No Moral To The Story

They say, sometimes, when everything feels like it’s falling apart, it’s actually falling into place.

She had a very hard time believing it. Yet, when she found a Facebook meme that said that very thing, she reposted it. As a reminder, as a last-ditch hope, as a digital mask.

Often, life is just rough for the sake of being rough. No lessons, no deeper meaning, no message from the universe. It just is a stretch of unrelenting setbacks and let downs. No moral to the story, no gleaned wisdom. Life can turn to shit.

But, life is cyclical. All things pass. She just buckles in and deals with the turbulence. Skies clear.

And when they do…her smile will blind people. 

Is It? Or Could it be?

Is it how I absentmindedly stroke your hair when we go for one of our long talks? Or is it how I grab you by the hair as your lips surround my shaft?
Is it that I hold your hand, almost like a sweet old couple, when we walk down the sidewalk together? Or could it be how I hold you down by the wrists, taking you rough, when we fuck.
Could it be the sweet little kisses I give you, the ones that make you giggle and blush? Or maybe the the aggressive worship my mouth gives to your throbbing clit and your smooth cunt?
Is it the little things, the gentle niceties, like when I open a door, give you my coat, push in your chair? Or possibly the deviant thrills, like when I spread open your legs, give you my cock, push inside you?
Do you want me because I leave your heart warmed and touched? Or is it because I leave your ass hot and marked?
Is it because I make you laugh when you
need it? Or, is it because I make you cum when you beg for it?
Is it how I make you feel beautiful, like a true woman? Or how I make you feel craven, like a true slut? 

What do you sweetly dream about? 

What do you obsessively lust for? 

What side of you do I have, tonight?

The Opening Act

The band took the stage two songs ago, the crowd in the club is energized and at capacity. Shoved in, hoping to get close to the band.
I am there, being pushed and moved through the mass of club goers. Sweating from the heat of the group and buzzed from the drinks before the show, I let the crowd move me where it will.
It moves me behind you.
My crotch is shoved into your ass. You look back and make eye contact with me and I yell “SORRY” in vain, knowing you can’t hear me over the loud music. You give me a sly grin and turn back to the show.
Crowd surges to the stage again, and again I press into your ass, this time you grind it into the now growing bulge in my jeans. I still try to write it off as accidental, you were probably just dancing, you didn’t really do it on purpose, not to a total stranger.
I’m dumbfounded when you reach back and grab me by my belt to hold me as you really rub your ass up and down my crotch.
I put an arm around your waist and feel your hips gyrate to the deep thunder bass that pounds our bodies. You start bouncing your ass on my dick to the beat of the drum, if we weren’t both clothed, this would be us fucking. 

My cock is so hard from what you’re doing to me, I might burst through my zipper.
The band plays a ballad and you settle back into a grind. You take my hand from your waist, I assume to be done and move on from our moment.
I’m wrong.
You bring my hand between your legs and guide it, you’re rubbing your pussy through your jeans with my hand! I’m dizzy, this really can’t be happening! You let go of my hand and I continue cupping your mound, rubbing it with the music, your ass moving on my cock in time with my hand on your pussy. The crowd is too oblivious with the show to notice me groping you. I feel you move your hands down to mine, you use them to unsnap and unzip your jeans. You grab my hand and thrust it down your panties.
I almost cum as I feel how wet you are!
My fingers find your swollen clit and I rub it in small, strong circles. You reach back and grab my cock through my jeans. As the band plays faster, so do I. Rubbing back and forth now, as hard as I can with my hand down your jeans, your panties. You dig your nails into my bulge, you’re squeezing so tight now!
As the band reaches its rock and roll finish, the crowd screams and so do you.

No Romance

Make it sleazy and greasy.

Sloppy messy, taking fast bites and long swallows of a slow, messy time of fucking you squalid.

No romance, save the satin niceties, lock the door, make some goddam noise kinda fuck.

A hungry fuck.

A raunchy fuck.

Savage. Fuck.

A fuck that leaves us both absolutely indecent. A hot fucking mess.

Coat me with you and I’ll paint you with me. Spread wide to catch the spray kinda fuck.

Leave marks, rut like animals, squeal and grunt and growl kinda fuck.

Pound and grind and arch and grip what you can kinda fuck.

Let’s violate each other for the sheer fun of it kinda fuck.

Fuck me.

To Satiate My Cravings

My phone rings and I know you are ready. 

I sit my glass down and mark the book, placing it on the small table next to my chair. I casually slide my thumb across the smooth, cool face of my phone and bring it to my ear. 

“You made me wait.” Is all the greeting you receive. 

“I’m sorry. He’s here now. He wants to know what to do.” Your voice is tentative, unsure. Anxious for this to happen. 

“He is to remain silent. You will relay my instructions to him. You both will do as I say. Am I understood?” My tone is firm yet calm. A tone you succumb to, a tone to make your legs tremble. 

