Ninety Three Seconds

I’m certain I was yammering as we walked through the door. There was a plan: to drink, to cook, to eat, and to fuck.

I had assumed in that order, and therefore, was not expecting to be held by the hair and drag/pushed into the living room. That was certainly a surprise.

But when he pulled the pillows off the sofa and dropped them to the floor before me, I had an inkling.

And when he pulled his phone out and fiddled with it after ordering me to masturbate, I had another inkling.

Some time after the orgasm, after he’d given me a taste of him, after he’d told me to get dressed and make him a drink, he’d nonchalantly told me that it’d taken me 93 seconds to orgasm.

“Because you were watching me,” I explained.

Manual override on my own could take an hour. Any sort of stimulation when he’s watching me takes significantly less time.

Dinner was decent.

It was during the fucking when I was asked how long it took me to orgasm earlier.

I don’t know how the fuck I remembered the number.

But I did. “Ninety three seconds, Sir.”

He started to smack me. Slowly, then quickly, altering speed and intensity.

And then he stopped.

“How many is that?”

Well. I don’t know. Maybe it’s like the pillows and I’d had some sort of nonverbal cue. Or maybe it’s something I always do, the counting.

“Fifty.”

I could hear him smile. I felt the swell of my own pride in getting it right.

Here’s what he doesn’t know. I think I lost count somewhere after the next 20. I dropped into some altered state for a moment and when I came back….I could have sworn we were at 83, not 93.

But those last five smacks were double handed and hit hard.

Maybe they counted for two.

What’s next?

He’d been driving at least an hour to get to my house. He’d told me before he left that he’d want a shower upon arrival, so I responded that I’d wait to take mine with him. He also usually wanted a drink, and sometimes a smoke. And at some point, we were going to have to eat.

And fuck.

“What would you like to do first?” I asked, after kissing him hello

“Pee.” He answered.

“Okay,” I answered, smiling and stepping aside so he could move past me and toward the bathroom.

When he emerged, I was waiting for him in the living room. I inched closer to him, staring into the deep blue pools of his eyes. “What would you like to do second?”

What started as a soft kiss quickly escalated. His hands were everywhere: around my throat, in my hair, clawing at my breasts and thighs. I gave him what I could, and what I couldn’t he took from me.

I paused to catch my breath. “I still need a shower,” I whispered. He chuckled, “So you’re saying you’re a dirty whore, right now.”

He spun me around and held me tightly against him with his forearm across my chest. “Yes, Sir,” I answered.

Then I was bent over a chair, my skirt hiked up. I could hear zippers and rustling. When I looked down on the floor I saw his shadow cast from the lights behind him. He’d undressed. He was walking toward me, carrying something.

I feel the first strike of the belt across my ass.

By the fifth or sixth they were making me jump.

He’s fucking me. My god, it feels amazing, but my leg is cramping up. I try to shake it out, but my calf is seizing. I tell him so.

He drags me by the hair up to the bed.

I’ve come more times than I can count. We’ve reached the point where I’ve stopped asking for permission to come and I’m growling at him, “I want it. It’s mine. I want it, now!”

I explode. I can feel him starting to twitch. He surprises me. In a flash, he’s pulled out, flung the condom off and he’s coming on me. A drop lands directly in my mouth, the rest on my neck, chest, and belly.

It takes a few minutes to regain coherent speech.

“What do you want to do third?” I ask.

Smut, Interrupted

Let me tell you about the story I’m not telling you. The one that you’d think would be so appropriate for me to tell on this site.  This past weekend, some seriously HOT stuff happened. It was depraved and there was sweat and bondage and so. much. penetration.  If I could have stepped outside my body and watched the scene from afar I’d have been like, – unf – and while there were no cameras set to record anything, if you know me at all you know I’m capable of capturing and conveying a very clear picture of what took place with some well-placed words.

But I’m not telling you, and it’s not because I think you wouldn’t like it or because I wouldn’t enjoy sharing it with you.

It’s because of every time someone has incorrectly equated a woman’s sexuality with her intention.

For every “she was asking for it, dressed like that…”

For every meme showing Lady Gaga, Madonna, Arianna Grande, or Miley Cyrus and contrasting the way they choose to own and display their own bodies with their complaints that men simply shouldn’t (without consent).

Because if I were to share how he managed to reduce me to whimpering, drool-covered object for his pleasure – and further, if I were to say I enjoyed it, then the same people who think that posting naked pictures of oneself on a kinky website is an open invitation to receive inboxes full of unsolicited cockshots, come-ons, and non-negotiated exercises in humiliation and degradation in the comments section would see it as open season.

So, you’re not getting smut from me.

Not today, anyway.

What smut looks like when I’m feeling grumpy

I knew what she wanted. I could tell, from the way she looked at me that she wanted me to take her and make her mine. She was dressed to impress, I’ll give her that. That pencil skirt showed off her curves. And when she leaned over to pick up her purse from the floor, I saw the holy grail of cleavage.

