by Mia Natasha
His fingers nestled into my hooey and found their way to my clit while he licked around both holes. “Eye-ya-yey,” I murmured. Some fingers twiddled fiddle-dee-dee, but his thumb and forefinger on his right hand trapped my nubbin and wiggled it the way I do when I masturbate. I moaned louder, because I was getting it good – very good. While Rob’s mouth licked away at my back end, his fingers danced me to heaven. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted to thank Madonna for guiding me to this incredible moment of super-colossally great fucky-wuck. I shot my lady load while simultaneously screaming out, “Madonna! Madonna!”
How embarrassing, I know. If you remembered from earlier, I was borderline drunken stupor at this point. Normally, it takes me a half-hour to make myself cum, twenty minutes with Zeus, but Rob was able to fuck me in ten. I thought, how did he do it? An actor? I obviously didn’t have to act like I liked it because the proof was in the cummy pudding.
He gave me a minute or so to recuperate - he went into the bathroom and I heard the water running in the sink. I lay there on the bed uttering moans that sounded like the gibberish of a person speaking in tongues. I could have joined the priesthood with my archaic sing-song had I not been a girl. Maybe I would now be able to understand Greek perfectly, I thought, as I felt the undulating spasms of glorious fireworks penetrate my entire hoo-ha. Was that even possible?
Then yipee! I heard a jangling noise and he was back. “Do you still love your fiancé, Zeus?” he asked.
“Of course, I do,” I said. This isn’t about love.” Immediately I felt like that was probably not the right thing to say. After all, he was here doing me a favor, and I didn’t want him to leave before we made our rainbow connection.
“What if I were to say that I love you?” he asked.
Then Rob flipped me over and placed my weak-by-orgasm body on his lap like a puppet master. I thought he was going to kiss me, our lips were so close, I could smell the spearmint in his breath mixed with alcohol. I wondered if he’d been drinking absinthe? It’s supposed to be the new thingy at Hollywood bistros according to Entertainment Tonight. Instead of a kiss though, he took my arms, placed them behind my back, and slapped my wrists with handcuffs.
I said, “Hey! What are you doing?”
“I’m going to be your Dom too, didn’t I tell you?” he said. “Because you’ve been a very bad girl.”
“You hadn’t mentioned that,” I said. I wondered if I should call for help. Unfortunately, my hooey was in charge and it said no.
“Is that okay?” he asked with what seemed a little like concern.
I’d never been tied up before, as I’ve mentioned. The restriction of my arms had that same fluttery tummy feeling as everything else. I think it reignited my need. “Uh-huh,” I said. I’m normally much more verbal than this, bloggers, but you have to understand that I was under a wizard’s spell, cast by Madonna mixed with the desire of an extremely deprived hoo-ha.
“Good,” he said as he whirled me around like a Cirque Du Soleil performer, positioning me on the bed the way I was when he first walked in. He stood very close. I heard him removing his belt and it jingled with his pants onto the floor. I smelled the delicious aroma of healthy super-pricker directly under my nose.
“I started following your blog about a week into it,” he said. “You are really something. I had to meet you here to find out what you were like to a fuckster. Would you be the real you or a facsimile? I mean, your lovers had been selected to represent Madonna’s conquests. I wanted to see if you were anything like Madonna.”
“Did you really fuck Madonna?” I asked.
“No,” he smirked. “I was just trying to get your attention.”
“You did, but only because Gina pointed it out,” I said. “I didn’t notice the comments at all until….”
“Gina knows. Hmm.” He seemed to contemplate whether or not that fact was important, I guess, but then he shrugged it off. It would have been weird if Gina had broken down the door and barreled in with a slew of paparazzi or something, but she had probably fallen asleep by now. “Well, let’s get on with it. You tried to eat a Native American’s cock, I believe,” he said. “Now you’re going to eat this.”