A tone you trust.

I used that tone to send you hunting. Prowling the old grounds for a plaything. A useful toy for this sand box of erotic indignity. I had an interesting hunger strike me, I sent you off to fulfill it. 

You set your trap, caught your game and dragged him to your lair by his cock. Now, to satiate my craving. 

“Are you still wearing your panties under the skirt?” I ask. 

“Yes. The lace ones.” Your voice quiet like a whisper. 

“Tell him to pull them down to your ankles, but nothing more.” Once said, I hear you repeat the instructions to the man. There is a shudder in your breathing, over the phone. 

My voice is present again in your ear, “I assume his hands have reached under your skirt, fingers between fabric and skin, tugging them down away from your now damp patch. Then down the bare skin of your legs?” 

“Yes.”, you quiver. 

“Have him reach under your skirt again and rub your clit.” I command. 

There is a pause. 

“Yes, I will tell him.”, again I hear you relay. 

Within moments, your breathing changes. Then a moan that cascades to a few more. 

“He may finger you now.” I allow.
I hear you, between pleasure’s gasps, tell him my latest edict. Your sudden cry of pleasure is my proof that he has done my bidding. My own cock has risen, brought to life with the sounds elicited by this stranger’s fingers darting into your wet cunt. 

“Oh, baby. Do you like what you’re hearing, baby? Oooh, do you like hearing me banged??” You moan into the phone. 

I know when you are close, I hear it in your voice. I remember that quiver of abandon as your body is pushed. 

“Have him stop. Then turn you around, bend you over and let him fuck you now.” I am extra firm to cut through the fog of flesh that I know you are currently lost to. 

“Ok, baby. I’ll tell him.” You reply, winded, ravenous. 

As you and he assume the exact position I desire, my hands unbuckle my own belt and free the rigid erection from my slacks. Gripping my shaft in preparation for the pending act. My phone, back at my ear in the other hand. 

“We are ready, baby. Should he fuck me now?” You ask permission. 

Good girl. 

I simply answer, “Yes.” 

You scream out as his hard dick plunges into you from behind, I hear air leave your lungs at every animalistic thrust. Down the phone line, I can make out the sharp, forceful slap as his hips collide with your ass. 

“Oh fuck, baby, ahhh, he’s fucking me so good! Oooh, he’s fucking your girl with his fucking huge cock and I fucking love it!! Oh, oh, oh he’s so deep in my pussy, baby! Oh fuck!” 

My hand is stroking in time with his thrusts now, my cock engorged by this delicious violation of you. 

By your ecstasy at the hands of another. 

My breathing labored, my teeth clenching. 

“Fuck, baby, he’s going to cum in me! Oh fuck yes, he’s shooting his cum in my tight little cunt! Oooh baby, I’m cumming too! Oh fuck, oh yes, baby! I’m going to cum on his fucking hard cock! Can you hear it, baby?? Oooh, fuuuuuuck!!” 

We all cum together. 

He in you, you on the phone and me, here. My own hand and cock coated with the cum you coaxed out of me. 

Controlling my body with your preciously slutty routine. 

My craving is now sated. 

“Thank him and let him leave.” I say, not fully composed. “Then come to me, don’t freshen up, am I understood?” 

I hear you say, breathlessly, one last time on the phone, “Yes.” 

I end the call, set the phone down and slowly, sip my drink. 

I realize… I now have an entirely new craving.

The Door Had Now Been Opened

“You’re in my head.” She quietly admitted.

The resignation in her shaken voice was not defeat, no it was a weave of true shock at the effect he had over her being, coupled with the unintentional submission to his will. She was now his.

She didn’t have to like it, it just was.

She first noticed trouble a few weeks back. Thoughts turned to emails. Emails to texts, then to calls. She would laugh at herself, label it a crush or, at best, mild infatuation. Deep, she knew better.

Trouble.

She would touch herself with the mild fantasy at first. His hands and soft kisses on her skin. Over time, the fantasy and frequency of her private sessions grew. Her mind racing about with thoughts of his strength and finesse, to the past few days. Almost lost, fucking herself time and again, screaming out for him, cumming because of him. Powerless to just the idea of him. Imprisoned by nothing but raw, wanton lust… for him.

It made her angry. It made her frightened. It made her want him more.

She is a smart, strong woman. Single, secure and successful enough. She was just lonely and a little frustrated when she happened upon his CL post. It had an edge, an intense voice to it that took her.

She only had replied to posts a few times, nothing more than average naughty email distractions, throwaways if you will.

This post had a tone to it.

Like a door that maybe shouldn’t be opened, one carefully crafted for the special few or one. She typed her reply, and sat there, heart racing, frozen. Maybe her little voice knew, even if she didn’t. Maybe her little voice hit ‘send’ for her. No matter, the door had now been opened.

