::
:: 
:: 
::
::
::
I am anonymous.
I’ve written more pornographic works of fiction than you’d care to imagine. I want you to be anonymous too. I want you to log out of your blogger accounts and talk dirty to me. I want to hear your sexual fantasies and I want you to hear mine.
Fantasy can be a paler version of reality or it can be an end in itself, allowing us to imagine what we can't or would rather not try. Here are three of mine.
Sshh, gather round. Draw the curtains and promise not to tell.
Fantasy 1
I’m in a room like a large prison cell, all whitewashed walls and tiny, barred windows. I’m naked and hog-tied, suspended on the horizontal, my legs held open by the ropes. Leaning casually against the wall, a gang of mean, muscular soldiers are watching me. They’re grimy and shaven-headed, and they’re wearing camouflage pants and dirty combat boots. They’re waiting till it’s their turn to fuck me or stick their cock in my mouth. I feel exposed and ashamed, horribly aware that my cunt is on display and I'm wet.
One guy strides forwards, unzipping. He’s brawny and arrogant, and I sway on the ropes as he moves between my thighs. He penetrates me, gripping my hips as he pounds hard and fast. The other soldiers are smiling and sneering. Another steps forwards. ‘Make her suck your dick,’ says someone, and he does.
This fantasy doesn’t have an ending. It’s not that kind of narrative. More men fuck me. ‘Can she take another?’ ‘Yeah, she's a slut.’ Sometimes they leave me alone, or push me on my ropes. I sway gently. I might get impaled, mouth or cunt, on a cock or dildo. They laugh, making jokes and talking about me as if I don’t exist.
Fantasy 2
I’m a subject in medical research. I’m naked, strapped in one of those reclining, gynae chairs, my knees bent and fixed open. I’m hooked up to monitors and various bits of bleepy, flashy equipment.
There are two guys in white coats, one by my side holding a clipboard, the other standing between my thighs. They’re friendly but aloof - professionals interested in my reponses not in me. The guy between my legs examines and touches me – my breasts, cunt and inner thighs. He crouches down to study me, peeling my labia apart and holding me open. Standing, he deliberately arouses me, reporting his findings to his colleague: ‘She’s getting very wet’ or ‘I think she’ll come soon.’ Sometimes, he gives me a kind smile. ‘Is that good?’ he’ll ask, working his fingers inside me.
Fantasy 3
It’s night time and I’m walking down an alley in a seedy part of town. On the street I’ve just left, there are shabby strip joints, neon signs and narrow doorways. A man steps out of the shadows. Before I can scream, he slams me up against the wall, clamping his hand to my mouth.
‘Shut it, bitch,’ he hisses, fumbling with his fly. I’m fighting back, screaming into his hand, but it makes no difference. He’s strong, he’s horny and can overpower me without much trouble. He enjoys his strength and the fact he can torment me. He grins. ‘You’re going to like this,’ he says, slowly jerking his cock. He fucks me up against the wall. He’s rough and ruthless, grunting and panting. Sometimes he orders me to turn around and he fucks me from behind. Sometimes, he forces me to my knees, clutching my hair in his fists as he fucks my mouth.
Again, this fantasy is never ending.
So where will you to take me? What goes on in the murky corners of your mind? What are you thinking when you’re on the edge of coming?
I don’t care if you’re man, woman or undecided. I don’t care how pretty the writing is. Give me scenes, give me snippets, give me truth. Put your inhibitions away with your identity. Be anonymous. Be brave. Be yourself.
Let’s melt this blog.
What is it? Go on, I’m listening.
45 comments:
So, what, Ms Anon? You tell us all you dirty fantasies are about unnamed people sexing you up, and then you as us to hide our identities and sex you up.
You are very bad. If I knew who you were I'd send some strict disciplinarians round.
Hey Anonymous. Like, how many strict disciplinarians? What are they wearing on their feet? What would they say to me? What would they do? Do they have tattoos?
Just, you know, curious.
I used to have more fantasies of that kind - I think I go through phases. At the moment, I take the stuff of reality & spin it into the story I want to happen that clearly can't. The damnable side of writing novels is that it's harder to let rip with fantasy - to throw versimilitude to the winds - so I end up weaving long elaborate excuses.
"Oh, look! The flood waters have stranded me with X and I can't possibly get home tonight - looks like I'll have to stay over - on that narrow single bed with him..."
What about the floor? One of you could sleep on the floor, it would be less compromising.
"Oh bugger."
(Quick redraft of script to include entire cast of downstairs flats whose homes are now flooded and require accommodation on the first floor. Floor now has small family from downstairs on it.)
"We'll have to share that single bed!"
You can't have SEX with CHILDREN in the room! Stop it!
(Quick redraft; substitute family with assorted neighbours of the age of majority.)
"So here we are - sharing that single bed - and all my clothes are soaked so I had to take them off..."
Wouldn't he at least have lent you a t-shirt?
"FINE! I'M WEARING A T-SHIRT! OKAY? HAPPY NOW? AND WE FANCY EACH OTHER! WE'RE PASSIONATELY DEEPLY EMOTIONALLY ATTRACTED! AND WE'RE ALONE! EXCEPT FOR THE REFUGEES FROM DOWNSTAIRS! AND WE'RE IN BED! NAKED! EXCEPT FOR THE T-SHIRT! HAPPY? CAN WE HAVE SEX NOW?"
Is that helicopters? Maybe they've come to rescue everyone...
In the end I have an easier, hornier time writing my novels than having my own fantasies. I didn't even go into the long-term emotional implications of the above vignette. In the end, there were no helicopters but we both ended up in tears. I kid you not.
Sorry Head Honcho Anon Person, you said to tell it like it is... and it's pretty damn sad.
I am a spy or something. A goodie. I get captured.
Baddies are saying to me, 'Tell us the missile launch codes or we will torture you.' This is not good. I cannot tell them the codes or they will launch missiles at my beloved homeland. But I do not want to be tortured. (I am not a pervert.)
So I struggle and go, 'No, no, don’t torture me.' All pathetic.
Then this very good looking tall well built man (most often played by David Boreanaz these days, as it happens) steps forward. He is maybe another undercover agent, or a baddie having a change of heart. He says, 'Don't torture her. That is evil and wrong, you fucking cowards. And against the Geneva convention.'