He rubbed his pricker against my cheeks and I could feel that it had the girth that I like and the unmistakable quality of a bonafide hard-on. I opened wide because I could tell that I would enjoy this feast. In it went, slow and steady-like until it became my cock gag. Blindfolded, imprisoned and now gagged, I moaned at the deliciousness of it all. His girthy weiner rivaled the big kazoo for sure. It nestled inside me like hand to glove and felt all slippery, warm, powerful, and loving. I wished I had my hands to work it but this felt way sexier. I was a BDSM princess bride imprisoned by Rob’s mastery of cock-a-doodle. Lick, lick, and licorice-lick, I licked around this monster man-part in reciprocation to the brilliant attention he’d displayed of my hooey. He retracted, and slapped back in so that I could reach every nook and throbbing pulse of his manhood, hoping to offer him a corresponding orgasm. He moaned my name and then…he screamed I-love-you like a dozen times! I taunted him with my suckling prowess. I wanted to be just like Madonna. This man was not going to give me a bad review, obviously. I wanted to give him something he’d definitely remember well. That last swirl of the tongue put him over the edge. The elation I felt when he came into my mouth went beyond satisfaction. I swallowed and thought, I am the happiest engaged woman in the universe.
He pushed me back and the handcuffs pressed into my back. I said, “These cuffs might leave marks on my wrists and muck up my wedding photos,” but I really didn’t care all that much due to my Jägermeister-Champagne haze.
“You’re thinking about your wedding?” he said with a chuckle. “And what about your fiancé, Zeus. Are you thinking about him?”
I felt his fingers knocking on cunt’s door. They twiddle-dee-deed inside - not one or two, but almost a whole fistful.
“Yes,” I screamed.
“Yes, you like this or yes you’re thinking about your beloved?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I said as though in a fucksy trance.
“Hmm,” he said. “I believe a woman tried to satisfy you without a cock? Is that right?” He flicked his fingers around and I believe he had proceeded to create shadow puppets in my hoo-ha. I began to giggle uncontrollably.
I said, “That one felt like a bunny. Am I right?”
“And this?” he asked. He wriggled it into a fuck signal.
I said, “Are you flipping me the bird?”
“I’m fucking you,” he said, enunciating the word like it was oh, so deliciously dirty. And then his fingers felt like a soaring eagle.
I tried to suppress the giggles, but they insisted on embarrassing me, the way I’d imagined they would at the altar. It was both ticklish and tantalizingly fucklish. I thought he was laughing too, but at that point I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t really hear him. He kept at his little wicked game and I was absolutely at his mercy. His hand became a handgun pulling the trigger, and when his gun went off another shot of cum juicy-juice spilled out of me. When he finally removed his hand, I started hearing a slurpilishish sound. He was for sure, sucking my wetness off his hand!
I said, “What do I taste like?”
“Grecian goddess,” he said.
Now he took his wet, sticky hand to my left foot. He sat down on the bed and yanked my foot up to his mouth, the whole thing. My manicured tootsies became the next course. Now he held both feet in his hands and took turns giving them attention. Oh-la-la.
“Oh my god,” I moaned. I wished I could use my hand to friggy-frig my clit. I wondered how many orgasms I could have in one night, my last night of freedom. Funny, the word freedom, because I wasn’t exactly free with a blindfold and handcuffs on and the truth was, I didn’t want to be. I was afraid that it would end this way without a hooey-pricker fireworks finale, just like all the rest.
I said, “I need a cock to finish me off.”
“Did th
e basketball player give you a cock?” he asked.
I said, “No, I didn’t even see that one. But you can give me yours.”
And then…I got FUCKED. He flipped me over onto my knees. Because my wrists had been locked behind me, I leaned on my shoulders with my booty-boot high in the sky. He entered me from behind with a whack-whack here and a whack-whack there. This was definitely something to remember for the both of us. The pounding my cunt took felt like a fine pummeling – what I had wanted from the get go. One that would have made Madonna proud. It was heavenly cock to hoo-ha bliss.
“I love you, Dannika Elinopoulous, soon to be Zepkos,” he said.
“And I love this,” I said between thrusts. There was nothing like this because it was the best sex of my life.
“There’s just one more thing,” he said. “I need to give it to you Greek style, to finish you off. Well?”
