It’s better if we don’t talk.

I sit in a perfumed cloud of semen and spicy sports deodorant; my hands are mine again.

After a brutal week at work our meeting was spur of the moment, motivated by watching him in a porno gangbang with two women who didn’t look unlike me.

He picked me up in the hallway and carried me into my room.  His skin was damp from the rain.

“You just need someone to fuck you, don’t you?” he growled in my ear.  “To make no decisions, to just be taken.”  It was almost a hiss.

I only barely nodded as his mouth crushed mine and his hands gripped my breasts.

I had on boots and a blazer over my sundress; when he got up to kick the dog out I peeled off the coat and sat nervously on the edge of the bed.  He turned to me and wrapped his hand in my hair and tilted my head back.  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said and bent down and kissed me again.

David is a punishing lover, a Romanian coach of sorts.  Brutal, demanding, and then filled with pride and kindness when I comply.  I find myself wanting to comply.  A lot.

His lips were soft, his five o’clock shadow gruff, his hands hot and seeking.  He stroked and pet my pussy and bit my flesh; his clothes melted away and I reveled in the cloth that covered mine, but not his.

He jammed his fat cock down my throat and crooned to me as he went balls deep, his hand hooked into me and began to slap at me.  I suckled on a ripe testicle, arched my back, moaned, breathed in his soapy skin and filled his cupped hand with ejaculate.

He moaned and quivered above me and kept at me.  Cock swollen and banging against my cheek, my pussy throbbing, my chest heaving.

Clothes had to come off now, boots unzipped.  I must be unfettered.

He climbed up onto the bed and slid his cock between my breasts and squeezed them together, his balls on my chin and perineum soft against my nose and lips.   I felt exposed, humiliated, then empowered as he gently turned my face towards his sweet, puckered ass.

“Lick it, you dirty girl,” he panted as he stroked his cock between the mounds of my breasts.

I flicked my tongue, afraid, yet curious.  The giant man straddling my face tensed and froze as I fluttered my wet tongue around his anus.

His fingers hooked back into me and began to jerk me up to orgasm.  The pressure built and I bit his cheek as I came again and created a puddle between us.  He laughed almost maniacally and climbed off of me and rolled me over to my side and helped me up to my knees.

He told me to put my head down on the bed and to spread my cheeks for him.  I felt shame and a thrill, a duality I am not familiar with.  He grunted approval and slipped a finger into my cunt, then another, and maybe another.

My shoulders went numb and a hand dropped away as his arm pistoned into me.

He slipped a finger into my ass and my other hand dropped away as I gripped the bedding for purchase and leaned back against him.

“Please,” I panted, my face pressed into the mattress.  “Please, please fuck me.”  It was a whimper now.

There was a pause while he rolled on a condom and I felt his hands back on my hips as he gently pushed me onto my back, spread my knees and pushed into me as his mouth met mine.

I don’t know how long it’d been since we’d coupled, but as the rain pattered on the window feet from my head I thought about what a gift my body was, his body, everyone’s body.  That we are capable of such existential bliss through a physical act is nothing short of magic, a breach across divides.

He slammed into me and held my wrists.  He pinned my arms, he bit my nipples, he spanked my flanks with bruising blows.  He went wild on me and I met his crashing waves with my sea wall, unbroken, yet drowned in his needs to push me under the surface of my sanity.

When he pushed my legs together and held my wrists behind my back I began to sob as the orgasm seeped into me.  I imagined the other blonde, buxom women he’d pounded in the video and how they had become flushed and breathless.  How their hips and bellies and breasts had rippled with each passionate thrust of his hips.  How they had loved his cock — marveled over it — and here it was in me.  It was mine.

I came harder then and cried out that I was cumming and with my cries I heard him lose it.  He roared his climax, pulled out and ripped off the condom; I began to sob with release as hot ropes of his cum crisscrossed my back and landed in my hair.

I lay prostrate and jerked with sobs and laughter.  He stroked my temple and asked if I was ok.  I nodded that I was and he kissed my head.

“I hate to leave, but I was supposed to head out to the campground when you texted me an hour and a half ago, but I couldn’t miss out on this.”  I understood.  David and I aren’t so great at talking anyway.  His “no guts, no glory” approach to life is too harsh for someone as sensitive as me and I am often left scratching my head and feeling oddly defensive and misunderstood.  We do much better when all we do is fuck.

He got a towel and gently wiped my back clean and sat beside me.  I hooked an arm over his thigh and hiccupped receding sobs.  “See,” he said, “I knew this is just what you needed.  You seem much calmer now.”  He chuckled.

“You’re right.  This is just what I needed,” I agreed.

I got up and had to steady myself, my head was light, my limbs heavy, my hands numb.  I pulled on a sundress and we kissed by the front door.  I wished him a good time camping and thanked him for the good time.

“Bye,” I said as I was closing the door.

The last thing I heard him say was to chuckle and make fun of how I’d said it.

It really is better if all we do is fuck.



I switch, I cry, I dominate.

Switch spinning.