'Okay. Fine,' say baddies. 'This often works better anyway. We will torture him until you tell us the launch codes, bitch.'
But I can't tell them. I can’t tell them the launch codes. I don't want this man to get tortured, but what can I do? Anyway they are already ripping his shirt off so it hangs down in white shreds around his waist. And chaining him face first to the wall.
Usually they whip him. Or other bad things. And they make me watch. They're evil! And he's so brave at first and holds it. But then he starts moaning, then crying out. And his back is a mess.
Several times they ask him if her regrets trying to help me, twisting his hair to turn his head. He says no even when he's panting so hard he can hardly talk.
And they keep telling me I could stop it if I told the launch codes. But I can't tell the codes – thousands would die. I can't really stop it. Except I could. I could. Just like that.
Ms Anon, mine are far more down to earth.
The current one involves being lost on some desert island - Hawaii when the movie rights are sold. Two very heterosexual males, for some reason which really isn't important in the scheme of things, are forced to get it on with each other. As we are in Hawaii they are played by cute and manly good guy Jack and naughty dirty boy Sawyer!
Suddenly they become very passionate with each other and watching them I find the turn on amazing.
Eventually of course all three of us end up in bed together - bed grass, a beach, it doesn't matter. Fantasy doesn't take into account creepy crawlies or sand getting in the most uncomfortable places. In my fantasy everything is passionate and erotic.
Anyway of course soon they both find out that they fancy me even more than they do each other.
I think I'm going to have a lie down now and watch a DVD of Lost!!!
I can identify with some of what "Flood Waters" Anonymous describes, having often experienced the problem of an overactive superego cutting into my fantasies:
SUPEREGO: Are you certain she's comfortable in that position?
SUPEREGO: If she keeps that outfit on, won't it be ruined?
SUPEREGO: I know we've been over this time and again, but are you SURE it's ethical to fantasize about a real-life coworker? Well, yeah, she is pretty hot. Actually . . . do you mind if I get in on this?
I'm veering off into farce, as usual--oops, I mean I'm veering off into farce, even though I've never commented here before . . . but I'm not kidding about the basic problem.
I want to write a Minotaur scene! I wanna! I wanna! In fact I did. Unfortunately the editor in question said publishing it would get him sacked.
Pah.
So here tis:
‘Oh, you do understand English then?’ The smell of wet cow wafted to me. I took a cautious pace forward. ‘Bull Peter? Is that your name?’
His head tilted, big ears flicking forward to catch my voice. I could see his nostrils flaring and narrowing with every breath. His neck was very thick, his head blunt even for a bull, with chestnut curls on his poll. A beef breed, I thought, not dairy. Beef cattle are bred more docile.
An arse-man, not a tit-man then. It was his lucky day.
‘Hey now, Peter. You’re not going to hurt me, are you?’ I took another couple of steps, brandishing the torch like Van Helsing brandishing a crucifix. He scraped the earth with one hoof. ‘It’s all right. All right.’
I was within arm’s length now. I reached out with one hand and brushed my fingertips across his chest. He felt warm, under the stiff and soaked hair. I could see where the fur lay in whorls at his shoulders, but his musculature was that of a man. He even had nipples.
‘Wow,’ I whispered to myself. He shivered, his hide dancing under my fingertips. I stroked his chest slowly, still holding the torch between us and angled up at his face, my thumb on the button.
Deep in his chest he uttered a noise, half bovine low and half groan.
‘Shush.’ I let my hand trail down to his belly, and followed its path with my eyes. He had no thicker pubic hair and the skin of his genitals was bare, but they were the same deep brown colour as his fur. His cock already hung big and distended, though it wasn’t totally out of proportion for a human. Unlike his bollocks, that is. He really was hung like an animal.
‘You’re not real, Bull Peter,’ I whispered, discovering that he had no navel. ‘So what’s the harm?’ My exploring fingertips circled his prick and he shuddered all over. He felt hot in my cold hand and it thickened at once in response to my touch, so that all of a sudden my fingertip couldn’t reach my thumb around its circumference. I stroked him up and down rhythmically. He was like velvet to the touch and, beneath that, hardwood. ‘Oh, you’re a big boy,’ I told him, delighted.
He seemed hypnotised. His head was tilted high. The eye of his cock gleamed, his own lubrication mingling with the rain. I wanted to fondle the big pouch of his balls but I only had one hand free so I had to release his cock. His whole frame surged back to life and he laid his hands on the front of my coat.
His fingers were thick and blunt.
He tore my waterproof open, pulling the zip from the rubberised cotton with no apparent effort. Then he tore open my sweatshirt and blouse together, exposing me to the sudden chill, and slid to his knees in front of me. I gasped with shock, rocking on my heels. His enormous head dropped to a level with my torso and then his great wet bovine tongue slid out and lapped at my left breast as if trying to lick it off. Cattle have incredibly muscular tongues. And wet, slippery noses. I was overwhelmed by sensation as he mouthed and licked and tried to suckle at my pathetically small and human nipples, coating me in his saliva, his brown eyes rolling. Overwhelmed so completely that I didn’t notice him rending the front of my trousers until the elastic and plastic and the thin leggings beneath had given way with a sound of tearing. I laid my hand on his muzzle and cried out. Then I lost my grip as he ducked his head and licked right up between my legs, nearly lifting me off the floor. Only his hands, transferred to my thighs, kept me from tumbling. He pinned me in place as, snuffling, he explored my exposed sex and gently butted my clit.
Their tongues are really long too. He had no problem ascertaining the state of readiness of my sex or of effecting a preliminary entry. There was no question but that I was ready for mating. The torch slid out of my numb hand. As he stood he lifted me, holding me to his chest, and bellowed in triumph. The vibration made my bones tremble. My head rang.
In three strides he had me pinned against the rough wall of the cottage and I was sobbing with fear and relief as he entered me with his prick...
I don't actually have detailed fantasies -- I never even picture the boy/man/boys/men in question clearly. And I don't fantasise about people I know, even celebrities. The only exception is when I'm reading a great book with a very hot male character.
Usually it's touching myself and just going for the sensation. I know exactly what 10:41 anonymous means about long elaborate excuses, so I simply stick a backdrop in my mind, nearly always one I know in real life. Sometimes I select the most general type of guy, and once in a blue moon, a vague situation.