I knew what that meant. He’d saved the best for last. I don’t know how he knew. I really don’t. He must have Googled me when he was up late in his hotel room or something, looking for his Madonna protégé who needed some sense knocked into her. I was looking for something that I had all along, just like Dorothy Gale. And it was about to take its place in my backyard.
I said, “Indeedy do. Do it in my doo-doo hole and act like you like it. And Toto too.”
“I’ll show you Toto,” he said. “I’ll doo-doo that.”
And then we both started laughing. Howling laughter, the way sex is best. And I knew. I knew I loved him with all of my heart, because he is the most perfect man in the world.
I felt the nudging of cock at rosebud gate. It had been soaked in slithery patchouli oil lubrication, the smell of my first Madonna dream. It was ready for its mission, its virgin voyage.
I said, “God, fuck me.” He slid that perfectly sized throbbing member into my behind, slowly and carefully so that I could get used to it for the future. “Ow! Mother fuckers and lucky charms!”
“You are now the goddess of Greeks,” he whispered into my ear. His man fluid dripped from my girl bung and leaked all over my booty-boot and legs.
He kissed me on the back of the neck the way I like it when we’ve finished making love, the way I’ve liked it for the last five years. Then he lifted me into his arms and pulled the blindfold off my sweaty face. Zeus maneuvered me into his lap again. He replaced his Austin Powers accent with his own silky Australian one.
“I’m going to have to spank you now, Dani,” he said. “Because you’ve been a naughty little bride-to-be.”
“No, please. I’m so sorry,” I said.
“I’m afraid you need to be punished, angel. It’s time.”
I said, “Can’t you take the handcuffs off first?”
“No,” he said, “Sorry.” He kissed my cheek. “I can’t have you squirming away. Then we’d have this hovering over our heads for our entire lives, and I hope this is a one-time only offense. And anyhow, I’m just fulfilling your fantasy. This is that spanking you had imagined, the one you wrote about in your blog. Now count with me, Madannika.”
He slapped my ass - hard.
I cried, “One!”
“That’s for letting a flaccid man lick your pinkie,” he said. “Shameful.” He slapped again, harder than the first.
I cried, “Two!”
“And that’s for taking a girthless cock into your mouth,” he said. “What were you thinking? Shame, shame.” Slap!
I cried, “Three!”
“That’s for thinking you could have sex without the presence of a clean and healthy pricker,” he said. “I can see your fascination with the Lesbos connection, but come on! She was no Mila Kunis.” He smacked my ass with full force once more. It stung worse than the time those wasps stung me when I stepped in their ground nest while dancing around the trellis in my parents’ backyard.
I cried, “Four!”
“And that,” he said, “is for trying to find someone else to punish your hoo-ha during our favorite time of the month.” Slaaaap!
I cried, “Five!”
“And that’s the spank you’re getting for believing that anyone else could give it to you Greek-style. Oh, Dani. I hope you’ve learned something from this.”
He kissed my reddened booty-boot.
“If you’re referring to my heart’s desire, I already know that I’ve found it with you, Zeus,” I said. “I’ve always known.”
“You just needed Madonna’s guidance to make it clear, I know.” He began to rub the patchouli lotion on my back end.
I said, “What about six?” He ignored my question. Zeus Archimedes Zepkos reached for the key on the nightstand and released me from the handcuffs. He kissed each wrist then proceeded to rub them as well. The redness seemed to disappear quickly. “So no sixth spank?”
He said, “I don’t think it’ll justify my love. Do you?”
Zeus smiled. I smiled. Then I wrapped my arms around his neck and we reclined on the bed. Rounds two and three of cuntessa-kazoo fucky-wuck commenced. Then we made googly eyes at each other and said I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you all night long, until we fell asleep in each other’s arms. I know, we’re toxic like that, but in a good way.
We’re getting married in two hours. Thank you, Madonna, for making me a better fuckster. I promise never to run away from happiness ever again because there’s no place like you-know-where.
Comments: 1
You’re welcome. Nonni, USA & UK
The End
ABOUT MIA NATASHA
Mia Natasha is a New York based artist and fashion designer. She is the author of four erotic novels published by Excessica – Cinderella Club, a BDSM erotic romance, and its sequel, Cinderella Thyme; Dr. Cockburn’s Medicine, a Halloween tale; and Jude’s Whore, a time travel story. Two more novels are set for later this year.
