I walked around the pool, looking for a way to get inside. A voice from above directed me to the side gate. I knew he would follow me down to the hot tub. He did. I turned my back on him at first, slightly annoyed. Once he took his shirt off, however, I changed my mind and gave him proper attention. A group of young women, maybe five or so, clamored in. Two of them got into the hot tub with us. Sylvia and Juanita. The others swam in the cold pool. Eventually, Juanita left to join the others in the pool. Sylvia stayed in the hot tub with the man and I. He was sitting on the edge across from me. I was fully immersed in the hot jets. Sylvia was sitting a few feet away from me. We were talking. She was drunk. Markedly so. She moved closer to me, told me I was pretty, leaned over and kissed me. I kissed her back, plunging my tongue deep into her soft, wet mouth. She moaned and called me “mommy”. The man sitting on the edge watched us. Sylvia reached under the water and began to rub my pussy. Her friends started calling to her, telling her it was time to go. She ignored them. I ignored them. She said, “I want you mommy” and continued to finger-bang my pussy under the water. I asked her how old she was. 19. She called the man sitting on the edge “pappy” and asked him to come in and join us. He came up to me. I pushed his hand away and said “don’t touch me – we can both touch her, but you can’t touch me” . Sylvia’s friends were very upset now. Sylvia said to the man, “fuck me, pappy”. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at her. She was so drunk she could barely function. He said to me, “what should I do? Should I fuck her?” I said, “she won’t remember if you do” and then……
LJay loves to wear her short skirt for him. She calls him “DadDy”. She waits so patiently by the front door for him to get home from work. The moment he walks in the door, he sends her to her closet where all of her cute and adorable outfits that he bought for her are hanging. “DadDy” loves to dress up his sweet LJay. He calls her “LJay” because she is so little. The “l” stands for “little”.
Today, DadDy wants LJay to wear her pink Catholic school girl skirt, white ripped up fish net leggings, a black cropped top and Dolls Kill spiked boots.
Doesn’t LJay look so pretty for the man she calls DadDy?
She loves him so, so much and and and annd he is such a bad, bad man – a bad violating DadDy…..
so there i was in lake tahoe walking across the street just minding my own business and feeling completely satiated after an evening of debauchery when all of a sudden a dark complected man walks directly up to me, asks me how i am doin’ and where i am headed and before i even have a fucking chance to tell the man with the jet black eyes that i am headed to the lake he blurts out” fuck you got great tits – getting my dick hard” and i turn abruptly to face him, but not out of any type of shock, more like i am impressed by his bluntness and i blurt back – “oh, yeah? i like that” and then sex spills out from in between my thighs and we walk on side by side and he rubs his cock on the outside of his pants and asks if he can come with me to the lake and i say yeah, okay, and jet-black eyes tells me he has to put his groceries away in his hotel room first so i say, “cool, i will wait right here” and it never crosses his mind that i may not be there when he comes back out of his hotel room and it never crosses my mind to take off when he closes the door and disappears inside – instead i lean up against the telephone pole and wait for him to come back out with sex still dripping down my leg and then i see him walking my way and he gets really close like almost touching me and tells me again how his dick is getting hard just looking at me and i just look back at him and then we start to walk toward the lake and then i say, “oh, hey, by the way, you aren’t like a serial killer or anything like that are you?” and jet-black-eyed Gabriel says “no. i am not one of those – i am a bank robber” i look at him, nod my head. hmmm. “you just get out?” “yeah” “cool” and we head off down the side roads to go sit by the lake and we get there and i sit on his lap while children run around and play and families are having their little picnics and he fingers me right there on the rock under my skirt and says ‘girl, you got my dick so hard – let me lick that pussy”
Daddy called it his ‘pee’ hole. I call it the ‘peep’ hole. Giggle giggle giggle.
Why? Cuz the ‘thing’ peeps out of the hole at me, that’s why.
And your father wanted you to do this?
Mm-hmmm (nodding her head voraciously up and down). Daddy is so silly, isn’t he? (she begins to fidget in her chair)
Can you tell me more about the pee, I mean ‘peep’ hole and the ‘thing’?
Sure. (she grabs her lollipop off of the desk and starts sucking on it, twirling it around in her mouth as she speaks. Spit starts dripping down her chin.) Ummmm….he makes me take his thing, yeah, his “THING”, you know, (she points to her crotch and begins to giggle again) out but ssshhh. It is supposed to be our little secret.
