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The Slut (IPCookieMonster) will be one of the presenters and performers at an awesome bondage event called RopeCraft Feb. 19-21, 2016. For more information, check out: http://ropecraft.net/
The Slut (IPCookieMonster) was recently interviewed on the Kinkycast. Check it out!
This is erotica… There are probably many things in it that are inadvisable for real life. But that’s why it’s called a “fantasy.”
“Where can I touch you?”
“Anywhere that’s not covered by my underwear.” I don’t think it’s the response you were looking for; I know that Look. It’s a look that speaks volumes in desire. A look that wants to ask for more but is afraid to do so. “Look, just seduce me,” I say.
“What does that mean?” you ask in optimistic confusion.
“Show off and convince me to fuck you… If that’s what you want,” I add, as if there’s a question. There’s no question. “And if you’re persuasive enough, I’ll say yes.”
There is already rope in your hands, and I watch with amused arousal as you stroke it without realizing you’re doing so.
“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop,” I say, in a voice that is intended to sound more like an invitation than a reassurance.
“You’re fucking with me,” you say. You try to make it sound like a joke, but I can hear the reluctant desire in your voice as you say it.
“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” I say wickedly. There’s a charged moment when I feel you try to decide if you actually want to play with this shit… and then decide that of course you do. You start pulling more rope out of your bag and half-throwing it onto the mat in front of you. I’m not used to watching riggers placing rope feeling like foreplay, but this does. This feels exactly like throwing down a glove to challenge someone for a duel—but your rope is thrown down over my verbal challenge.
Once you’ve done, you stand up and look at me expectantly, hesitating for a moment before saying, “Take off your clothes.”
“If you want them off, take them off,” I say, still challenging you.
I watch you one more time make the decision to do this. Then you walk up to me until your lips are just an inch from mine, look straight into my eyes, and inform me, “You want me. And you will beg me to fuck you.”
I say nothing as you reach your arms around me, as if to embrace me; but instead you pull me violently towards you by my hair with one hand, and slowly and deliberately unzip my dress in the back with the other. It falls down around me into a pool of satin at my feet. I’m not wearing a bra, and I instantly feel exposed and stripped bare, my nipples now colder and hard.
You turn me around roughly so that my back is to you and begin ungently pulling rope around my chest and arms. I don’t fight you or struggle as you quickly build a TK tie, but I am still impressed by how quickly you can constrain me. You’re moving so fast it feels like I’m being tied by an aggressive whirlwind. I hear you panting behind me, and I deliberately rest my weight gently against you, my ass against your crotch. I want to know if you’re panting in exertion or arousal, but I can’t tell if your dick is hard through your jeans. I move my hips against you in a way that almost could be accidental.
Since I’m now solidly ensconced in your chest harness, you reach around and yank me by the front of it and push me up against the side of the rig, your lips against my ear as you whisper fiercely, “Stand still.” …Apparently, my wiggle didn’t feel so accidental after all.
You pull me back to the center, and start throwing lines from my back to the ring above me, and at this point I’m pretty well caught standing up. I watch you decide whether or not to tie a hip harness on me, and then reluctantly decide to do so. Down on your knees, with your face in front of my crotch, I know that it’s inevitable for you to smell my pussy and inevitable for you to smell how turned on I am. But I deliberately keep my legs closed to see what you’ll do. You could tie them closed after all, but what would be the fun in that?
“Spread your legs,” you order. It’s an order that makes me wet under most circumstances, and I wonder what state my underwear—now in front of your face—might be in. Your hands go around my waist and my thighs, and rope drags through my crotch. I try not to show how arousing those fleeting brushes are across my covered labia, but at this point I’m so aroused that faint brushes of your fingers, rope, or anything else only makes me harder.
“I could just slide my fingers up under your underwear,” you inform me, looking up at me.
“It’s true,” I say, as if I’m unmoved by the prospect. And I think, tie me, hit me, pull my hair, step on me—but I still have the power of this “yes.” That control feels so good it is almost literally a sweet taste in my mouth.
You shake your head in irritation, and quickly bind my ankles. Then you stand behind me and start throwing lines from my ass up to the rig. But the entire time, you’re running your lips slowly down my shoulder and my back, and biting the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. You don’t actually let go with your teeth until the moment you start hoisting me into the air, and the transition from being held onto by your teeth on the ground to painfully floating in the air in your ropes is so sudden that I gasp.
In no time, you hoist my ankles up high, and I find myself floating in mid-air in an excruciating upright back bend. You stand in front of me, my face level with the base of your neck, which is literally dripping with sweat. It’s very hard to breathe with my chest pulled up so high, but the temptation to lick that sweat off of you is positively tantalizing anyway. You unbutton your shirt right in front of my face, and the combination of your smell and my dizziness from not being able to breathe is intoxicating. Stripped to the waist, still standing in front of me, my face pressed against your chest, you start tying my hair, but you leave it free. Only as you walk behind me do I realize that you’ve left my crotch at the perfect height for yours, and that you’ve left my legs splayed open.
Standing between my legs, with the heat of your hips against my crotch, you grab hold of the line attached to my hair and yank my head back towards you. It is nearly impossible to breathe with my head pulled back so far. “Are you going to let me fuck you?” you demand.
“I will if you can make me cum,” I gasp out.
You snort and roughly let go of my hair. You let down the line on my chest so I’m level with my hips, which gives me a moment to catch my breath a bit. You lie underneath me on the floor, looking up at my face and inform me, “Your underwear is a mess, you greedy fucking slut.”
“You’re the one trying to get into them,” I say, able to talk again.
You sit up and smack both my tits simultaneously, which makes the ropes shake, and makes me scream. Then you stand up and untie the lines holding my ankles up, leaving me caught in a strange position, with my toes just barely brushing the ground, and my hips and chest still levelly suspended. You come up behind me again, and I realize you’ve still left me in a new perfect position to fuck me. But you don’t offer this time. You just let the realization sink in.
Instead, you lay down underneath me again, a couple of the ropes that are tied to me in your hand.
“What do you want, slut?” you ask me.
