Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Photo Lotto 13
Posted on October 21, 2011
This looks nice, doesn’t it? The satin sheet is tacky but I otherwise don’t have any complaints on this one. I like that they don’t even look like people, just parts; as if the photo is less about people having sex than the coldness of the room, its furniture, and its walls.
I swear. True story.
Photo Lotto 12
Posted on September 30, 2011
This looks like a whole lot of fun. I really like the look of asymmetrical suspensions. The rigging work must’ve taken a while, and the suspendee probably feels really good for having gotten trussed up so. Good, as in turned on, because hopefully if she consented to do such a thing that it gets her pussy wet. And good, as in a sense of accom-plishment for having gotten into that position. I don’t know the point system for suspensions, but I can’t imagine that this was one of the easy ones.
I’m taking the next week off. I don’t do it often, but I figure I can take a week here or there considering I post daily for the most part. Coming up are some posts about sploshing, a threesome that will be happening, and thinking I’d lost my horny mojo.
I swear. True story.
Warren’s “Cheating” (8)
Posted on September 13, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (7)."]
The rest of the week went as he imagined. Each night, every ten minutes, he received another picture or short movie clip. He continued to send text messages and leave her voicemails, sometimes up to a half-dozen times a day, to let her know he was thinking about her. She did not answer the phone or respond to his text messages, but most of the emails he got contained some kind of sweet note, in addition to the very graphic evidence of her continued infidelity. He was anxious to fly home not to stop the barrage of emails (he saved every one permanently to his computer), but simply to actually have a live conversation with her.
She met him at the airport wearing her prettiest dress and an enormous smile. She ran to him, jumped into his arms, and smothered him with kisses. They held each other for several minutes, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. When she broke their embrace, he asked if she’d accompany him to dinner, and explained that he had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. She squealed with happiness, and the two departed, arm in arm at last.
He had his hopes up that she was going to explain her entire week in excruciating detail, and began goading her as soon as they were in the car.
“So, how was your week baby?”
“Oh, it was good… I missed you. I was kind of bored. You know, just normal work stuff.”
“You couldn’t possibly have been bored, you sent me all that stuff.”
“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t all from this week.”
“Some of it had to have been,” he said, preparing his Detective voice. “We switched those two pictures on the wall about two days before I left, and at least some of the pictures showed them. In fact, I don’t think any of the pictures showed them the way they used to be.”
“Well, okay,” she smiled broadly, “I wasn’t that bored. But I definitely did miss you.”
“Fair enough,” he said triumphantly. “But will you tell me one thing?”
“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she smiled.
“How many times … did you?”
“Oh honey, you don’t want to know things like that,” she said, stroking his arm.
“I really do, actually,” he said.
“How many do you think?” she challenged.
“I don’t know, I sometimes couldn’t tell the guys apart. It seemed like at least ten different guys were in different pictures.”
She laughed out loud. “You really scoured those pictures, didn’t you baby?”
“Well, yeah, it’s the only thing I had to do at night.”
“What, you couldn’t go find yourself some tiny little Japanese hooker and relieve yourself?”
“Do you think that’s what I wanted?”
“I don’t know, what did you want?” she asked coyly.
“What I really wanted was to see the entire video tape. You sent me four little pieces from it.”
She just smiled at him.
“So… will I get to see the entire video tape?” he asked hopefully.
She hesitated, but did not stop smiling. “I don’t know,” was all she said. She cocked her head to the side, considering.
“Oh, come on, you let me see some of the best parts of it already,” he said.
“Those weren’t necessarily the best parts, sweetie.”
“Please?” He didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ll think about it,” she said in a sort of authoritarian way.
He decided that pressuring her was not likely to elicit a positive response, so he doubled back and decided to ask more questions.
“How long is the video?” he asked, almost shaking in anticipation of her answer.
“Well… it wasn’t just one video, it was three. And each was pretty much a full tape, ninety minutes.”
He was stunned. He tried to do the math… seven days, four and half hours of video, more than 30 minutes a day on average.
“Wow,” was all he managed to say. “You mean…”
“But honey, you can’t see the tapes,” she said, suddenly seeming to have made up her mind.
