 2.
Even her husband thought so.
She’d lost track of the number of rounds they’d had last night. The guy was her height, after she’d ditched the 3-inch heels that had pinched her toes all day long. Dark hair and dark eyes. Everything that she didn’t usually go for in a man. Yet, he was a damned fine salesman, because he’d managed to get her in the sack.
A wave of nausea rode over her and she sat on the edge of the bed until it passed. At least he didn’t want to stay, she thought to herself as she fought with the miniature coffee maker. She hated hotel coffee. There was a fortune to be made by having Starbuck’s hook up with room service. But that was a fortune for another day.
She flipped on the light in the bathroom and shielded her eyes from the harsh brightness until they adjusted. Splashing cool water onto her face, she drew a hand towel across her cheeks gently. She stared at her reflection noting the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair gave the appearance of that “just fucked” look. The whites of her eyes were a little bloodshot.
She was washing off the remnants of last night’s makeup when she saw it. About an inch tall, the letter A appeared on her right breast, a couple of inches above her nipple. It was deep red, almost a burgundy color. She gasped and at the same time began washing it off, wondering where it had come from to start with. She didn’t remember anything other than the romp with the guy. Come to think of it, he seemed a bit over-zealous. He took the term ‘quickie’ literally; he fucked and ran.
She rubbed at it harder, noticing that it wasn’t washing away at all. A mild sense of panic mixed with irritation began to bubble its way to the surface. Not only wasn’t it going away, she was making the area around it red by scrubbing so hard.
She tossed the washcloth to the floor and tried another approach: she scraped at it with her fingernail. Still, nothing happened. The A glared at her in the mirror.
Just then the phone rang. It was her wake-up call. If she didn’t get moving she’d miss her flight. She wanted to be out of this hotel, this function, this town, so she could put this behind her. And as she scrubbed more furiously in the shower, she felt another wave of nausea when she tried to think how she was going to explain this to her husband when she got home.
Home. She unpacked quickly and said she needed a shower to wash away the travel grime. She dropped her clothes in a pile and silently cursed as she saw it was still there. Cupping her breast in her hand, she raised it to get a closer look and was shocked to see it was unmistakably a tattoo. It had to be.
Like many other things, she was experienced in this, too. She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. The tiny ladybug on her right ass-cheek seemed to twitch its wings at her. That one was from another drunken night, this time in college. Five other women she’d been friends with had the same ladybug tattooed on their asses.
She turned her attention back to her breast, comparing the colors and the depth of the designs. This tattoo wasn’t fresh. There was no angry, inflamed skin surrounding it. It looked as if it had been there for years.
She numbly went through the motions of a shower and thankfully was able to get dressed before her husband came in. They chatted about her trip and about his work. He’d given his last lecture of the week and spring break the following week promised the chance for him to get to that “honey do” list of chores.
She groaned inwardly as she realized that it was going to be even more difficult to hide this from her husband if he was going to be around the house for over a week. And she had no other work trips pending at the moment.
She took these worries to bed with her, where she intended to have a few hours of denial: sleep. Reaching to turn the lamp off, something caught her eye. On top of the ever-present stack of books on her husband’s nightstand, she saw The Scarlet Letter.
The audible gasp shook her. She picked up the book and flipped through it, stopping to read the notes her husband had written in the margins. “Symbol of sin.” “Secrecy.” “Adulterer.” That one was underlined.
She closed the book and rested it on her chest while she tried to recall the story’s plot. She remembered something about the minister. Flipping through the pages with more determination this time, she took a while to find the passage where the minister exposes his own scarlet letter - seared into his flesh.
She drew the covers up tightly around her and thought about her situation more critically. The man from last night had seemed almost anxious to fuck her. Not anxious to get in her pants like most men were, but… almost desperate. She tried to find an explanation that made sense of all this nonsense and while not getting anywhere, she drifted off to sleep.
Dreams came quickly that afternoon and they were a mish-mash of images left over in her brain. A meeting with a client that, in her dream had her taking him into a dressing room and sucking him off. Then she was at the airport, detained by security and taken to a small room where she was stripped and searched by several men and a woman. The woman had been rougher than any of the men, forcing a thumb deep in her anus without so much as a warning.
Then she was dressed in the somber high-necked garb of the woman in The Scarlet Letter. Her stiff wool smock was adorned with the dreaded letter A, yet she walked through the modern day: a meeting for work. Her colleagues were all dressed in their business casual attire and they glared at her with scorn as she walked in. The only available seat was next to a man similarly dressed in Puritan garb; a minister. The unmistakable white collar seemed to choke him.
A PowerPoint presentation flashed on the screen at the front of the room showing pie charts and graphs. The speaker seemed to drone on and on and the minister leaned closer to her and began to whisper. She leaned toward him with a slight shake of her head indicating she hadn’t heard him.
“Check your Blackberry,” he whispered again.
She reached deep in the folds of her woolen skirt and wasn’t surprised to find her Blackberry. She scrolled through her email and found something with the subject line, “A.” She opened it.
Burning shame may blaze upon thy bosom. Wouldst thou invoke shame unto another? Wouldst thou plot evil against another in order to serve me? Thou mayest search the multitude for one to sway. Prithee, make haste. Thy letter of infamy serveth as Heaven’s own method of retribution. I would enjoy upon thee to find another upon which to bestow my gift. Be thee not afraid. Betray me not.
She awoke with a jolt, breathing fast and fighting down the feeling of panic that threatened to grip her. The dream was still very real in her mind and she thought she knew what it meant. She had to give the letter away. It made sense. The urgency with which the guy from last night had wanted her. His determination and anxious demeanor. He was giving the letter away. She knew that had to be the answer.
As she dressed, she started to plot. Her job afforded her the opportunity to be the slut she really was. She went from town to town, bar to bar, fucking men at whim. But in her town, she was that other person - the good wife. Her husband’s colleagues from the university admired them for having such a strong marriage. In a time when the number of divorces meant new faces at every faculty event, this was rare… and well respected.
She wanted – no, needed – to find someone to test her theory on. And she needed to do it now. She was mortified that her husband might see the mark. The desperation she remembered from last night’s conquest crept into her.
She drove fast along the two-lane road that took her toward the city. She didn’t know how to do this in her town and her mind raced with possibilities. She pulled into the parking lot of a popular after-work hangout. The cocktails were half price from 4 to 7pm and she definitely thought the lubrication would help.
She ordered a gin and tonic and started to scout. There were few men around the bar. There was a group of 4 women at a table nearby. They seemed to be celebrating some event or another and had gotten a good start on happy hour before she arrived. A few men buzzed by their table, stopping to chat and check things out. She checked their ring fingers. After three drinks and having narrowed down her options to the bar manager or a busboy, she headed out. The gin had settled her a little and she was glad for it.
Next she found herself pulling up at the valet at a swanky downtown hotel. Surely between the conventions and other business travelers, she could find a man who was looking for a quick fuck. She did this all the time, but there was something about being near home. It was like kryptonite. It seemed to suck the confidence out of her.
She sat down at the bar and ordered another glass of courage. This seemed to be more promising and she took stock of ring fingers around the room. Not a sure thing, but hopefully it would narrow down the options. A few stools down from her, a man sat alone. The gold band on his finger seemed to sparkle in the light and she wondered if the alcohol was playing tricks on her.