In my quest for inner peace and ultimate fulfillment I first must go to the dark places. Those catacombs of pain and confusion that have thus far navigated my decisions, reactions, and emotions. If I don’t excavate those, then they remain lodged under the skin for all eternity, fossilizing into something permanent rather than falling to ashes in my hand.

My need to feel good enough is one of those dark, ugly wounds buried under years’ worth of scarring.

It’s why when a lover whispers, “Hy, you’re a good girl,” in my ear my heart leaps and my very core responds with thundering applause.

It’s why when I’m rejected I feel right and centered.

It’s why I seek to continuously recreate the scenario wherein I am left with no power and must rely on the good sense and grace of one in front of me and never on myself.

And lastly, it’s why I inherently choose one to stand before me who is predisposed to turn away from me.

My foray into the lifestyle with The Neighbor is my newest attempt to ram my squeamish self into the fray of emotional mayhem so I may pick out a new path, a new light, and a new understanding.

We have been dancing and touching noses for days. Kissing for days, cuddling, talking, laughing. My aftercare from the foursome with Jack and Emma Sunday has lasted for days and he has risen to the challenge with aplomb, whether by sheer accident or deliberately, I’m not sure.

Monday afternoon I was lusty and angsty — that strange combination wherein I feel lost and believe that only a cock buried deep inside of me will re-anchor me to Me. Two years ago, I would have texted any number of men in my Rolodex and arranged for a nooner, a quickie, or a nightcap. Today, I have one man in my life and by design.

TN and I had plans to see each other and I was struggling with what role I was to play: Domme? sub? Nothing at all? I was on the fence and couldn’t determine my next step. My direction to send me a bulge-shot from his office was met with virtual silence. Was this my bottom telling me No? Was I not to be in charge today??

I drove to my old house to borrow a book from my exhusband. The giant tree out front was wrapped in bright lights and twinkling snowflakes hung from the eaves. A deep sadness washed over me. This used to be my life, I thought. I pulled in next to his car and knocked on the door. My old door.

He opened it with a look of apathy. “I’m here to get the book,” I answered his unspoken question. He reached to the nearby table to hand it to me. It was awkward and sad. Neither one of us seemed to know what to do next.

I walked in past the entryway and we settled on small talk. And throughout I got the sense he’d rather have me gone. His look, his energy, his everything bespoke an underlying discomfort with me. It’s always been there. This is nothing new.

I said my goodbyes and cried the entire way home.

As I pulled into the parking lot I saw TN walk to the stairs. He didn’t seem to notice me. I parked, wiped my cheeks clean and grabbed my things and slowly plodded up the stairs. When I turned to climb the last set of steps I was startled to see him standing there waiting for me.

“I knew you’d do that,” he chuckled at me clutching my bosom with my free hand.

I took a deep breath and hoped I wasn’t tear-streaked.

He walked me to my door. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.


He followed me in and I opened a bottle of wine. We chatted while I poured and sipped and he soon had closed the distance and pressed his muscular form against mine. “I’m upset with you, TN,” I said quietly.

He pulled back.


“Because you never responded to me telling you to send me a bulge-shot today. It’s ok if you don’t want to, but you can’t ignore me. It’s like you’re telling me NO, and when you do that, you shake the foundation of my dominance. I wonder if I’m doing it right and I lose my confidence.”

I turned around and looked at him closely.

“I love doing this with you, I’m really responding to it, but I feel more vulnerable than ever now. If you don’t want to do something, I want you to tell me, ‘I’d really like to, but I can’t right now,’ but don’t ignore me.”

He looked at me intently, processing my words. “Ok. I’m sorry. I was just really busy –”

“TN, I’m not asking you to jeopardize your job. I would never do that. You need to trust me. If telling you to do things at work is off limits, tell me now and I’ll never do it again.”

“It’s not that, it’s just –” his indecision made my decision.

“Ok. I won’t do that to you at work, unless you ask me to.”

He moved back into me and folded his arms around my hips and pulled my bottom into the cradle of his pelvis. I could feel his hardon. He slipped his fingers under my skirt and felt my wetness. He pushed me down until I had to grab the counter-top for support and hit my ass.

“You didn’t ask if you could do that,” I said smartly.

“May I hit you?” he added immediately.





“AGAIN.” My voice was strong and clear and each sting sent tendrils of clarity to my foggy, sad brain.

“That’s it,” he said. “Come on.”

He dragged me roughly by the collar into my room and threw me down on the bed. He stripped naked and growled as he climbed on top of me. He refused to let me remove any clothing and I whimpered and begged as he quickly entered me. I immediately began to cry and writhe.

He pulled me to the edge of the bed and I worried the buckles from my boots were hurting his ears. He assured me they weren’t.

His phone chimed then — a work email — and he swore under his breath. Abruptly he pulled out and began to redress. I sat up and sat knock-kneed on the edge of the bed, righting my clothes. Switch, switch, switch. Head spinning, heart pounding.

“I’ll be back around 10,” he said.

“Sounds perfect,” I responded.

I took a long, hot bath and started the 13th book in the Wheel of Time series. I closely shaved my pussy making sure the undercarriage was baby-smooth and painstakingly moisturized every reachable part of my body. I didn’t put on a lick of makeup.

