Speak No Evil?
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Posted:Jan 28, 2010 11:48 am
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2017 8:27 am
1778 Views
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Forget that! Let it fly! If there's anything you'd like to post that you DON'T want everyone reading, this is the place. Or rlipsrsealed2 at y.
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A Walk on the Beach
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Posted:Nov 6, 2010 9:02 pm
Last Updated:Jan 27, 2015 4:03 am
1742 Views
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Thoughts of you and I, on our own little island. You were a little girl this morning, all excitement at the thought of our first day exploring. You bounded out of bed, where I would have preferred to keep you for a while. But the adventure you sought lay beyond our room. There are times when your enthusiasm is just too infectious to deny you. So it was off to breakfast, exploring the island, maybe a few hours on the beach this afternoon.
You inspire me as I watch you dress, when I take in your body in various stages of dress and undress. You could not know when you asked me which bathing suit that my scheming had already begun. I chose the two piece, with a wrap to protect your shoulders from the sun and a thin skirt over your bottom just short enough to show your pretty knees and a teasing bit of thigh. Perfect for my needs.
As we walked the still deserted beach after breakfast, I let my hand slide up the back of your leg, under your wrap. It was such a pleasant journey. The soft flesh of the back of your thigh, the tight crinkle at the base of your buttocks, the firmness of your cheeks then…all coming to a crashing halt when I reach the bottom of your bathing suit. I ask you to remove it. A quick look at my eyes tells you I’m not really asking. I do love your obedience. Without fanfare, the offending fabric is removed and stowed in your purse. Now as we walk the beach, in our moments away from others, my hands is free to rest at the top of your sweet ass, my fingers roaming up and down the crack, sliding under you, softly over your mound. I make it difficult for you to walk at times. You trip once and I can sense the curse just at your lips. Instead I get a tight smile. This is My game, My rules.
The rules, such as they are, are that at each shop or gallery we enter, I try to maneuver you beyond prying eyes. There my hand is free again for its sojourn under your skirt. However briefly, I tease you open, I whet your appetite. At times I demand more. A taste of your neck, your ears, your throat. But most often I’m content for ten or twenty seconds of teasing your lips to life. You bear with me the first few hours, hardly concealing your annoyance. But after a while your body starts to betray you. You lips are staying puffy, slightly open. You’re staying moist enough that with a few light strokes you’re wet enough for my finger to penetrate.
In the car, driving to other parts of the island, your last resistance is stripped from you. I buckle you into your seat, and recline it all the way back. As soon as we’re driving, your skirt is flipped up, and I now have the time and privacy to truly assault you. I tease your clit to life, and soon I’m rubbing and pinching it firmly. Your juices start to flow, and soon your cunt is receptive to two fingers thrust their full depth inside you.
As quickly as I started, I’m parked again, your skirt pulled down. Come on, little girl! You wanted to explore! By the third car ride, I no longer have to raise your skirt or part your legs. You’re anticipating, waiting for, holding your breath for each touch now. You whimper now as my fingers slide in. I’ve made you hungry little girl, and you’re perhaps wondering if it might be my intent to make you cum in public today, or let you have your release in the safety of the car. Doubtful. You look delicious today, my slut, and my needs are growing as well.
It’s possible they’ll overtake me at some point. I’d get no protest from you if I suggested we return to the hotel at any time. Maybe, when we shower for dinner, I’ll be inclined to throw you over the bed like my little rag doll and pump you full of my seed. But I’m thinking of letting this slow simmer go on all day and into the evening. I’m thinking of the lacy little nothing I brought and have not yet given to you. I’m thinking of the matching blindfold that sealed the deal for me. I’m thinking of velvet cuffs on your pretty wrists. I’m thinking of you ravenous, aching, and whimpering with need. I’m thinking of your tongue and lips making love to my cock, their most desperate attempt to coax my own release from me, between your panting cooing of those words I most cherish from your lips. Please Sir. Please make your little slut cum.
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SLUT!
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Posted:Nov 6, 2010 9:53 pm
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2017 8:30 am
1523 Views
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Those of you reading my stories will soon find I have a penchant for the word “slut”. If it offends you, leave. Go spend your afternoon at Walmart, or campaign for family values. I happen to adore both the word and its true meaning.