“Your hard cock poised just outside my pussy and you begging to fuck me.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
You pull on the ropes in your hand, and I abruptly plummet down to just two inches above you. The impact is intense, and it’s like you’ve punched my chest and my hips with your ropes. I scream, completely disconcerted. You slowly lower me until I’m lying on top of you, no longer tied to the rig at all. And I realize through my pain and endorphin rush that this is, unquestionably, the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me in rope.
You roll me over, taking your weight off me, and ask me wryly, “Am I allowed to put my hands under your underwear to make you cum?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I agree, enjoying the stupid haze I’m still in, feeling your ropes still digging into the bruises on my skin from the impact of the drops.
You push two fingers into my pussy, my underwear pushing up on my labia, and your other hand playing my clit. I try not to cum for as long as I can, but it takes no time at all before I’m convulsing all over your fingers. You laugh in triumph as you lean down towards my face and say, “Are you seduced now?”
I smile lazily and say, “Yes.”
You turn me over and haul me back onto my knees, my ass in the air. This is awkward since my hands are still tied behind my back, and I have no way to hold myself up. I hear you unbuckle your belt and slide your pants to the floor, and the sound makes my pussy contract in desire. “I’m going to rip your underwear now,” you inform me. It seems reasonable, since the ropes from the hip harness are still in the way of getting it off. “Go ahead,” I agree. The sensation of the fabric ripping along my pussy lips makes me scream, and I feel the fabric clinging wetly to them in spite of the tear.
I hear you put on a condom, and then you use the ropes on my back to pull me up a semi-level position. I realize that you’re about to use me as leverage to fuck me, and I know this is going to hurt.
But I scream anyway as your cock enters me, because it’s much bigger than I expected, and because the position I’m in gives me no way to adjust to the sensations inside me. Through the haze of my pain, I realize that there’s something almost extravagantly sexy about the fact that your cock is now bruising my cervix, but I’ve never seen it, felt it, smelled it, or tasted it. The intensity of your desire has driven you inside me without any conventional preamble, but there’s part of me that still wants control. I feel you trying not to cum, I feel you trying to get reign in your desire, but I deliberately clench my pussy down around you hard again and again. It takes no time at all for you to cum, shuddering inside me while I continue to scream from the intense sensations.
You pull out of me suddenly, and I’m surprised when the next thing I hear is your belt coming off. My hips instinctively fall to the ground now that you’re not holding them up, and when your belt connects with my ass, I can’t help but grind my crotch into the mat beneath me in masochistic delight from the stinging pain. “You bitch,” you say, hitting me again. “You deliberately made me cum too fast.”
“Just to make sure you’ll fuck me again,” I gasp, pain and pleasure going through me as you hit me again and again. You turn me over so that I’m lying on my back, and it hurts to have my weight on the fresh welts on my ass. And my hands still trapped underneath me. You’re between my legs, and you start hitting my clit with your belt too. Even though I try to move, there’s not much I can do to stop you. I can almost cum from this, but not quite, and you laugh at the way I writhe.
“Why don’t you cum, you greedy slut?” you ask.
“I can’t quite cum from this,” I squeal.
“Did you even cum from me fucking you?”
“No,” I admit.
You hit me harder, and I scream. You pause for a moment in these exertions to finally take off your boots and your pants and even your underwear, adding it to the wrinkled pile of dress. “Will you untie me while you’re at it?” I ask.
“How’re your arms doing?” you ask.
“They’re okay,” I say. “But I’m better at sex if my hands are free.”
“I don’t think I want to risk that. I think I’m not going to untie you until you’ve cum on my cock.”
“My hands are really helpful for that,” I say helpfully.
You glare down at me. “You cumming was the price of me getting in, now it’s the price of you getting out.” There is something so unquestionably fair about that logic that I don’t bother to argue.
“It’s hard to make me cum with just your cock,” I warn.
“‘Hard’ is not the same thing as ‘impossible’.”
“I think that means you’re just going to have to tell me some secrets.”
I feel strangely trapped by this line of reasoning. “It’s no great secret,” I say. “Leave me on my back. Go slowly for longer than you think, and keep pulling all the way out.”
I take a moment to admire your naked body for the first time, now in front of me, covered in sweat, before you stick your cock in my mouth. It gets hard quickly, and I wriggle with desire, wanting it back in my pussy. You put on another condom, and then deliberately leave your cock just outside my pussy.
“Beg,” you say. This was not how this was originally supposed to go in my head.
I say nothing, even as my hips seem to move upwards of their own accord.
“You want me inside you, and you want out of those ropes sooner rather than later, right? Beg.”
“Please fuck me,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t really hear that.”
“Please fuck me!” I say louder.
“I think you could make that more believable.”
“Please fuck me!” I beg. I hate you a little bit right now, until you thrust inside me and all I can think about is the way you are filling me up.
You drag this out. You’re following my directions perfectly. I actually give an involuntary scream of aroused frustration when you don’t quite fuck me fast enough, but that’s what my pussy perversely likes. I whimper and moan, and finally, my body gives in, and my orgasm is deep inside me.
“Do I get untied now?” I ask, a little bit stupidly.
You grin at me. “I didn’t say how many times you had to cum before I’d untie you.”
I moan, my pussy aching as you relentlessly plunge your cock into it.
“I guess I earned this, didn’t I?” I gasp.
“No. I did,” you say, plunging your cock into me so hard that I scream in pleasurable agony, cumming for what feels like forever as you lean down and kiss my mouth for the first time, your tongue going inside my mouth as your cock goes further into my pussy, cumming with me and filling me.
The Slut will be presenting an academic-ish talk live and in-person at the Takoma Park Community Center in Maryland this Thursday titled, “BDSM: Sex, Hobby, Religion, or Art?” It’s free and open to the public! Come check it out!
One of the pernicious mainstream heteronormative cultural assumptions that the kink subculture can’t seem to let go of either is the idea that penetrating = being in control and penetrated = out of control. In an effort to fight this obnoxious notion, I’m encouraging pornographers and erotica writers out there to come up with sexy tales of being penetrated (any gender) and being in control. Please feel free to link to any good ones you know or wrote yourself at the end of this post. Then I figured, hell, if I write my own story, I can contribute to the process and I can plant a seed in some sexy young man’s mind and make him want to do these things to me. And so…
“Please, Mistress, may I worship your pussy with my mouth?”