I re-dressed in white knee-high socks and boots and a skirt and top, no under garments, and puttered around my apartment. I had a speech prepared. “Do you want to be in control tonight or do you want me to be? Because I can’t do both. I don’t have it in me. Or, we can just cuddle.”

The emotions of the day seemed to have steeped into me while soaking in the bathtub like so much Sleepytime tea. Rejection — no! Reject rejection! Be strong! Be you! Be soft! Be sad!

At 9:45 I sauntered into my room and lit a candle and laid down. I felt relaxed with my speech in my back pocket and eager to see what the night would hold. I reached my hand down between my legs and my freshly shaved pussy was warm and wet. I lifted my fingers to my mouth and tasted. It was sweet and light.

I pressed my fingers deeper inside and clenched around my digits, exploring and trying to imagine what I feel like to him. There was a knock at the door.

I stood up, my left hand’s fingers soaked in my juices and went to open the door. He was already past my entryway when I met him. He was in black basketball shorts only.

“Hi,” I said and wrapped my right arm around his neck and lifted the fingers on my left hand to his lips and parted them. He sucked them gently while locking his icy blue eyes onto mine.

His eyebrows raised in question at me. “I’ve been touching myself,” I answered. He crushed his lips down to mine and squeezed the rounds of my ass, spun me around, took me by the hand and led me to my room. My speech forgotten and completely unnecessary.

He plowed into me and I watched his face watching my own in the candlelight. He let me peel of my clothes and laughed as I tossed the pillows away, too. “It’s all torture to be on my skin,” I explained. “It’s offensive!” He laughed, too. Then started to stroke me with his cock and his lips and his hips.

I rocked back on him and strained with all my might to feel him in my throat with every thrust. I whispered and moaned how good he felt, he asked me if I liked this or that. And then he reached for my Hitachi and slipped a discarded sock onto it knowing I’m too sensitive for it to touch me directly.

He stayed inside of me for a time, but soon switched out his hands for his cock and laid down to my right. He began a slow strum of the chords within me and I began to rock and sob and keen. The orgasm so bright and enormous, slow to come, but ever-present.

Even before the crash and blossom I was crying hot, fat tears. Every fiber of my being called out to him. “Be a good girl and cum for me, Hy. Cum,” he begged — no, demanded. He bent his head to my breast and sucked and I cried out in ecstasy as the orgasm broke over me like a molten egg.

I convulsed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Quickly he moved to my left to the center of the bed and pulled me into his arms. “You’re ok, you’re ok. It’s going to be fine,” he crooned rubbing my arms.

I didn’t care about anything except this moment of wonderment and pain and loss and beauty. “I am good enough, but never enough” seemed to be the notes interwoven into this desperate launch into passion and desire. I had never experienced something so forcefully pleasurable in all my life.

When I had calmed down eventually, we spoke of the sex-party in a couple of weeks. I spoke more of my fears and he had more questions for me. Namely, why I wanted to do it. He was also worried about doing something wrong and was feeling a lot of pressure.

I assured him my quest was personal and that I trusted him. I laid myself bare and made sure he knew the exposure was a treat, not a burden. He listened raptly and when he finally left I felt even more confident about our burgeoning roles with each other.

He wants to be restrained and told what to do. I want him to trust me and explore my dominance. The idea of him obeying me thrills me and wraps around me a sense of comfort and longing I never knew could be achieved; I want to be dominated. He wants to hurt me and I want him to; I want to bring him pleasure and show him a new world. He wants the freedom to explore, but understands I am human. He responds to my warnings and apologies with comforting words and strong assurances.

“I’m not a robot, TN. And I’m not you. Though I wish I were both.”

“Gee, Hy,” he said, his voice laced with humor, “You’re goddamned human! What a drag!”

And so yesterday, I delved into the deepening pools of our experience together and texted him this when I arrived at a White Elephant party:

Let me know if you’re feeling up for this tonight: whenever you get home, I want you to masturbate, but not cum, then text me a pic of your hard cock to let me know you followed instructions. If you’re not up for it, just say something like, “that sounds great, but not tonight.”

He immediately responded with, “I’ll do it :-)”

Such a good boy. I thrilled at the honor of topping him and throughout my night with my girlfriends I twitched and squirmed. I sent another text saying,

Then I’ll send you another set of instructions

Two hours after my first text I got a beautiful cock shot and a note that he was waiting for me.

I’ll text you when I leave this party and I want you to edge one more time. When I park at home, I’ll text again and I want you to unlock your door, blindfold yourself and wait for me on your couch. I’m not going to fuck you. I’ll be leaving very soon.

He said I had his blindfold and I told him to figure it out. Then I added:

And you’re welcome to say, Yes Ma’am :)

“Yes ma’am,” he texted.

I fingered myself on the way home and wiped my juices on my lips in anticipation. The difference in my feelings from the day before so wildly different I felt like a different woman altogether. I wasn’t sad, I felt empowered and beautiful and — above everything else — honored. Honored that he is sharing this with me, honored that he trusts me, honored that he believes I can do this well enough to bring him pleasure.

