“If you're into all natural women, I'm having a little celebration at a hotel next week, and I could always use the extra company... Feel free to stop by if it interests you... All of you...”
And with that, I turned to go, making sure to work my ass like the bitch I was becoming thanks to my penile empowerment.
Arriving at the office that day, I should have been a hell of a lot more nervous given the lump that was forever jutting from my skirt. However, I was pretty sure at this point that every last person there thought I was a depraved and utterly uninhibited slut to begin with, so I worked that cock of mine like I'd been born with that perky little pecker.
Paul from accounting, at one point, caught sight of my lady boner and had to dash off to the men's room like a bat out of hell, presumably to take care of a little male protrusion of his own in there (emphasis on little, because in case you might've forgotten, Paul from accounting has a big round hairy belly and a sad, teeny little weenie.)
By the time the day had ended and I stepped through the door of Greg's bedroom (Greg being the studly gentleman I had met through my online personal ad for purposes of sodomizing him,) I felt like it was within my power to conquer the world, drunk on the penile power of my veiny anus hammer.
“Alright, strip you cunt!” I commanded him, asserting more dominance while screwing than I believe I ever had in my entire life. Admittedly, not all of this was the new penis. I still had thoughts of Deidra the dominatrix spinning around in my head from my previous Fuck-It List challenge, so I think she might have slightly influenced my tyrannical attitude toward fucking.
Greg stared nervously at the lump in my curvy terrain that indicated his impending doom. “Look, I um... Go a little bit easy on me, okay? I've played with myself back there before, but I'm just a little bit nervous about trying this with another person...”
“I'll go however the hell I want to on you, you little bitch...” I said, not censoring my thoughts like I generally do before I let them slip through my lips and into the atmosphere.
Despite his clear nervousness he smiled at this, turned on I think by being treated like shit, made to submit to such a dinky little wisp of a girl, my power lying solely in the lethal weapon hanging like a tree branch from my crotch. “I can tell I'm gonna like you...” he said, smirking.
“Did I ask whether the hell or not you like me? Now strip, you fat fuck!”
Again he smiled, a boner of his own beginning to creep up through the fabric of his pants.
At last he did as he was commanded, and I began to stroke the shaft of my artificial penis as I watched him undress, peeling the tight fabric of his clothes from his muscular body, his pecs and abs and Adonis muscles glistening with sweat, his nipples heaving with the intensity of his nervous breath. I made him turn around for me as he peeled out of his pants and underwear, bending to the floor and giving me a nice juicy view of his tight little asshole, as I'd been instructed to do for so many men in the past. The cheeks of his ass were tight and sculpted and absolutely sumptuous, and I was getting so wet between the thighs that I thought I might have to ask him to bone me after I'd boned him.
He turned back around, looking at me to see what I thought of his nudity. His erection was enormous, but it was still no match for my own veiny and formidable cock.
“I guess that'll have to do,” I shrugged indifferently, and peeled out of my own clothes, savoring the sight of his jaw hitting the floor when I whipped out my nine inch dingaling, and once again intuiting the nearby clenching of a sphincter in fright.
I sauntered over to him across the room, and pressed my body up into him, pulling him into me the way men generally did to me, devouring the delicious sexpot, sucking on his lips, letting my spit seep in abundance into his gullet, and pushing my tits into his chest so hard that I knew it was getting unbearable for him.
Down below, I reached for the black bush of his pubic hair for the base of his penis. I seized it in my grip, and lifted it into the air with my fingers, careening along its hot, moist length, and pressing its shaft up against my own, grinding the skin of our two penises together, until a milky white glob of fluid came drooling out through his tip, seeping down along the length of my own long stiffy.
“Mine's bigger,” I whispered, nibbling briefly on his ear, and then added, “Why don't you suck on it for a while?”