Your daddy makes you take his penis out of his underwear? (the therapist’s pen pauses in mid-sentence and he looks down at her over his thick horn-rimmed glasses.)
No, silly, he makes me take his ‘thing’ out of the ‘peep’ hole because, you know, it gets all stuffy inside of there and needs some air.
And what do you do? (the therapist continues looking down his glasses at the little girl in front of him. She is still sucking on her lollipop, twirling her tongue on the tip of it now.)
Well, I do what daddy tells me to, of course.
You take his penis out of his underwear?
NOOOOOO. I already told you. I take the ‘thing’ out of the ‘peep’ hole, silly.
And then what happens?
Well, sometimes, if the thing is already stiff, it is hard to get out of the peep hole but that is okay because daddy says that he likes it when I struggle trying to get it out. He says it turns him on, but I don’t really know what that means because, like, is daddy a light bulb or something that needs to be turned on? Anyways, if the thing is limp then it is easy for me to stick my little hand in there and pull it out but if it is already stiff it is a bit harder.
She puts the lollipop down and begins sucking her thumb and moving her legs back and forth under the desk now.
What does daddy do while you are pulling out the thing form the ‘peep’ hole?
Oh, ummmmm, (thumb still half way in mouth) he just lays there on the bed. Sometimes he is talking to me and telling me things.
What kind of things?
She fidgets more now, pigeon-toe-ing her feet. Such a good, good girl.
“Brad! Are you listening to me?”
He was sitting there across from her at the kitchen table, newspaper pulled up over his face. His thick-rimmed glasses were peeking out over the top of the newspaper and his pudgy hands were gripping the side of that fucking inked up paper as if his life depended on it. Disgusting. He disgusted her with his balding, greasy head & fat protruding stomach. But when he was younger, on man, he was so hot. She remembered him taking charge and slamming her on the kitchen table and just having his way with her. Now he could barely get it up and if he could he had to take those stupid pills. Viagra? Is that what they are called? Pathetic. Plus, he was more interested in reading the stupid news now and watching ridiculous things like football on television rather than romancing the woman that he married.
“BRAD!!” she screamed it this time and slammed her hand down on the table.
“Yes, dear. Were you calling me?” Fuck. It didn’t even phase him like he is so clueless he didn’t even realize she was yelling at him. What a moron he had become. I don’t think it was Alzheimer’s. Just indifference. A boring aging man with only a fat stomach to show for all of the years he spent working and trying to support his family to make a living. Working at a job he hated, nonetheless, while his wife was left untouched and passionless.
I mean, if you were her, what the fuck would you do?
What any passionate woman would do.
Take a lover. Or two. Or three. Have them come over while dear old Brad is at work.
“Brad. Ryan is coming home tomorrow, remember? I want it to be special for him”
“Tomorrow? Oh, honey, but I go away on a business trip to an insurance convention. Are you sure it is tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ve been telling you for weeks now that he is coming home from boot camp to spend some time with us before he goes off and does, whatever it is those military boys do” she giggled ferociously.
“I am sorry. I must have forgot. I cannot cancel this trip. These insurance sales meetings are so important”
Sigh. Typical. Forgetting his own son.
“That’s fine. I will make it special without you then”
He went back to reading his paper. Completely and utterly clueless. Vacuous. Overweight. Boring.
Brad left at the crack of dawn. He peck-kissed her good-bye and was off to his important, professional, suit and tie-guy meetings. Yawn.
She got up, made a lemon cheesecake with blackberries for her son. It was his favorite. He especially loved the texture of the cheesecake and occasionally loved whipped cream on top. Everything was prepared exactly the way she remembered him liking it.
She loved her son so much. He was just 19 and such a skinny young man. It was his decision to join the army. She could not wait to see him and wondered if he would be wearing those silly camouflage things the army boys wear.
Oh my gosh. Is that him? Would Ryan ring the doorbell?
She checked her watch. It was 12:30. He was scheduled to arrive between 12 and 1, so, yes, it most definitely could be her son, but, why on earth would he ring the bell?
She went to the door.
She opened it.
A man, not a boy, stood there in army fatigues.
“Can I help you?”
“Mom. It’s me.”