I pulled into the parking lot and texted him then started the long climb up. I smiled when I put my hand on his doorknob. I walked in and he lay on the couch resplendently nude with a blue patterned tie across his eyes. His erection huge and gorgeous.

Wordlessly I walked by and put my things down on the kitchen table and went into the bathroom for a quick French toilette. I walked back out and anticipation rose off of him like steam. “I like your solution,” I said as I began to take off my clothes.

“Oh, the blindfold?”

“Yes. You have a key to my apartment, you know.” My boots thudded to the floor and the lighter thuds of my clothing followed.

“I know. I like this, too, though.”

“Mmm, me, too,” I purred as I crawled up over him and pressed my soft belly into his hardness. I left my lacy pink and red bra on and let them cradle his face like big, round balls of dough.

I sucked him and laved his body with my tongue. I took pictures of him with his hardness gripped in my black-tipped hand and his cock nestled between my lace-encased breasts. He begged to fuck me. I said no.

Beautiful boy.

“Please, Hy. Come on. Think of how good it will feel. That first push, so deep. Your sweet, pink pussy parting for me.” I whimpered and moaned around his cock, but shook my head no. “Please…”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I said to his beautiful, sightless face. “If you cum, you can fuck me.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. His cumming is a 3 out of 5 odds game at best. “Ok, I can do that.”

I sucked and loved and stroked him some more before I led him to his darkened room. The pine 4x4s he’d used to reinforce his broken bed wafted their light scent into the dark space above. I gently laid him down and fell back down onto his cock. I bade him tell me exactly how to suck him and I dutifully followed his instructions, but he felt defeated and at a loss.

I assured him that fucking was not our goal, nor was cumming. I told him not to cum. I gave him breaks and kissed his chest and jaw and sweet, bow lips. Finally, my heart broke for him, he felt too responsible and so I climbed up on top of him, his eyes still barred from sight, and slid him deep inside of me.

Climaxes washed over me sweetly and then I switched us around and let him pound me from behind. I knew he was exhausted and drained and I felt somehow that it was time to stop. I pulled away from him and he whimpered, but I only laid down and pulled him with me.

“C’mere,” I said sweetly and wrapped my arms around him. “We’re done. You gotta know when not to overwork the Thoroughbreds.”

“Ok,” he conceded.

“Don’t worry, I got this. You did great.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said sadly.

“Stop it, you did great. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You stayed hard for over an hour.”

“More like three hours. Ever since you told me what to do.”

“Well, there you go.” I untied his blindfold and kissed his eyes. “We’ll figure this orgasm thing out. I promise.”

And so it was, the domme and her little sub laid in each other’s arms and talked more about their sex party and their expectations, never really admitting to the elephant that is her love for him dominating the room. The new domme learned more about her young sub’s motivations and psyche and promised herself to imitate him in more ways than one.

“Don’t come back at me a week from now mad at me, Hy, saying that I don’t care about you.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. I get it.”

“I just don’t give a fuck. But, I’m not saying I don’t give a fuck about you. I’m just emotionally detached, I guess.”

“I know. And thank you. I’m done talking about all of this now. I’m exhausted and I just feel like I’m boring you. I’m getting self conscious.”

“You’re totally not boring me.”

“Thanks, but all the same. I’m done. I reserve the right to pull the plug on this at any time.” He tensed next to me and I heard his breath catch.

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“This whole sex party thing. If I don’t like it or change my mind, I’m out.” His entire body relaxed and I heard the soft exhale of the breath he’d been holding.

“Of course,” he answered. I knew he’d thought I’d meant pulling the plug on us, even though he’d just gotten done explaining to me in no uncertain terms that it would never bother him to see me with other men because, he “just doesn’t give a fuck.” But then again, I know he really and truly doesn’t give a fuck and he’s not just saying that.

Now, if only I can remind myself that as I watch him pump furiously into another woman. This sex party will either make or break me, but I’m not going to shy away from it. Let it burn me till I’m nothing but a pitiful mess of ashes. With any luck, I’ll rise from the pile of shit more powerful than ever.

I told him I was tired and it was time for me to go and asked him to gather up my clothes. He jumped up to do my bidding and I lay under the marshmallow clouds of his comforter thinking my life. I’m flapping new wings as a fledgling domme, I am in the process of slashing all hope away from my bones for a real future with this man I can’t stop loving, I am hunting down the real me — the one who doesn’t need anyone else to tell her she’s good enough, and I’m going to go to a fucking sex party in two weeks to watch my love potentially fuck another woman in order to burn the pain out of the marrow of my bones.

I dressed slowly and crawled back over the bed to give him a final kiss. “You did good tonight,” I said against his lips.

“You did, too.”

photo 2(2)
I never stop wishing he were next to me when I wake.

Don’t wake me up.

In the bright light of morning, our debauched fun last night is irrefutable. I was boss for most of the night, then it was his turn. I am the upperclassman by default and it comes surprisingly easily.

Don’t get me started on the open bottle of lube, the tired-looking Hitachi, the dirty dishes, and empty popcorn bowls scattered about the apartment. It’s goddamned beautiful.