He was average. Nothing about him stood out, she realized. In any other situation, she’d not have looked his direction twice. But this was not any other situation. She stood and walked the short distance to where he sat.
“Can I join you?”
Read Part 2.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
"Snack Cart!" Part 2
Read part 1.
She made the afternoon rounds, invisibly pushing the cart, going through the motions. This had turned out to be a good job for her while she was busy flunking out of college. It required no thought and her autopilot engaged almost effortlessly. The money she made pushing the cart would pay for her spring break trip and that’s all she cared about. She was counting the days.
She found herself standing outside the office of that man who’d caused her haze to momentarily clear. “The man who likes bananas.” That’s how she thought of him. He made her squirm and she got the impression lately that when he looked at her, he really saw her… and he saw right through her. It was eerie.
She waited for him to emerge from his office, then remembered he’d said he had a meeting. Her mental rolodex flipped through the selections he’d made recently and she picked up a chocolate chip cookie and a bag of peanuts… and, of course, a banana. She looked up and down the hallway, feeling a little nervous about actually entering one of the offices. But in she went.
His desk was strewn with papers and files and stacks of stuff. She was quite surprised at the lack of organization. She looked around trying to find a clean spot to leave his snack. She found none. Instead, a piece of paper peeking out from a stack of files caught her eye. She carelessly deposited the cookie and nuts on a file marked “FY06” as she slid some folders off the top of the drawing. It was indeed a sketch, and as she uncovered it, she glanced back over her shoulder at the door.
The cart remained there in the hallway, alone. The masses from the mailroom hadn’t found it, but at that point she wasn’t concerned. With the files moved aside, she saw a steno pad – spiral bound – and moved to pick it up. Delight rushed through her as she took in the image. It was a doodle. Something he’d drawn while distracted… perhaps on a conference call. Maybe while sitting in yet another meeting.
Thoughts crowded her mind. It looked just like him! Did he really see himself this way? What is UP with that hair?! She snickered and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes focussed on his exaggerated crotch. She wondered if this was like the middle-aged guy who drove a Porsche to compensate… then she saw the whip. The hand that moments ago covered a snicker now unconsciously made its way to her chest. She swallowed hard. Her emotions went from feeling a sort of endearment to feeling a sort of dread. She glanced at the words written across the paper: Lord Muerte. The smile crept back onto her face.
Then she saw it… sitting in the trash can on top of a few papers that had somehow managed to find their way there. The banana. The banana she’d picked out for him. He was the man who liked bananas. He’d caught her eye and captured her attention, then thrown it away. Literally.
Looking back at the drawing, she scoffed at the word “Lord.” She picked it up and flipping the page forward, she ripped it from the spiral binding and looked at the impression the ballpoint pen had left on the page underneath. Taking the banana gingerly out of the trashcan, she gathered up the other snack items.
A hasty trip to the cart and she was back to leave the snack that had been requested of her… She thought it was a simple response to his statement. Beef jerky.
Later that night, she’d lie in bed and look intently at the drawing that she’d stuck to her dresser’s mirror. She’d stroke her clit and wonder about that whip.
Many kind thanks to Artful Dodger at The Secret Brain for so perfectly capturing and reproducing the image I had in my mind's eye. You rock, Art!
She made the afternoon rounds, invisibly pushing the cart, going through the motions. This had turned out to be a good job for her while she was busy flunking out of college. It required no thought and her autopilot engaged almost effortlessly. The money she made pushing the cart would pay for her spring break trip and that’s all she cared about. She was counting the days.
She found herself standing outside the office of that man who’d caused her haze to momentarily clear. “The man who likes bananas.” That’s how she thought of him. He made her squirm and she got the impression lately that when he looked at her, he really saw her… and he saw right through her. It was eerie.
She waited for him to emerge from his office, then remembered he’d said he had a meeting. Her mental rolodex flipped through the selections he’d made recently and she picked up a chocolate chip cookie and a bag of peanuts… and, of course, a banana. She looked up and down the hallway, feeling a little nervous about actually entering one of the offices. But in she went.
His desk was strewn with papers and files and stacks of stuff. She was quite surprised at the lack of organization. She looked around trying to find a clean spot to leave his snack. She found none. Instead, a piece of paper peeking out from a stack of files caught her eye. She carelessly deposited the cookie and nuts on a file marked “FY06” as she slid some folders off the top of the drawing. It was indeed a sketch, and as she uncovered it, she glanced back over her shoulder at the door.
The cart remained there in the hallway, alone. The masses from the mailroom hadn’t found it, but at that point she wasn’t concerned. With the files moved aside, she saw a steno pad – spiral bound – and moved to pick it up. Delight rushed through her as she took in the image. It was a doodle. Something he’d drawn while distracted… perhaps on a conference call. Maybe while sitting in yet another meeting.
Thoughts crowded her mind. It looked just like him! Did he really see himself this way? What is UP with that hair?! She snickered and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes focussed on his exaggerated crotch. She wondered if this was like the middle-aged guy who drove a Porsche to compensate… then she saw the whip. The hand that moments ago covered a snicker now unconsciously made its way to her chest. She swallowed hard. Her emotions went from feeling a sort of endearment to feeling a sort of dread. She glanced at the words written across the paper: Lord Muerte. The smile crept back onto her face.Then she saw it… sitting in the trash can on top of a few papers that had somehow managed to find their way there. The banana. The banana she’d picked out for him. He was the man who liked bananas. He’d caught her eye and captured her attention, then thrown it away. Literally.
Looking back at the drawing, she scoffed at the word “Lord.” She picked it up and flipping the page forward, she ripped it from the spiral binding and looked at the impression the ballpoint pen had left on the page underneath. Taking the banana gingerly out of the trashcan, she gathered up the other snack items.
A hasty trip to the cart and she was back to leave the snack that had been requested of her… She thought it was a simple response to his statement. Beef jerky.
Later that night, she’d lie in bed and look intently at the drawing that she’d stuck to her dresser’s mirror. She’d stroke her clit and wonder about that whip.
Many kind thanks to Artful Dodger at The Secret Brain for so perfectly capturing and reproducing the image I had in my mind's eye. You rock, Art!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
"Snack Cart!"
Happy Valentine's Day, y'all...
She squatted down to pick up something that had fallen and he was privy to an unexpected sight in her blouse. Two long, narrow bruises peeked out from the edge of her bra. As quickly as he’d seen them, she stood up. He took his muffin and a napkin and looked her in the eyes before he turned and walked away.
The bruises worked through his mind and he knew they were cane-made. The light-colored skin in the shape of the cane, surrounded by a burst of purple outline all the way around. Unmistakably a cane.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder as she pushed the cart down the hall. She was nondescript. She looked like every girl; one of those who disappear into the background. As he headed back to the project he’d been working on, he made a mental note to take a closer look later.
---
Later came and he took a bag of Chex Mix and a sugar cookie. He watched her carefully this time. She broke eye contact with him when she could. She seemed polite but shy. He engaged her in a bit of small talk and listened to her voice. Again, polite, but offering only minimal information. Answering his questions and nothing more. He scanned her body for other tell-tale signs but found none.
Several days passed with the same result. Her diverted eyes, shy demeanor. He just knew there was something there.