Examples: Ski locker room in Aspen. Snowboarder boy. / Up against this marble wall. Man in suit. / I can't think of any more. Drat.
Fantasy #2 works for me.
Up against a wall, 2.16. Oh, yes! That usually works for me.
Usually? OK, always.
I'm a bit jaded by now, so it often takes the most bizarre thing to get me off. I’m talking about cruising for spanking and caning paraphernalia on ebay and then making up cruel fantasies to go along with the items. Like this collection. (Stop laughing, Tilly. I never said I was good at being anonymous. Oooh, look. A t-shirt!)
In my fantasies I step back in time, two years, to be exact...when my ex-husband was still my husband and his best friend was still my lover, and they both loved having a go at me at the same time.
The part that makes me come? Hubby is lying on the bed under me, and I'm riding his dick. I'm also sucking on the best friend's cock. My hubby, oh-so-straight except for this one little fetish of sharing his wife, surprises the fuck out of me when he joins in to help...by sucking his best friend's balls into his mouth right as I get a mouthful of come.
And THAT is when things get really interesting...
Naked, shimmery, well-lubed Twister death match. That counts as a fantasy, doesn't it? If you'd like to read a tease from a Twister story by Madelynne Ellis, slip-slide your way over here.
Um, not a shameless plug at all.
Of course, there's also the anal sex fantasy...
I'm tied to the bed, wrists far apart. A man (whoever my fetish of the moment happens to be) comes into the room. He looks at me, decides something is not quite right, and finds more rope. He lifts my legs over my head and ties my ankles to the headboard, too.
He works my pussy with a dildo until I am begging to come. He puts nipple clamps on me, pulling on them until I'm begging to come again. Then he gets tired of hearing me talk, and slaps a gag in my mouth.
Finally he stands between my legs on the bed, watching me as he lubes up his dick. He tells me what he's going to do -- that there will be no mercy, no heed to what I might want, nothing but what HE wants.
And he wants it rough.
In my fantasy, I come when he impales me, his hard dick pushing into my ass with one long thrust.
Gets me off every single time.
A friend offers me a chance to make extra money by helping to host a private card game. We wear sexy little outfits. The players are all male movie stars! Wow! My blackjack table has three stars at it (I don't want to be greedy or anything, so it's only three.) They vary, except that one is always (get this) Forrest Whittaker. I deal blackjack to the famous stars. They joke around about how hot I am, then they suggest something more than cards...soon I'm being fucked by all three. This doesn't have an ending, but if it did it would end with me getting paid thousands...of...pounds sterling...for doing such a good hostessing job.
Of course, there's also the anal sex fantasy...
cough, cough**Luscious**cough, cough
Let’s melt this blog
First t-shirt of the day?
Damn, who said that?
Urgent sex. It can be any give scenario but must be urgent. You know the kind. You walk through the door and you find yourself up against the wall. Skirt being flipped up or shorts peeled off. Things get ripped. No words. Grunts and sighs and sounds. That, I can't *not* fuck you right now thing...
Oh, here I am. For the very first time of the day. Checking out what everyone's writing. God, love the urgent sex one, anonymous 3:17. That's so hot. And just the word "disciplinarians" makes me wet. "Strict" is another good one. Together, bam, you've got my attention, anonymous 9:53.
What's that? I'm supposed to be anonymous today, as well? We're all supposed to be anonymous?
Oh, fuck. Let me sign out... back in a moment.
He's silver-haired. In a suit. Tie on, but pulled loose. Takes off his jacket. Rolls up his sleeves. Crisp white shirt. Strong arms.
I'm up against the wall, watching. He sits down and waits. Knowing that he doesn't have to say a word. But I need him to speak. I need him to tell me what to do. To tell me to assume the position.
He calls me Kid, if he calls me anything at all.
"You know what to do," he says, and I take a step forward. Then another. Slowly, until I am in his range, and he grips me and pulls me over his lap.
He lifts my skirt, pulls down my panties, and spanks me. Hard. Harad from the start. He spanks me until I come.
It's all I need.
Doesn't matter setting. But it's got to be being *taken*, yes taken, from behind. Strong hands on my hips and just at that crucial moment a hard bite right at the sweet spot. Where the throat meets the shoulder. That gentle slope that's so tender.
Taken...biting...tender. I'm outta here. Have to go write something. ;)
I was complaining to someone earlier that the other fantasy I posted (you'll have to guess) was a bit to lateral. 'Cause really I start one story and then stop and maybe think about a image, then I might switch to another story. Or scene really - scene more than story. Usually they will all revolve around unfairness.
It's a court. Or something. Trials. Punishments. It's unfair. The rules are unfair. He can't avoid punishment and he doesn't understand how it works. And every mistake he makes means more punishment. More pain. More imprisonment. He might die there. There's lots of bondage. He can't get away. He has to say thank you. He has to say more and please and harder. God, it's cruel. It's not always me being cruel. It sometimes is. He breaks because that's the only escape.
I love reading those sexual fantasies that run like stories, but really mine are so much more weird and random and often surreal. And like anon says in her post - they don't have endings.
(Which at least means we don't have to think about HEA.)
When my internal continuity-editor isn't around and my internal director isn't demanding high standards of realistic narrative...
* two men
* three men
* make it four...
* being spanked
* teachers, professors, lecturers, editors - oh shit, did I say that out loud?
I'm on security patrol up on the lawns of a Sisters of Mercy concert. The lawns are closed due to lack of sales, but I still have to make sure that no one climbs the fence illegally. As I'm peering beyond the fence into the shadows, I get a call on the radio.
"Roam team A, what's your 20?" It's my supervisor.
"Up on the lawns, southeast corner by the stairs." I respond post haste as I don't allow myself to dwell on the way his voice makes me wet, the way the thought of him makes me throb. Suddenly I'm overcome with lust and need to do something about it.
Furitive glances tell me that no one is around, and the nearest guard is a hundred yards away at the bottom of the hill. Hurridly, I unzip the front of my pants, thankful for once that I bought them two sizes two big. With no underwear to impede me - I had found that they just chafe when walking around for five hours - my hand slips down to my clit, which is distended, standing at attention, begging to be touched.