Whimsical glass butt plugs, garters and stockings, wrists and ankles bound, candle light, exclamations of beauty and lust, an obedient man/a domineering woman//an obedient woman/a domineering man, kisses and whispers and fucking and sucking, slurping and swallowing, eating and drinking, cuddling and touching, talking and laughing.  On and on and on it went.

And when I thought I could handle no more he begs me for one last thing.  “Can we please watch Bubba Ho-Tep now??”  He’d been so good, I couldn’t refuse him.  Curled into his lap, his soft belly my pillow, I dozed and started from time to time.

“Wait,” he said as the end credits rolled, “I want one more thing.  A goodbye fuck.  Come on.”  And he grabbed my hand and dragged me into my room which, bathed in warm candlelight was the crime scene of passion: silk scarves pooled like blood, pillows lay about the floor like broken bodies, and the ties on the bed a hint of how it’d all come to pass.

Then he fucked me one last time, took my breath away, and kissed me all over as I lay in the wet spot he’d made me create 2 hours earlier while wrapped up in restraints.

Finally, it was late.  “We have a race to think about,” I said.  “I’m fucking exhausted.”

He kissed me again and I wrapped myself in a white robe, gingerly stepping over the toys and pillows and scarves and walked him to the front door where I kissed him again.

“I’ll text you early tomorrow,” he said.

“Ok,” I waved at him and yawned.  “See you tomorrow. By the way, that was goddamned fantastic.”

“Yes.  Yes it was,” he agreed and he finally left.

I’m immersed in a libertine’s wet dream.




There was a man here first, then a woman. She had never been in a 4-point restraint before.

I bruised my hand from spanking.

Wine glass in hand I lay on Tina’s bed.  She was touching up the paint on her toes and we were talking life, love, and threesomes.  My phone chimed.

“It’s The Neighbor, isn’t it?”

I picked it up.  “Yep,” I said smiling.  It was his cock.

He knew I was over there.  I’d asked him to send me a cock pic earlier and he’d asked for a minute or two to clean up from the gym.  I’d told him, “Good boy,” and sent him a picture of my cleavage with Tina’s cool hand in the cleft.

“Jesus Christ,” he’d texted.  “I appreciate you so much.  I’ll be home in a few minutes, unless I crash while looking at that picture in which case I will die smiling.”

TN has been body-snatched, y’all.

“I’ll be home soon,” I’d replied.  “Leave your door unlocked.  What a sweet boy.”

Fifteen minutes later he sent the perfect Bat Signal: the image of him buck-ass naked holding his giant erection.

My response was immediate to him.  “Wow. Got the pic.  Leaving this second.”  I turned to Tina.  “I gotta go,” I told her laughing.

“Yeah, you do. Damn, that guy has it bad for you.  What the hell did he say to you just now?”

Nothing,” I smirked.

He answered the door glowing white and naked and let me in.  I walked back to his bed and sat down, but he begged me to get up.  He still hasn’t been able to stabilize it since we broke it last week.  “Just go next door.  I’ll be right there.  I promise.”

I complied and no sooner had I hung up my purse and things than he walked through the door, sadly clothed.  We sat on the couch and found each other with our mouths.  My hands ran up his shorts and found his arousal.  I peeled off my sweater and glowed under his appraising eyes.  I have never felt more beautiful with this man than I have in the past 48 hours.

I sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  He sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  “Lets go in your room,” he said.

He unzipped my boots with his teeth and tossed them on the floor with a laugh.  I was in black lace panties and knee-high socks with white stripes at the top.  “Jesus Christ, you’re hot,” he moaned and fell on top of me, crushed me with his mouth and muscles and warm, creamy skin.

“I want to turn your lily-white ass red,” I moaned back.

He stopped short then kept kissing me, dipping into my mouth and looking into my eyes.  I stared back at him, bold and unafraid of my own passion.  “Yes.  Get on your belly.”

He rolled off of me and lay quietly below me.  I spread his knees and positioned myself between them and struck his right buttock.  Hard. “What do you want to tell me if you’ve had enough?” I asked him, too shy to say “safeword.”

“You mean a safeword??”

“Yes.  I’m going to hurt you, but I’m no sadist.  You have all the control here.  What’s your word?”


“Good.  Thank you,” I said and cracked my hand down on his right flank.  I struck and wailed and rained my hand down upon him.  He writhed and tried to crawl away from me.  I wrapped my arm beneath his hips and pulled him back to me.  Asked him if I ever tried to get away from him?

I pressed my thighs into his and kissed his inflamed skin, crooned to him, told him he was a good boy.  I told him how hot he was.

He whimpered and tried to curl up with each blow, but it took no effort for me to pull him closer back to me, to my warmth and love.

I concentrated on one space of his canvas only occasionally breaking to the left.  My hand stung and my pussy dripped.  I felt time freeze and my heart swell outside of my body.  I could see every hair on his body and smell his pleasure and his fear and his contentment like fresh-baked cookies.