“After you’ve made me cum twice with your cock.” You look so pleased by the idea, and I love how I can reward you by cumming on your face. I grab your hardening cock in my hand and look you straight in the eye. “I want to use your entire body.”
You close your eyes as a shudder runs through your body, your cock suddenly much harder. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, Mistress.”
“It is my pleasure for you to fuck me and make me cum as hard as you possibly can.”
I lay on my back, and obediently, you move between my legs, your cock poised teasingly between the outer lips of my pussy the way I like. “May I enter you, Mistress?”
“You don’t need to ask when I’ve already told you to fuck me.” But I enjoy the way you relax when I tell you that you can, and I know there’s a part of you that likes asking, and loves hearing me give you permission.
You shove your cock into me the way I like, and I gasp with pleasure. I writhe against you, enjoying the warm feel of your body above me and the way you fill me. But I love the sensation of you shoving into me more than anything, as you well know. “Pull all the way out and come back in,” I order. You do so, and I enjoy the look of deprivation on your face that not being inside me momentarily causes you. Then I arch my back in delight pleasure as you push your way back inside me. “Again.” I tell you. “Again.” “Again.” Until finally, the fifth time you enter me, I cum around you, clutching your cock with my pussy.
I sit up, shoving you onto your back as I do, so I can ride you astride. Then I deliberately turn myself around, never pulling myself off of you. Ever so slowly, I bend onto all fours, reaching back behind me at an improbable angle to pull your chest towards me by the nipples. “Get on your knees,” I instruct. “And don’t pull out of me.” Very carefully, you re-arrange yourself so that you can fuck me from behind. Your cock is very large for this, and I pant as you begin banging into my g-spot.
“Please cum for me, Mistress,” you beg, as my panting becomes more like screams. As I moan “yes,” you reach around me to play with my clit, fucking me and rubbing me at the same time. The sensation is agonizing and intense, and I cum on your hand and your cock simultaneously, feeling the orgasm wrack my entire body.
Panting, I roll onto my back and smile up at you. “You’ve worked very hard,” I tell you. “Now you can worship my pussy with your mouth and lick up all that cum. Show me how delicious I taste.” Looking like a cat that got the cream, you bend your face down to my pussy, staring up at me worshipfully as you grind your own crotch into the bed, looking on the verge of cumming yourself. So sensitive and swollen from being fucked, it takes only a few moments of you licking and sucking me before I begin convulsing against your face. You gasp and moan into my pussy, still looking like you might cum with me. But I know you’ll only cum if I order you to, and so I simply enjoy the sight of you, looking slightly tortured, and literally writhing in desire.
You keep licking me, my hand grasping your hair to hold you in place as my hips tremble, and one orgasm melts into another, and another until I feel light-headed from the rolling sensation of cumming on your greedy lips for so long. The feeling subsides somewhat, and when I have my breath back, I tell you, “The next time I’m close to cumming, enter me. I’ll tell you when.”
I see you reach down to stroke your cock, making sure that it is hard enough to satisfy me at the right moment. I let you build up sensation in me again, letting it mellow, plateau, build, plateau, and finally begin to peak. “Now!”
Without hesitation, you thrust all the way inside me, and my body convulses in confused pleasure as the sensation changes abruptly, creating a totally different orgasm. I scream in delight, and I see your face become almost tortured with desire as my pussy squeezes your cock.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” you plead.
“Not yet. I want to torture you.” You bite your lower lip, and I can see that this is becoming difficult for you. Your dilemma arouses me, even as you are forced to fuck me more slowly in order to follow my command. Although you stay above me, I begin doing more of the work, wriggling my pussy up and down your cock as I savor the way you gasp helplessly every time I clench around you. “Please, Mistress…” you moan.
“No,” I say cruelly, and denying you is arousing enough to push me over the edge into cumming again myself, as I rub my clit, while your cock moves gently inside me. You are almost crying now with the effort it takes you to stay hard and not cum as I do.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” you plead.
“No,” I manage to respond coolly, pushing you off of me, and trying not to miss the feel of you inside me too much as your dick also slides out of my pussy. I push you onto your back and sit astride you, your cock positioned tantalizingly in front of my pussy lips. You whimper, and I chuckle. Ever so gently and ever so slowly, I graze the soft outer lips of my pussy along your dick, sliding up and down. Your hips instinctively move so that the tip of your cock is thrust inside me, but I quickly move away from it and slap your chest.
“Naughty!” I exclaim, grabbing the back of your hair, and moving myself so my whole weight is on top of you, and my face is directly in front of your face. “You only get back in when I tell you.”
I tease my tongue on your cock, not really sucking it, so much as feathering it with the lightest of wet sensations. I enjoy tasting myself on you, and you groan in what looks like agony. I run the tips of my fingers along it, then trace the same lines with the outside of my pussy again. Your entire body actually quivers underneath me as I tease you. I do this all again, and finally, relishing the way your hands dig into the mattress, clutching it as if for assistance in coping with this torment.
“Please make me cum, Mistress!”
“How shall I make you cum?”
Your voice is choked and gasping. “However you like.”
“Tell me how much you love my pussy, and I’ll let you fuck it.”
This is entirely for my own amusement. You can barely put three words together. “I live to… please you. I eat your… orgasms… I dream about… About worshipping your pussy… With my whole body…” But you can’t finish as you groan while I tease your cock mercilessly with my pussy lips. Sitting just above you, I say simply:
You don’t sound like you’re speaking in sentences anymore, just a repeated jumble of words moaning, “Please let me fuck you please let me make you cum please let me inside you please let me show you how much I love your cunt—“ until I abruptly slide all the way down your cock. You gasp, instinctively moving your hips up to meet me, pushing deeper inside me. Without separating us, I roll you on top of me. You look almost afraid as you fuck me, and I can feel the desire you have to be totally pulled inside me, and the way you fear it too.
“Please, Mistress, may I cum?” You plead.
“Will you promise to fuck me again in less than an hour?”