With no patience for gentle touches, I attack it with my middle finger, sinking to sit on the steps below me, legs splayed like a whore. I moan as quietly as I can, as waves of pleasure wash over me, even though I'm nowhere close to coming. I can feel the wetness pooling at the base of my spine, and I slowly insert two fingers into my pussy. They slide in with no problem, and a squishing sound that normally makes me smile. But no smiles for that today, as the penetration feels incredible, and my other hand moves to take over at my clit.
My fingers pinch and roll it, rubbing my lips together around my fingers.
"Well, this is a sight."
My hands come out of my pants, and my head whips to the side. My supervisor is standing there, an amused grin on his face and a rod in his pants. He glances down at my pussy, which is visible through the opening of my too large pants.
He moves in front of me, and I make a fumbled attempt to cover up. "Don't." he tells me.
Without another word, he unzips and pulls his hard on out of his pants. I'm amazed at the girth of it, and from the rumors I'd heard, he knows how to use it too. He jacks it a few times for effect, and it works. My breasts are heaving, my breath in short spurts and I'm dying to be fucked.
He helps me to my feet, turns me around and whips my pants down to my ankles. Bending me over the railing, he has no problem slipping his cock inside me. To the sounds of "Cry Little Sister", he slams into me. My fingers return to my clit, which is so sensitive at this time, it only needs a few little strokes and circles on the bud to cause me to cry out. My pussy muscles clamp around his dick, and cause more friction.
He grabs my hair and pulls my head back. Biting my neck, he whispers "Damn woman. You want me to come too soon?" I moan out loud as his hand comes around to my breasts and slips under my bra. His agile fingers find my nipple and squeeze and twist. I cry out again, moaning his name.
His manic thrusting continues, with my orgasm barely fading. Suddenly, the radio crackles to life.
"Roam Team C, what's your 20?"
"Lawns, southeast corner on the stairs." he replies. I look at him in shock. What the fuck? Does he WANT to get caught?
"Roger that. On my way to see you."
"Fuck. What are you doing? Do you want people to see us fucking?"
He grins, and shoves into me harder, causing another cry to come from the back of my throat. I bury my face in my arms and bite my lip to keep from being louder.
My hips thrust backwards, anxious to get it over with if only to NOT get busted by someone who signs the paychecks.
I've come about four times, when he suddenly pulls out. When I turn around, his hand hits my shoulder and forces me to my knees. He sticks his throbbing cock in my face. It's purple and looks like it's ready to explode.
"Suck it." It's not a question, it's a command, and I'm on the clock. That means I do what my supervisor tells me to do. My mouth opens and he sticks it in. He grabs either side of my head and starts fucking my face.
My cheeks cave in with pressure, and my hand reaches up to cup his balls. As I give them a gentle squeeze, he groans and throws his head back. I can feel his come hit the back of my throat and I start swallowing, barely able to keep up.
We hear a rustling at the top of the hill and both dress in haste. As two heads appear at the stairway, we pretend like we've been chasing a jumper.
How else would you explain, out of breath & flushed?
A young lady of my acquaintance asked me to post this for her. -LGH
Having grown up in strict southern family where there was never any question that I would be spanked whenever and for whatever my Ma and Pa decided, just as long as I lived under their roof, I decided it would be smart to get out on my own just as soon as I could after finishing teachers' college.
By the time I had grown to womanhood, I was highly conscious of the size of my bottom. When I was 18 and pleading that I was too old for this kind of treatment, Pa explained that my bottom had grown like Pinoccio's nose, because the Good Lord knew what a naughty girl I was and that it was a sign from heaven that I needed more rather than less spanking. I knew that other girls bottoms had also blossomed, but after what Pa told me, I just thought it was a sign we were a generation doomed to live under the crack of the paddle, the sting of the spoon and the lick of the strap.
As you can imagine, as a healthy young woman with little outlet for my sexual and romantic longings, I made my own brand of lemonade out of the lemon that was my life. I constructed elaborate sexual fantasies around the one kind of recurring intimacy that I was allowed, that of being bared and spanked. First there was the embarassment of having my bottom bared in the company of friends and family, then the psychological pain of being blamed for whatever it was I had done or not done, then finally the physical pain of having my embarassingly large round bottom thrashed to a flaming red while I sobbed, pleaded and promised to be good. But afterwards, as the pain subsided, there was the sweetest feeling between my legs. And over time, that feeling wrapped itself around the whole proceedings, from the scolding to the stripping, to the spanking itself until it was all suffused with an indelible and invisible sexual luminance. At least it was that way for me. To this day I don't know what, if anything, the others got out of it, besides a chastened daughter.
Pa had long told me that he would decide when I was old enough to date. When I turned 20, Pa introduced me to a young man who asked me out. Pa's permission came with strict instruction to the young man to not hesitate to thrash me soundly if I started to get fresh with him and with warnings to be home on time, or else. Frank turned out to be a younger version of Pa. But at least he'd let me get away with a few minutes of kissing and cuddling before turning me over his lap for a sound spanking.
We'd already have been making out in the back seat of his car for some minutes, when he'd suddenly remind me of what my father had said. Then he'd pull out a hairbrush, drag me over his lap and punish my panties until I was on the verge of tears. Once I made the mistake of teasing him about what a stiff cock he had after punishing me, and he promptly took me outside, bent me over the fender of the car, roughly pulled my panties down and then whipped me with his belt until I apologized for my rudeness.
I soon got over my embarassment at being spanked by Frank, and started to enjoy seeing how far I could push him, how fresh I could be before I'd “get it”. I also enjoyed the state of arousal I'd be in afterwards, and whole the drama of getting a spanking. But for the most part, on those early dates and at home with Pa, I never really did actually enjoy the spanking itself. It was always so hard and it always hurt. Although I did used to think that if he'd do it a little less hard I would have been able to enjoy even the spanking. I don't think we ever went out on a date on which I didn't get some kind of spanking from Frank.
Once, in spite of my tearful pleadings to get me home on time, he purposely kept me out past my curfew because he said he could tell I needed a good licking and he wanted to see how my father punished me. Well, he got his wish. Pa marched me out to the woodshed in my fancy going out dress and invited Frank to tag along to see how it was done. I was maybe 21 at the time, and had never before been so naughty as to merit a trip to the woodshed to meet Pa's razor strap. I was trembling with dread as we walked through the darkness listening to Pa's scolding. Pa wouldn't listen to any explanation and I realized I was doomed. I was totally incoherent by the time Pa was through thrashing me. He had to get Frank to hold me down while he finished whipping my legs and bottom. It took a week before I could sit comfortably and another week before all the black and blue bruises disappeared from my legs and bottom.
