May 312010

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…..)

Nov 242008

He is naked, standing, legs shoulder-width apart. I have his wrists bound together, his arms extended above his head just in front of him, the rope tied up to a hook in the ceiling. I have his hips back slightly so that he is leaning forward just a bit. Just enough. I swing the flogger very gently towards his hard cock, so that the soft suede gently teases him. He is vulnerable but trusting. He tries to push his hips toward the flogger to feel more caresses to his cock, despite the fact that this is really an instrument of pain and could become one at any moment. The cool weight of the suede plays on him like tendrils. Fingers.

I move behind him and any gentleness is gone. With a figure-8 motion and most of my strength I work the flogger on his back and ass, leaving delicious red marks that appear in short order. He is strong. Were it not for the angry red marks on his back, I might not know I was having an effect. Were it not for his straining cock, shiny and dripping, I might think he was immune. I think I like the feel of this flogger in my hand entirely too much for his own good.

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