I love the way it rolls off my lips. The exhale of air through clenched teeth. The curling of my tongue against the roof of my mouth, wound like a spring, only to come crashing down, forcing out the staccato burst of the final T. Say it. Enjoy it. Now imagine your clit captured between your lovers lips as he/she said it over and over and over. Imagine the effect of each letter. Think of the tease of that long, languid S and the whip of their tongue at that T. Do you think you could come from it? Bet you could.
Such a beautiful word, tarnished and made dirty by those with small minds, smaller libidos, and a jealousy of those who actually enjoy sex. For the word was never meant to describe how many lovers one might take. It’s a celebration of how well they were loved. It’s a tribute to a fullness of passion, lust, and abandonment. It’s a sultry ode to a willingness to go whatever lengths are needed to find fulfillment. Okay, it about loving a good, hard, mind blowing fuck. So what’s your problem?
If there’s a drag about being a guy, it’s that you rarely get called a slut. Bummer.
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A Story of Denial
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Posted:Jan 27, 2010 10:46 am
Last Updated:Jun 21, 2011 5:19 pm
1771 Views
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The room had begun to feel warmish, even with the air conditioning blasting away. A slight sheen of sweat clings to your breasts and your belly. A few full drops pool in your cleavage. Perhaps you may have been tempted to wipe them away, were your wrists not bound together, stretched above your head, and then secured to the headboard. The effect gave your body a long, graceful and sinuous look, a woman caught in her first morning stretch as she wakes, rather than a woman bound. Ravishing in her exposure, most seductive in her vulnerability. I let the mink glove on my left hand wipe gently over your breasts, and linger long enough to further tease your nipples, keeping them taut and erect. As I slide by, the last moisture evaporates, letting the AC further cool and tingle them, straining them further.
How long has it been, my dear? An hour? Perhaps less. During that time I'd forced your arousal to ebb and flow how many times? Closer each time to a crescendo, but never quite reaching it. The mink glove roams your upper body with soft teasing strokes, paying closest attention to your lovely breasts. Your legs, which retain the last vestiges of your clothing, your thigh high black stockings, are spread shamelessly wide for me by now. Inviting, urging, begging for more attention from my lips and tongue to your wanton, needy pussy. I let my tongue make soft, lazy circles over the lips of your labia, occasionally delving deep inside or sliding higher to tease and nibble your hidden button. In my right hand, a tiny pocket rocket finds that mark more often, and just a few seconds of stimulation at this point has you again at the edge. A few seconds more, we both know, would push you over. Not yet, mon cher. I find I can tuck the rocket inside of you, and maneuver it with my tongue, the sensations not quite enough to bring your release, but the tiny vibrations still managing to spread and tease and stimulate your now neglected and yearning clit. I listen to your ragged breath, hear it catch. So very close, little one.
My fingers followed the path of your juices, those my lips have not already captured, as they trickle down between your legs. I collect them on my fingers, and now you can feel me begin to massage them into the wrinkled skin rimming your cute, tightly puckered little ass. I let you feel the pressure of my fingers as I continue to lubricate you, let it build, let you yield, until one, then two insistent fingers push their way inside you. My tongue assaults your clit once more, and your shiver drives my fingers deeper within you. Now my thumb finds its' way back to your pussy. No need to tease here. Your lips are wide open, waiting, inviting. I slide easily into your slickened hole. I capture our tireless little buzzer, and pinch it between my thumb and fingers, against the thin wall of your flesh that separates them. I can feel the vibration now throughout my hand, all the way to my wrist. I can tell from your moans that it resonates throughout the warm, moist center of your being. I flatten my tongue and rake it, long, slow, harshly over your swollen clit. Once. Pause. Again.
So close now, little girl. Again. You know what I want to hear, my lovely slut. You know I want you to beg me for your release, and to promise me you'll do anything to ensure mine. If ONLY one of your hands were free. It may not be quite as satisfying, but it would surely be enough to get you home at this point. But they're not, and no amount of rubbing your legs together seems to be doing the trick. And you know when you squeeze them tight, you just deny my tongue the access you crave. So, my luscious wench�beg for me. Promise me your submission. Give me the keys to your naughtiest, darkest dreams, your needy body, your greedy, hungry pussy, and I'll take you where you're dying to go.