“Then you can cum the next time I do.”
I feel your body both relax with relief and tense with need. I actually feel your cock get larger inside me, straining with desperation. There is a vein in it that throbs as you get closer to cumming. I spread my legs further so that you are so deep inside me that it hurts, and clench my pussy around you to make you harder. You pant and sound so utterly desperate as you beg, “Please cum for me, Mistress. Please.”
I laugh. “Just so you can cum?”
“No, so I can feel myself pleasing you when I do.”
“You are a very good boy. Fuck me harder.” You obey, and I reach down to touch my clit, deliberately stroking the base of your cock in between thrusts, feeling how wet you are with me. I clench my pussy around you and revel in your gasp from the sensation, enjoying as always the look of surprise on your face from the feeling, and pleased by the sight of the sweat pooling at your brow as you work so hard to please us both.
I feel your entire body becoming focused on mine, lining up every thrust to the quivering of my hips. I consider counting down for you, but I know I don’t need to, because your oversensitive cock will know the moment I cum. You fuck me harder and then automatically slow down just as I’m climaxing, knowing it will make me cum harder. As my hips arch, I feel you surrender helplessly to my pleasure, cumming uncontrollably because I am.
Your whole body collapses on top of me, but your obedient cock stays in me as my pussy continues to tremble with the aftershocks of orgasm. “Don’t you dare slide out of me,” I whisper fiercely into your ear, licking it gently for emphasis. You moan.
As the aftershocks start to subside, I begin deliberately squeezing my pussy lips around your softening cock. The feeling occasionally causes me to aftershock again, trembling underneath you in slight orgasm. The combination is too much for you, and I feel your dick hardening inside me again. You groan in what I know is a cross between pain and pleasure, and you rise onto your arms again, yielding to the instinctive desire to begin moving your dick inside me.
I reach up and pinch your nipple hard. “You didn’t ask permission to fuck me again.”
You look at me with mock innocence. “But Mistress, I never stopped.” You bend your face down to kiss me, and the feel of your lips on mine, and your tongue deliberately sliding into my mouth as your cock slides in and out of my pussy is more than merely mollifying. You continue kissing my neck, my shoulders, and licking my nipples, while my over-fucked pussy remains just on the edge of climaxing.
“You can cum whenever you want,” I offer, pretending to be generous. “As long as you clean me up very thoroughly afterwards.”
“Mistress, you know that I can’t cum without you.” It is the correct response. I smile, stroking your cheek, kissing your lips, and deliberately clenching my pussy around your cock in praise.
I chuckle. “I know. You are very well trained.” Even when I suck your cock, I have trained you not to cum unless I am. I re-position myself so that my ankles are against your shoulders, and your cock is excruciatingly deep inside me. I gasp with every thrust, opening my eyes and looking straight into yours to tell you, “You are such a good boy. Now cum for me.”
You know this cue. You know that sometimes I cum harder when I feel the helpless thrusting of your cock inside me, and obediently, you fuck me as I scream with orgasm. I actually feel your cock throbbing inside me as I cum, still surprised that it somehow got harder.
“Please Mistress, may I pull out?” you ask in abject exhaustion.
“Well, you were very good,” I say, gently rolling myself out from under you. I see the look of disappointment in your tired face as you pull out of me. And almost without thinking, I grab your hand and position it just over my clit. “Beg,” I hiss.
Suddenly alert again, you obey. “Please Mistress, may I please you some more?” I slide your fingers inside me, clenching my pussy instinctively around them, and feeling your cum run out of me and onto them as I do.
“Why yes, yes you may,” I say, cumming all over again.
I managed to pull together some friends to create this parody of Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball. Enjoy the absurdity.
So I’ve heard a lot of people insist that 50 Shades of Grey reads like an erotica written by a teenager. As someone who was a kinky teenager who wrote prodigiously as a teenager in order to get good at a difficult and demanding craft, I figured it would be entertaining to dig back into my obsessive compulsively well-organized folder of writing in which I carefully collected and maintained the awful awful awful shit that I wrote when I was young.
Please note that I was fully aware as a kid that it was awful shit. I was carefully documenting and saving all of this with the deep-seated belief and very sincere hope that someday I wouldn’t suck at this.
If most of this stuff comes off as creepy and rapey, that’s because it is. Welcome to my head, ladies and gentleman. It hasn’t changed much in the intervening 20 years.
And so here we go, accompanied by the photos of the actual shit itself. Here is The Porn I Wrote When I Was 14-16 (vintage mid- to late-90’s). I have not edited my spelling, punctuation, or grammar as I type this.
I’ll commence with a mercifully short one. This one was clearly inspired by the musical Aspects of Love, which was the closest fictional contact I had to polyamory at that age.
“Sailing off in the night…
Taking more from this life…” were the words he spoke softly to himself. He could not control himself any longer. His hunger for her was simply too great. He walked back to her bed and looked at her indecisively while she slept. But he had made his choice—he couldn’t change his mind now.
He climbed up with her. He had to awaken her. It would simply be to cruel to take her when she could not remember. He put his lips on hers, and she awoke immediately, staring deeply into his eyes and smiling. “I knew you’d come back,” she whispered. She responded quickly to his touch, wrapping her own arms around neck. They kissed until sweet desire became too much to bear. She slipped her nightgown over her head, closing her eyes as he kissed her breasts. Tenderness and deep passion were the strange emotions they felt as they held onto one another. She twined her legs around him, never once gasping in either small pain or unbearable pleasure, though both feelings coursed through her veins as she and he became one. Fire went thought her until she began to soar past the clouds, as she slowly fell, kissing him as she floated down. When they separated, she whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
So, some kids fantasize about sex, and some kids fantasize about sex magic. I was definitely in both camps. This literary atrocity was a spectacular way to skip over the fact that I had no idea what sex felt like by just imagining the characters couldn’t remember it. I have spared you some of the worst of the writing here, and skipped to the, um, not-so-juicy parts. This one was titled, “A Hippie Wedding,” but it should have been titled, “Mary Sue Was a Pagan.” The part that I’ve spared you included the words, “My friends and I had a strange culture. It was kind-of a combination of true Druidism and hippie-love.” Please note that at the time I was writing this, I had no fucking clue that there was a pagan subculture or kink subculture. Like, no clue at all. I believed that in order to live my life properly, I was going to have to save a lot of money, buy a plot of land in the middle of nowhere, and convince a lot of friends to come have sex outside in the fields with me. Lucky for me, I didn’t actually have to do that. Okay, on to the, um, story:
Now it was time for the true wedding.