---
Friday afternoon was not letting up and he was in for a late night. He’d just stepped into the hallway and was looking over the options when one of the execs from upstairs approached. They chatted about a recent project he’d worked on while she took an apple from the cart. He waited there because he knew what was to come next. The woman turned and as she walked away, she bit into the apple. Looking at her ass was one of his favorite diversions at work. He watched the short black skirt move seductively to the end of the hall and only turned away as it rounded the corner.
When he looked back at the nondescript girl in front of him, he saw she’d been watching, too. Caught in the act, she blushed and looked down, straightening the items on the cart that didn’t really need to be straightened.
He smiled at her. “Nice view, wouldn’t you say?”
Her face reddened even more. “Umm… yes.” She mumbled.
He looked at the snacks and took a bag of Doritos and a brownie. The fruit bowl was almost empty.
“No bananas today?”
“I just ran out. Sorry.” She stammered the last word just a little.
He turned and went back to his office.
---
Monday morning rush. On his way from a meeting back to his office when he met the girl and her cart outside his office door. He couldn’t help but notice the short skirt she wore. It was markedly different than anything he remembered seeing. The slumpy look he’d seen last week left his mind completely. Thighs and ass greeted him as he got closer.
He said nothing and took a bagel and some jelly. As he turned away, she spoke.
“I saved you a banana.” She sounded uncertain.
He turned back to her and looked her in the eyes. There was a sparkle there. Shyness, for sure, but she was putting herself out there. He took the banana and touched her hand in the process.
“Thanks. Hey, I have a long meeting this afternoon and will be here late. If I’m not here when you come back by, be a dear and leave something on my desk for me?”
Without waiting for any acknowledgement at all, he turned and went into his office. She stood in front of the closed door for a moment before she moved down the hall. He smiled to himself.
She squatted down to pick up something that had fallen and he was privy to an unexpected sight in her blouse. Two long, narrow bruises peeked out from the edge of her bra. As quickly as he’d seen them, she stood up. He took his muffin and a napkin and looked her in the eyes before he turned and walked away.
The bruises worked through his mind and he knew they were cane-made. The light-colored skin in the shape of the cane, surrounded by a burst of purple outline all the way around. Unmistakably a cane.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder as she pushed the cart down the hall. She was nondescript. She looked like every girl; one of those who disappear into the background. As he headed back to the project he’d been working on, he made a mental note to take a closer look later.
---
Later came and he took a bag of Chex Mix and a sugar cookie. He watched her carefully this time. She broke eye contact with him when she could. She seemed polite but shy. He engaged her in a bit of small talk and listened to her voice. Again, polite, but offering only minimal information. Answering his questions and nothing more. He scanned her body for other tell-tale signs but found none.
Several days passed with the same result. Her diverted eyes, shy demeanor. He just knew there was something there.
---
Friday afternoon was not letting up and he was in for a late night. He’d just stepped into the hallway and was looking over the options when one of the execs from upstairs approached. They chatted about a recent project he’d worked on while she took an apple from the cart. He waited there because he knew what was to come next. The woman turned and as she walked away, she bit into the apple. Looking at her ass was one of his favorite diversions at work. He watched the short black skirt move seductively to the end of the hall and only turned away as it rounded the corner.
When he looked back at the nondescript girl in front of him, he saw she’d been watching, too. Caught in the act, she blushed and looked down, straightening the items on the cart that didn’t really need to be straightened.
He smiled at her. “Nice view, wouldn’t you say?”
Her face reddened even more. “Umm… yes.” She mumbled.
He looked at the snacks and took a bag of Doritos and a brownie. The fruit bowl was almost empty.
“No bananas today?”
“I just ran out. Sorry.” She stammered the last word just a little.
He turned and went back to his office.
---
Monday morning rush. On his way from a meeting back to his office when he met the girl and her cart outside his office door. He couldn’t help but notice the short skirt she wore. It was markedly different than anything he remembered seeing. The slumpy look he’d seen last week left his mind completely. Thighs and ass greeted him as he got closer.
He said nothing and took a bagel and some jelly. As he turned away, she spoke.
“I saved you a banana.” She sounded uncertain.
He turned back to her and looked her in the eyes. There was a sparkle there. Shyness, for sure, but she was putting herself out there. He took the banana and touched her hand in the process.
“Thanks. Hey, I have a long meeting this afternoon and will be here late. If I’m not here when you come back by, be a dear and leave something on my desk for me?”
Without waiting for any acknowledgement at all, he turned and went into his office. She stood in front of the closed door for a moment before she moved down the hall. He smiled to himself.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Today's B... The Best Blowjob Ever
I struggle with writing about blowjobs. I can't help but wonder if it's at all related to the fact that I suspect I could be giving better blowjobs. Someone once let me in on "the secret" of giving a great blowjob. I eagerly took notes (okay, mental notes) and thought about how to translate those thoughts into actions. Then when the opportunity next arose (no pun intended), I prepared myself mentally, armed with my "secret information." And well... let's just say I couldn't really tell what difference this new data yielded. Am I missing the point? I do wonder...
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
All she wanted was a cold drink when she woke up
87 degrees was the high. And she’d felt every bit of it. She scratched then rubbed her sunburned arm as she walked along the sidewalk, gazing at each windowsill as she passed by, looking for signs of creativity behind the heavy curtains with their backing that blocked all signs of the hot sun outside.
Ice would be good. A refrigerator would have been better, but she hadn’t thought of it. As she rounded the corner of the covered walkway, following the signs to Ice/Vending, she was dismayed to find an out of order sign.
If she was sleepwalking, this must be a dream. Or a nightmare. She walked back out from the covered area and looked at the closest building. It was pink and hard to miss. She set her sights on the inner core of this building, where the Ice/Vending would surely be functional, and headed off.
She glanced sleepily at the new windows she passed. Nothing caught her eye and when she reached the last window, she stared across the black space between buildings. It wasn’t far in the daylight. At night, it seemed eternal. She walked.
The windows she passed this time were a blur. Her eyes locked onto the Ice/Vending sign and she pleaded with the Ice Powers That Be that they had this machine in working order. In a haze of exhaustion she rounded the corner and saw the ice machine. It seemed to glow in the night with a bright blue-white aura around it.
She placed the bucket on the machine’s receptacle and pressed the button. A little spurt of ice dropped into the bucket. She looked into the bucket as she held the button down and listened to the machine make its ice dispensing noises. No ice came. The machine churned.
In desperation, she flung her other arm onto the front of the machine and laid her forehead against it, still holding the button. The machine churned.
When lips ever so softly kissed the back of her neck, she was somewhere in that state between asleep and awake. She wasn’t sure if there was anything there and she didn’t care. The lips made their way up her neck to her hairline and very gently kissed around to her ear. Nibbling the lobe at first, gently… very gently. Then with a sense of urgency, teeth softly took their place.
She moaned and felt the body press against hers from behind. A hand covered hers on the front of the machine and intertwined its fingers with hers. Another hand reached around her and found her nipple hard to the touch.
She gasped at this touch and arched backwards, feeling the body behind her. It was solid. It felt strong. Parts of it felt hard. The heat between them was suffocating. Her nipple was being pinched now and each pinch became harder and harder. She moaned.