She wanted me to notice, and I did. I sure did.

I licked my lips and gathered the courage to go talk to her. Chicks like that dig confidence. I had to show her the kind of man I was. I had to show her that I’m the kind of man that can take control the way she craves it.

I took the stool right beside her and waved the bartender over.

“Scotch. Neat.” I ordered. Bartender rattled off some labels. I didn’t know the difference. I picked one that sounded familiar and pulled it off like I knew exactly what I was getting.

“Come here often?” I asked her. It was cheesy, but I could sell it. I’m charming as fuck.

She took one look at me…just one look…I swear….

And walked to the other side of the bar.

Fucking bitch.

The Surrogate

Her actions were methodical – almost robotic in nature. Closing the door behind her, she slid her arms from her raincoat, pulled the sweater over her head and unbuttoned her pants. Within minutes she was stripped down to her socks, panties, and a thin black tank top.

It’s too bright.

She drew closed the heavy curtains to block out the remaining sunlight from the room. She turned off the lights – first the adjacent bathroom, then the lamp by the television, and finally the bedside table – all left on since her too-early departure into the shadows of a near-winter morning.

Crawling over the items she’d laid out on the king-sized bed, she burrowed her lower half below the white quilted comforter and longed for her own bed, her own pillows, and all the comforts of home, including him.

Tonight he’d have been there with her; but instead she’s nearly three hours south of that fantasy, alone in a darkened hotel room with three hours to kill before her business dinner.

It’s at this point that she peels back the physical and emotional shields she’d engaged to make it through an entire day of meetings and schmoozing without giving into the devastatingly distracting desire that would remain unsatisfied for another week.

With a slow exhale she becomes aware of the chill in the air. Sliding a hand over her breasts, she’s quizzically surprised by the hardness and sensitivity of her nipples. At once she realizes the stark contrast between them and the soft, warm, and increasingly damp environment below the covers.

She allows her other hand to drift below, beneath the thin fabric of her cotton panties. In the darkness, his face becomes more visible in her mind’s eye, and with enough imagination – he appears beside her. She can almost feel the weight of his body on the bed beside her, the warmth of his breath on her neck.

I want you, she whispers into the empty room.

As her chilled fingers warm against the peaks and valleys of her body, her mind wanders to a recent conversation. She remembers where she is and a thought creeps into her head.

An imaginary knock at the door. No, wait…somehow, he just appears. A key left at the front desk, perhaps after having received instructions to prepare for his arrival. He stands at the foot of the bed.

“He sent me to watch you. Said you’d told him your inner-exhibitionist was hungry, and I was close enough to feed her.”

A small moan echoes off the walls as the fantasy hits home and her cunt floods with validation.

Show him… she tells herself, as she pulls her breast out by the nipple and lowers the blanket below her knees.

Spreading her legs, she counts out the slaps…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Just as he’d instructed, now with his surrogate to bear witness.

And *scene*.

She wasn’t prone to blushing; hardly anything really embarrassed her.

But this.

“So, is that a yes?” he asked without a trace of bias one way or another. It was all up to her.

“I think so,…” she said.

“Think so? I think it’s better if you know so.”

She looked over at the other side of the room where the person in question sat chatting with a friend. She’d enjoyed chatting with him. She wasn’t emotionally connected, but she liked him as a person.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”



He’d already ordered her to strip down, which she did without delay. It wouldn’t be the first time she was naked in the dungeon, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She felt a shiver rush through her body as he stood with his back to her, arranging items from his toy bag onto the table. Damned place got the air conditioning fixed a little too well, she thought to herself.

Meanwhile, she saw the occasional person walking by, sometimes pausing to take a look. It was a slow party, and early still. Not too many people milling around. She didn’t make eye contact, but she kept note of how many paused and how many didn’t through her peripheral vision.

He turned to face her and smirked. “Turn around,” he ordered, and she did, facing the far wall of the cell. He came up behind her and pressed his still-clothed body against hers. “Are you ready?” he murmured in her ear.

“For what?” she asked, her voice barely registering below a squeak.

At once, one arm reached around her throat and put her in a choke hold while the other hand clamped over her mouth.

“Today’s the day,” he whispered. He pivoted her around to face out toward the hallway. They were no longer alone in that cell.



It’d been months since anybody but her lover had so much as touched her. And here was this man, this other man, running his fingers slowly up her torso and over her breasts. Her lover kept her in the hold, as if presenting his possession to a new friend.

Her pulse racing, she closed her eyes to try to relax. She sank back into her lover for support and shifted her thoughts to focus on the sensations rather than the context.

When she felt a warm, wet mouth surround her nipple she moaned. At that point, her lover’s arms released her from his hold and began caressing her skin, down her arms, over her hips, and down her thighs. The mouth had moved up from her nipples and over her chest and was now kissing her neck. She could smell his shampoo, and it was pleasant.

Just then, her lover’s fingernails dug into her thighs and she gasped, wrapping her arms around the other man for support as she breathed through the pain.

