The Interview

Dear Lord, I can still see her in my mind, sprawled out on the chocolate leather couch of my home theatre. I can still picture her eyes, the lightest green I’ve ever seen, looking at me in a way that feels vaguely fox-like.

Freckles are splashed across her fair skin sporadically. Her hair – the faintest colour of orange – falls across her arms, drapes across her small breasts.

Her breasts…like Snow White, only her nipples are ruby coloured, hardening for me as they are.

And Dear Lord, I can still see her pubic hair. Do you know how torturing it is, this gift you’ve given? I can see her slit when I close my eyes, down to a single red hair.

I can see her pubic hair, like a slash of fire across her slit. When she shifts her legs, for a second I can see her arousal glisten underneath the soft lights.

I remember asking me something, leaning back on the couch, because I remember thinking that the scene reminds me of The Graduate, but I couldn’t tell you what words she spoke, only that her voice sounded silky smooth, with a playful edge.

Why did she come to my home? Why does she interview me in my home theatre, notepad once across her lap before she started to undress.

Why was so she patient, as the unseen man behind the curtain drew me away from the home Theater – to see to my meddling cat, to address a question to my meddling guests. Don’t they see that I have questions to answer to this lady myself?

I think what perplexes the most, as I ease my cock into this woman, is how much I wanted her.

God, has anything ever felt any better than when I ease into her tight, wet snatch? Has anything ever felt better on my ears, to hear her moan in time to my thrusts?

God…Satan…Angels…Devils…don’t watch me consume this woman, don’t watch me sink into her skin as we become one with one another.

Who am I kidding? I can’t look away. Not from the watchful lightest green eyes of this woman.

Why does she want me so bad? Why me? What do those green eyes see?

As much as my cock is driven by the feeling of her each time I split her lips apart and slide in, I’m driven by the sight of her – sinking into the couch, twisting her head to the left to let out a moan, her hair across her shoulders in tangles.

Who is this cruel mistress? Who are you and why are you here? I want to ask her, but I’m transfixed by her with each move, unable to tear myself from her in the confines of the home theatre.

The interview will continue another time.

A Sleepy Sexy Something

Who is the girl that wilfully stands to attention, head bent, back straight, like he showed her how?

Watch her face come alive with the light of the universe as she is granted permission to kneel before him.

Watch this girl’s child-like wonder as she runs her hands over his cock, like a toy. Like her very own brand new toy on Christmas, delivered deliciously by a devilish Santa himself.

Where does this sudden innocence, this transformation into a child come from? O watch as she smiles crookedly, sweetly, stupidly as she takes her first licks, her tongue rolling up the length of his cock, coating it with her own saliva, marking it as her own. Watch her blue eyes expand, seem larger than life, seem full of life, as she is right where she wants to be.

She’s utterly devoted to his pleasure. Her own comes from the satisfaction knowing she has pleased him, comes from hearing his moans, from tasting his cock.

It will come from taking his Cock into her mouth as far as she can. She would take it till she choked, she loves it so, but he never lets her. He stops her when she tries, telling her with that commanding voice she can’t betray.

Instead she will adapt to the rhythm of his soft moans, exploring taste and pace. Who is this girl that was so eager to kneel, to taste, to want so badly to taste him that she stops and begs him to come in her mouth just this once because she’s been good, oh so good.

Who is the girl?

Dream Time

A guest at her friend’s house, the pretty little thing lays on her stomach underneath the warm sun.

Out of sight and out of mind, she lays on the verandah as the family naps away from the heat.

In this time, the eighteen year old has an idea. It hits her out of no where.

Reach into your satchel bag and pull it out. Test it. No one will hear. No one will need to know.

Before the pretty little thing can come to terms with the voice, she reaches into the bag and pulls out the 7 inch black dildo she had ordered off the Internet through a local toy store. Thanks Facebook sponsor.

In silence, she pulls apart her black bikini bottoms. She can smell her own scent. This just drives her further to slide it in.

She winces at first, but soon the toy becomes slick and inches further within her.

Soon she is full. She can feel it, all the way within her now.

Then she withdraws her hand, and rests with the toy still within her.

For a while, she listens to the silence around her. No bird chirps, no cicada buzzes. Nothing.

When the toy starts to slip out of her, she reaches back to pull it in. The sensation of the act causes her to moan.

With the toy back within her, she rests her head down again. The pretty little thing starts to doze.

The world around her begins to fade.

When she feels the toy start to slip, she reaches back and feels something coarse.

Looking behind her fills her with horror. The pretty little thing sees a hand gripping her toy.

That’s when she locks eyes – her friends brother. Four years her senior. And he must’ve slipped behind the corner of the Veranda she’s resting in.

He looks at her with his dark eyes and lifts a finger to his lips – be quiet.

Slowly, he slides the toy back into her and the pretty little thing whips her head back to meet the wave of pleasure crashing over her.

It’s slow at first, his movement. He eases it in and eases it out, all the while being completely silent, the only sound coming from her. Her wet lips.

Gradually, he begins to pump at an increased rhythm. It’s fast and smooth. The pretty little thing feels her body jolt with each thrust, feels the air leave her lungs.

She doesn’t know it, she thinks she is still, but she’s actually grinding back into the toy as it slips out of her.

With her head on the ground, her hair around her eyes, she lifts a hand behind her and unties her bikini top, letting her tits fall out onto the verandah. The wood beneath her instantly makes her nipples hard as they scratch against them.

She begins to play with her left breast, pinching it, stretching it. Today the pretty little thing wants to indulge – she slaps it from the side. Again. And again. It stings in response.

Better yet, she doesn’t have to worry about the sound bouncing off walls and echoing here. It’s just her here. Her and the toy.

The pretty little thing doesn’t get to play with her tits for long though, her orgasm sneaks up on her. She cuts out the moan that was hanging on her lips. Her legs jolt, her arm seizes up. The toy is held within her, all the way. Were you to be behind the pretty little thing, you could see the black edge of it buried deep within her.

The pretty little thing writhes around on the wood for a moment, feeling hot and cold flushes. Then she is still, and where the brother went, she does not know.

Heaven is BDSM. Heaven is the collar. Heaven is she.

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To hold her neck tightly…to hear the collar jingle as you do so. To share in this deep trust and love. I was made for this. I live for this. This is heaven.

Nothing has made me feel so alive like when I am guiding her, when I can feel the heat sizzle at me from off her body. Or when I know she’s under my command completely so take care of her.

[insert blissful sigh here]