She felt heat and pain in that stage of semi-sleep. Dreaming about the touch she was feeling. Feeling the touch she was dreaming of. And then the pinching stopped. It only took a moment for the heat to melt the ice cube enough for it to soak through her thin shirt. Her nipple burned and hardened more under the ice.
The fingers intertwined with hers squeezed her as the fingers holding the ice made circles on her breast, sending chills all over her body. Heat and cold battled on her skin’s surface. And she rode along with them. Hot breath in her ear made her shudder.
A clattering noise startled her back to reality and she pushed herself off of her arm and away from the machine. Several ice cubes had splattered to the floor as the bucket had filled and overflowed. She shook her head a little to clear it and wondered if she had actually fallen asleep on the ice machine.
She walked out of the little room with the Ice/Vending sign and headed back toward her building, a sea of purple that seemed to not get any closer as she walked through a cloud of pink.
Maybe it was the sun, she thought. She’d gotten too much sun and was having some kind of heat stroke. She walked along. A few more steps.
The bucket became heavy in her hand and she moved it from one hand to the other. As she did, her arm touched the still-cool wet spot that surrounded her nipple. And in the 80-degree weather, she got chills.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Google and Sex Blogs
I ran across this interesting article about Sex Blogs disappearing from Google searches at boingboing.net. Check it out.
The article features commentary from Violet Blue and tangentially, her article about unsafe sex products.
Has anyone else noticed a change in their results in Google searches?
Just wondering.
ETA: Danny Sullivan at Search Engine Land has some great information on this in his post Of Disappearing Sex Blogs & Google Updates.
The article features commentary from Violet Blue and tangentially, her article about unsafe sex products.
Has anyone else noticed a change in their results in Google searches?
Just wondering.
ETA: Danny Sullivan at Search Engine Land has some great information on this in his post Of Disappearing Sex Blogs & Google Updates.
Monday, December 18, 2006
(Almost) Six Weird Things
You know, lately I've been pretty scarce around here. If I were writing about my personal life, there'd be plenty here, but I'm not and there isn't. Suffice to say there are the beginnings of several new stories which I can hope will one day draw to a climax (snicker), but I'm not going to pressure myself.
Al Sensu over at Hard & Fast (and erotischism) tagged me with this one. Two weeks ago. Yes, I know. So without further ado, six weird things about me.
1. I hate to touch newspaper. I hate the way it feels. I hate the ink rubbing off. Hate the smell. Hate it. If my husband didn't pick up the freebie-papers that hit our driveway every week (and if they weren't in plastic bags), there'd just be a big mushy pile of soggy newspaper in my driveway. Very endearing to the neighbors, don't you think?
2. I can't sleep naked. I've never been able to. And I'm not talking about a gown here. I want something between my legs. (Go ahead, it's okay.) PJ pants. A t-shirt is fine as long as there are pants. Even in the summer.
3. I am a Disney freak. I love all things Disney. By my cipherin' I figure I've spent over 100 days in Disney Parks. I can spot a hidden Mickey in everyday objects and I know where to find PUSH. I'm excited just thinking about it.
4. Even numbers are good. Odd numbers are bad. Want to watch me get really frustrated? Take an odd number of eggs out of the carton and hand it to me.
5. I hate the circus. It's creepy and stressful.
6. Well, sadly after an hour of noodling on this, I can't come up with a 6th thing. Not that it doesn't exist, mind you. It's just not coming.
So there you have it. I'm not tagging anyone because I am obviously the last person on the interweb to have done this.
Happy holidays everyone.
Al Sensu over at Hard & Fast (and erotischism) tagged me with this one. Two weeks ago. Yes, I know. So without further ado, six weird things about me.
1. I hate to touch newspaper. I hate the way it feels. I hate the ink rubbing off. Hate the smell. Hate it. If my husband didn't pick up the freebie-papers that hit our driveway every week (and if they weren't in plastic bags), there'd just be a big mushy pile of soggy newspaper in my driveway. Very endearing to the neighbors, don't you think?
2. I can't sleep naked. I've never been able to. And I'm not talking about a gown here. I want something between my legs. (Go ahead, it's okay.) PJ pants. A t-shirt is fine as long as there are pants. Even in the summer.
3. I am a Disney freak. I love all things Disney. By my cipherin' I figure I've spent over 100 days in Disney Parks. I can spot a hidden Mickey in everyday objects and I know where to find PUSH. I'm excited just thinking about it.
4. Even numbers are good. Odd numbers are bad. Want to watch me get really frustrated? Take an odd number of eggs out of the carton and hand it to me.
5. I hate the circus. It's creepy and stressful.
6. Well, sadly after an hour of noodling on this, I can't come up with a 6th thing. Not that it doesn't exist, mind you. It's just not coming.
So there you have it. I'm not tagging anyone because I am obviously the last person on the interweb to have done this.
Happy holidays everyone.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Addicted
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
“You’re an addict.”
The words rolled calmly off his tongue. His eyes glistened. He was gauging my reaction. Wasn’t he?
“Your addictive behavior is counterproductive to the situation you say you want to achieve.”
Is he calling me out? Is he joking? His eyes gave nothing away.
Our relationship was still new. We were still finding the boundaries and give-and-take of a dominant and submissive relationship. It was a delicate journey across a tightwire and I tried not to look down as I proceeded slowly. I wanted to run. But I walked, placing each step deliberately. Logic governing emotion at each cautious step.
I took a sip of water because my mouth had gone dry.
“What do you mean?” I asked him, trying to mirror his tone.
“You say you want to serve me, yet your actions show you want to serve yourself.”
I blinked as my mind reeled, trying to see where this was going.
“I’m talking about your time. It’s like currency and you choose how to spend it. You choose trivialities rather than choosing to serve me.”
“Trivialities?” I thought to myself that I hadn’t played Trivial Pursuit in ages, but then pulled myself back to the here and now.
“You are addicted to this blog nonsense.”
I felt the heat grow in my cheeks.
“I’m not!”
As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted my tone.
“Oh, aren’t you?”
“No Sir.”
An attempted save that I hoped hadn’t swerved too far across the fine line. The honorific, up until that point, had only been used when he was spanking or whipping or caning or fucking me.
“Then show me. Stay away from that world for three weeks.”
Is it 21 days to make a new habit? Isn’t that what they say?
I blinked, looking into his eyes.
“Yes Sir.”
---
The next days seemed to drag on as I felt the aimlessness of my wandering. I started to wonder if maybe he was right. I challenged myself, not knowing if I could or would really do it. I wondered if he was being so blatant as to test me. I wouldn’t lose. He had become my adversary and I simply wouldn’t let him win.
At least not for 12 days. I was yearning to know what I’d been missing. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt. Right? A delicious sense of anticipation bubbled up inside me as I quickly skimmed. A fun crossword puzzle, the Sex Blogger Funnies, something new called Blog World. I know that you know… damn, that’s hot. The beach in Hawaii.
I even started to answer comments that kind, caring folks left on my now-silent blog. Privately, of course. I knew he would be checking. I made excuses. I told them I’d be back.
Day 15 arrived with an unexpected visit. He’d had plans to be out of town, but the meeting was cancelled and here he was on my sofa. I sat at his feet. He played with my hair as we watched a movie we’d both seen.
There was an undercurrent here. Just under the surface, but filling up the space around us.
“Bring me your laptop.”