He gladly did as pleased, bending down to his knees, and letting his lips dissolve around my tip, sliding his tongue along the shaft, and sucking that cock like a real pro. I couldn't believe that he'd never had any homosexual experience under his belt, because he seemed to give blowjobs like they were nothing. Like, if my penis had had any sensation in it I'm sure I would have been splooging before I even got to booty-fucking him. Consequently, I wasn't really sure how to respond while he sucked me off to show my approval, because aside from not actually feeling it, most guys I'd pleased orally didn't moan like a woman would during a blowjob, so I just settled for occasionally muttering “Oh, oh yeah babe, suck that cock you dirty little man whore...”
It seemed to do the job well enough, if I do say so myself.
Before long, the main event was upon us, and I could tell that Greg was getting quite a bit nervous about it.
“Don't worry,” I assured him, “I've taken much bigger penises up a much tinier anus than yours, and I'm still able to sit down without it causing me much pain...”
This was, of course, little consolation, because I hadn't really intended it to be, and from here I forced him to get down on all fours on the bed, his ass thrust into the air and his tight little bunghole splayed wide for my screwing pleasure.
I worked my fingers in there for a little bit to limber him up and stretch him out, because even though I was loving the rough stuff I didn't want to kill the poor bastard. I also spit into his anus and rubbed it around along his sphincter, which I think did a pretty good job of exciting him.
Then, I glarped a big fat dab of lubricant onto the shaft of my penis, seized hold of his ass, straddling him, and slid my beautiful boner through the tight black crook of his anus. He screamed as I entered him, balling his fists up into the sheets, and evoking some compassion from me behind him, though far from enough to get me to show him any mercy. In for a penny, in for a pounding, after all...
I pummeled that bastard's lights out, shifting from a slow, steamy butt-fuck to a rhythmic, agonizing thrust, to an all-out anal massacre, the carnal glory of tearing his old one a new one far too powerful for me to resist. I slammed into his ass with a vengeance, my fingers curling so deep into his cheeks that I thought I was going to draw blood, our wet bodies smacking together with loud, wet claps, the bed shaking beneath our humping weight, and the cries of anal agony roaring from his throat in a steady stream, “OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH, GOD, MOTHERFUCK- WHY THE HELL DID I WANT THIS?! OH FUCK!”
You know that old saying about not dishing out what you can't take? Well, any guy who wants a woman to do anal with him should sure as fuck be ready to receive an ass-pounding in return, because what goes around cums around, and with no explicit request for me to stop I had no intention to, banging that cunt's ass even harder than ever. I seized onto his swaying erect penis like a handle for support, stroking him while I was poking him, offering at least this small portion of relief while I anally destroyed him in the meantime. And for my own part, I don't know if one end of my dildo had started rubbing up against my vajayjay or if it was just the intense arousal of dominating a man, but my gash was getting rubbed off like a lottery ticket down below, and the harder I pounded that motherfucker's sweet ass the more intensely pleasured my cunt became.
Finally, I slammed into him with one last powerful hump, and something beautiful happened. With the skin of his penis held stretched back in my grip I felt him throbbing into an intense prostate orgasm, moans of pleasure spewing forth from his lips as the long sticky blasts of his seed came spiraling across the bedspread, spattering my fingers as they bounced back up off of its
surface.
And so great was my pleasure at having produced this effect that I began to rock with orgasm myself, my body shaking, and this was no run-of-the-mill, dry female orgasm either. Since my visit to Deidra's Dungeon I'd taken up the occasional art of female ejaculation, and it was appropriate enough as I came at the base end of my artificial penis that a thick, powerful stream of vaginal fluids came pulsing up from my cunt, streaming along the shaft of my erection, and squirting into the throbbing crook of his anus, pulse after pulse after pulse after pulse.
The two of us moaned our ways slowly down through the remainder of our respective climaxes, our bodies trembling, until at last it seemed as though the waves had resided. I pulled out of his asshole with a loud, suctioned pop, and the instant I did it was like a sword being pulled out of the dead body of a stab victim, his muscular self collapsing onto the bed in the accumulated puddle of our assorted fluids.