“Yes, mom. Of course. You only have one child, silly”
Mrs. Smiths blood began to boil. Standing in front of her was no scrawny 19-year-old boy. This was a man. And what a beautiful man he was. Oh my. Her palms became sweaty. Her heart was racing.
Ryan walked in, threw his pack on the bed, and took off his coat. He was wearing a tight army green t-shirt. Mrs. Smith could see the contours of his muscles underneath the shirt. Her palms became even more sweaty. The spot in between her legs that had been asleep for so long began to wake up
“I am going to go take a shower, Mom. I’ve been traveling all day”
He took his shirt off and threw it on top of his bag.
“Ryan. You are….”
He walked over to her and kissed her on the mouth and hugged her. A peck kiss.
His body was sculpted. Beautiful. Nothing like that blob of a husband of hers. Did Brad ever look like that? Like her Ryan looked right now? So toned and big and muscular? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care. And, no, Ryan did not remind her of a younger Brad. Ryan was just, well, Ryan, but like a new-improved version of her son. The son that left for bootcamp and came back a man.
She heard the shower turn on.
“Hey, mom. I forgot to get a towel. Will you bring me one?”
Mrs. Smith grabbed a plush white towel out of the hall closet. She walked to the bathroom. Ryan had left the door unlocked. She pushed it open. She saw his silhouette behind the clear glass shower door. He must have the water on very hot because it was already beginning to get steamy in the room. She just stood there watching him wash his hard man-body through the glass door. He turned around and looked at her through the steam. She could not take her eyes off of him and his manliness. He opened the shower door. Soap was all over his body. They did not say a word. She devoured his muscular chest and arms with her eyes and then, ever so slowly, turned her eyes down to his pelvic area. He had soap in his hand and his hand was covering his genitals that he had just been washing.
“Move your hand” Mrs. Smith said. “I want to see what a big boy you have become”
He did not protest. He moved his hand, but just a bit.
Mrs. Smith moved in closer to look at her young son’s cock.
As she moved in closer, it got bigger.
She reached over and moved his hand completely out of the way.
“Oh, my. You have grown, now, haven’t you?” she said.
Her son’s cock had to be about 9 inches long and 3 or 4 inches thick. Oh god, it was beautiful.
She reached out and touched it.
Ryan did not say a word.
He was hard as a fucking rock.
Mrs Smith took the soap from her son[‘s hand and began to wash his pubic hair and hard cock.
Ryan did not say a word.
She took her dress off. She had no under garments on. She always wore dressed with nothing on underneath. Brad never noticed. He was too interested in the fucking newspaper and his ridiculous football games.
Mrs. Smith got in the shower with her son.
She continued to wash his body.
She leaned down and put her mouth on his cock. It pulsed as she closed her lips over it. She devoured that cock, like someone who has not had a meal in a very long time. She licked it up and down, and up and down over and over again.
Then she handed him the soap.
He knew exactly what to do. They had been doing this for years.
He took the soap and washed her body.
And then he got down on his knees in the shower.
“remember how mommy likes it”
“yes, mommy, I remember”
He then proceeded to lick her pussy so softly, so sweetly, exactly how she had taught him.
“Mmmm. Now that’s mommy’s good boy. Did you miss me?”
“Oh, mommy, I missed you so much”
He loved her succulent juices so much and loved the way it tasted when she finally exploded into his eager young mouth.
They got out of the shower. The room was like a regular steam bath by this point. She laid the towel down on the white tiled floor .
Son penetrated mother, fucking the shit out of her on the hard white tiled bathroom floor, while Brad sat in his white-starched shirt having the time of his life at the insurance sales convention.
I hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Excitement culminated in wet, dripping splendor running down my inner thighs. I lit candles, turned some sultry music on, got my silk scarves and tied myself as best I could to the bed post. I wrapped one silk scarf skillfully around one wrist, then pulled the other end around the post, securing it there. Oops. Forgot the blindfold. I undid one scarf, reached for my blindfold, put it on, then secured the scarf back to the bedpost
The door of the hotel I left ajar so that my lover could have easy access.
I lay there, breath heavy, waiting to hear the footsteps creaking ever so lightly across the suite to find me haphazardly tied in some amateur fashion, which is, of course, to be completely expected when one ties themselves to a bedpost. I felt like Jane waiting for her Tarzan.
I decided to switch the music to my headphones, crank the music LOUD, so I could NOT hear him walking across the suite. I wanted to be completely and utterly surprised.