I paused as he laughed and cried into the mattress.  I felt a strange kind of remorse for what I’d done, but also a sick sense of pride.  I needed to care of him.  “I’ll be right back,” I told him.  “Don’t move, honey.”

I ran and grabbed an ice-cube and returned to the glowing ember of his ass.  He started when I put the cool rock on his skin, but relaxed as it slid beneath my palm.   As the water ran down his hips and between his buttocks I caressed the heat and pressed my lips to him.

“Is that better?” I whispered against his bottom and kissed it tenderly.

“Yes,” he answered and then my hand cracked down on the wet spot.

I fondled his soft cock and gently tugged on his balls as I brought the heat back to his backside, then slid my hand to his crack and pressed at the little starfish in the center.  He tried to retreat.  “I won’t hurt you.  It’s ok.”

“But what if I’m dirty?”  he worried.

“You’re not dirty.  Your ass is beautiful and I want it.  Come here,” and I pulled him back to me and spread his knees further.  “Arch your back,” I said softly.  He arched and I pressed just one slender finger inside of him.  He was so tight I felt my own center quicken.  Oh, how I wished I had a cock to slip deep inside of him, all the way to my hips, to feel him tight around me and writhing.   Men are so lucky.

I felt for the invisible scar on his lower back with my free hand and kissed its raised skin, wishing all the reasons it was there never existed.  My poor friend.  He never deserved any of that.  My breasts pressed into his soft ass.

I barely wiggled around inside of him, only one knuckle, and continued to spank him.  I was afraid of going too far with my fragile new toy; my finger one little thread holding the beautiful puppet before me.

“I want to leave a mark on you, like you do me.” I told him.

“Do it,” he agreed.  “Let’s see how you’re doing so far.”  I let him get up and he swung his bottom into the light of the bathroom.  There were broken capillaries, but no deep, blooming welts like he leaves on me.  With a quick hand I struck him again.  He winced, but remained still.

My hand stung and throbbed and I suddenly knew we were done.  I couldn’t think straight, my memory of minutes before was blurry.  I’m not even sure I have the lead up to this right.  I could be writing complete fiction.

I next remember laying with him and him asking me, “When did this happen, Hy?  I didn’t know you had this in you.”

I thought for a second.  “It’s always been there, but this trust you give me, it sets it free.  It’s so hot, so beautiful.  It turns me on so much. You have no idea.  Do you like it??”  Suddenly I was unsure, worried I’d hurt him, terrified him.

“Yes,” he answered.  Maybe he said he loved it or thought it was fucking hot.  Again, I can’t remember, my brain was scrambled and I still can’t sort it all out.

He stroked me, kissed me, touched me, dipped his fingers inside and exclaimed at my wetness.  He started to slam his hand inside of me and a climax came up and washed over me and right out my pulsing hole, a river of emotion and arousal bounding down a mountainside of flesh.

Then he pulled me into his arms and held me and kissed me tenderly.  “Do you ever have to think about it when you spank me?” I asked him.  “Does it come naturally to you?  You’re not just doing that for my sake, are you?”

“No, not at all.  I love it.  It just happens to me, too.”

He rolled into me and spooned me warmly, wrapped his arm around me and squeezed and kissed my neck.  I began to talk gibberish and found myself awakening in mid-sentence as I struggled to maintain consciousness.  He giggled at me and I flushed at my own vulnerability — the only thing worse would be to be caught drooling in my sleep.

He rose then and tucked me in.  I muttered something — incoherent, perhaps — and I’d like to think he kissed me somewhere before leaving saying he’d lock the door behind him, but I don’t remember.  I was already fast asleep, my hand scalded and bruised from abuse.

I will never shake hands cavalierly again.



I give my first spanking.

Yesterday was a long day of missed opportunities and the usual guilt that comes with an overly flexible schedule and not enough to do.  Coffee-pumped and butt-sore from writing all day I left the coffee shop to shop for dinner for Peyton and my ex.

The day was bright and beautiful, the weather strangely warm with a cool undertone, like one of those filtered Instagram pics everyone is so fond of using.  I bought some sole, celery root, and squash, a nice Spanish red and two bricks of butter.  My navy blue glasses perched on my head like the unused torture-devices they were; I squinted the entire time in the store and hoped no one I knew thought I was ignoring them if they saw me.

Earlier in the day, I’d texted The Neighbor about something and he’d said, “We’ll talk later [about me pulling away].”  I sent him a picture of my pussy from beneath my skirt with a winky face in return (I’m nothing if not subtle) and went about my strange, lazy, mostly unproductive day.

I considered warning him that my ex and Peyton were over in case he popped by, but decided against it; I’d rather see what happened in real-time rather than trying to strong-arm the situation into something “easy.”  I shouldn’t have worried; he didn’t show his face.

I accidentally insulted my ex, loved on my baby, made a fabulous celery root puree with papillon sole wrapped around thyme and nestled on a bed of matchstick squash and herbs, and almost had too much wine.  It was 7:30 when they left.

I stood in my apartment and felt lucky.  Lucky to be alive, to feel strong, to feel safe and stable.  I’ve made terrific new friends over the last year and I feel like my cup runneth over with love, attention, things to do and places to be.  Not having any plans made me feel free and open and not at all lonely like I might have felt in the past.