Find her on Twitter as mia_erotica and check out her blog at http://mianatasha-erotica.blogspot.com.
She welcomes fan mail at [email protected].
If you enjoyed Putting The Madge In Danna, you might also enjoy:
Jude’s Whore
By Mia Natasha
Twenty-four-year-old Mia Mandolyn follows her football star boyfriend to Miami, Florida. A year later, the relationship has fizzled and she is currently a high-priced whore working for expensive clothes and Jimmy Choos, and living alone in a studio apartment in Pompano Beach.
An encounter with a mysterious John on Christmas Eve is about to change her life. Jude Remington is like an anachronism in time - space and time, specifically. He intrigues her from the start, warming her heart via an effervescent drink followed by mind-altering sex.
Their union sends her on an unconventional adventure of omnipotent proportion. Is she actually Mary Magdelene? Can she rewrite history as a time traveler or has the paradox already been established? Does Jesus really love her? Follow Mia as she undertakes this unorthodox journey from skeptical sinner to believer in the miracle of forgiveness, and in the power and gift of love.
Warning: This book contains sex with Jesus Christ, which some may find offensive. There is graphic language, graphic descriptions of sex acts, oral and vaginal, and a rape scene. There is also bondage and acts of drugging and mind-control.
Excerpt From Jude’s Whore:
She said, “There’s something about you….”
“Let’s talk in my hotel room,” her client said, interrupting her and luckily, she thought, before she let slip some asinine deal-breaking comment about his angelic features. Romantic ideas were against the rules; she knew that. “It is overlooking the ocean and I am quite certain that you will be entertained by my proposition, Mia Mandolyn.” He downed his second martini then signed his bar tab – Jude Remington, Room 1225.
Mia had not remembered sharing her last name with him. A pang of fear shook her like a heat rash. For months, she had lived her life as two different people – good girl and bad girl, real and imagined, and the prostitute had no last name. Her alter ego was like Madonna. She needed to
abort, right? It was scary to think that Jude Remington knew the real woman behind the bravado. Had Trixie at the service been seduced by his charm too somehow - tricked into breaking security protocols? Calm down, she thought as she looked at the handsome man. He seemed nice. Mia reached into her Gucci clutch to retrieve her keys, to use them as a weapon, as Trixie had instructed her if things ever went sour with a John. She could defend herself if necessary. She rose and immediately felt light-headed. After only a few sips of liquor? Mia was hardly a lightweight and yet she felt inebriated. How odd.
“Come, Mia,” he said. “Let me help you.”
Mia looked at her client again. He was incredibly attractive despite the long, out-dated sideburns, model-like but also rugged with a strong jaw-line and a friendly smile. Younger than most, maybe thirty? And familiar in a strange, soothing way. Had they ever met before in another life? It was silly to think it, but it was possible. Had he been a customer of hers at the mall last Christmas, buying last minute perfume as a gift on Men’s Night? No, there were too many faces that night and she would have remembered his. Had he gone to Marist too? Maybe that was why he knew her name! She had been the girlfriend of a star football player. Although far-fetched, this made the most sense.
He seemed extremely well educated with his grammar and elegant manner. The clothing though…the leather jacket over a black turtleneck sweater and flared leg trousers of thin wool…. The outline of an impressive hard cock rested beneath. Jude Remington was not dressed for Miami, Florida. He was not even dressed for this decade!
“I don’t know,” she said as she digested her assessment.
“An eternity awaits, young lady. Please, this way.”
Mr. Remington steered Mia by the arm in the direction of the hotel lobby then to the elevator. She became very passive in the comfort of his grip. Alone for the first time, he kissed her. His breath had no scent, like a ghost, and his lips were a powerful vacuum clinging to hers. His tongue danced over hers offering salvation. Despite her misgivings, she wanted more. She had not felt this way since before all this. Before the whoring. Since that day when she had met Dax Meadows in a bar on campus, that innocence mixed with passion that felt like home. Breathless, Mia awaited her orders.