And I wanted to be a little scared.
Danger turns me on.
The thrill of the unknown, you know. The undeniable excitement associated with the “what if”, with the “X” factor, with the who the fuck knows what is going to happen.
Was there anything to fear from this man who was coming to see me this evening after a year of absence?
I don’t know.
I have this odd effect on men.
They become completely OBSESSED with me.
Want to own me.
and sometimes, just sometimes, if they want to own me, make me their possession, but realize the unequivocal truth that they can never own such a free, wild woman as me, well, it drives them mad.
They literally lose their minds.
The notion that they cannot ever control my body, that my pussy is NOT theirs and enjoys other cocks besides theirs, well….it is just too, too much sometimes for them to endure and.
oops….my mental musings are interrupted as I feel a hand gliding up and down my leg.
I am wearing lingerie. No stockings. A bra and crotchless panties.
The hand is gliding ever so softly up and down and up and down my leg.
No. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.
or is there?
(pssss – hey – reader – are you a pervert?? want to give me an ending to my story? contact me on my Niteflirt or via link below. If I choose you, if you are perverted and turn me on enough, your ending will be published here, on my blog. I am so excited. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with, you naughty thing. WYLDE LINKS – CONTEST
I called him Bobo.
He took Me to dinner.
He had a steel anal plug in his ass.
I had a vibrating dildo in My pussy.
I dropped a napkin.
I crawled under the table and sucked his cock.
The waiter came to the table.
We went back to the hotel room in Salt Lake City.
I put on the thigh high PVC boots that he had bought for his Mistress.
I put a ball gag in his mouth and tied his hands behind his back and made him worship My boots and kiss them with a ball gag in his mouth.
I laughed at how ridiculous and stupid he was.
Put on that mask!
What? What the fuck did you just call me?
Ummmm…..mistress? (she slaps him HARD in the face and gets down very close to his face. He can feel her breath on him as she sneers…..
What are you supposed to call me?
Ummm…I don’t know, mistress. (she grabs the whip and whips him HARD until he begs for mercy)
Try and remember.
Yes. That’s right. I told you before that you are to call me sir and only sir.
Oh, god. Are all men just morons? (she proceeds to shove him down to the ground, whip, slap and now step on his throat with her foot, thinking the entire time, hmmmm…..I wonder if he is listening yet or if we need to amp it up even a bit more…..I wonder if I, the DIVINE DARK PRIESTESS that he worships so much, can make him run around and squeal like the filthy pig that he is)
Get up you idiot.
Oh, my. you are a slow learner, aren’t you. WHAT DID I SAY TO CALL ME (she puts her long black leather gloves on this time and backhands him repeatedly across the face).
Sir. You told me to call you sir, ummmm. sir.
(this ridiculous specimen isn’t even worth my time, she thinks to herself. I am tired of looking at him. She motions to the floor where the grotesque pig mask is now laying)
Pick it up.
(he stares at her with a blank, stupid look on his face)
I SAID PICK IT UP!
(he bends over to pick it up. As he does so she beats his ass some more with her whip)
Yes, mis—-, I mean, sir.
Put it on.
(he puts it on)
There. Now that is better. A pig mask for a filthy, fat, smelly pig.
Yes, sir. (he mumbles through the mask)
What? Your speech is garbled. Try to speak clearly.
Now, crawl around and squeal like the filthy pig you are.
(he obeys – she laughs hysterically, mocking him the entire time)
Here, piggie, piggie. Come to me.
(she puts on her big black strap-on)
Bend over like a good, dirty swine.
(she grabs onto the collar that she has placed around his neck. She does not put lubricant on her cock. She shoves it in as hard as she can and without any warning other than this:
NOW SQUEAL LIKE THE GOOD LITTLE PIG THAT YOU ARE AND MAKE YOUR SIR PROUD
(and, of course, the pathetic mindless man in a pig mask does exactly what she says)
Mistress, will you please destroy me and take everything that I have? I am so worthless and I have done such horrible things. I deserve to be punished, Mistress. Please punish me, Mistress. PLEASE.
The poor, pathetic slave was on his knees, grabbing onto my legs, begging me to “destroy” him. I agreed.
Years passed. Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times. And then one day……
Mistress said that she was going to destroy her little bitch.