TN’s silence all day since our morning texts occurred to me occasionally, but didn’t linger.  I would let him come to me on his own time.  I would worry only about me and set the tone as I vowed to do a couple of days ago.

My back ached and the tub called out to me.  Himalayan bath salts spiked the warm air as I drew my bath, poured myself a third glass of wine and got my book.  TN flashed in my mind again.  Would he knock while I was in the bath?  Should I keep my phone close in case he did?  I deliberately left it out of reach.  I could be unreachable for an hour.  We’d both survive.

I lay in that water until it was lukewarm and my neck ached for straining to read.  Then, “brrrrrrring!”  The chime on my phone went off.  I stood up and wrapped myself in a towel.  I knew it was him.

“You awake?” my phone glowed.  It was 10 pm.

“Yeah.  What’s up?”

“I want to cum on your face.”

“Haha.  Give me 10 and I’ll text you when I’m out.”


“Save that cum, Neighbor.”

I turned on the shower and shaved and lathered with sweet-smelling things never actually found in the wild – berries and vanilla and honey and love.  As I stepped out, steaming and slick, an idea hit me.  I picked up my phone again.

“Come in and lay on my couch.  No pants.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

Instinctively I knew he would comply.  I took my time finding sheer black panties and see-through white t-shirt and began to blow-dry my hair.  I knew he could hear it from the other room.  When my hair was dry enough to not be cold on his warm skin while I impaled my face on him, I quietly turned out the lights, grabbed my glass of wine and walked out into the living room.

He was there, under a blanket, stroking himself.  The Christmas tree lights glowed a soft pink on him.  I sauntered closer and said, “Well, isn’t this a wonderful sight to see.”  I bent over his face to place my glass on the table beside him.  I stood and peeled back the blanket.  His pants were gone.

“Mmm.  I like this,” and without another word I fell on his cock, warm and delicious and clean.  He swelled in my hand and mouth and he sucked in his breath.

“Oh my God, I’m so sensitive… softer, softer,” he begged.

I lightened my touch and he moaned and exclaimed again, this time for perfection.

I swung my bottom around so he could get a good view of it and he snaked his hands between my legs and began to pet my pulsing vulva.  I whimpered and gagged on his cock.  He lightly swatted my rear end.

I sat up and stretched long and lean in the light and pulled my shirt over my head and returned my breasts to his mouth.  He clutched at them both and sucked on both nipples at once.  He stared up at me from those white mounds and I remembered him saying, “You must have been so beautiful pregnant.  I would never have stopped sucking on your tits.”  I groaned and closed my eyes and clutched his head to me and began to slide my crotch along his erection, the skin caught on the lace of my panties.

“Help me take these off,” I breathed into his ear.

“No.  Keep them on,” he retorted.  My eyebrow lifted in interest as I pulled the fabric aside and leaned over, my  head resting on his shoulder.  My free hand found his cock and guided it in.  I was wet and ready.  I slowly bore down and sat up and a squeal escaped my lips.

I rocked hard on him and felt blossom after blossom bloom in my chest, but I stopped before I released on him and got off and turned around, my knees on the edge of the couch, my back arched, my ass silhouetted against the lights and returned my mouth to his tasty pole.

I could taste myself, slightly metallic from some very light spotting, clean and womanly all the same.  His hand stroked my flank gently, no spanking.  I pivoted around so I was between his knees with one shapely leg to the floor and began to work him.  It was swift and compulsive.  His semen shot down my throat, his hands forced my head down lower than I could take and I felt spurts at the back of my throat.

He tasted of ambrosia and his laughter filled the air like so many butterflies.

I quickly climbed back on him and put him inside of me.  I rocked a little, but not much.  He continued to laugh and convulse.  He’d lost it a little; a fine reminder that he likes to be subdued by me.

We talked like that for a while, him going soft inside of me.  I offered him a sip of my wine but he refused.  “I’m at exactly 1600 calories today and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You know,” I began, looking down at him with his cock peacefully hugged inside my body, “I’m really proud of you for doing this.  I hope you enjoy it.”

“You know, I kinda do.  And just wait, you’re gonna be so happy when you get to be with this hot, buff dude one day.”

I smiled.  “I already think you’re hot, but ok!  And just wait, you must be so happy to be with me!  Big boobs, big ass –” He cut me off.

“Hy, no, I get to be with this voluptuous, gorgeous, sexy woman!”  I melted under the praise so rarely meted out, each word emphasized with a stroke of his hands on my curves.  “I want to see you cum.  Let’s go in your room.”

We walked naked back to the darkness of my room, the candle I’d lit during my bath sputtering like dappled light through trees.  He spanked me then, hard.  I leaned my bottom back into the cradle of his pelvis.  “Get on the bed, Hy.”

“No.  Hit me again.”  I bent over the bed and arched a little.  His hand rained down on me as I writhed then climbed up and lay down.  He hooked his fingers inside of me and began to stroke.  “No, please, be gentle,” I begged.  His stroking softened and he handed me my vibe.