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Parts
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Posted:Nov 6, 2010 10:01 pm
Last Updated:Jan 27, 2015 4:02 am
1354 Views
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I adore duality. Actually more. Polyality? All the distinct, contrasting, conflicting parts that make us whole. I want to separate them. Take them apart. Pull them asunder. Let them play to their own self indulgence as individuals before forcing them back together. When they play, and grow and change shape on their own, can their alignment ever be the same when they’re recombined? Do we keep creating a new drink with each stir of the straw?
I can look at you and see friend, lover, mate, woman, talent, creation.
Is it no less valid that the same image, a breath later, can have me beholding my slut, my fuck toy?
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Spanking
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Posted:Feb 9, 2010 10:29 am
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2017 8:29 am
1856 Views
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I�m seated on a small armless chair in the center of the room, and you stand before me, your beautiful eyes cast downward in supplication. You wait for my instructions, and with a slight nod I bid you to proceed. You turn away from me, reach up under your dress with both hands, and pull your panties down as far as you can, just below your knees. With an exaggerated motion, you bend over fully now, let them slide to your ankles, and then, straightening, slide each of your high heeled shoes through them and kick them aside. You know it is my wish that the stockings stay.
You adore the thigh high stockings that I insist you to wear now anyway, knowing how good they look on your legs, knowing how naughty you look with them on. I like you to wear the elastic welt stockings, freeing you from the nuisance of a garter belt. I insisted that I wanted as little as possible blocking my access to your pussy. Your panties may be a necessity at times, though the lighter and silkier, the better. But when I reach beneath your skirt, or instruct you to do the same, there would be nothing more between my/your fingers and your waiting slit. You�ve also found the thrill of when my lips and tongue travel up them, that divine moment when they cross the welt and first touch your hot, searing naked flesh half way up your thigh.
I pat my lap, and you come to me, standing, waiting for my next command. It is one word; kneel. My legs are spread as you kneel between them. If my pants were not still on, if I was not resolute in my other plans for you, it would be most tempting to grab a handful of your lustrous, blonde hair and begin using your luscious, painted lips and mouth. Instead I reach out for your nipples, and with my first hard squeeze of one your eyes flutter and your lips part in a silent moan. I reach for my drink on the end table behind me, and from it I pluck a barely melted ice cube. I trace it across your lips, let you feel the wet cold, so in contrast to the warm moisture I know is already building inside you. It is at your nipple next, already sore and swollen from my fingers, and your gasp as it touches you tells me all. A few moments of the ice and your little bud is now painfully hard and erect. I attach a weighted clamp to it, making sure it is tight enough to avoid falling off anytime soon. I repeat it all on your other nipple, taking my time, enjoying both the effects on you and the symmetry. I had a blindfold next to me as well, but I�ve changed my mind. Soon, in your next position, the weights will be bobbing up and down, captured by gravity and released by your spasms. I want you to be able to watch them, my dear. I want you to be hypnotized by their graceful movements. As they descend, just before they pull on your sore, sensitive nipples, I want you to anticipate the coming sharp jolt of pleasure and pain that will go straight to your clit.
Your breasts now attended to, I pat my lap again, and you take your position, laying face down across my knees. The height of the chair is perfect. Your arms and your legs reach out to balance yourself, your hands and feet just reaching the floor. The weights on the clamps go taut, bouncing slightly a foot off the floor. Perfect. You slide and shimmy and adjust yourself, making a pretense of getting settled, when I know you hope to begin my arousal, make sure that your crotch is pressed tightly against my own, hoping to enjoy the bulge of my cock once we begin. You can�t get comfortable. Soon it won�t matter, little one. Soon your thoughts will be elsewhere.
I say nothing to you, but my hands begin their slow litany of enjoyment of your body. My left hand massages your back and neck, relaxing your tensed muscles. My right hand strokes up and down your lovely, stocking clad legs. Each stroke rising a little higher. Finding and teasing the soft flesh just above the welt. Enjoying the fine line between to cool silkiness of the fabric and the moist heat of your flesh. Gliding over the firm, taut flesh of your gorgeous, anxious butt. My finger slides deep into your crack to tease the rim of your puckered rosebud. (Whack!) The spank brings a yelp, the bounce of the weights a long moan, and my fingers straying over the lips of your pussy a deep shiver. They are distinct now, but very soon it will all blend deliciously together. Whack!
