Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A challenge
Commenter, Master X, asked/challenged me to write the short story, Taste, below, from another perspective.
Now, the accompanying story. I was not sure if Master X was asking that the submissive be a man, woman, tv, etc. I'm writing it from the perspective of a sissy, but could easily do it from any gender.
********************
He'd been sitting patiently in the straight backed chair in the corner of the living room for several hours. Not that he had much choice in the matter, given the cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles, all attached to the chair itself. He made quite the amusing picture, depending on one's point of view, dressed up in lingerie--a garter belt and stockings, panties and a bra, a slip, all in black with white lace trim--heels, a wig.
While some men would be cartoonish so attired, his slight frame, his smooth hairless skin, together with the wig, the carefully applied makeup, made him look not garish, but actually quite pretty.
"Pretty," the other thought to himself walking into the living room, looking at the prey captured before him.
Though the bound creature was grown, in his mid thirties, even wearing "normal" clothing, he looked boyish, young, innocent, succulent. Wearing women's clothes, he was feminine entirely.
When the man entered the living room, the feminine creature looked up, eyes widening, the hunger evident.
"You know where I've been, don't you," he asked the bound beauty.
"Yes," the svelte creature whispered, looking down, almost ashamed.
"You fear me?"
"A little," he said, avoiding the man's piercing blue eyes.
"So did she. At first. It isn't surprising, given what she's used to," he said, eying the feminized form tied to the chair. "Her fear didn't last though, how could it?"
Without another word, he reached for his waist and peeled his tight white tee shirt over his head, revealing his chest. He was smooth, hairless, like the sissy, though completely different. His chest was muscular, strong, in every way masculine. He was chiseled, hard, taut.
He looked at his prey looking at him. "She looked at me the same way, you know."
The feminine creature blushed at the thought, blushed imagining the rush his wife must have felt at the site of that chest.
"She wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to nuzzle it. You must understand, don't you? How badly she must have missed touching a man?"
"I..." He felt the shame, the taunt. His wife missed a man because for three years she'd been only with him.
The man walked across the room, his bare feet silent on the wood floor., until he stood right before him. "It's so ironic. I don't know who's look of desire was stronger. Yours or your wife's. Have you ever touched a man before?"
"No," he whispered softly, voice trembling.
"You've fantasized about it."
He could not tear his eyes away from the man's muscular stomach.
"She told. When she was unbuttoning my pants, kissing my stomach, she looked up at me, told me that what you've fantasized about."
His eyes went wide. How could she? How could she betray him like that? His own wife?
The man slowly unbuttoned his jeans, gently opened them so slightly.
"Was she wrong? Should I stop?"
"I..." His eyes had not left the top of the triangle formed by the fabric of the man's jeans. He realized that he wasn't, could not be, wearing underwear.
"Should I stop, sissy?"
"No," he whispered, barely audible.
"She didn't want me to stop, either," the man answered in return. "She wanted it as badly as you do."
"I...don't..." He could not continue his protest, not with the man standing in front of him, carefully lowering his jeans, not with the erect cock jumping in front of his face.
"That's what I though...sissy. You want it just as badly, don't you?"
"Please," he begged, eyes focused on the man's cock.
"She's all over it, you know."
At that, the beautiful bound creature looked up at the naked man standing before him, looked him in the eyes, breath rushing in and out.
"Your wife's scent, her taste, is all over me, all over it."
In a way the words he used were more erotic for their lack of vulgarity, but the meaning was the same. He was telling the pretty boy, telling the bound sissy, telling him, "I fucked your wife."
"That's her gift to you, today, her treat."
He looked back down at the large cock, inches from his face. He could smell her, the unmistakable scent of his wife.
"Open your mouth, sissy, open, taste, taste, taste..."
************************
So, was I successful?
SBMasterX has left a new comment on your post "Taste":Thus, I present to you the results of that challenge. First, the picture:
That's so sexy. Ok, here's a challenge/suggestion: now write it as if it were a master instead of a mistress... and find a complementary photo as well.
Master X
Now, the accompanying story. I was not sure if Master X was asking that the submissive be a man, woman, tv, etc. I'm writing it from the perspective of a sissy, but could easily do it from any gender.
********************
He'd been sitting patiently in the straight backed chair in the corner of the living room for several hours. Not that he had much choice in the matter, given the cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles, all attached to the chair itself. He made quite the amusing picture, depending on one's point of view, dressed up in lingerie--a garter belt and stockings, panties and a bra, a slip, all in black with white lace trim--heels, a wig.
While some men would be cartoonish so attired, his slight frame, his smooth hairless skin, together with the wig, the carefully applied makeup, made him look not garish, but actually quite pretty.
"Pretty," the other thought to himself walking into the living room, looking at the prey captured before him.
Though the bound creature was grown, in his mid thirties, even wearing "normal" clothing, he looked boyish, young, innocent, succulent. Wearing women's clothes, he was feminine entirely.
When the man entered the living room, the feminine creature looked up, eyes widening, the hunger evident.
"You know where I've been, don't you," he asked the bound beauty.
"Yes," the svelte creature whispered, looking down, almost ashamed.
"You fear me?"
"A little," he said, avoiding the man's piercing blue eyes.
"So did she. At first. It isn't surprising, given what she's used to," he said, eying the feminized form tied to the chair. "Her fear didn't last though, how could it?"
Without another word, he reached for his waist and peeled his tight white tee shirt over his head, revealing his chest. He was smooth, hairless, like the sissy, though completely different. His chest was muscular, strong, in every way masculine. He was chiseled, hard, taut.
He looked at his prey looking at him. "She looked at me the same way, you know."