I had been dressed (without either underwear or bra) in a black broomstick skirt, a black-and-purple tie-dyed shirt, and long necklace of daisies tied together. But that was not all. I also wore a black choker, blue-crescent earrings, and a blue-crescent bracelet to match. On bare feet were pained peace signs and flowers. The crescent on my forehead had been darkly painted, and I was keenly aware of my flowing hair. The final outer symbol was a large daisy behind my ear. All the girls were dressed in black, all the boys in white. I linked arms with my Soul Sister, Jasmine, and then linked arms with Wren [her fiance], who was joined by his Brother, Salmon. In that formation we walked around a sort-of circle, then let go of our Siblings in the center. All the people joined hands around us, and finally I threw off my shirt. Underneath, my nipples had daisies glued to them with sap; a yin-yang was painted of my stomach; a large star was painted between my breasts; and a heart-peace-sing was painted on my back. Wren, too, stripped off his shirt, and we joined hands, raising our arms skyward, and singing a blissful song. All around us, the magic words, which simply cannot be translated, were sung.
At the song’s cue, I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a light kiss, but it was enough to make us both want more. Finally, we sang the words which can only be translated:
Forever in thy arms,
Forever in thy embrace,
Forever I shall hold thee in my heart,
In this life and eternally,
I know thee! Thou art mine!
Forever… Forever… Forever… Forever…
And we were bound. I slipped my skirt from my waist, as he slipped off his bell-bottoms, and we twined our lips… our arms… our bodies… I felt nearly nothing that night. I felt the bliss of the Goddess; I felt the power between us; but I did not even so much as feel his lips on mine.
I do not know how long we lay there, but surely it was very late when we fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning I stumbled as I awoke, and was amazed to find no one but him there. I had not expected them to leave, but then, I smiled, for that was more our way than Hers. For the first time I got a good look at him, and saw his starch-blonde hair. He was freckled, and pale-skinned, but quite handsome, and obviously muscular. I was just pulling my shirt over my head when he awakened.
He stretched ungracefully and smiled lustfully at me. “You are even more beautiful in flesh than you were in my visions, and indeed,” he was speaking quite softly now, “you were the most beautiful woman I had ever even somewhat looked at then.”
“Surely my husband shall not love me for my face,” I said, pretending to be shocked.
“Oh, surely not,” he replied, almost jovially. “But surely such a priestess as you understands that men love all beauty, mental and physical.”
“As do women,” I whispered. “Even the Greatest One Herself.”
Well, I definitely feel like I owe you an apology after that, so I’ll give you something even weirder. I have no idea where this next one came from. I’m going to guess that it was Shakespeare’s fault. If I had to snarkily title it right now, I’d call it, “A Smile of Mirth.” Have fun counting clichés here…:
They talked and laughed, each holding a basket, their hands occasionally brushing. Oh, how he savored those moments! He wondered desperately if she felt the same thrill he did. He spread the picnic blanket down on the grass in the tiny field, entirely surrounded by trees. Oh, if only he were bold enough! They ate, and she giggled at his jokes. Suddenly, he stopped, a dark cloud covering his face.
“What’s wrong,” Hannah asked curiously, rolling over.
“There’s something I must tell you,” he whispered.
“What?” she asked, a smile of mirth on her face.
“I’m a boy,” he said helplessly.
She laughed. “Theodora! Really, you don’t expect me to believe that do you?”
He looked up abruptly. “Will you let me kiss you to prove it?”
She laughed. “Go ahead,” she shrugged good-naturedly. She stuck her lips out towards him. He thrust his mouth towards hers in such a forceful passion she was almost frightened. He threw his arms around her neck and rubbed his tongue in desparate union with hers. He slowly lay across her, and she felt a mysterious fiery life in her lips that they had never known before. Love was something that mind had barely known, and passion was something her body had never even dreamed existed.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“Don’t stop now!” she said matter-of-factly. “Love is something you’ve always felt, but it’s something I’ve never known. Until now,” she added softly.
“As long as you want…”
“I do,” she said. And to prove it, she began to unlace her dress. She pulled off her shoes, and hastily threw off her petticoats. She sat back on the blanket and kissed his lips with a lust which more than matched his. He suddenly threw off his own shirt and pants and knelt over her in a fury of lust. She felt as though she were burning as the flames seemed to consumed her entire body. Life seemed to flow between them like two rivers running together. And then they felt the sweet waters wash over them like an ocean tide. Slowly, it slipped away until it was as though there was nothing left between them except two warm bodies.
And a mountain of love.
He kissed her breasts slowly, then said, “We’d better go back.”
“I know,” she said slowly. “But does it have to end?”
“Only in our bodies. But never in our hearts.”
She kissed him again. “How true.”
Somewhere around the age of 16, I magically transformed into a much more competent writer. Most things I’ve written since then don’t cause me to experience seizures of embarrassment and cringe so hard my face hurts. Since this next one only causes me to repeatedly bang my head against hard surfaces, I’m going to assume it was written after that literary epiphany. It’s still conspicuously written by a virgin who has no idea what sex feels like, but it’s at least a moderately engaging story. This is Cleopatra and Caesar porn. Because, you know… classics. I’ve skipped the set up where Cleopatra arranges to get to Caesar’s room in a carpet:
But even the odd rugs of the Persians, though heavy, did not weigh this much. He yanked it free, desirous of knowing its contents, and found a woman. Not just any woman though.
Cleopatra blinked without visible concern at the man she had come to visit. Handsome, but she had known handsomer. Not excessively large, but he would do. He would have to; she didn’t care what he looked like, just as long as he felt differently about her…
And she needn’t have feared that at all. His eyes immediately devoured all the exposed flesh of her body, and without difficulty contemplated what could not be seen, though there was little to contemplate. Despite her beauty, he stepped back, but remembered his Roman civilities.