“Why not?” he said, aware that it sounded like he was about to whine.
She sighed slightly. “I just prefer to keep them to myself.”
After a few minutes of pained silence, she continued. “The tapes show me doing things I’ve never done with you, and I don’t want you to get any ideas.” She knew this was a bombshell, and she was going to enjoy the aftermath. They were just pulling into the restaurant parking lot, and he was going to have to wait a while to get anything more out of her.
His jaw dropped. “You mean … the clips you sent me were … the tame parts?” He thought back to the video clips, which all had shown her having very savage sex with different men. One had shown her accepting an enormous load of cum in her mouth.
“Well, they certainly weren’t my favorite parts,” she said, opening her car door.
[To be continued ….]
I’m Not Complaining (4)
Posted on September 08, 2011[Continued from "I'm Not Complaining (3)."]
I’m not complaining that they didn’t offer to buy my lunch. Instead, when the check came he said they’d split it three ways. Only it didn’t seem to be split three ways because she didn’t pay at all. It was just split so I paid for myself. In my experience with couples, I, the woman they want to bring into their relationship, is the date and therefore treated. But since they didn’t want to bring me into their relationship I guess they figured they didn’t have to pay.
The couple rushed out, supposedly because they had things to do before school started again and in preparation for a lake-based mini-vacation with her family; there was some angst over having to spend time on a houseboat without complete freedom to fuck.
On the way out I suggested we become friends on FetLife and shortly after our date I texted my FetLife name and said I was interested in going to munches. Each of them has since friended me on FetLife so of course I took at their profiles.
Especially after it was clear they weren’t interested in fucking me, I have no doubt that I sound childish when I say that after looking at their profiles I decided I wasn’t interested in them anyway. But it’s true. I swear.
He considered threesomes a kink, which is just silly. She was obsessed with her boobs, which were big but not all that special. But what sealed the deal for me is that their threesome activities seemed to include putting the ladies in a dog crate – which I’m sure they considered a cage – so he could stick his dick through the slats for the ladies to suck. Uh, no thank you.
Using a dog crate as a cage did give me an idea: Sell Isis’s old crate to kinksters rather than dog owners. I imagine the fact that it was used by a real dog and probably has some doggy odors would be a plus for the puppy play folks.
So after meeting the couple that didn’t want to fuck me that day I wasn’t necessarily excited to meet someone else, but I did. And we were having a nice time. We got along well and were having a nice conversation.
After a couple of drinks at the second bar, we went to a third. Yes, we were again carded. Then it was time to go to his hotel, where there was another bar. That night I couldn’t for the life of me get drunk. Hell, I barely felt buzzed. The hotel bar was on a high floor with a great view of the Chicago skyline.
It was a weekday so the bar was dominated by men, probably in town for work; there were only two other women besides me and they had dates, too. If I ever again get in the mood for random fucks, hotel bars could be a lot of fun. Hotel sex guaranteed.
Finally, we went to his room where I raided the minibar so I could have another (somewhat useless) drink. He turned on the tv and flipped around until it landed on something we could both agree upon, “Top Chef: Just Desserts.” It was the season premier.
We watched for a bit and then began kissing. His mouth tasted of cigarettes. It was not pleasant, but he was a good kisser. I’m not complaining.
I’m not complaining either when I say that “Top Chef: Just Desserts” is not the sexiest of soundtracks. I was able to block it out for the most part. His pants came off, and then his boxers.
[To be continued ….]
I swear. True story.