NO WAIT!!!! I really don’t want you to destroy me and take everything that I have, Mistress. I didn’t mean it. Mistress consoled her little Bitch. She bent over and whispered in his ear, it’s alright, baby….it’s all just role play, remember? None of it is real….but thank you for the impeccable compliment. I must be so skilled. I’ve convinced you our little games are real, now haven’t I? Bitch Boy nodded and fell even more in love with her in that moment.
Mistress, I know that you could blackmail me if you wanted to and that I have been so very foolish to let you know where I live, my real, name, and all of that. Please blackmail me, Mistress. PLEASE.
The poor, pathetic slave was on his knees, grabbing onto my legs, begging me to “blackmail” him. I agreed.
Years passed. Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times. And then one day….
Mistress said that she was going to blackmail her little bitch.
NO WAIT!!!! I really don’t want you to blackmail me, Mistress. I didn’t mean it. I DIDN”T MEAN IT. PLEASE DON”T. Bitch Boy began to spin out uncontrollably, much more so than the last time they played their little games. Nonetheless, Mistress consoled her little Bitch. She bent over and whispered in his ear, it’s alright baby….it’s all just role play, remember? None of it is real…..but I will take that as such an impeccable compliment. I must be so skilled. I’ve convinced you our little games are real., now haven’t I? Bitch Boy nodded and fell even MORE in love with her in that moment.
Years passed. Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times. And then one day…
The poor pathetic little bitch was grabbing onto her leg once more. He was begging Mistress to reconsider her decision to never see him again because he had been so incredibly pathetic thinking all of their games were real.
Mistress liked to see him grovel at her feet, begging and whimpering, his face so close to her pussy. The smell of that pussy intoxicated him. How could he ever break free from his addiction to her.
So you want to make amends with me, do you? You still want to be allowed to be in my presence?
Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress. I miss you so much.
She leaned over and whispered her answer into his ear, “Oh, baby. It’s alright. Of course I will continue to see you. I’ve missed you so, very much. You were always my favorite, remember?” then she began laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
Mistress, why are you laughing? the Bitch Boy asked her.
“I must be so skilled. It is all just role play, remember? None of it was real”
A short excerpt for a nude bodywork session –
He lay there. Facedown. I poured hot oil all over his body. I watched the oil drip down his spinal column. I traced it with my fingers as it edged down over his lower back, his sacrum, spiling eagerly in between his buttocks, dripping down to where his genitals waited eagerly for its arrival.
I reached my fingers down and latched on to his hard cock with one hand, while I dripped hot oil onto his throbbing member with the other hand. He moaned. His body writhed with pleasure under the intoxication of my touch.
We sat in the back row. I thought we would be sitting in a dark, almost black back row where no other theater patrons could see what I was going to do to him during the course of the film. About ten seats away there sat about 5 or 6 teenagers, munching away on their popcorn. My first thought (the Catholic school girl in me): “FUCK”. My next thought (the indifferent teenager in me): “Oh well. Whatever”. And the thought after that, my favorite thought of all (coming from the exhibitionist in me): “HOT”. I got excited.
The movie started. We shared our popcorn. Our elbows and legs touched. The electricity and sexual chemistry between us grew. I am 47. He is 28. Not more than 20 minutes into the film, he reached down and placed his hand on my leg. I wore a dress with a tiny black g-string under it. His hand slid up my thigh. We made eye contact. Deep, intense, penetrating eye contact. That beautiful, sinister, turned-on look in his eyes was too much for me to bear. My breath quickened and deepened. I leaned into him. Our lips touched. I reached over and placed my hand on his hardness. I undid his belt while maintaining eye contact in that dark back row of the theater the entire time. Slowly. Ever so slowly, I unzipped his pants while his hand raised up higher on my thigh, finding my tiny little g-string underneath my dress.
Hello Professor. I am addicted to you Professor. Yes. I know you are, student. Do you have a lesson for me, Professor? What can I do to please you, beautiful Professor? To prepare for you? Well … hmmm. To begin, stroke your cock while you think about me. Anything to please you, my most beautiful Professor. Tell me what is beautiful about me, student. Tell me how you want to serve and please me. Your eyes are so intriguing and hypnotic and the taste of your wet lips and your beautiful body. I love your sexy body so much and I love the deviant look in your eyes when you are about to punish me. Aw. Good boy. Are you stroking your cock? Yes. I am for you, my beautiful Professor. Tie it up. Tie up your cock. (he ties it up and sends me a picture) Mmmm. Hot. What a good student you are. DO NOT CUM. You save that for me, do you understand? Yes, Professor. Yes, ma’am. (pause). May I stroke it for you in person? Yes. Meet me at the park. You are going to stroke your cock in your car in the parking lot of the park and you are going to cum for me. Keep it tied up.