“Queen Cleopatra! What a pleasant surprise! For what purpose am I so deeply honored by your presence?”
She wanted to laugh at his pretensious politeness, but she forced herself to smile charmingly. “Not too much of a surprise, I hope? I don’t imagine women rolled in carpets visit you frequently.”
He grimaced. “No. Somehow they always seem to find other means.”
There was a very thick silence between them as she sat up. She made no effort to break it, so finally he asked sharply,
“Why have you come?’
“Suppose I hadn’t a reason?”
“Women like you always have a reason for what they do: frequently eight or nine.”
She laughed. “Very well, then: to talk business.”
It took great restraint to keep from making the lewd remark which involuntarily popped into his head. Her attire suggested everything but business: she looked like a courtesan.
“Do you always dress like that when you come to talk treaties?”
She did not blush. “I dress how I like. This is the current state of fashion.” He looked at her and felt unconvinced. Her apparel consisted of a tiny top which left everything revealed except the very lowest portions of her breasts and her nipples. The heavily embroidered fabric was really gauze save for the thickness of the stitching. She wore a panty-like garment which also covered as little as was humanly possible. Then a short gauze skirt went around that. Intense beadwork hung all over the clothing, draped from various points on the top, skirt, and undergarment. Gold bracelets, ankle bracelets, necklaces covered her, yet she appeared oblivious to Caesar’s disapproval; naturally however, she was aware of it.
There was another, shorter, pause between them and the queen began again.
“I did not come here to discuss fashion, as no doubt I could visit your wife about such an issue. I came to talk business.”
And so she did. Ruthlessly, she scoured him for every penny he could give her for Egypt’s aid, alliment, vessels, soldiers. Every time, she started out bigger than she knew he could accept, and then slowly lowered the demands. To his shock, he found she had already drawn up the documents ahead of time in Egyptian, Greek, and Latin without the aid of a scribe. The papers stated the exact conditions they had agreed upon. He knew now that he truly was facing one of the most intelligent people—men and women included—he had ever met. But it wasn’t her intelligence he was thinking about now…
He had a job to do, and he dutifully signed the papers. He did not ask her how she had known ahead of time what they would agree on: it no longer mattered.
She got up from the carpet she had been lounging on (she had never accepted the chair he had offered) and began walking towards the door.
She turned around with such a calculated measure of sharpness and poise that indicated to him that she had never really had any intention of leaving.
“Yes, my lord?” I was said daringly, as if she knew what he wanted, but also knew he would be afraid to ask for it.
It was a pulsing gaze which went between them now. “Did you come here to seduce me?”
She paused in a semblance of thought. “Have I made any attempts to do so?”
“No, but—“ he was rather discombobulated. “Perhaps it was simply my vanity,” he muttered.
She looked at him with glittering eyes, but for the third time that night, said nothing.
“You are married, are you not?” he demanded.
“I am. To my brother.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I am still accustoming myself to the traditions of your country—they are very different from the ones of Rome. Can any boy of your body become heir?”
“Any child of my body may receive the crown. As may any child acknowledged of my husbands: it matters not which ones are born first, second, or third: whichever one wins.”
He nodded comprehension, as she once more turned to leave.
Rather than asking her to wait, he found a better way to stop her:
“There are many rumors about you.”
She did not turn around.
“Such as, my lord?”
“Such as you are a virtual nymphomaniac. That no man, unless he escapes your eyes, may escape your bed.”
She turned around slowly, and he could see anger in her face.
“I am not a nymphomaniac. And I am not a whore, as I know many others have said. And if no man escapes my bed after meeting me, perhaps it is because they all desire me, not the other way around.”
It stunned him, and made him blush at the accusatory note in her voice. Perhaps he truly had been mistake, yet she began to walk towards him. He still sat and she still stood, but she was very near him now—so near he could smell her very subtle perfume.
“Would you like a seduction, my lord?” Her voice was very quiet now, not the harpy-tuned challenges he had heard before.
“Why should I let you? There are women more beautiful than you.” It was a lie. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She smiled and asked in a childish tone, “Where?”
“At the temple of Venus. I could get one right now, if I wanted.”
She laughed. “Yes, I suppose you could, as one is standing beside you, grossly lavishing her smiles on you.” He looked around him when she said that, but of course, there was only she.
“You’re a priestess of Venus?”
“Yes. I told you, my lord, I am not a whore; I merely perform my Goddess’ rites a bit more assiduously than the common people approve.”
“And what must one do to become a priestess of Venus? Or is it some great mystery?”
She shrugged. “It’s no great secret, though it’s not widely known: one must be trained, then seduce a priest of Apollo.”
He stared at her. She was sitting on the floor beside him now. The priests of Apollo were well-known for being excessively virtuous, even at keeping their oaths of chastity, unlike many other priests who took similar vows.
“You seduced a priest of Apollo?” It did not surprise him. Such beauty could seduce any man with eyes to see it. Yet it would be easy for her to lie.
“Two, actually.” She smiled luxuriously at him. “At the same time, unfortunately.”
“At the same time?”
She bent her lips towards his to kiss him. Not a timid first kiss, a passionate open-mouthed kiss that ran through his body in a rage of fire.
“You don’t love me.”
“True and find out for yourself. I pose riddles: they must be solved.”
“You love power.”
“Yes, but not necessarily any more than love.”
“You love Egypt?”
“More than anything in the world.”
“You would do anything in the world for her?”
She bent and kissed him again, and this time he melted. It was the most delicious flaming thing he had ever known. He knew lust like a disease, but he didn’t care: he had been infected too badly to think of anything other than her. It did not take long for him to draw her to his bed, but it meant brief a separation of their lips. It left him time to doubt.
“You don’t love me,” he repeated.
“I said to try and find out.”
He slipped what small pieces of clothing she wore off her and discarded them along with most of her jewelry. He put his hands on her generous bosom and let the delight of the touch flow through both their bodies.