Her lover chuckled softly in her ear.

“Last chance,” he murmured quietly. “Yes or no?” he asked.

Breathlessly sandwiched between the two men, she answered in the affirmative. “Yes, please.”



Together they led her to the low, padded table, positioned against the padded wall. “Get up, on your back,” her lover spoke as he patted the table with his hand.

She did as she was told and lay her head back. She lay there, looking up at the winch over her head and began to shiver again. Where had they gone?

Moments later, she heard their footsteps returning and each of them grab her by an ankle and bend her knee up. In unison, they each cast a coil of rope and began tying her legs into position – bent, with her ankle to her thigh – and the spread and secured to the legs of the table.

She felt the warmth of a tongue on her clit and moaned. Without knowing whether it was her lover, or the other, she was at their mercy. It didn’t take long, however, before she knew the answer to her silent question.

With a hop onto the table, the other positioned his now naked body in a straddle over her face. He leaned forward against the padded wall to guide his cock past her lips.

There it was. The point of no return. In her thoughts she took a mental picture of the scene. She checked in with her emotions. And she realized…

…she was enjoying it.

As the shock wore off her instincts kicked in and she began rolling her tongue and suckling at the cock in her mouth. She reached her hands up and placed them over his ass and gently urged him to push deeper. He moaned.

Her lover laughed. “There’s my whore,” he said, jamming his fingers into her cunt.

Her first orgasm happened just as the other’s cock pushed past the barriers and into her throat. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his ass as she writhed, unable to shut her legs or shift the weight of him off her chest.

With a low groan, the other pulled out of her mouth and climbed down. She heard the sound of the condom wrapper being torn open just as her lover had leaned over the table to kiss her mouth. With one hand still rubbing her clit he filled her hungry mouth with his tongue, and she reached up to cradle his face lovingly.

He moved his head back to inches and looked into her eyes. They held their gaze locked, just like that, as the other penetrated her cunt slowly.

It was like that when the second orgasm came. Her lover’s fingers circling her clit, his eyes recording every movement and emotion in her face, as the other took his pleasure from her dripping wet and open cunt.

“God damn,” said the other as her cries and moans echoed off the walls.

“My good whore,” her lover responded, as he climbed up onto the table and took his position inside her mouth.



She’d lost track of time. She remembered some time passing with her lover in her mouth and the other in her cunt when she heard the question being asked, “Does she take it up the ass?”

She remembered the two of them working to unsecure the rope from the table , and unwrap her legs from their binds.

She remembered being moved off the table, fondled and kissed by the other while her lover put a condom on and lay himself down on the table.

She remembered climbing on top of him and lowering her cunt onto his cock.

And she remembered the look of pure, hedonistic joy as they both felt the other’s cock enter into her ass without too much difficulty.

She’d lost track of her orgasms.

She only knew when she’d shifted from “yes, …fuck yes….more, more…” to “Ohmygod please come…please, please come….”

Other came first. He pulled out and stumbled over to sit in a chair. Lover was next. She lay there, with his cock still throbbing inside her, her face buried into the nape of his neck.

When she lifted her head up and looked into his face, he was all smiles. She smiled, too, and kissed him passionately.

Slowly they disconnected their bodies, and she looked over at other, who was drinking from a cup of water and seemingly enjoying the view.

“So…hello. Nice to see you again,” she said with a glimmer in her eye.

“Nice to see you too!” he responded cheerfully.

They all laughed and began picking up their clothes and the rope and cleaning off the equipment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple of the spectators quietly and respectfully shuffle off and leave them to decompress alone.

November Dribbles: Perfect Circle

Someone over on FetLife created a November Dribble/Drabble challenge.  A drabble is a story made up of exactly 100 words (title not included in this version of the challenge).  A dribble is exactly half that – a story set in 50 words.

The challenge is to complete either one drabble a day or one dribble every two days (as telling stories in fewer words can be more challenging).

I didn’t catch on to the challenge until November 7th, so in order to catch up, I posted three dribbles in the morning, and a drabble later at night.

Here are the dribbles.  Next post is the drabble.

#NovemberDribbleDrabble


Perfect Circle (Part 1)

It had been a stressful week, but not unexpectedly so. “Will you have the energy to do anything later?” he’d asked. She replied confidently that she would. “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my name.”

“Oh, I’ll remind you your name, whore.” he replied.


Perfect Circle (Part 2)

They sat in the theatre, exactly 1127 seats, most filled. Comedians traipsed across the stage in measured order. The music began; he ran his warm hand gently up her bare arm. The music, crowd, and stress dropped away. For the first time in weeks, she felt still and silent again.


Perfect Circle (Part 3)

“Please, please, please!” Her cries were muffled by the palm of his hand, else echoing through hotel room walls. He’d pounded her into orgasm after orgasm earlier, but now forced her tortured restraint. As her pleas reached critical mass, he growled, “What’s your name?”

Whore,” she responded breathlessly.

Permission granted.