I sat panting heavily at the edge of the bed, staring at the destruction this artificial genital instrument had wrought, fingering my soaked pussy as I watched his heavy breathing, getting off on the power that was still surging like an illicit substance through my satisfied veins.
Hot. Damn.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Dark Temptation (Book #1)
Chapter One
Grey light shone in, filtered by curtains and projected onto the blanket which cocooned the two lovers. Shana opened her eyes, catching the day’s first glimpse of the man she was spooning. As she tended to do, she lent him a peck on the neck.
He shuffled around and groaned. Shana knew that groan and it meant he was awake. She ran the back of her index and middle fingers up Tom’s back, stroking his shoulders and neck, playing with his hair.
“Babe, sleep.”
It didn’t stop her, he let out that woken groan again. Sidling her lips right by his ear’s lobe as gradually as she could muster, she goaded, “Remember when we used to make love every morning?” His shoulders adjusted, either in consent or a rebuff. She took it as the former, and made her fingers crawl like a spider across the dome of his gut, crawling towards the trapped fly that was his gun in his briefs.
The little tent pitched in the fabric meant it was morning wood, Shana’s favorite. She wrapped her fingers around it one by one and started to stroke.
“Don’t you start the day this way?” No response but some vague vocalizations. “I know I do.”
The receiver sidled his hips so the erection slipped her grasp. He rolled around and looked her in the eyes.
“You know what I want to do Shana?” Shana kissed him and he received it. Tom’s breath tasted like stale meat and vodka, but she loved the musk. She once again wrapped her fingers around his throbbing morning wood. She gripped him tight and twisted it in a direction she knew physiologically unnatural. The yelp he let out was one of a not altogether unpleasant pain.
The bed was swiftly one body emptier, and she felt subtle deceit when she looked back from the bedroom door and saw that Tom had already snuggled back into the covers for another quick snooze. She slammed the door as hard as she could.
A spoon swirled honey into vanilla yogurt. The lyrics were familiar to Shana and she sung along under her breath.
At the bottom of every bottle
The suds read clear as my eyes can see:
The more nights I go home to you
The more I’ll want to kill old me.
“You are listening to 99.5, The Bullhorn, Long Island’s only country music station. Our rodeo moseys from Queens to The Hamptons. That was Christoph B. Tallweather with ‘Advice From My Beer.’ Next up, Hedy Nughes with ‘I’ll Never Forget That Horse.’”
Shana heard all the songs on that station before. Working on wiping her mind off Tom’s refusal to fulfill her, she counted the number of times she heard “I’ll Never Forget That Horse” in the past week. Just about to recall the exact location where she heard it the sixth time, a finger running up the back of her thigh pulled her from the thought she was lost in. The finger skimmed the flesh, traveling in a diagonal to the ridge in her buttocks, meddling around her lips like a hungry garden snake near a mole’s little pocket carved into the ground. Shana took a spoonful of yogurt, turned out upside down in her mouth to lick the silver dry. Her hand slid down the front of her sweat pants, undoing the drawstring then circling her clit with her forefinger’s tip. The other hand did not let go of the spoon, instead clutched it tighter in the perspiring palm. Tom’s arm slid between her legs as his hand grabbed her through the outside of her pants.
Shana reached behind herself with the spoon and pushed her lover’s forehead back. Her head turned, eyes meeting his, and she opened her mouth, rolling the white yogurt on her tongue. Breathing through his mouth like an asthmatic bear, Tom ripped off his briefs and tossed them with little care for where they landed. Shana savored her aerial view of Tom’s medium member throbbing loudly until she noticed it levitating towards her face, Tom pulling her down by the back of her neck. Her right hand smacked the pulsing member with the back of the spoon, making Tom’s knees buckle. Taking full advantage of his prime position, Shana pushed his head down until he was eye-level with the line of pubic hair peaking over her gray sweats.
