Guest posts are something new here – It doesn’t have to be erotica, it can be anything really but it should kinda fit in with the place a bit, ya know? But the first one IS erotica because it’s something that’s been seriously lacking on this blog due to my own lack of a muse or simply ability to properly finish a piece. I have a whole bunch of ideas and a number of half-finished ones that I cannot seem to do. Interested in doing a guest post here? You don’t have to be a blogger, even! You can be as anonymous as you’d like if that’s your cup of tea. Erotica, OpEd pieces, or even a plea for advice from my readers. Just email me!
The lights are out. I slide into bed. Immediately I feel that warm body pressing against my back, curling to match the contour of my body. A shift of the hips and I suddenly feel it.
A bulge, through two layers of cloth. Instantly I have one to match, though much harder than the one I feel. It wasn’t meant for use, just for a tease. Something that was quite easy to do with me.
Another shift, and a shudder in response. The noise I make is caught somewhere between a whimper and a moan. A hand strokes my hair then slides beneath my head to cradle it. I shift this time, until my neck comfortably rests on the thicker bicep. I close my eyes, ready to fantasize before drifting off.
Suddenly I feel a hand slide over my hip, only to grip my obscene bulge tightly. It was almost painful, drawing another whimper from me. Nails bit through the cotton boxers and I tremble, not able to utter a sound this time.
The arm beneath my neck flexes, and I manage to draw in a breath just before the arm closes down on me and robs me of that gift. Finally I hear a voice, soft in my ear only enhanced by feeling that warm breath brush my cheek.
“Good boy, it’s time to sleep.”
Her voice was a delicious mix. Equal parts sadist’s narcissism and lover’s nurturing. For that woman, for that voice, I was ever the willing puppet.
I could feel her lips brush the rim of my ear, my cheek, my temple. After that my memory falters. The lack of oxygen and the over-stimulation sending me down that dark rabbit hole at suicide speeds.
Breath. A deep, sucking one as she relented. Her arm now lay across the bed and I heard a single word from her lips, “Sleep”, before her chin rested above my head. Still, her hand cradled my bulge, and her body pressed close so I could feel hers.
Sleep did soon claim me. Exhausted from such short but intense teasing. Secure in her embrace. That other sort of darkness came for me quickly, and I found myself dreaming about the things she would do once she had gotten her fill of teasing me so.
My husband and I travel to a place on Maryland’s Eastern Shore nearly every year. We’ve been going there now for something like 11 or 12 years. It started out as my “birthday present” trip, we’d go right around my birthday. Since we were staying at a place owned by his parents, we were able to spend more on dinners out than we normally could. After all, the seafood there is half the reason we go! Yum, blue crab! In our old life, these yearly 3-6 day vacations there became our beacon of hope – our escape from a life in a town we hated, with jobs we hated, in living situations we hated. The town we stay in is catered to people a little higher class than my family grew up as, but he was accustomed to it. I loved it while at the same time felt a little out of place.
So one night a few years ago, we had driven over to a town a few miles down to watch the sun set on the tiny bit of beach there. It’s about 20 miles to get from our spot on our little “finger” of land that pokes into the bay, to the other town and other finger. On the drive back, I can’t recall who was driving but my hands started wandering. Soon we were driving past rich homes filled with proper people while his cock was out and I was giving him a very teasing handjob. We both got so worked up that, a mere 4 miles from where we called home that week, I decided to pull over and take things up a notch.
I pulled into the parking lot of a store we’d never been in; the store, as most things there, closed before sunset. I chose that parking lot and that store because there were no parking lot lights. Of course it WAS pretty darn close to the road. Close enough that people driving by would likely be able to see us sitting there…….or rather, him sitting (I’m remembering now that I’d been driving) in the passenger seat and…..no one in the drivers seat, in the parking lot of a store that was closed. And this road was by no means less-traveled.
In the dark, in the car, in the parking lot of a somewhat posh store, he got a fantastic blowjob as uptight conservatives drove past us.
The next year when we came back to town for our annual vacation, we noticed that the posh store had done something we’d never seen in the 6 or so prior years. They’d enclosed their parking lot in asort of thing with chains preventing anybody from entering their parking lot after hours.
It was then that we realized they likely have security cameras outside their store, since a number of heavy/large garden accessories for sale sat outside their walls.
Every year we go back down there for vacations, and every single time we pass that store (which is usually multiple times during a trip, since it must be passed everytime we leave the town) my husband sighs contentedly, smiles and gets a little rush of memory of that risque blowjob in the parking lot.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this bizarre, twisted fantasy. The roads leading to it were different, but the end result the same: a stranger fucking a very willing me in my bed in the dead of night. I would never see much of him. Perhaps the strangers intent had been rape but instead he’d happened upon a half-naked horny girl……(me) one who was already wet, already willing and able. These fantasies have roots in a time when I didn’t fully understand the mechanics of sex but I knew I wanted it. Before I even knew how to pleasure myself properly, I had firm belief that this rough stranger could please me.
I’d wondered how I could live out this fantasy…make it reality and yet still make it safe despite the underlying danger in it. Even if I’d spoken to the man before online I still wouldn’t *know* him and be able to trust him. Trust that it would be just him that night. Trust that he wasn’t a complete psychopath. I came close once to setting something up but I chickened out at the last minute. I don’t think I could safely pull this off without involving a third party. A third, trusted party who would vet the stranger and who would keep a far-away eye on the scenario.
I pictured myself waiting for the stranger in one of those picnic pavilions we have here in parks. Sitting on the top of a picnic table, facing away from wherever he would be coming in. I would be wearing a summer dress and nothing else; easy access to a shaved cunt and braless tits just about to pop out of the top of the dress. I would hear his footsteps and not see him. I would feel a heady mixture of equal parts fear and arousal take over my body. My body would be humming in anticipation of his touch as his footsteps drew closer. He wouldn’t say a word to me. Just come up to me and……
(you finish it…..)
She was a tomboy. Always played with the boys, and played as rough as the boys. But the day she showed up for touch football in a wife-beater sans bra….they looked at her a little different.
After the others had gone, they hooked up.
Right there on the field, in the dirt.
He was pleased to note that she fucked as roughly as she played football.
This post brought to you by:
“Your challenge for this Friday, 5-21-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 52-72 words. As usual, nobody’s checking word counts, but you only cheat yourself if you break the rules. Unless you’re breaking them to earn a spanking….in which case, see me after class.”