It seemed like an eternity passed before his reply arrived. She was so unconsciously keyed up, the email alert caused her to jump, startled. She opened and consumed his words like warm aged liquor, a libation that quenched and intoxicated her.

Things he said, things he’d do, and things he’d done. He played every string with the precision of a brooding master. She was caught already, she just wasn’t aware.

Back to this moment.

Her confession to him. His steady breathing at the other end of the phone. Driving her mad with the silence. Once he felt she had had enough, in complete control, he calmly spoke four words.

“It’s time we meet.”

Those four words made her suddenly cum.

My Sinning Ways…

I sin. 

It’s my nature.

I wouldn’t say I’m unrepentant. Often I find my transgressions regrettable. Are my actions compulsive, impulsive or simply ingrained as defiance of the mundane?

I am not a life taker, though I am sure I have drained the life from some. I do not force myself on the unwilling, the unwitting or the weak.

My sins are built on a foundation of pride, gluttony and lust. That is my natural habitat, my playground.

Willful arrogance, a hunger for the unmentionable and the absence of anything resembling satisfaction.

These are dangerous traits, flaws that are at constant odds with longevity, contentment and acceptance.

Go on, ask me how many fucks I give…

My sinning ways have been the gateway to experience, my path to an immoral enlightenment. My sins make me.

I sin.

So do you, I know this.

We can smell our own kind.

You Seek Not A Soulmate…

You like big words. The loquacious acrobatics that render you mute.

You devour the printed page like a beggar to a banquet. You find a sharpened mind the ultimate in aphrodisiac. You measure a man, not in inches…but I.Q.

Size queen.

There is also a hopeless idealist hiding in that guarded heart. A world where joy and love are currency, and compassion the highest of virtues. You seek not a soulmate as much as a kindred.

In life, you live simply…in dreams, you soar the heavens and create beauty with a gilded touch.

You carry wants and desires, but practice a profound gratitude that your needs are met. You freely search for love, passion, lust, comfort, but you do not derive nor deride your identity when those connections are in …retrograde.

You seek a partner to share the now with. An intellectual instigator, an altruistic accomplice. You want a complimentary catalyst. Where the pairing burns brightest together.

You have not seen a life of smooth road and blue skies, you know the miles your soles have seen. You have felt the pangs of deep loss and the joys of grace and divinity. This has gifted you a quiet wisdom that plays confidant to your heart.

You have made peace with pain that teaches. You breath free.

You choose your best self, you live as real.

You live your truth.

Bury Me In You

A combination of your heady, intoxicating scent and how your taste lingers on my lips,  I may have come a bit undone.

My heart, tongue and cock all stammer, dumbfounded by your earthy grace and your playful, wicked vitality. Fully impaired by your dark charms, whispered incantations and artful indecencies.

Allow me this moment, lost to the sensation of falling, disguised as flight. Lay with me and take me inside you, rough and wanton. Drain me and drown me. Take from me more than is offered but all that it cost. Bury me in you.

Leave me broken and whole.

And when I fade from light, spent in our lovers grasp, raise me from the dead and let me drink again from your invigorating waters. Let me taste the salt upon my lips and lose my mind for you, once more.

The Three

Three women.

Not the loves of my life, more like the cautionary tales of my poor choices. My appetites working to lead me into the arms of the dangerous.

With time, I have come to view them as they are. Flawed, like most of us. Good hearted, but reckless. Thrill seekers who fight personal wars against their own demons. Women who still see the world like little girls, the good and the bad.

The first was in my youth. A beauty of infinite jest. A merry maker that sometimes found that party in a bottle. She was sweetness and sexy and almost made me give up who I was, just to be with her. She rarely is on my mind anymore, but if I catch a spring breeze just the right way, the scar still aches a bit.

The next was my undoing. A glutton for risk, a sugar-sweet poison that I grew an unnatural taste. The time with her was short, unwise, and ultimately took everything from me as penance. We were both damaged in this moment. Her ghost still haunts me at my weakest moments. My poorest life choice, leading to the end of chapters I still thought I had time to write. I was wrong.

The third (thus far) was part illusion, or so I have convinced myself. An obsessive crush that allowed my guard to drop just enough to give her leverage, advantage. Born out of innocence and friendship, leading to avarice and betrayal. I still am left with a lack of understanding what enraptured me to such a point of self-destructive madness. An unrequited lust built on false-flags and hidden agendas. This one still pains me, as the wounds only now have healed. And I still hope she finds a path that lets her free of her battles and leads her to a happiness free of her reflexive tactics of lies and subtrifuge and survivor-selfishness. 

I am not innocent, I played my part in these pairings. My choices driven by neglect, stress, mental weakness. 

But these three women have been invaluable teachers of life, consequences and personal accountability.

For that, I am nothing but greatful that our worlds collided.