As for the lady, she didn’t love him, but she had one night to convince him that she did. Egypt needed Rome, and so she needed Julius Caesar. This was the way treaties were signed for her: in a way far more dependable than blood. Besides, she liked this clever ruler: and he was better than she’d though he’d be.
She brought his mouth down to hers after he had discarded his clothes.
Give everything, she thought to herself. He’s probably slept with every courtesan in Rome. Convince him you’re much more than that.
She spread her legs and let him sink down into her, a raging torrent of pleasure that she used the tricks of Venus to ensure came to both herself and him.
His hands were everywhere along her body, as if hurriedly trying to memorize every detail of it. They rolled, and she gasped as the pain began, mingled indiscriminately with excessive pleasure. She arched her back to let its deluge come over her.
When his breathing slowed, he asked, “You do love me, don’t you?”
She smiled into the darkness, thanking Venus for her success.
“Do you have to ask?”
Burying his head in her voluptuous breasts, he murmured, “No, of course not.”
Sadly, I feel that I must concede this one to E.L. James.
As a chaser, I figure I’d offer up some of the erotica that I’ve written since I actually had sex. Nowadays, I mostly write erotica when I’m bored and lonely in hotel rooms. Then I post it to the internet. Here’s a sample:
As I open the door of the room, you grab me by my hair, turn me around, and slam me against the wall, tits first. My cheek is pressed up against the wall as you deliberately lift my dress and reach down between my legs, leaning in to my ear, and whispering fiercely, “Why are you wearing underwear, slut?”
It’s a question I can easily answer. I know the rules. “So you can tear them open.”
You laugh in satisfaction, then use both hands to start tearing at the top of the back. The sound and sensation of the fabric ripping down my ass crack and between my legs makes me gasp. I pillow my forehead against my arms so I can steady myself on my shaking legs. “Don’t move,” you order.
I stand perfectly still, with my dress hiked up around my waist, my legs spread, ass out, and my pussy slightly swollen in anticipation. I can’t see you, but I hear you take a step back. I hear you take off your belt, and you laugh as you watch my pussy contract in response to the sound. I am well-conditioned, and you clank it a few more times just to watch. I think about the last time I stood like this, and how you beat me with the belt, then wrapped it around my crotch as leverage while you fucked me. Your cock is nowhere near me, but I can actually feel it get hard as you think about it too.
“I know what you’re thinking,” you say, stepping out of your pants and sticking the head of your cock into me.
“I’m not really thinking much,” I gasp.
You lean your whole body against me, your face again behind my ear. But your cock is still barely inside me. “I could just use your pussy while I jerked off,” you tease. You slide your hand up and down your cock, and it bangs against my pussy lips as you jerk yourself off into me. “Clench your pussy around my cock, slut,” you order. I do.
Instinctively, my whole crotch starts to lean back into you, but you cleverly pull back. You laugh. “You could,” I whimper, “but please fuck me.”
Instead, you pull your cock out of me and replace it with your finger, sliding it all the way inside of me. “Cum, slut,” you order.
“I can’t!” I wail.
“I can’t cum standing up.”
“Then why do you want my cock inside you?” That question is also easy to answer. This is a ritual.
“Because when I can’t cum, I can feel every stroke of your cock going in and out of me. I can feel you getting harder inside me. I can feel your veins twitch when you cum. And when you pull out, your cum drips down my thighs and onto my feet.”
You laugh. “Later. I want your cum.”
You grab my hair again and pull me off the wall, yank my dress off, and throw me onto the bed on my back. Your cock is completely hard, but you still only slide one finger inside me.
“Cum, slut,” you order, as you fuck me gently with your single finger.
Obediently, I reach down to touch my clit, but you knock my hand away with your free hand. “If you touch yourself, I won’t fuck you.”
“I can’t cum from only one finger!” I gasp.
“You said before that you couldn’t cum standing up.”
“I can’t do that either… I need your cock.”
“What do you need it for?”
“So I can cum! You said you wanted you wanted my cum!” I’m pleading now. I deliberately clench my pussy around your fingers, wanting you to want to fuck me.
You lean over me, pinning my wrists to the bed. “I will make you cum with only one finger.” I moan and wriggle my crotch against the tip of your cock. You laugh as we both get harder from it. “But I might fuck you first. Will you promise not to touch yourself if I fuck you?”
“Will you promise to cum from my cock?”
“Will you tell me every time you cum?”
“I can cum more if I don’t have to tell you,” I say truthfully.
You laugh, still teasing me with the tip of your cock. “Then dig your nails into my shoulder every time you cum.” No longer able to think, I stare into your eyes and nod my agreement.
Eyes locked, you have mercy on me, sliding inside me, and my entire body shakes. I gasp and writhe against you, and cum, digging my nails into your shoulder. I never really stop cumming while you fuck me, but I feel us both peak when I actually feel your cock twitching inside me.
You pull out immediately, and I whimper. You reach behind my head, and pull me up by my hair. You stand just behind the foot of the bed, and force me to my knees, ordering me to spread my legs over your foot.
Your cock is still hard, and it’s wet with both of us.
I drag my dripping pussy lips across the top of your foot, leaving it wet. I start by gently licking our cum off your cock, but you grab the back of my head and thrust your cock down my throat. Every time you choke me, my pussy clenches. Every time you pull back, my pussy drips a little onto your foot. I can feel my knees getting slightly rugburnt, and I look up and notice that there are deep fingermarks in your shoulder from my orgasms. We have marked each other.
Eventually, you grow impatient, and throw me down onto the floor by my hair, my ass in the air, and my sore knees digging into the carpet. You wind my braid around your wrist, and yank my head back, staring into my upside down eyes.
“Does this hurt?” you ask, thrusting your cock inside me.
I make an inarticulate scream as you fuck me, my back mercilessly arched.
“Does this hurt?” you demand again, pounding into me.
“Yes,” I gasp weakly, and as you finally let my braid go, my head flops forward onto the floor. I feel your cock get harder inside me when I say that. When I start sobbing at the pain of your thrusts, I feel your cock get even harder inside me.
“Does this hurt?” you say again.
“Yes,” I say, tears streaming down my face that you can’t see. “Please don’t stop.” And I mean it.
You keep pounding into my pussy, and say, “You can’t cum from this, can you?”