Thankfully, Frank didn't pull that stunt on me again, but he did threaten me with a repeat, if I didn't do as he said. And what he said was to get down on my knees, open his zipper and suck his cock. When I protested that I was not such a naughty girl as that, he promised to give me a good spanking for it afterwards, a spanking that I would enjoy. That's when I knew that he knew that I got something out of being spanked besides a sore bottom. From then on, Frank would give me one of those spankings I liked just about every time. And I would suck his cock. Of course there were still lots of times when he gave me the other kind of spanking. He explained that my father wouldn't be too happy if he knew he was giving me only spankings that I enjoyed. And besides, he said, he liked to spank me hard. And did I think I didn't deserve it.
Everyone who was spanked as a child and now finds being spanked a turn-on, say aye.
Aye!
What the hell were our parents thinking?
Hey, will the Sisters of Mercy story author please stand up? Or if you don't feel like standing, write to me at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.
I want it.
Ta very much!
XXX,
AT
Two men. Fucking me in the mouth, in the cunt, in the arse. Cum on my tits. Cum on my face. They can't get enough of me.
6.14, I'm right there with you!
Well, obviously I'm not - that would be another kind of fantasy. M/f/m is hot. And you don't need many words for it - raw, dirty, basic. Oh yes, please.
My fantasies aren't extended or detailed. I think of them as very different to my writing. Completely different, actually. They're just like pieces of film in my head - you know, the worn parts on videotapes.
This poem was written about a fantasy to awaken from my sleep to find a lover having his way!
Exhausted from her days romping, he sits,
patiently awaiting for her to stir in her slumber.
Watching the smile play her face as she dreams,
wandering the fields of pleasure only just past.
Eyes moving back and forth beneath her heavily lashed lids,
and she moans and groans, as she tosses upon the couch.
Knowing there is no shame in their wanton desire,
he slithers over to the couch and breaths hot breath,
upon her belly-push-my-buttons oh so sweetly.
Slowly tracing an electric finger tip around her rounds,
a hum escapes her lips red, swelling and parted.
She is dreaming of his touch, her need, his want,
rolling her hips in the fashion of what is vivid in her mind.
Pulling the ties of her dressing gown till the divide falls,
she shivers as she feels the cool goosebumps play at her skin.
He warms her with more hot breath and kisses of heat,
her mound rises in anticipation of what she is begging.
Gently raising her one leg onto his back so silently,
he slides a dreamy tongue into her slowly, deeply.
She moans, groans, breathing in gasps and rasps,
he cradles her clit and sucks till she is at her peak.
Her brown eyes fly wide open in just enough time,
to stare deeply into his so green, singing play my fiddle.
Grabbing his hair tight to not allow him escape,
she flies in the ecstacy he provides with his devils tongue.
When she regains her composure and he has drunk his fill,
she pushes him to the floor and squats over him.
Inserting his cock-a-doodle-do-me, she rides her stallion,
waiting till the cows come home before she changes position.
Dismounting she leans over the couch and begs please,
mount me like the rutting bull-by-the horns I know you are.
Grabbing a hip and a handful off hair he enters with a grunt,
jabs her, stabs her, fucks her,
with need of going-out-of-his-mind.
Thrusting with the power of a Spartans spear she screams,
and creams her juices of tidal wave ferocity.
He lurches and cries out his battle cry of lust as he bust,
they collapse into a heap of mangled flesh, spent.
Dead from their fight of flight and passion,
out of their mind-body-souls.
Another fantasy is to awaken and I am tied up, strung to the ceiling, blindfolded and whipped. Then placed on a soft bed still tied as 2 men and 2 women have their ways of pleasuring me... Oh so mind boggling. And no this one never end either. I think up fresh fantasies every other day or so, it's a favorate passtime.
By the way. Loved the art on the front page. I happen to know an amazing artist from Dublin who paints erotic and pornographic works of art. If Lust Bites or anyone else here would like a link to his webpage let me know and I'll gladly give it to you.
Just email me at
squirellygirly@hotmail.com
I'd love to see some of his stuff on future articles.
Hey Ally, thanks. I'll pass your words on to Steve.
I was a bit nervous about putting the pic up - or, er, Kristina was. We haven't had cock on the blog before and I wasn't sure if it would, you know, go down well. But I love the drawing - it's horny and amusing, and that's a great combination. I'll no doubt email you when I work out who I am. Or you could just do a Shameless Plug. (Copyright Alison Tyler.)
I'm loving the filth some of you lot are coming out with! It's excellent. And I love the variety - not just of the kinks but of what's important - backdrop or not? Whites of his/her eyes or not? Controlled narrative or just words which are a notch up from randy, sweaty grunting?
Keep it coming, please! It's a few hours before I go to bed. And fantasy is so-oooo much nicer in the dark.
OK shameless plug...not a pig tail either.
To see Cyphers amazing porno paintings go to:
www dot thepanicartist dot com
He has hundreds of painting in his online gallery and I know most of us here would like it. I love it. Him too. He's really great and he and his girlfriend are in many of the paintings.
A Bed time story for Ms. Anon and others too.
I will sign as anonymous, just for the hell of it, there is no way you can't figure out who I am. But here goes.
I was going camping and wanted some inspiration so I asked a friend to Give me some inspirations for thought this weekend I said "I want to fuck my brains out with a strange lumberjack."
So he wrote this to me and I was to come home with my completion of the story.
HE WROTE:
The Two Faced Genie.
Your wish is my command,
said the genie she had rubbed the write way,
right out of the brassy lamp's unlit spout,
with a gloating emoting of randy happenstance.
She had come upon the lamp in the trash,
beside a mountain lake blue as Clint's glinting.
With a twinkling star in each eye that made the salmon sigh,
and the bees get week in the knees,
he made a flourish with a green hand indicating his duty,
to meet her demand.
Never at a loss of words,
the hiker pursed her lips like a little girl sitting on Santa's lamp,
and huskily wished for,
"a lumbering-jack-off-of-all-the-way-trades-get-off!"
The genie smirked at such easy, nice piece of ass work,
“if you can get it.”