Feeling guilty, I went to get it. Resentment quickly battled its way into my mind. Why has he made me choose? I knew exactly what would happen. He’d turn it on, then look at my browser’s history. It would all be there. Breadcrumbs leading the way.
I took my place at his feet again and waited an eternity.
“You are an addict. I knew you wouldn’t last. I knew you’d fail.”
I felt cold and steel-like as the feelings I’d started – tried – to develop for him retracted like a red carpet being rolled up. Logic, who had been my friend off and on throughout the past few weeks cried out loudly now. “Nip this right now!”
Clarity.
I stood up. I didn’t belong at his feet. And as the words rose inside me, they bypassed the decision-making part of my brain and headed straight for my lips. The decision-making part of my brain just stood there and waved at the words as they went by, encouraging them.
“I may be an addict, but you’re a dick.”
It wasn’t spiteful or hurtful. It was just the truth. The truth just sounds different.
He left then, without speaking another word.
I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and, feeling giddy again, sat down with my laptop to catch up.
“You’re an addict.”
The words rolled calmly off his tongue. His eyes glistened. He was gauging my reaction. Wasn’t he?
“Your addictive behavior is counterproductive to the situation you say you want to achieve.”
Is he calling me out? Is he joking? His eyes gave nothing away.
Our relationship was still new. We were still finding the boundaries and give-and-take of a dominant and submissive relationship. It was a delicate journey across a tightwire and I tried not to look down as I proceeded slowly. I wanted to run. But I walked, placing each step deliberately. Logic governing emotion at each cautious step.
I took a sip of water because my mouth had gone dry.
“What do you mean?” I asked him, trying to mirror his tone.
“You say you want to serve me, yet your actions show you want to serve yourself.”
I blinked as my mind reeled, trying to see where this was going.
“I’m talking about your time. It’s like currency and you choose how to spend it. You choose trivialities rather than choosing to serve me.”
“Trivialities?” I thought to myself that I hadn’t played Trivial Pursuit in ages, but then pulled myself back to the here and now.
“You are addicted to this blog nonsense.”
I felt the heat grow in my cheeks.
“I’m not!”
As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted my tone.
“Oh, aren’t you?”
“No Sir.”
An attempted save that I hoped hadn’t swerved too far across the fine line. The honorific, up until that point, had only been used when he was spanking or whipping or caning or fucking me.
“Then show me. Stay away from that world for three weeks.”
Is it 21 days to make a new habit? Isn’t that what they say?
I blinked, looking into his eyes.
“Yes Sir.”
---
The next days seemed to drag on as I felt the aimlessness of my wandering. I started to wonder if maybe he was right. I challenged myself, not knowing if I could or would really do it. I wondered if he was being so blatant as to test me. I wouldn’t lose. He had become my adversary and I simply wouldn’t let him win.
At least not for 12 days. I was yearning to know what I’d been missing. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt. Right? A delicious sense of anticipation bubbled up inside me as I quickly skimmed. A fun crossword puzzle, the Sex Blogger Funnies, something new called Blog World. I know that you know… damn, that’s hot. The beach in Hawaii.
I even started to answer comments that kind, caring folks left on my now-silent blog. Privately, of course. I knew he would be checking. I made excuses. I told them I’d be back.
Day 15 arrived with an unexpected visit. He’d had plans to be out of town, but the meeting was cancelled and here he was on my sofa. I sat at his feet. He played with my hair as we watched a movie we’d both seen.
There was an undercurrent here. Just under the surface, but filling up the space around us.
“Bring me your laptop.”
Feeling guilty, I went to get it. Resentment quickly battled its way into my mind. Why has he made me choose? I knew exactly what would happen. He’d turn it on, then look at my browser’s history. It would all be there. Breadcrumbs leading the way.
I took my place at his feet again and waited an eternity.
“You are an addict. I knew you wouldn’t last. I knew you’d fail.”
I felt cold and steel-like as the feelings I’d started – tried – to develop for him retracted like a red carpet being rolled up. Logic, who had been my friend off and on throughout the past few weeks cried out loudly now. “Nip this right now!”
Clarity.
I stood up. I didn’t belong at his feet. And as the words rose inside me, they bypassed the decision-making part of my brain and headed straight for my lips. The decision-making part of my brain just stood there and waved at the words as they went by, encouraging them.
“I may be an addict, but you’re a dick.”
It wasn’t spiteful or hurtful. It was just the truth. The truth just sounds different.
He left then, without speaking another word.
I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and, feeling giddy again, sat down with my laptop to catch up.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Happy Delurk Day!
And welcome to you all!
My friend Bonnie over at My Bottom Smarts had a great idea to invite the lurkers out there (you know who you are) to say hello. Post a comment. Leave some words of greeting. Introduce yourself. No commitments, no names (unless you just want to). If you've ever thought about commenting, but haven't, today's your day.
You are among like-minded folks here, so don't be shy. Your thoughts will be greatly appreciated.
So I'll start things off. Hi, I'm bella. I'm a scorpio. I like tacos and '71 cabernet. My favorite color is magenta.
My friend Bonnie over at My Bottom Smarts had a great idea to invite the lurkers out there (you know who you are) to say hello. Post a comment. Leave some words of greeting. Introduce yourself. No commitments, no names (unless you just want to). If you've ever thought about commenting, but haven't, today's your day.
You are among like-minded folks here, so don't be shy. Your thoughts will be greatly appreciated.
So I'll start things off. Hi, I'm bella. I'm a scorpio. I like tacos and '71 cabernet. My favorite color is magenta.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Where in the hell am I?
Well, it's Halloween. I love Halloween. I'm not thrilled to say that real life has been sucking the life out of me lately. And I had such a big ending planned for My Trick Your Treat. Right... maybe I can work it into a Thanksgiving or Christmas story. Maybe Arbor Day. I at least have candy for the little darlings and will greet them merrily tonight. No jack-o-lantern this year. No time.
So as I reflect on October and look forward to November, I anticipate a month with far less drama, less pain and more time to do things I want to do. That's my goal anyway.
Speaking of drama, have you seen this? More power to you, ladies.
So as I reflect on October and look forward to November, I anticipate a month with far less drama, less pain and more time to do things I want to do. That's my goal anyway.
Speaking of drama, have you seen this? More power to you, ladies.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Lust Life: Polyamory
I ran across this article from the New York Press on Polyamory over at Stiletto Diaries.
Two good quotes:
"...not only is it more acceptable to cheat, it’s more acceptable to be gay than for a straight guy to have a wife and a girlfriend."
"You have to be willing to confront your fears and become a master of communication. 'It’s not just about multiple booty calls and doing whatever you want. It’s about agreements you make with your partners, honoring those agreements and having integrity in relationships."'
Two good quotes:
"...not only is it more acceptable to cheat, it’s more acceptable to be gay than for a straight guy to have a wife and a girlfriend."
"You have to be willing to confront your fears and become a master of communication. 'It’s not just about multiple booty calls and doing whatever you want. It’s about agreements you make with your partners, honoring those agreements and having integrity in relationships."'
Monday, October 16, 2006
Overdue
This was featured over at A Spanking Good Time in Tiggr's Fantasy Friday contest. I am thrilled and honored that Tiggr included this story.