The feminine creature blushed at the thought, blushed imagining the rush his wife must have felt at the site of that chest.
"She wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to nuzzle it. You must understand, don't you? How badly she must have missed touching a man?"
"I..." He felt the shame, the taunt. His wife missed a man because for three years she'd been only with him.
The man walked across the room, his bare feet silent on the wood floor., until he stood right before him. "It's so ironic. I don't know who's look of desire was stronger. Yours or your wife's. Have you ever touched a man before?"
"No," he whispered softly, voice trembling.
"You've fantasized about it."
He could not tear his eyes away from the man's muscular stomach.
"She told. When she was unbuttoning my pants, kissing my stomach, she looked up at me, told me that what you've fantasized about."
His eyes went wide. How could she? How could she betray him like that? His own wife?
The man slowly unbuttoned his jeans, gently opened them so slightly.
"Was she wrong? Should I stop?"
"I..." His eyes had not left the top of the triangle formed by the fabric of the man's jeans. He realized that he wasn't, could not be, wearing underwear.
"Should I stop, sissy?"
"No," he whispered, barely audible.
"She didn't want me to stop, either," the man answered in return. "She wanted it as badly as you do."
"I...don't..." He could not continue his protest, not with the man standing in front of him, carefully lowering his jeans, not with the erect cock jumping in front of his face.
"That's what I though...sissy. You want it just as badly, don't you?"
"Please," he begged, eyes focused on the man's cock.
"She's all over it, you know."
At that, the beautiful bound creature looked up at the naked man standing before him, looked him in the eyes, breath rushing in and out.
"Your wife's scent, her taste, is all over me, all over it."
In a way the words he used were more erotic for their lack of vulgarity, but the meaning was the same. He was telling the pretty boy, telling the bound sissy, telling him, "I fucked your wife."
"That's her gift to you, today, her treat."
He looked back down at the large cock, inches from his face. He could smell her, the unmistakable scent of his wife.
"Open your mouth, sissy, open, taste, taste, taste..."
************************
So, was I successful?
Taste
She looked over at him, kneeling by the sofa, knowing he was in pain, that he'd been kneeling there for hours, waiting for her to come home.
She almost took pity on him.
Almost.
She unbuttoned her jacket, flashed her bare chest at him, saw his eyes widen when he realized she was no longer wearing either the bra or the camisole she had on when she left earlier this evening.
Unfortunately, his look only emboldened her, only made her wish to torment him even more.
She reached behind her, fumbled, found the zipper to her skirt, and deftly stepped out of it, leaving her standing before him in heels and hose, panties, her jacket, gloves, and the smallest of panties.
He gasped again, the hunger plain on his face, need, desire. Hours of waiting for her to come home, kneeling as the sun set, only the mental image of her walking out the door.
"You want to taste me," she said, knowing full well he did.
"Please," he begged softly.
"You want to touch me," she asked, letting a gloved hand drift to the front of her panties, "here?" She sensually reached in, let her fingers find herself, gasped, even as she was in control.
"Yes," he said, almost grunting, trying to keep control, trying to stop from rising without permission, struggling to wait, wait.
She closed her eyes, rubbed. "You might not like what you find," she whispered, gloved fingers inside her, "who you taste."
He gasped again at her implication. She need say no more, she need only mention, toy, tease, that another may have touched her that evening. She need not say she cuckolded him, she needed only to let him infer it, to wonder if it true or not.
He watched her shake, watched her orgasm, watched the wave of self-induced pleasure wash over her.
She opened her eyes, slowly, took her hand from her, held it out, forward. "Taste, lover, taste." He crawled to her, desire overwhelming, placed a hand on each stocking covered leg, moved his head towards the musky scent between her legs.
He stopped when his lips touched her glove, inhaled, savored. He knew this was all he would get this evening, the taste, mixed with the leather of her gloves. Eagerly, he sucked, licked her glove, licked the juice, tasted, whether it hers alone or mixed with another, it did not matter.
He was in paradise, worshiping her, his lover, his everything.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Little Black Dress
It had been fifteen minutes since Emily excused herself to go to the restroom. I was beginning to get a little concerned. She wasn't drunk by any means, but she'd had more than a few.
Finally, I decided I'd better go look for her, see if she if she'd gotten trapped in some conversation.
I checked the bathroom downstairs, the entire first floor. No Emily.
I heard sounds upstairs, figured there must be a bathroom up there.
At the top of the stairs, I rounded the corner and froze.
He was lifting the hem of her little black dress, exposing stocking tops. Fuck, she was wearing stockings!
He was holding her hands over her head, not quite forcing her, but obviously dominating her. And she was melting, that much was obvious.
He ran his hands up her leg, to the front of her panties.
"I want you," I heard him say.
I expected Emily to yell, to call for help, to remember where she was, who she was, push him off, end the game.
Instead she moaned, a willing moan, a grunt, an affirmation of her want, her needs.
"In here," he started to push her towards the bedroom next to them. I was transfixed. Fuck, Emily was going to...
"Hot, isn't it," Emily's voice whispered in my ear, startling me. I almost yelped, I did jump just as the man dragged the woman into the bedroom.
"I know what you were thinking, lover," she said turning me so I faced her, faced Emily, wearing an almost identical black dress.
"And I know it turned you on thinking that was me."
"Emily, I..."
"Let's go find our own bedroom, shall we," she said, taking my hand, dragging me down the hall.
I recognize this
Of course I recognize this position, because I've been like that, over Emily's lap, sometimes for a playful spanking, sometimes to really get punished. Both have led to incredibly hot sex!
Gender Bending
For obvious reasons, I'm drawn to pictures like this. Which gender are they? Ambiguous, pretending, fantasizing, experimenting.
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