“No,” I say. “But it feels better that way.” I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. “Please cum.”
“What was that?”
It’s really hard to talk. I mostly just want to scream. “I said please cum.”
“I didn’t understand what you said.”
“Please cum!” I wail, feeling my entire body shake with the not-quite-orgasm that wracks me when I can feel the tiniest subtle pleasures of your cock cumming in me.
My pussy is positively sodden as you pull out of me, and I turn over to face you.
“You are a very wet slut,” you inform me with satisfied amusement. I nod, wondering if my legs will ever work again. You slide your finger inside me again instead. “Cum,” you order me.
I laugh. “I’m far too wet and fucked to cum from just one finger.”
“Is that so?” With no warning, one finger becomes three, then four. Then you start adding fingers from your other hand, and in no time, you have eight fingers inside, both thumbs poised tantalizingly at my clit. “There’s room for my cock between my hands,” you say.
“You said you wanted to use me to jerk yourself off.”
You laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” You drag your dick along my clit between your thumbs, letting it get hard against my pussy until I am almost screaming to be able to cum. But you don’t make me cum. Instead, you shove your dick inside me, between your eight fingers.
I have no idea how there is room in my pussy for your large cock and so many fingers. I am so filled that it feels like I have no room to orgasm. Instinctively, I clench my pussy around them all, and you gasp. I do it again, and you gasp again. Your thumbs bump against my clit while you fuck me. As I squeeze again, I know that this hurts you too, and that pleases me. It takes only a few thrusts for me to cum. It feels strange, as if the orgasm is so deep inside me I’m not even sure it’s in my pussy any more. But it is deeply satisfying, as if you’ve just fucked my entire body, not just my pussy. You don’t stop fucking me after I cum, though. You keep fucking me, then pull your cock and your hands out at once, and shove your cock into my mouth.
I scream a little when you pull your hands out, because my pussy is so sore, but my screams are drowned out by your cum. When you take your cock out of my mouth, I whimper.
“You are such a tease!” I moan.
“How am I a tease?”
“You didn’t cum in me!”
“Yes, I did. I came in your mouth.”
“It’s not the same,” I say, hating the way I’m almost whining. “Not after you’ve fucked me.”
“But I like teasing you. And I like making you drink my cum.”
I make an inarticulate sound of desire and frustration, then stumble slightly from the floor to the bed, still feeling the aftershocks of orgasm—my own and yours–going through my body. You get up with me, laughing at my inability to stand properly as I flop helplessly onto the bed. My pussy is so sore, but that just makes me want to cum more. So I lay in a wet puddle, trembling and cumming while you grin evilly at me and occasionally stroke the lips of my wet cunt to encourage it.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and grab you by the hair and push your face into my pussy. I am so sore that it is almost embarrassingly easy to cum. A slight lick on my clit, a gentle thrust of your tongue into my pussy… I can no longer tell the difference between when I’m cumming and when I’m not, and you barely have to do more than breathe on my swollen clit to cause me to cum.
But as I’m still cumming, you pull your face away, and slide your finger inside me, your knuckle barely brushing against my clit. Your single finger hurts so much inside my overfucked pussy that I actually scream a little. I realize that you’ve been blowing on me to dry me out, and that you’ve restored sensation to me in the most excruciating way possible. It hurts so much it causes my pussy to clench in masochistic desire, which hurts more… and as your knuckles gently brush my clit, I cum on your single finger inside me.
“It hurts so much,” I moan.
“One finger? One finger hurts so much?”
“It hurts so much I came,” I confess.
“I thought you said you couldn’t cum on one finger?”
“I was wrong! I’m so sore! I could cum on anything right now.”
You lean in closer to me. “Are you saying that you cum harder when you’re sore?”
“Yes,” I whimper, still trembling slightly. “But I can’t take any more. Really.”
You laugh wickedly, haul me up by the hair, and pull me off the bed. You throw me over a couch arm with my legs straddled open, my clit rubbing against the cushions of the couch arm. You know I jerk off like that, and my traitorous clit responds impossibly by getting hard again.
“You can’t fuck me again,” I plead.
“You said you wanted my cum in your pussy.”
“You don’t have a choice.” And it’s true. As you thrust inside me, I scream, and it hurts so much I see stars. “Next time I tell you to cum with one finger, are you going to do it the first time?” you ask as you punish my pussy with your cock.
“Good girl.” And I feel you cum inside me again.
I want to fuck you until your cock is so sore that you beg me not to touch you, for fear that the sweaty touch of my skin against you will arouse you again. I want to laugh, reminding you even as you protest that you have a safeword, and find that you can’t make yourself summon the will to use it as I sit my swollen pussy lips on your face, cumming on your equally swollen lips again and again. I want to hear your agonized groan as your cock inevitably and painfully gets hard again when I stick your fingers inside my pussy and clench around them, tempting you to fuck me again. I want to scream as you finally acquiesce, thrusting your sore cock into my bruised pussy. I want to feel you get harder inside me as the sounds of my screams and the sight of my agonized tears only arouses you further. I want to beg you for your cum, pleading with you to hurry and have mercy on me. I want you to laughingly ignore my pleas, and I want to not quite regret my decision to have asked for this.
The next morning, I want to wake up feeling like you’ve kicked me in the cunt because I’m so sore from your violent fucking. And I want your cock to be harder and swollen from your night’s sleep and from the memory of our pleasures than it was the night before. I want to plead with you to fuck my mouth and spare my pussy. And I want you to do it… For about a minute. I want you to laugh at my wriggling hips as my body betrays my desire even as–no, because–my pussy aches and trembles. I want you to pull out of my mouth without warning and shove your cock inside my pussy. And I want it to hurt you as much as it hurts me, our bodies screaming in pain even as the fleshy wet memory of so much shared pleasure comes rushing back to us. I want you to almost regret your decision, until we both forget how much it hurts. I want to get lost in the hard and unforgiving thrusts of our shared desire, until we are nothing but a pool of panting sweat and cum.
…Until, of course, the pleasure wears off, and we are both left laughing at how much our genitalia hurts.
All I want for Christmas is you.