My husband and I had moved to the neighborhood about 6 months ago and I joined the local tennis club. I discovered that the woman who lived across the street from us also played, and we became fast friends. I didn’t really know anyone in the area, so I easily slid into her circle of friends and joined in on lunches, trips to the mall and most recently, girls’ poker night.
We each took turns hosting poker night and they were a lot of fun. Wine flowed freely and conversation took on a “less polite and proper” tone. One night recently when we were all talking about our days, one of the girls mentioned having taken her car in for service. There was a collective sharp inhalation of breath that followed and I think someone kicked someone under the table. Furtive glances flew around the table.
I tried to keep a straight face and pretend I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
A few days later, my neighbor stopped in on her way to run errands. “Look, I know you noticed the awkwardness at the poker table the other night. I’ve talked with the girls and we’ve decided that we want to share something with you.”
I listened with curiosity wondering what could possibly be secretive about an oil change.
“We all go to the same place for our car maintenance. It’s a bit unusual because it’s a place for women only and it’s based on referrals only. We’ve given them your name and a referral so you can take your car in when you need to. They work by appointment, so call first.”
She handed me a slip of paper with a name, address and phone number. I looked at it and didn’t know whether to be amused or baffled. I’d never made an appointment for an oil change before.
Of course my car was overdue for servicing. The move had been stressful and the car fell low on the priority list for me. I took this as a sign that I needed to get this off my To Do list, so I called to schedule an appointment. The woman who answered asked for my name and for the name of the person who referred me. Then she put me on hold. When she came back to the line, she confirmed a time and told me about their packages.
“We have two packages you can choose from. One is a 6-month package which would include your initial visit and two subsequent visits. The other is a 12-month package. We can give you pricing information when you come in.”
I wrote down the time and date and wondered if I was signing up for a gym membership or getting my car serviced.
When the time finally arrived, I left tennis practice and drove to the address I’d been given. I pulled into a warehouse looking building with several bays toward one end. There was no sign for the business – only their street number painted on the building by the door. I pulled in front of one of the bays and turned the motor off. As I got out of the car, the bay door began to rise and a dreamy-looking muscular guy walked out. He called me by name and took my keys from me. He nodded toward the door and told me to they were expecting me.
“Well, duh!” I thought. “You made me make an appointment!”
I walked into the building and was greeted by the same woman I’d talked to on the phone. She, too, greeted me by name and led me to a table where we both sat down.
“We’re a multi-service facility here and we know your time is valuable. Our aim is to help women not only keep their vehicles safe, but to offer other services as needed while your car is being serviced. We help you become more efficient and organized. We help you keep your priorities. We never want to see you stranded on the side of the road with your hood open.”
She smiled at me and I felt like I still wasn’t getting it. As I was about to ask her what she meant by “other services,” the door opened and dreamy-looking muscular guy came in looking a little disgusted. He held the plastic clingy thing he’d removed from my windshield and waved it around.
“927 miles overdue for an oil change,” he told smiling girl.
I looked from him to her and saw the expression on her face grown solemn.
“Oh my.”
She looked at me like I’d committed a huge faux pas. Dreamy-looking muscular guy disappeared through the same door he’d entered.
She picked up some papers from the table and stood up.
“This way please.”
I grabbed my bag and followed her down a hallway and into a room that looked like a den. It had a sofa and chair and was surrounded by bookcases. I wouldn’t have been any more surprised to find a rhinoceros in the room. She motioned toward the sofa and told me someone would be with me shortly. She closed the door on her way out.
And shortly, it was opened again. The man was of average height and looked to be about 45. Everything about him was average. His looks, his clothing… average. But something about him was not average.
He introduced himself and I recognized his name as the one I’d been given on the slip of paper. He must be the owner. He sat in the chair, giving him the advantage of being able to look down at me on the sofa.
“It’s a good thing you came in when you did. Your oil is dangerously low. Do you understand what that means?”
Feeling a bit like I was an 8th-grader having been called to the principal’s office, I responded meekly.
“No.”
“You could have broken down on the side of the road. You could have done serious damage to the engine resulting in costly repairs. This is just not a good situation.”
I swallowed hard.
“But we will rectify the situation. And we will get your car back in tip-top shape, too.”
He stood up and offered me his hand. I was too stunned to do anything but take it and he pulled me up. He led me to the end of the sofa and very matter-of-factly said, “Please bend over the arm of the sofa.”
I looked at him in horror.
“What?”
He met my glare with business-like calm.
“Over the arm of the sofa please.”
He placed his hand lightly on my back and guided me downward. I was too shocked to resist. When I situated myself over the arm of the sofa with my ass feeling fully exposed, he spoke again.
“927 miles overdue. That amount would usually require a severe punishment, but since this is your first time with us, that wouldn’t be right. So today your punishment will be 9 spanks – 1 for each hundred miles, give or take.”
Before I could even respond, fire exploded on my ass. He’d pulled my tennis skirt up and was hitting my ass through a couple of layers of cloth. It was harsh and it burned in rapid succession 9 times. I cried out and echoes of my cries filled the room.
He offered me a hand and helped me up. As we stood there, he explained, “This is your motivation to be prompt with us. We take care of our customers and we expect you to take care of yourselves as well. We will see you again in 3000 miles.”
And with a polite smile, he left the room.
My husband and I had moved to the neighborhood about 6 months ago and I joined the local tennis club. I discovered that the woman who lived across the street from us also played, and we became fast friends. I didn’t really know anyone in the area, so I easily slid into her circle of friends and joined in on lunches, trips to the mall and most recently, girls’ poker night.
We each took turns hosting poker night and they were a lot of fun. Wine flowed freely and conversation took on a “less polite and proper” tone. One night recently when we were all talking about our days, one of the girls mentioned having taken her car in for service. There was a collective sharp inhalation of breath that followed and I think someone kicked someone under the table. Furtive glances flew around the table.
I tried to keep a straight face and pretend I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
A few days later, my neighbor stopped in on her way to run errands. “Look, I know you noticed the awkwardness at the poker table the other night. I’ve talked with the girls and we’ve decided that we want to share something with you.”
I listened with curiosity wondering what could possibly be secretive about an oil change.
“We all go to the same place for our car maintenance. It’s a bit unusual because it’s a place for women only and it’s based on referrals only. We’ve given them your name and a referral so you can take your car in when you need to. They work by appointment, so call first.”
She handed me a slip of paper with a name, address and phone number. I looked at it and didn’t know whether to be amused or baffled. I’d never made an appointment for an oil change before.
Of course my car was overdue for servicing. The move had been stressful and the car fell low on the priority list for me. I took this as a sign that I needed to get this off my To Do list, so I called to schedule an appointment. The woman who answered asked for my name and for the name of the person who referred me. Then she put me on hold. When she came back to the line, she confirmed a time and told me about their packages.
“We have two packages you can choose from. One is a 6-month package which would include your initial visit and two subsequent visits. The other is a 12-month package. We can give you pricing information when you come in.”
I wrote down the time and date and wondered if I was signing up for a gym membership or getting my car serviced.
When the time finally arrived, I left tennis practice and drove to the address I’d been given. I pulled into a warehouse looking building with several bays toward one end. There was no sign for the business – only their street number painted on the building by the door. I pulled in front of one of the bays and turned the motor off. As I got out of the car, the bay door began to rise and a dreamy-looking muscular guy walked out. He called me by name and took my keys from me. He nodded toward the door and told me to they were expecting me.