January 29, 1992: A Diary Entry (2)
Posted on August 21, 2011honest to god think I’m obsessed w/sex got to thinking that eating ice cream is like really good sex only you don’t have to get in a relationship with the ice cream before you eat it
now I’m thinking oh shit it’s come down to sex all messy and yucky with penises and hair
but then everyone else can do it why didn’t sean make me look and play and handle and suck more? so I could feel more comfortable now
it just seems so far away to see him on stage looking so fucking hot with his pouty little lip – and I’m very turned on
———— but to two bodies sweaty and hairy (I keep coming back to this but – I think he’s just hairier than my ideal whatever that may be
Anyway it seems like two very different universes that I should be able to bring together – o.k. what if his dick is fucked down (hehe) in that case no wonder he only wants to masturbate with me but that’s foreplay not the main event
doesn’t he think it’s odd that dukey whips his dick out at – the whole damn picture strikes me as particularly odd. with Henry as a lone “silent observer” but I haven’t really seen the way he is around them does he let women
odd – BARB AND KIRBY as girls they’re ten plus years older than me yet I could see them as my peers
does he want to be dominated by women? if I was more confident with my handling of the male anatomy then I probably could be his bitch it would suit me quite nicely but first I think a bottom a master should always know to his or her slaves feel
this isn’t some passing fancy I want so much for someone to NO I can do it myself why do I need someone else
I got a picture of a face sort of in negative the bottom of the chin looking up to the side. damn why can’t I draw but I want it on my left midway between my waist and the small of my back. it’ll look like it’s breaking out sort of like stretching my skin. tattoos I’d like Henry to go with me they are an experience yes but something the pain inside scraping its way out through blood and black
I don’t know why when I get the idea it just consumes me until I have to get one
time to wake up take a shower hop on the bus and go to school
It Seemed Promising (Part 4)
Posted on August 16, 2011[Continued from "It Seemed Promising (Part 3)."]
He was not only manhandling me, someone who had consented to it, but he was being mean to his dogs. He argued that taking them out every 12 hours was sufficient. I’ve seen a dog after an 8-hour day of being inside really, really need to go to the bathroom; 12 hours was ridiculous unless they were dehydrated. I told him that unless he took his dogs out I was leaving.
He was incredulous. I wasn’t kidding. Even if a guy is slapping me around I have to know he’s a nice guy. I think he thought I’d change my mind. I did not. I’m stubborn.
Then, as if it was his idea, he told me to get the fuck out. He told me he’d give me $50 for a cab. Stupidly, I refused his money and asked that he just point me in a direction where I’d be able to catch a cab easily. I was used to San Francisco, where it can be very difficult to catch a cab in most parts of town; Chicago has plenty of cabs.
I might have been crying at that point. The plight of his dogs – especially the old one – had gotten to me. There’s a reason I don’t have fun outings to animal shelters, or any outings at all to animal shelters.
I was able to get a cab right in front of his building. No, he didn’t bother making sure. I told the cab driver my address and began to sob. The cab driver kept wanting to know if I was ok. In that horrible, high-pitched crying voice that all women have, I tried to assure him that I was find.
I texted the Viking that I was on my way home and not in the best shape. By the time the cab pulled up in front of our building the Viking was outside with Isis waiting for me.
The cab driver told me I didn’t have to pay. I said I wanted to pay but that I only had $4. I gave him the $4 but had forgotten about my emergency $20. My emergency $20 is in secret spot and with me at all times. The Viking made me begin carrying it when I started meeting people in Chicago if I got into situations just like the one I was in – having to take a cab to get home and away from an asshole.
Ladies, if you want to get out of paying your cab driver, might I suggest crying like a little girl. That was not a serious suggestion. Actually, I wish I had gotten the cabbie’s name so I could pay him properly and tip him accordingly.
The Viking took me inside and listened to my version of the story through my sobs. He’s comforted me a few times when I’ve been a crying mess, and he’s always been perfect with a hand gently rubbing my back and a soothing voice.
I felt especially bad that my date had gone so poorly because his date went well. At the time that was all I could hear, that his date went well. I was happy for him, but at the moment I was really busy feeling sorry for myself.
The next day I felt like an idiot. But also glad that I had left when I did because who knows what could have happened with a guy who had so much trouble turning off his “dom.”
I checked my OkCupid messages and had not one, but two from him. The first:
Look. I won’t have someone tell me I abuse my animals. You might have a different opinion how I treat them, but I won’t have someone tell me I abuse my animals. I take care if take care of my pets. Fuck you and anyone else if they think I dhttp://www.okcupid.com/messages?readmsg=true&threadid=12555606849807570162&folder=1#sendon’t take care of my own. I do my own.