Do you remember the very first spanking I gave you, my precious slut? That very first day when we finally met? You were such a naughty girl that day. Remember at the hotel restaurant? After all our incendiary emails, it was our first moment physically together. Our hug came freely, but our first kiss was quite hesitant. As we walked through the restaurant, making our way to the bar in the rear, I saw an open, unoccupied dining room. I pulled you inside, pushed you against the wall, and kissed you hard. Do you remember? My hands roamed freely over your body. Groping, kneading, massaging your breasts, twisting your nipples through the fabric. My lips at your throat, hard insistent kisses. My fingers under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, finding your pussy, wet, open, waiting. You groaned. You submitted. You let me have my way. Such an easy little tart.
We weren�t long in getting back to our room. I stood behind you, my arms wrapping you tight, my hands roaming as they pleased, needing no permission. My lips kissed softly up your neck, until they found your ears. Then my whispers began, past your crumbling defenses and straight inside your mind. Telling you how delicious I would make you feel. Telling you how I understood your needs, your desires, your cravings. All you need to do is let go. Let me take control. Submit. You let me in, little girl. You let my words and my naughty, nasty promises inside your head. You let my kisses and licks slowly melt your willpower and resolve. You let my fingers and my tongue arouse you, leaving you needy, wanting, willing. You let me toy with you. Bringing you over and over to the edge of your release, then making you beg for it. Making you promise me anything for just one more long lick across your swollen clit, one more deep thrust of my fingers. Anything if I�ll please let you come. Until you found yourself much as you are now.
�Such a needy, shameless little you are. You let a dark, handsome, strange man inside your head. You let him fill your weak and silly mind with such thoughts. Thoughts of lust, thoughts of desire, thoughts of needy, wet wanton sex. (Whack!) You give up control to him. You let him control your mind, your fingers�.your pussy. (Whack!) You promise him anything, just to get your release. (Whack! My fingers roam down between your legs. Finding you wet, aroused. In between my spankings, my hand and fingers softly caress your hot, stinging flesh, smearing your juices over your burning skin. Whack!) You let his hands roam your weak, needy body at will. Let his fingers taunt and tease your greedy wicked pussy. (Whack!) And when he makes you come, you beg him for more.
�And now look at yourself, little girl. Spread over his knees, your panties gone. Your hot, red ass waiting to feel the sting of his next spanking. Grinding your mindless cunt against him. Praying he�ll fuck you when he�s done. ( My spanking is done now, there�s just my soft caress, my taunting words, your need) And in the end, when his hand finds your pussy, little girl, once again it�s hot, wet, open, willing, wanting.�
You realize my hand is under you again, two fingers buried deep inside you, stroking, a deep, steady rhythm. So very, very wet. Your body starts to sync with it. I wet my thumb with your juices, work it slowly, insistently, deep inside your tight ass. Then out. Then in. Finding the rhythm of my fingers, only now they�re at your clit. Stroking, teasing. I�m pumping you hard now. The weights bounce and torment with each thrust. I can hear your breathing getting ragged. Feel your body begin to tense. Feel you rise up to meet my thrusts. �Come for me, little girl. Show me what a naughty, needy, greedy little slut you really are. Come hard for me.�
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Sleep All Summer
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Posted:Jan 28, 2010 3:16 pm
Last Updated:Jan 27, 2015 4:03 am
1456 Views
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[SIZE 3]Cold ways kill cool lovers
Strange ways we used each other
Cold ways kill cruel lovers
Strange ways we choose to suffer
The National and St. Vincent got a little bit of indie airplay last year with a cover of Eric Bachmann's Sleep All Summer. Always seemed to me to be a D/S love song. Try the original on Crooked Finger's Dignity and Shame album. Great tune, though neither band does the potential harmonies justice.
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To link to this blog (rlipsrsealed) use [blog rlipsrsealed] in your messages.
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