“Well, duh!” I thought. “You made me make an appointment!”
I walked into the building and was greeted by the same woman I’d talked to on the phone. She, too, greeted me by name and led me to a table where we both sat down.
“We’re a multi-service facility here and we know your time is valuable. Our aim is to help women not only keep their vehicles safe, but to offer other services as needed while your car is being serviced. We help you become more efficient and organized. We help you keep your priorities. We never want to see you stranded on the side of the road with your hood open.”
She smiled at me and I felt like I still wasn’t getting it. As I was about to ask her what she meant by “other services,” the door opened and dreamy-looking muscular guy came in looking a little disgusted. He held the plastic clingy thing he’d removed from my windshield and waved it around.
“927 miles overdue for an oil change,” he told smiling girl.
I looked from him to her and saw the expression on her face grown solemn.
“Oh my.”
She looked at me like I’d committed a huge faux pas. Dreamy-looking muscular guy disappeared through the same door he’d entered.
She picked up some papers from the table and stood up.
“This way please.”
I grabbed my bag and followed her down a hallway and into a room that looked like a den. It had a sofa and chair and was surrounded by bookcases. I wouldn’t have been any more surprised to find a rhinoceros in the room. She motioned toward the sofa and told me someone would be with me shortly. She closed the door on her way out.
And shortly, it was opened again. The man was of average height and looked to be about 45. Everything about him was average. His looks, his clothing… average. But something about him was not average.
He introduced himself and I recognized his name as the one I’d been given on the slip of paper. He must be the owner. He sat in the chair, giving him the advantage of being able to look down at me on the sofa.
“It’s a good thing you came in when you did. Your oil is dangerously low. Do you understand what that means?”
Feeling a bit like I was an 8th-grader having been called to the principal’s office, I responded meekly.
“No.”
“You could have broken down on the side of the road. You could have done serious damage to the engine resulting in costly repairs. This is just not a good situation.”
I swallowed hard.
“But we will rectify the situation. And we will get your car back in tip-top shape, too.”
He stood up and offered me his hand. I was too stunned to do anything but take it and he pulled me up. He led me to the end of the sofa and very matter-of-factly said, “Please bend over the arm of the sofa.”
I looked at him in horror.
“What?”
He met my glare with business-like calm.
“Over the arm of the sofa please.”
He placed his hand lightly on my back and guided me downward. I was too shocked to resist. When I situated myself over the arm of the sofa with my ass feeling fully exposed, he spoke again.
“927 miles overdue. That amount would usually require a severe punishment, but since this is your first time with us, that wouldn’t be right. So today your punishment will be 9 spanks – 1 for each hundred miles, give or take.”
Before I could even respond, fire exploded on my ass. He’d pulled my tennis skirt up and was hitting my ass through a couple of layers of cloth. It was harsh and it burned in rapid succession 9 times. I cried out and echoes of my cries filled the room.
He offered me a hand and helped me up. As we stood there, he explained, “This is your motivation to be prompt with us. We take care of our customers and we expect you to take care of yourselves as well. We will see you again in 3000 miles.”
And with a polite smile, he left the room.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
My Trick, Your Treat - Part 2
He looked around and found her perched lounging along the edge of the hot tub. She was a vision made from dreams. The latex started at her waist and encased her tightly down to her feet. The tail extended past her feet, making the illusion seem real. He started to walk toward her then, noticing more detail as he approached. Round, full breasts. Nipples and belly button adorned with matching rings. A single conch shell dangled playfully from a string tied around her neck. Her mask was of the minimal type and matched her fish body. He could tell, as he got closer, that the latex was not solid around her, but was open in the front and was held closed by buckles that extended the length of the costume. He wondered if the back looked the same. He noticed her little patch of pubic hair matched the mass of hair on her head. She dangled a finger lightly in the hot tub and watched him approach.
“Trick or Treat?” He felt slightly amused to speak the words.
“Your treat,” she replied.
He smiled then and nodded almost imperceptibly. He sat down beside her and gave her body another long look. His fingers first found their way to a nipple ring. He flicked it lightly back and forth then tugged gently on it, watching her eyes for a reaction. When he grabbed a fistful of her breast and squeezed, he got the reaction he wanted. He held on and when her moan became an open-mouthed gasp, he kissed her.
His hand left her breast and went to the back of her neck, pulling her deep into his kiss. When he released her and slowly pulled back, he saw a different look now… smoky, lustful. He worked his hand between the straps on her costume and in between her legs. She was wet. He moved along her wetness without entering her then removed his hand. He held it to her lips and she licked it clean.
He grabbed her other breast and squeezed it. Again she gasped and again he silenced her with a kiss. This time, he pushed her gently down and onto her back. His lips moved to her ear where he nibbled and gently sucked. She shuddered.
He moved onto her, on his knees straddling her and continued kissing and licking down her neck. She tasted faintly of salt.
He sat up and gazed down at her. “Some people say that eating the flesh of a mermaid will make them immortal.”
“Do they?”
“They do. And others say mermaids grant wishes.”
“And what do you believe?” she asked.
He smiled down at her with a gleam in his eye that was almost evil. In one seamless move, he drew his knee back over her and with his hands on her hips, pushed her, rolling her over. As she splashed into the hot tub, he noticed the back of her costume was indeed open and held together with buckles.
He watched her get her bearings and grab onto something to support herself while he started to unbutton his uniform. He was quickly naked and stepped into the hot tub leaving his hat on. He sat down on the edge and moved his knees apart, motioning her closer. When she was within reaching distance, he took her hand and pulled her closer. She kissed up his inner thigh as she was gently pulled between his knees.
He looked down at her, watching rivulets of water run down her neck and chest.
“I like the wishes version better.”
“And what is it you wish for?”
He replied in a voice that couldn’t have been more true to his character: “Well, blow me down, baby!”
They both laughed at the corniness of it and she pulled herself up to take his cock into her mouth. She took her time, dancing her tongue around the head and flicking it along the ridge teasingly. After a few minutes she saw his hands move to her head and noticed the anchors tattooed on his forearms. She knew what was coming. He grabbed her head and started to pump it up and down his length. He started off slowly but quickly changed the pace. He held her head hard against his pelvis with his head nudging her throat. He kept her there until she started to gag.
He pulled her head back, but not off of his cock. It was just long enough for her to catch her breath and he pumped her up and down again. He made her gag several more times, each time allowing her to catch her breath, but her mouth never left his cock.
He worked her lips quickly along the middle of his shaft and held her firmly in place as he exploded in her mouth. She moaned then and the vibration of the sound moved up his cock. He shuddered.
He released her head then and she looked up at him. He wanted to see her without the mask, but knew it was against the rules. Instead he pulled her in close and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him too, and he leaned down to kiss her lips.
She giggled.
He smiled at her curiously. “What is it?”
“You taste like spinach.”
They both laughed and as he lifted her out of the hot tub, he said, “Now that’s just bad.”
She agreed, still laughing. He placed her back beside the hot tub.
As if on cue, two cell phones chimed a warning that their time was almost up. He dried himself off and got back into uniform.
When he was dressed, he knelt beside her and with his thumb wiped a droplet of water from her cheek, careful not to disturb the mask.
“Thank you for granting my wish.”