“Give me those hands.” Tom surrendered like a teen in front of two cops. She placed one hand on each of her hips and made sure his thumbs were hooked around her waistband. “And the second the pants are off I want you to smell me.” She did a little dance to get out of the pants when they were around her ankles. Tom obeyed her command, her bush smelled faintly of vinegar and aged leather. With no prodding at all, he turned his chin up and drew his tongue from the cleft of her vulva all the way up to her clit. She liked how Tom looked with an auburn mustache. He repeated, this time taking a few seconds to bat around the wet extra flesh that draped the entryway to her womb. The tongue tread it’s path and retraced, forward and back, over and over. The thin solvent of his slobber and her juices ran down the inside of her thighs, drawing thin lines of chill. Tom’s silky paws grabbed her ass and Shana felt electricity flash all over her skin. Shana scooped yogurt out of the bowl and lent him a liberal anointment on his forehead, pushing the excess into his thinning hair.
“What the fuck is that about?” Shana’s mind was infested with too blissful a chaos to do much explaining. He gripped her ass harder and propped her up on the counter, entering her with a strict vengeance. His slack mouth nestled next to her ear and she could feel his hot, moist inhalations and exhalations with each corresponding movement in his thrust. “Filthy. So filthy”
“Yes I am.”
He gave a deep thrust, but not in the right spot. When she yelped, it was barely out of pleasure. “You covered me in that bullshit yoga food you filthy bitch.”
“Don’t say that.”
He thrust the same way, just as hard. When her nails dug into his sweaty neck, he mistook it as a sign of approval.
“Don’t say what? Bullshit yoga food or,” he gave the thrust a third time, “bitch.” The thrusting hips halted. Tom wheezed a little. The member slid out and Shana could feel his seed spill out of her. She gazed down and watched it ooze onto the granite counter top. By the time she looked up, Tom was halfway out the door.
“Where are you going?” She was still buzzing, unfulfilled, sitting in a growing pearl puddle.
“Time to meditate, sugar.” Soon the toilet seat slammed down and the bathroom lock clicked.
“Don’t take too long in there!” she shouted at the wall. “I need to shower before I go to the airport.”
“Whatever babe.” His indifference reverberated off the bathroom tile.
“And don’t forget to call the caterer today. If we don’t have kosher options at the reception, your mother is going to wish she never came to our wedding!”
“Jesus Christ, do we have to talk about my mother the second after we fuck? Let a guy do his business in peace.”
“Fucking” was what Tom called it when she didn’t get off.
She finished herself promptly, right there on the counter, quickly hitting the spots he couldn’t seem to find in his ignorant fury. Within seconds of her functional climax, she noticed that Tom’s tighty whities had landed in the pot of pasta sauce that had been soaking overnight. “The things you do for love,” Shana muttered, dumping the water out in such a way that the briefs wouldn’t fall and clog the drain.
It was already 9:30 and her Shana’s flight took off at noon. Tom was taking his sweet time doing God knows what in there and she still had to shower, shave her legs, blow dry her hair straight, and, of course, put on makeup. The hair could wait, but the truth was that for some reason Shana always wanted to look good when she traveled out of a simple desire to be the most stunning woman stepping off the plane.
But as 10:00 approached, it became obvious that the hair would have to wait. Thanks to Tom, she had the opportunity to check her suitcase three times over. Everything she needed for a week was in there. A dress and flats for the church service, some clothes for the heat and some layers if it cooled off, sneakers for jogging, a charger for her Kindle, good shampoo double wrapped in plastic bags. She was so bored that she even went through her carry on, ending up glad to realize that it was the wrong place to keep her pocket vibrator. It’s bad enough that those body scanners see you naked, she did not need some TSA perv checking her bag to picture her getting off.
The Naughty Collection Page 5