The waitress came to take our order. I grabbed your hand and placed it under the table on my inner thigh. As she was taking our order, I pulled my skirt up. I wasn’t wearing any panties. I slipped your hand in between my thighs. She was still taking YOUR order. I grabbed your finger and slid it inside of me. The waitress turned to me and said, “And for you, miss?” I stared directly into her eyes and politely ordered a club soda with a splash of lime (I do not consume alcohol, remember?), the grilled kale salad with dressing on the side, and a baked sweet potato, hold the butter, while my pussy was getting wetter and wetter under the table with your fingers inside of me.
My voice did not falter a bit. That waitress had no idea. I wanted to cum while ordering and see how stealthily and quietly I could gush my wetness out all over your hand while calmly ordering my dinner, staring directly into that innocent, clueless waitress.
My red stiletto heels are completely ravishing. My sweet, submissive slave adores my red shoes. I decided NOT to wear the red shoes for our lovely lunch date that he invited me to because I was still punishing him for his mishap. He needed to earn the right to the red shoes again.
After a nice conversation and meal and just a teeny bit of naughtiness in the restaurant (putting my leg on top of his & letting him place his hand on my stockinged leg while four uppity women, you know – the type who have probably never been fucked in the ass in their entire life, bake apple pies for their husbands, have squeaky clean perfect hair & make up, (I mean how the fuck do they get their hair so straight like that, anyway) kept glancing over at us, shocked by the brazenness and “indecency” of our behaviour (it wasn’t indecent at all … it was hot … but I am sure in their vanilla, never-been-fucked-in-the-ass kind of world it most definitely was). Them watching made what I was doing that much sweeter. I was so turned on by their discomfort. Such an unruly exhibitionist I am. My slave had no idea that all of this was going on in my head as I had him try to zip up my dress (the zipper was, indeed, stuck) and stroke my leg under the table.
He walked me to my car. I was parked in the parking garage. We took the elevator up. Once the elevator door closed I gave him this directive: “Get down on your knees and worship my shoes” (while we were eating lunch, he had hinted to the fact that he had secretly hoped I had worn the red shoes. He had no idea that I purposefully did NOT wear those shoes as part of his ongoing punishment. He still needed to repent a bit more before I would succumb to wear them again). Sweet, submissive slave dutifully bowed down before me and began to worship my shoes. He began softly and sweetly kissing all around my shoes and up my leg, around my ankle. “Lick the bottom of my shoe” I barked at him. He, of course, did as he was told as any good slave would do. “Make out with my shoe” He eyed. “Now … suck the heel like you are sucking a big, huge cock That’s right. Slide it in and out. That’s a good boy” The elevator door opened. He walked me to my car. “Get down on your knees and worship my shoes again before I leave” Such an obedient slave. On his way to the reclaiming of the red shoes.
(WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT)
My sweet bitch slave needed to repent. I was about ready to cut him off and never talk to him again for his mishap. But then, my ever so loyal bitch boy-slave surprised me. He politely, and ever so respectfully, asked me to use him as my whore. “Please Ms. Wylde. Please use me as your whore. I will make it up to you. I will do whatever you want me to do to prove my loyalty to you and your beauty.” To reinforce his loyalty, he brought a black Sharpie and poster board with him that day. “What is this for?” I asked my slave. “I want to make a sign,” he retorted, “… a sign that reads, ‘I am Genesis Wylde’s Whore'”. Impressive. This bitch was pleasing me more and more by every passing moment. I made the sign, inscribing my ownership with the black Sharpie onto the white poster board. I made him hold the sign (after I whipped him a bit) while I took pictures that I could post all over my social media sites, this blog, and more.