“You’re welcome. It’s your treat, right?”
Then it was her turn to grin devilishly. “You could have gone for the immortality.”
He laughed and kissed her lightly on the lips and as he stood, he took the corncob pipe from his pocket and perched it between his lips.
And in that perfect voice again, said “I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam.”
She grinned and shook her head as he turned and left.
“Trick or Treat?” He felt slightly amused to speak the words.
“Your treat,” she replied.
He smiled then and nodded almost imperceptibly. He sat down beside her and gave her body another long look. His fingers first found their way to a nipple ring. He flicked it lightly back and forth then tugged gently on it, watching her eyes for a reaction. When he grabbed a fistful of her breast and squeezed, he got the reaction he wanted. He held on and when her moan became an open-mouthed gasp, he kissed her.
His hand left her breast and went to the back of her neck, pulling her deep into his kiss. When he released her and slowly pulled back, he saw a different look now… smoky, lustful. He worked his hand between the straps on her costume and in between her legs. She was wet. He moved along her wetness without entering her then removed his hand. He held it to her lips and she licked it clean.
He grabbed her other breast and squeezed it. Again she gasped and again he silenced her with a kiss. This time, he pushed her gently down and onto her back. His lips moved to her ear where he nibbled and gently sucked. She shuddered.
He moved onto her, on his knees straddling her and continued kissing and licking down her neck. She tasted faintly of salt.
He sat up and gazed down at her. “Some people say that eating the flesh of a mermaid will make them immortal.”
“Do they?”
“They do. And others say mermaids grant wishes.”
“And what do you believe?” she asked.
He smiled down at her with a gleam in his eye that was almost evil. In one seamless move, he drew his knee back over her and with his hands on her hips, pushed her, rolling her over. As she splashed into the hot tub, he noticed the back of her costume was indeed open and held together with buckles.
He watched her get her bearings and grab onto something to support herself while he started to unbutton his uniform. He was quickly naked and stepped into the hot tub leaving his hat on. He sat down on the edge and moved his knees apart, motioning her closer. When she was within reaching distance, he took her hand and pulled her closer. She kissed up his inner thigh as she was gently pulled between his knees.
He looked down at her, watching rivulets of water run down her neck and chest.
“I like the wishes version better.”
“And what is it you wish for?”
He replied in a voice that couldn’t have been more true to his character: “Well, blow me down, baby!”
They both laughed at the corniness of it and she pulled herself up to take his cock into her mouth. She took her time, dancing her tongue around the head and flicking it along the ridge teasingly. After a few minutes she saw his hands move to her head and noticed the anchors tattooed on his forearms. She knew what was coming. He grabbed her head and started to pump it up and down his length. He started off slowly but quickly changed the pace. He held her head hard against his pelvis with his head nudging her throat. He kept her there until she started to gag.
He pulled her head back, but not off of his cock. It was just long enough for her to catch her breath and he pumped her up and down again. He made her gag several more times, each time allowing her to catch her breath, but her mouth never left his cock.
He worked her lips quickly along the middle of his shaft and held her firmly in place as he exploded in her mouth. She moaned then and the vibration of the sound moved up his cock. He shuddered.
He released her head then and she looked up at him. He wanted to see her without the mask, but knew it was against the rules. Instead he pulled her in close and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him too, and he leaned down to kiss her lips.
She giggled.
He smiled at her curiously. “What is it?”
“You taste like spinach.”
They both laughed and as he lifted her out of the hot tub, he said, “Now that’s just bad.”
She agreed, still laughing. He placed her back beside the hot tub.
As if on cue, two cell phones chimed a warning that their time was almost up. He dried himself off and got back into uniform.
When he was dressed, he knelt beside her and with his thumb wiped a droplet of water from her cheek, careful not to disturb the mask.
“Thank you for granting my wish.”
“You’re welcome. It’s your treat, right?”
Then it was her turn to grin devilishly. “You could have gone for the immortality.”
He laughed and kissed her lightly on the lips and as he stood, he took the corncob pipe from his pocket and perched it between his lips.
And in that perfect voice again, said “I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam.”
She grinned and shook her head as he turned and left.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Polly and Marie
Elizabeth over at Polypositivity.net posted about a dramedy portraying the love lives of a polyamorous couple. It's called Polly and Marie.
Read Elizabeth's post here.
See the trailer.
I was thinking the plot description sounded somewhat contrived to me, but after watching the trailer, I'd definitely give this show a whirl.
Read Elizabeth's post here.
See the trailer.
I was thinking the plot description sounded somewhat contrived to me, but after watching the trailer, I'd definitely give this show a whirl.
Monday, October 09, 2006
My Trick, Your Treat - Part 1
He opened the door and tentatively walked into the hallway, turning to see the door pulled firmly shut behind him. It was his first time and he was a little nervous. He was excited, of course, but a little nervous at being new to the experience. He glanced at the display on his cell phone again and re-read the instructions there. He turned and began to walk down the hall, now seeing others joining him. He passed Captain Jack Sparrow. The pirate flashed a gold-toothed grin and winked as he ambled by. A redheaded nurse walked around the corner and he gazed lustily at her chest. They exchanged a knowing smile as they passed and he wondered what her room might be like. He hoped he found out.
He rounded the corner and saw Snow White knocking on the door of room 249. She smiled bashfully at him as she waited. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of her destination, but the door didn’t open until he’d walked past. As he approached the elevator, its doors opened with a ding and a garden gnome held the door open while Dorothy and her little dog, too, walked out. He noticed she was wearing ruby slippers and appreciated her attention to detail.
The garden gnome chuckled like a dirty old man as he followed Dorothy down the hall.
He entered the elevator and pressed the button. When he arrived at his destination, he exited the elevator and was a little surprised to see that he was alone. He walked down the hall, past the vending and ice machines. At the end of the hallway he spotted the fake palm tree. It was wrapped in white Christmas lights. He felt around in the moss covering the faux dirt in the pot and found the key card. He took a breath and inserted it into the lock. The little red light flashed.
He cursed under his breath, withdrew the card and turned it around. This time when he inserted it, the little light illuminated in a solid green. He pulled the key out, turned the handle and walked into the room. He knew everyone had their own unique setting, but he hadn’t expected this at all.
He found himself standing in front of the swimming pool.
He rounded the corner and saw Snow White knocking on the door of room 249. She smiled bashfully at him as she waited. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of her destination, but the door didn’t open until he’d walked past. As he approached the elevator, its doors opened with a ding and a garden gnome held the door open while Dorothy and her little dog, too, walked out. He noticed she was wearing ruby slippers and appreciated her attention to detail.
The garden gnome chuckled like a dirty old man as he followed Dorothy down the hall.
He entered the elevator and pressed the button. When he arrived at his destination, he exited the elevator and was a little surprised to see that he was alone. He walked down the hall, past the vending and ice machines. At the end of the hallway he spotted the fake palm tree. It was wrapped in white Christmas lights. He felt around in the moss covering the faux dirt in the pot and found the key card. He took a breath and inserted it into the lock. The little red light flashed.
He cursed under his breath, withdrew the card and turned it around. This time when he inserted it, the little light illuminated in a solid green. He pulled the key out, turned the handle and walked into the room. He knew everyone had their own unique setting, but he hadn’t expected this at all.
He found himself standing in front of the swimming pool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)