And ab-ra his ca-da-bra and lickety-split zip-boom-ba,
in a manly puff of smoke reeking of Marlborough's,
appeared like the sun on the horizon of the Sahara.
A steely eyed, granite jawed,
broad shoulders as his mind mac,
wearing ax wielding lumber jack,
with a crotch the size the day as Paul Bunyan.
His black beard bushier than the interior of BC,
his eyes as blue as an arctic sky,
he eyed Ally up and down like she was a log boom,
and he wanted to ride her to the sea.
He looked at the green skinned genie six-six,
and muscle bound wearing nothing but tight pant capri’s,
and he cocked his eyebrow and said to Ally,
"there's more than one way,
to skinny-dip an ally-cat woman alive".
The genie grinned as bright as a xylophone,
and walked behind Ally,
and reached his great paw around her sides,
and cupped her tits kissing the side of her neck.
Ally watched the lumbering jack's crotch,
get as big as Paul Bunyan and Babe combined,
as the genie pulled her top off,
like a waiter displaying a piece of creamy cheesecake.
She felt the cool spring breezes brushing her breasts,
her hardening nipples,
the genies huge strong hands presenting them to the lumberjack,
as if they were ripe melons.
The lumberjack stripped off his mac, boots and jeans,
standing up front and center of attention, in Ally world,
his body muscled by years of splitting timber with his buzzsaw.
He pulled Ally’s pants off.
The lumbering Jack was no bumbler,
he leaped on her like a fish to water,
kissing her face like rain,
as the genie deep massaged her back and backside.
"Timm-berrr!" yelled Ally,
as the three of them fell in a writhing heap on the lake shore,
for more in store.
WHILE CAMPING I REPLIED...
As he kissed her with his ruff fluff,
she said “Genie, please remove his scruff,
so I can see his granite hard maw-jaw,”
and poof she saw his fine hansom face with out a flaw.
Next request “Genie can you now make,
yourself look like He, for my glee and for my sake”.
In a puff of Marlborough smoke,
she had two Jacks lumbering her up,
Jack 2 held her atop him back to front,
as if she were laying in a cup.
The smell of cedar sawdust,
and macho manly sweat mingled,
with the sweet smell of moss and earthiness,
her senses tingled.
He spead her thighs with his, and Jack 1 went down,
circling with his tongue her squirming bud,
as his fingers went to town.
Jack 2 nibbled her ears, kissing her neck, lightly biting her nape,
while twirling thumb and fingers her hardened nipples,
moaning with her mouth agape.
Jack 1 stroked her insides,
like a masseuse works a sore back,
then he sucked her honey dues from within her crack.
She twisted, moaned, groaned, Jack 2 held her fast,
She writhed with pleasure, enraptured in ecstacy,
she was having a blast.
Her breath came in rasping gasps,
grasping his head,
he kept her spread like a buffet till he was fed.
As she cried out a lovers agony, she fell from her cliff,
bucking, her back arching to snap, her body went stiff,
Jack 2 kept his grip as Jack 1 dove deep in her crack,
and she screamed from her boytoy as Jack Jacked.
Jack 2 drove her wild his whispy whisperings of word-for- word,
what it was he desired from her,
she moaned deeply at what she heard.
Jack 2 was deep inside, a raging fire he did stoke,
with every stroke,
He pummeled her hard and she cried,
he was so perfectly hard as an oak.
Held by Jack 2 she adored and loved what he’d said,
fucked by Jack 1, he fired up her loins instead,
Jack 1 yelled Timber, as as he felled his tree with pride,
all he had, had combusted explosively,
as he was so deep inside.
As Jack 2 was the Genie she plead with him please,
while Jack 1 was kissing her breasts,
please let me get on my knees,
“Your wish is my command my Dame,”
and Jack 2 flipper her over,
And over she went like a log down a waterfall,
and he drove into her.
Jack 1 filled her ears with years of endearment and tales,
whispering sultry words as he heard her wails,
while Jack 2 allowed his eons of being a lamp slave,
spill forth with love and thanx within this temporary knave.
Jack 2 said thanx for his break from his solitude,
as he was grateful, he had drank from this beauty in the nude.
Then Jack 1 had his fill of kisses and was glad,
that he’d had the pleasure of making happy,
someone whom was so sad.
Jack came with a thousand years of need,
within her his many years of wasted wanton seed.
Jack 1 said “come again when the leaves are colourful with fall.”
Jack 2 said “I’m yours always, if you rub me the right way,
and you can have it all.”
A smile played her lips,
she peered at them both sucking her fingertips,
“Genie, I demand another round on my back,
Eat of me, will you both...My 2 Jacks of The Lamp Jack.”
I was pleasantly drunk when I wrote this after drinking a good 8 oz of Jack Daniels. I had to re-read it the next day because I had forgotten I wrote it...LMAO
I still fantasize about my last boyfriend, even though we've broken up. We somehow clued in to each other's deepest, darkest, most taboo fantasy. He discovered how much I love being fucked as a little girl, and I found out that he loves more than anything to play daddy.
I bought a special white babydoll nightie once, and wore it for him as we lay together in bed in the dark. While he held me, I confessed the dirty games that I used to play with my little friends when I was very small. I asked him if he thought I was bad -- he replied that no, I was very good, and very special. Then he had me masturbate for him, and I came with his arms around me. It was a sweet, shuddering cascade of emotional and sensual release, like nothing I'd ever felt.
He's also spanked me as his little girl, and fucked me doggy style, and shown me how to ride his "horsie". But I think the most powerful of these experiences was the time I wore my white nightie for him, and he reassured me that I am a good girl.
I don't know if I'll ever find a lover who's willing to go to those forbidden places with me again, so I treasure those memories, keep them close to my heart.
Two little words: Rough anonymous gangbang.
Elaborate with...that the man I love has arranged for our mutual amusement.
Ooh, sometimes it's much more elaborate, but just thinking of lying there in the dark, blindfolded, wondering who will use me next...don't need much more than that to get me going.
Also on the list is really rough, punitive BDSM, the kind that makes me bleed, the kind that involves "consensual nonconsent."
I think because my real sex life is very lively, my fantasies go quickly go past hardcore into potentially impossible
"You messed up."
His eyes are harsh and brilliant green behind is glasses. I feel that lump in my throat. That lump that means I am ashamed.