That URL in the middle there was to our OkCupid message exchange; I have no idea why it’s there other than that he was definitely drunk when he sent it, about 20 minutes after I left his place. Clearly I had hit a nerve. If anyone accused me of abusing my pets, I would laugh because I know I don’t, whereas this guy got defensive, kicked what was sure to be a great lay out of his house, and then sent this message. Sadly, I fear his dogs got the worst end of the deal since in his mind he probably felt like they cock-blocked him.
The second message, sent a full hour later, “Congrats on you being a lawyer. It means very little to me.” I don’t know why he thought of that after stewing in his juices for an hour. By that time I wasn’t thinking about him, I was sleeping.
The only reason I thought about him at all was so I could write this. And now I’m done. Good riddance.
The woman I was supposed to meet ended up having to babysit her over-drunk friend. We both had kind of shitty nights. We’re supposed to meet eventually.
I swear. True story.
It Seemed Promising (Part 3)
Posted on August 15, 2011[Continued from "It Seemed Promising (Part 2)."]
As it was getting decidedly close to the time we were to meet, I decided to message the guy via the OkCupid app. Though I had given him my number, he hadn’t used it so I had no other way to contact him.
By that time I suspected he was the guy sitting at the end of the bar, but I wasn’t positive so I didn’t want to approach him. After all, he wasn’t the only solo guy in the bar and he could have been any of them. Yes, I had seen a picture, but it had been some time and online photos don’t always match up to real life flesh.
I should have trusted my instinct. I’ve met so many guys via Craig’s List and OkCupid at this point that I get a “looking for someone” vibe off of them. Eventually he must’ve read his OkCupid message because he came and sat next to me.
He was cute. He had straight teeth. Over the course of several drinks we had a very nice conversation. He said I came across as “toppy.” I said that I’m only toppy with idiots; that I appreciate a strong hand.
Our conversation included discussion of the bar, which was crazy. The sheer amount of random shit behind the bar was the crazy part; everything else was just a typical dive bar. 
Everything was covered with a layer of dust. But the best thing about the bar was the woman, presumably Rose, the owner of the titular bar, who had a well-padded seat behind the bar. Rose and I had a bit of a chit-chat and she hobbled out of her chair to get us more drinks.
The guy and I scooted our bar stools closer to each other. Hand on knee. Kiss. Drink. Hand up skirt. Girlish pushing of hand away. Hand on knee. Kiss. Drink. Hand up skirt. Girlish pushing of hand away.
I had on what can only be called embarrassing panties. Not panties at all, but underwear. Utilitarian underwear. I demurred again and finally told him that my underwear weren’t sexy. “What are you wearing, Spanx?”
Well, at least he had heard of what amounts to the modern girdle. All the stars wear them, and they keep things from moving about in an unattractive and uncomfortable manner. I admitted that I was, in fact, wearing Spanx.
He told me to go to the bathroom and take them off. By this time it had been established that I wasn’t feeling toppy at all. I did as I was told.
My skirt was long but it was still obvious his hands were up it; it was time to go. We took a cab to his place. In the cab we did some groping and making out; we were both raring to go.
By the time we got into his apartment he was manhandling me. This was not unwelcome. Not at all. I asked him to slap my face – several times. He was pulling my hair and pushing me about. I was having a fun time.
He had two dogs. They were cute, and one of them was old. I have a soft spot for old dogs, having had a 15-year-old dog in ill health, and now having and 11-year-old dog (still doing well). I, understandably, wanted to pet the dogs. I offered to take them out with him; he had been gone for several hours and chances were they had to go to the bathroom.
Apparently it wasn’t as easy for him to go from his dominant mode where he was pulling a woman’s hair and slapping her face, to a cooperative and nurturing mode where he was taking his dogs out to the bathroom with his date, who he would soon enough be treating roughly, because he refused to take out his dogs. He refused to do little more than acknowledge them and seemed upset that I was paying any attention at all to them.
I suppose this makes me one of those “only in the bedroom” D/s types because I prefer to relate to people (who deserve it) as my equals elsewhere and to get “mistreated” when it’s time for the rough fucking.
[To be continued ….]
I swear. True story.