I did take his request to be my “whore” quite literally. In fact, last week, after I tied him to my kitchen chair and caned his legs until I saw welts and a purplish color beginning to form on his placid thighs, I made him taste the delicious essence of my lover and feel every inch of my man inside of him … after I made him crawl to and kiss his feet, of course. My little whore was begging for that juicy fat cock, just like any good obedient whore should do. He was so excited about that big piece of meat in his ass that he kept thanking me over and over again and proclaiming how good it felt. “Oh, Mistress. That feels so good. Thank you, Mistress. Thank you.” Good, good, obedient whore. Take that deep in your ass. Make me proud. Prior to this, my poor little bitch boy had only had my silicone strap-on inside of him. Not that this isn’t an incredible experience because, there is, after all, nothing quite like me, #Genesis Wylde, fucking you in the ass. However, me guiding a real, live, juicy, raw, hard fat cock in and out of his eager, naughty hole proved to be quite intoxicating. Yes. My whore did good. He pleased me. He made me proud.
I pulled off of the interstate into this rural, hole-in-the-wall gas station in Kansas City, MO. We had been talking on the phone off and on for a few days now; both Farmer & Woman were anticipating this secret, deviant rendezvous. The “Farmer”, as he referred to himself, would be waiting for me, the Woman, the sex goddess, the erotic genius, in an old red, Chevy pickup truck. You know – the typical dusty old pick-up truck that looks as weathered as the Farmer himself. Sure enough. There it was.
The dutiful, dusty old red pick up truck. I couldn’t see the Farmer yet. He must have been tucked inside of that dusty truck. I had never met him before. The man, of course, not the truck. Ah, but I was familiar with trucks like that. Had fucked in trucks like that; crossed the border after being an accomplice to a robbery in a truck like that; gone down on in a truck like that; raped a willing sissy bitch in a truck like that? But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Farmer.
He was a nasty, naughty, naughty thing on the phone. Couldn’t wait to finally put a face to the nasty, dirty talking fuck. God, how I love nasty fucks like that.
I pulled my white Chevy Tracker up next to the old red truck. I caught a glimpse of him. He beckoned to me to come to him. I got out of my car and climbed on up into that dirty old truck. And there I was. Face-to-face with the Farmer. Overalls. Dusty. Weathered skin. Just how I expected him to be. He gave me gas money. He tributed me nicely for all of the dirty moments we had spent on the phone together, planning for this day. He presented me with a gift: an Iron Maiden.
An Iron Maiden is a cock cage that has spikes in it. It is secured into place on the cock with a padlock. Mmmmmm. This man’s propensity for pain excited me. The Iron Maiden was to be securely put away and saved for me to use on him in my dungeon. But … for the time being … I undid his overalls. There were people everywhere. We were parked right in front of this Podunk gas station. I pulled out his cock. His breath began to quicken. He looked around a bit frantically. “It will be fine, “ I assured him. Nobody knows what I am doing to you in here. They can’t see anything.
As I stroked his cock and it began to grow larger in my hand, I instructed him to just sit there and act normal. He did his best. I put his bulging cock in my mouth. It was so fat I could barely fit it in my mouth. I moved my mouth up and down that cock while he sat perfectly still so as not to bring attention to what we were doing in there. Right as he began to explode, his body tensed. A woman and her son were walking directly by the driver’s side of the truck where he sat with his cock in my mouth.
I still don’t know to this day if he tensed up because he was afraid they were going to glance over and see, or if he tensed up because of the intensity of the orgasm. Maybe it was both. I don’t know. I never asked him. I redid his overalls. Got out of the dusty old truck. Slipped back into my white Tracker …and drove away.
He was coming to see me from a nearby town that was, oh, I’d say about 30 – 45 minutes away. I had been seeing this man for a little over three years now, so we had established quite a rapport; one much beyond the typical client/provider or Dominant/submissive or slave/Master thing. He was texting me while he was driving. He was telling me that he was driving to me naked and that he was going to come to my door that way and take me on the hood of his little red corvette.
The doorbell rang. I was thrilled to see him standing there, completely nude, just as he said he would be. His cock was rock hard. He reached out his hand. I placed mine in his. He guided me out into the dark night. His hot corvette was parked in my driveway. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a single red rose and a warm, soft blanket. He handed me the rose and laid the blanket down on the hood of his car. Then, after making direct eye contact with me and nonverbally checking in with me to see if it was alright, he laid me back on the hood of his car. The soft blanket added to the deliciousness of the moment. Right there, under the stars with the warm summer wind caressing both of our bodies, he worshipped my body until I cried out in ecstasy. I was still holding the rose. After I came, I looked up at him. Fuck me, I said. And so he did. He took me. Right there on the hood of his car. Under the stars. In my driveway.