"I'm sorry."
"You messed up and now everything we've collected is compromised. You're so smart. I had full faith in you. How did you mess up so badly?"
I shift. Clench my thighs. Stare at my shoes. My face is hot but I feel more heat between my legs. Under my skirt and my modest black panties. "I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper.
"I'm not quite sure how it happened but it did." He stops now to peer at me over the top of his glasses. His hair, more salt than pepper, is close cropped and neat.
"I know."
"You know what this means?"
I nod and shift some more but don't move my feet. I stay in place and wait. When he stays silent, I push the words out. "Disciplinarian action."
"Right. Come on."
I walk forward slowly. I am beyond excited and way past terrified. I have to force my feet to move even though my panties are so wet I swear I can hear the sodden fabric as I move. I stop before him and he looks up from his chair, pats his lap. I go to my knees. Arrange myself over his lap. Wait.
I can't seem to breathe.
He pulls my skirt up. A knee length herringbone skirt that is very proper and perfect for the office. It rustles as he yanks gently. He pushes down my panties and they whisper in sympathy.
"How many then? For your short comings?"
"Ten?" I say it softly and I hope he complies. Sometimes my punishment is half the number I name. Sometimes double. Sometimes none. I never know.
"Count them off."
The first one brings that joyous sting of tears. The treasured heat to the fragile skin of my bottom.
"One!"
The second bites where the first did not and I squirm, hopelessly at his mercy. Him hopelessly at mine.
By the time we hit ten, my face is wet and my ass is sore. The warmth between my legs is ten times worse than when we began. My breathing stops and my heart seems to when he shoves his fingers deep inside me.
"See how very bad you are?" he says.
I nod dumbly and wriggle like a fish on a hook. When he presses my G-spot again, I come on a sob.
"I don't know how you keep screwing up so badly," he whispers and smacks my ass again. Hard.
I don't either. How do I keep ending up here? I am so smart.
Bravo, Alison!
Not me, not me, not me!
It's awesome. I love it. I'll buy it. But I didn't write it. I swear!
durrgirl, Love your stuff. Where can I read more of this sort of writing of yours. Somewhere I hope. I too thought you might have been Alison trying to disguise her identity here in this masquerade.
um...that was me. But I take the mistaken identity as a HUGE compliment. *blushing*
His black beard bushier than the interior of BC,
his eyes as blue as an arctic sky,
he eyed Ally up and down like she was a log boom,
and he wanted to ride her to the sea.
LoL!
Love it!
Well, Anonymous creator of "Our Sexual Fantasies"...your Fantasy #2 has had me thinking back, way back, to the first fantasies I wrote on paper, to amuse a lover. This is a long one, and I didn't post it on day one of this topic because I didn't want to hog blog space, but I'm posting it now. This is part one of 'The Thin White Sheet'. I guess great (horny female perverted) minds think alike. And don't worry, Lila gets her revenge in Part Two.
The Thin White Sheet
She lies on a narrow table, naked under a thin sheet. Outside the open door, in the hallway, Lila hears the stop start sounds of the big shot doctor and his new team of sycophantic residents as they approach. She lets her knees fall open, ever ready. Dr. Harris stops again, the anxious group circling him. He is passing out invitations to his annual cocktail party for new residents. She knows this routine, she has been coming to this clinic for years. She chuckles to hear the muffled sound of heavily controlled excitement. They don't know what to do, these twittering birds, jump for joy or act as if they couldn't care less. Someday they will be doctors too. Someday they will have big houses, and difficult patients. Patients, perhaps, just like her.
The flock of doctors descends and the door is closed.
"You're just in time," she says, coolly appraising the group, "I was starting to get cold."
"This is an interesting case," says Dr. Harris, pulling up the thin sheet to expose her bent knees and open orifices. "She can only achieve orgasm anally."
"I'm sorry," says a skinny little Asian girl, her mouth curling up in consternation to match her eyes. "What does this mean?"
"Up the ass," says a big, black man. The skinny girl blushes to peach.
Dr. Harris' eyebrows raise slightly. "Graphic, Ben, but correct."
Ben grins, and Lila admires the vaginal pink and blueness of his lips.
"Observations, please," says the doctor. The five students snap on latex gloves in unison. As they gather around the woman the silence is not broken by her, rather, it is pierced by the sound of a beeper.
"Excuse me, " says the doctor. He grabs the beeper from his waist and watches the message march across the machine. The interns are totally silent, observing the doctor with adoration. Lila stretches and yawns. "There's an emergency at the hospital. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can. Until then, Ben, you're in charge."
They restrain themselves from bowing as the doctor leaves; Ben steps to the front, taking up twice the space the doctor did.
"Let's examine her for any unusual physical characteristics," he suggests. The other interns comply. Fingers descend into the patient's many orifices, counting her teeth, checking the strength of her vaginal muscle, the size of her clitoris, the suction of the anal sphincter. It is the latter, of course, that makes her gasp.
"What are you doing?" Ben says coldly at the sound of her indrawn breath. The guilty intern withdraws his finger, hiding his eagerness behind his thick glasses and thin, superior smile. In truth, he's probably never put his finger up an ass in his life. "Don't be an idiot. We're trying to cure her of that."
"Why?" She speaks for the first time.
"If you don't know why you shouldn't be here," responds the Asian girl, both of her tiny yellow hands pressing the woman's abdomen.
"I 'm sorry, what does that mean?" Lila does a credible imitation of the girl and once again the intern blushes to peach. Ben wiggles his eyebrows at the embarassed girl and mutters, "She's got your number, Sandra."
"Yes," Lila thinks to herself, "and soon I'll have yours." Aloud she says, " I do know why I'm here. Do you?"
"Because it's unnatural," sputters another would-be M.D.
Lila looks Ben in the eye. "And you?"
"It's a dangerous practice these days. Besides, there's unlikely to be any physical reason for anal orgasm. It must be all up here." He taps his head.
"But surely the mind must be fucked before the body?"
"As the doctor in charge I suggest we continue the physical examination. " He is the one who leans his heavy hands on her breasts, though he gives the nipples to his sloe-eyed side-kick. The others take her temperature and pulse.
"It's confusing, really," mutters the bespectacled boy. "There would be no direct stimulation of the clitoris, no massage of the vaginal walls, how could she orgasm?"