“I came 4 times yesterday before you made me cum,” I said.  “I tried again this morning, but I was too sensitive.  I hope this works now.”  He chuckled and dipped his head to my breast as answer.

I turned on the vibrator and timidly placed it on my clit.  I jumped at the sensation and began the almost nauseating climb up.  He teased and coaxed me with his hand and fingers and the vibrator played dastardly collaborator to his stroking.  I twisted, panted, and moaned.

His free hand latched onto my throat and gently squeezed.  My arousal leapt to a new plateau; exquisite, painful, beautiful, blinding.  My cunt throbbed and I searched for release, but the tension was so intense I was lost.  I flipped the vibrator off and managed to whisper, “Edging… I’m edging.. too much… might die.”

His warm, deep chuckle filled my ears and I flicked the toy back on.  This time, I leapt to a level above the previous.  I quivered and shook, nearly felt sick.  His hand flew to my neck and he growled, “Fucking cum for me now, you fucking slut.  NOW.”

I yearned for it, sought and fought for it, but this new place had me spinning out of control.  I began to cry and I could only feel his breath on my face for my eyes were sealed shut. I broke it off for a handful of seconds, begging to rest, but he said, “No.  I’m taking this.  Now.”  And his hand slammed into me and my pussy cried its pleasure into his cupped palm and my body incinerated into flames of desire.

I went back to it with my toy, motioned for his hand to return to my neck, and swiftly and powerfully climaxed out of the planes of my body into somewhere out there.

A puddle of a woman I cried as he climbed back over me and tucked me into his arms.  He crooned and hushed me sweetly.  I barely knew how to talk.  He was happy with me.  I was happy with me.  This is how we communicate, the two of us.  These two idiots who can’t stay away, but can’t be together.

I told him I’d been obsessing about playing with his ass.  For weeks now, ever since I’d learned he had a butt plug collection from his Domme days I have tried — and failed — to bring it into our bedrooms.  “I want to play with your pretty ass, TN.  I really do.  I’m obsessed with it.”

He paused for a second and finally said.  “Ok.  Just give me a heads up of an hour.  When do you want to do it?”

Immediately I said, “Friday.  And Saturday.  And Sunday, too.”  We laughed and settled on Friday.

When I had cooled down more and felt righted he stood up and walked around to my side of the bed.  I sucked his chubby cock gently and answered more of his questions.  “What’s it like to suck cock?”  “What’s it like to swallow cum?”  “Is it fun?”  “Does it taste good?”

“It’s wonderful.  It’s a little scary sometimes because I have no control.  Its the best thing ever. You taste amazing.”

He pulled out and turned to the side.  “Spank me,” he said.

Surprised, I complied.  I missed and tried again.  Good, hard, stinging contact.  “Ow,” he cried.

“C’mere,” I purred and pulled his wrist down towards the bed and laid him prostrate across my lap.  I struck his round, white bottom with alacrity, a steady hand and thoughtful heart.  He jolted with each smack and I caressed his angry skin.  “Stand up,” I commanded.

I positioned him just like he’d had me minutes before.  His lily whiteness outlined by my dark aubergine sheets.  I could see a curve in his waist and it brought me up short.  I didn’t know men could look so soft from behind.

With some force I brought my hand down on his right flank.  I felt it in my own cheek.  Again and again and with each crack he arched his back and howled and twisted, and I would hold his hips tenderly and press my thighs into the backs of his, press my hand warmly on the sting, kiss it sweetly to make it better.

My excitement grew; the trust he handed me intoxicating like a fine whiskey.

“You’re a good boy,” I said.

He answered with an “Mmmm.”

I returned to my ministrations and could see it was hurting more with each blow.  I began to lighten my touch, but continued to focus on the same, hot, weeping spot.  Finally, I stopped and kissed his red skin one last time.  “Stand up.  Let’s see it in the light.”

He flipped on the light and we looked at his buns.  A nice, round cherry-red mark glowed before us.

“I want it darker,” he said and walked back to the edge of the bed and bent over.

I worried about hurting him, but thrilled at the idea of creating something with my hand on the canvas of his body.  I struck him several more times until I knew I couldn’t bear it anymore.  We checked the red in the light again and it was brighter still, like the shameful blush of a masturbating teenaged boy who’d been interrupted by his mother.

“That’s better,” he approved.  I took a picture and sent it to him.  His bubbly butt marred by my first spanking ever.

We returned to the couch to gather his things.  “I’m not going to cum again until Jack and Emma on Sunday,” he mentioned casually.

“No,” I countered, “You can cum, but only with me.” He looked pensive for a split second then agreed.  “Besides, your ass is mine Friday, remember??”

“Oh, right,” he smiled as he pulled his clothes back on.  Dressed and ready to leave now we unhesitatingly went to each other for a goodnight kiss.  It was deep, passionate and hard, sweetness proven with our roaming hands and our bodies pressed against each other from hip to shoulder.

It felt real to me, authentic.  We love each other.  He is my best friend.  I fuck him.  Finally, finally, I have figured out where to put this in my heart: I am fucking my best friend.