Lila grunts with displeasure as the clumsy boy jams two fingers up inside her. "Take it easy." Peering through her knees she watches him stare at her cunt. Will he be the first to comment on the texture of her skin?
"Like velvet," murmurs Ben to Sandra. The girl nods, massaging the reluctant nipples into points.
"Very soft," she agrees.
Lila looks at Ben's black shining skin - her opposite, once again. She remembers a subway ride, long ago, and groans at the jarring difference between the bliss she encountered then and the torture she undergoes now. All in the name of science.
"It's beyond me," complains the lad with his fingers still twitching inside her.
"I think we need more information. Maybe we should wait for Dr. Harris."
"Here is all the information you need," she says haughtily, pushing on his chest with her heel to get his annoying hand outside her body. "I am a woman. A woman should be fucked everywhere she can be fucked. In the cunt. In the mouth. Certainly in the ass."
The young doctors back away from the sudden vehemence of her expression and the force of her statements. She looks at the Asian girl, Sandra, who glances down, and at Ben, the black man, who meets her glare with one of his own.
"Men should stick everything they have, their cocks, their tongues, their toes and fingers, their noses if possible, into every orifice of a woman. Every inch of her should be fucked - her ears, behind her ears, her throat, the elbow, behind the knee. And when every other place is exhausted, he should put his weapon, his dick, as far up her ass as possible, break the last taboo, and claim the last space. That's how it should be. But that's not how it is. Get out."
"I'm in charge here," protests Ben, but it's too late. The frightened young doctors make haste to exit the tiny room. "Sandra, wait. I'll see the rest of you in the conference room in twenty minutes." The students, grateful for a break, take wing. Sandra reluctantly stays behind. Again the door is closed.
"You've humiliated me in front of my colleagues," Ben informs Lila. He hovers above her, dark and menacing. "You should be punished."
She has drawn the sheet down over her knees, leaving her bottom half covered, and her breasts exposed. Only the gleam in her eyes shows her willingness to participate.
"Let it go, Ben," mutters Sandra, tugging at his arm. He pulls away.
"We can do it Sandra. We can cure this sick woman and teach her a valuable lesson at the same time." He meets the tiny girl's eyes in a long, even stare. She drops her smooth, creaseless lids after a moment, and approaches the woman on the table. Sandra massages the large white breasts with her tiny hands, tweaks the nipples non too gently, then lowers her full lips and begins to suck. Ben approaches the woman, Lila, and strokes her cheek. "Your skin is amazing." She raises one hand to his wrist and touches it, tries to circle it with her fingers but of course cannot. It's too big. She cups her palm around the knuckles and he makes a fist, burrowing it into her hand. There is a peaceful moment, as Sandra suckles softly at Lila's breast, then Ben removes his curled hand from Lila's and uses it to pull his cock from his pants and stick it in her mouth.
Ben's cock is huge, filling Lila's mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. She wills herself to open, not to choke. Sandra's hand slides down Lila's belly to her cunt and holds it for a moment before one slender finger invades the wet, soft space. Lila grinds against it, such a tiny thing inside her. She squeezes the walls of her vagina in a futile effort to trap the finger, to make it matter. Ben leans forward on the table, sticking his huge cock even further down her throat, and at last Lila is forced to surrender, gasping and choking for air. He pulls his cock from her mouth. Her spittle and a string of pre-ejaculate stretch between them and then breaks. He grins as she reaches up to massage her jaw.
"Punished," Ben reminds her, moving around Sandra and down to the end of the table. He tosses the sheet to the floor and grabs her ass, dragging Lila, and a quick stepping Sandra, to the very edge of the table.
"Please," she whimpers, but he releases her ass and slips one thick finger up inside her cunt. For a moment the black finger and the yellow finger pump her in unison, the Sandra slips her finger out and starts circling Lila's clit. She moves her mouth from Lila's breast. Lips pursed to a little round O, Sandra surrounds Lila's clit as Ben slips a second finger, and then a third, into Lila's cunt. She groans as the walls of her vagina are stretched by his fingers opening and closing inside her.
Together the two young doctors work her pussy while she bucks and heaves against them. Lila needs more - more pressure, more pain, less emptiness.
Ben watches Lila's skin begin to glisten, her eye behind closed lids vibrate with need.
"Fuck it," he mumbles, pulling his fingers out abruptly and then driving his cock up inside her cunt. Sandra raises her head and resumes manually massaging Lila's clit, this time harder, punishing the tiny seed as it strains out of it's sheath.
"Harder," begs Lila, so Ben wedges his thick body between her legs, stretching them out on either side of him as he slams into her with even more force. Sandra tortures Lila's clit with one hand and slips the other down the front of her slacks, diddling them both at the same time.
And all this time, not one finger, not one protuberance of any sort is introduced into Lila's ass.
"Goddam you," she hisses as Ben throws his head back and rams his cock up the full length of her vagina. "Goddam."
Sandra's mouth opens and she falls forward over Lila's breasts, gasping against the breastbone as she comes. Ben groans and freezes for an instant, raising Lila's ass off the table and then slamming it back down as he comes in long, jerking spurts.
Lila stares at the two young people as they hastily arrange their own clothes and examine each other for telltale signs. Sandra scrubs Lila thoroughly with a wet paper wipe and then washes her hands. Ben tosses the white sheet over Lila's tense, flushed body.
"You could have come if you'd wanted to." He brushes the damp blonde hair away from her face in a moment of tenderness. She turns her face from him. She'd hoped he'd understood, but after all, he had not.
"Don't tell on us lady," mumbles Sandra as she picks her stethoscope up off the floor and slings it around her neck.
"She won't," says Ben. "Not if she wants to see us again." With that, the two doctors leave Lila alone once more.
****
Anonymous Poet, I love your wordplay foreplay (and during-play)!
oooo went for saki - came back to the office more than a little drunk.... my boss pulled me into his office - shut the door and told me what a bad girl i was.... he lifted my black skirt and revealed my blue lace boy shorts - he pulled them aside giving him full access to my nice round ass. He slapped it gently at first but as i arched up to him - he slapped it harder - leaving a nice red hand print and a sting that left me wet. He could smell my heat and slapped my ass again - harder this time... making me drip hot sex down my leg. He moved his finger so it hit my pussy just so... a little more and i think i will come...
Post a Comment