Zoe 

Note: This is a piece I like to call part of my ‘portrait’ series, in which I focus on setting, character and emotion. Here I focus on 19 year old Zoe and I wrote her world in one sitting just now, completely absorbed by its beauty. By far, this is one of my favourite pieces because I think it’s personal in many respects. I really hope you enjoy it.


Nineteen year old Zoe slammed her bedroom door shut in a huff. It was enough force to move her hair in a quick sway.

For a moment, she stood there, gobsmacked at the sudden turn of events. 

Downstairs she could hear her parents arguing, her mum defending Zoe’s honor while her dad arguing against her mum for not defending his. 

Suddenly Zoe felt like a stupid little girl. She looked down at her faded yellow batman t shirt and grunted in frustration. 

None of it made sense anymore, not her batman shirt or her her yellow shorties she had on or her silly pixie hair cut, with sandy colour and messiness. 

She felt stupid, like a little girl lost in a supermarket and wondering what to do. 

Zoe slid down to her floor and let out a sigh, just as she heard the screeching of a chair down below. Daddy had stormed off. 

Her mum had called out to him but he was already out the door. 

This was all her fault. She started this. 

She knew better than to question her daddy on religion but something came over her when he raised the issue of sexuality. 

A celebrity came out, it made the news He said.

It shouldn’t have, he said. There’s no place for that sort of thing in the news, it’s not right. It’s not natural. 

Zoe, who was stirring her peas in her gravy, suddenly thought of Sharon Bridges’ 17th just a few months ago. 

It was an image she thought of often when she was alone, not just because it was fun and she had laughed harder than she ever had, but because of one incident in particular. 

As the party wound down and most, if not all people, were passing out or leaving for greener pastures at other parties, Zoe was looking for the bathroom. She’d ask Sharon herself, but she had disappeared, as had her other friends, into the void that was drunkenness. Not Zoe, she was pacing herself. Although by this point in time, she was well on her way to becoming tipsy. 

Zoe had found Sharon eventually, she opened one door, which turned out to be the wrong door evidently. 
Sharon was on top of a faceless girl, her head buried in this girl’s cunt while the girl below her ate her out vigorously. 

In the corner was another girl, Unknown to Zoe and watching intently, her hand down her panties. 

The three of them were drunk and lost in a primal daze of lust, the only instinct being the basic animal desire to fuck and to come.

When they heard the door click and open, they didn’t freeze or become startle, rather they gazed at who it was with a vague curiosity.

When they saw it was Zoe, they giggled innocently, their faces wet with spit and arousal.

But Zoe was startled. She closed the door before any of them could speak a word, and on wobbly legs she wandered to her tent she had set up for the evening out the back and went to crash there for the night.

In the morning, Sharon and her friends hadn’t raised it and Zoe didn’t want to go there, so she had her breakfast, complimentary orange juice and burnt toast from Sharon, and left for home.

The image of the girls, however, never left her. 

It lingered with her that whole afternoon, had woken her up that night with her sweet shaven lips pulsating as it dripped. 

She had masturbated to it more than once in the following months, but still couldn’t make any sense of why. Was she bi? A lesbian? She didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Maybe the image was just appealing on a purely objective level? But did that still make her bi? 

So when her dad raised the female celebrity coming out, she openly questioned him. 
When he said, looking her square in the eyes and saying that this was the divine creator’s word, she raised the issue of love, how it was universal. Somewhere along her impassioned speech, she had raised her voice. 

Her dad kept saying the usual – it wasn’t right, it’s not natural, we weren’t designed for that. And when her dad told her she was being silly, she took personal offence.

It was all downhill from there on, as Zoe’s dad kept shutting her down. Kept reiterating that one point: it’s not natural. 

Zoe left for her room in a huff and in her room in a huff is where she now sat, thinking how silly she had been, silly to be arguing with her dad, silly to start something. Sharon Bridges was in her mind again, her mouth devouring that faceless girl’s cunt.

With a groan, she tore off her singlet top and threw it to the ground.
Outside, thunder rumbled and Oscar, their French bulldog, complained at the thunder. 

Something possessed Zoe then, she took the singlet in her hands and tried to tear it.

It didn’t make any sense to her, she felt silly wearing it, she felt silly tearing it. 

There she was, a girl still at home, still wearing kids things, trying to tear her singlet while her small breasts smacked against her chest and each other. She hated her breasts and her nipples. The sudden stream of rage entering her mind drove her to tear harder. 

The singlet tore down the middle and she left it at that, tossing her aside. 

More thunder echoed around her as she kicked off her shorties, tossing them across the room.

They went skidding underneath her wardrobe in the corner. 

Zoe was completely nude now, her chest heaving along, her eyes darting around the room. She wasn’t right, she wasn’t natural, she was a silly little girl. A silly little girl going no where. A silly little girl working at an office answering the phones trying to play grown up. What an idiot. 

She heard her daddy start the family car, saw the lights glide across her windows as he left up the track, disappearing into the thunder.

No one knew where he went when he got into a rage, but mum had told her one time that he told her in a rare moment that he visits a small pub out the back roads somewhere. 

Zoe was still, kneeling in her room, listening to the car disappear, the thunder booming, Oscar barking. 
Her skin felt the summer heat, it was warming up her arm as she knelt. 

She rose in one swift movement and moved across her room, opening the door opposite her that led out onto the verandah outside. 

Zoe stood in the doorway and listened for the rain. It came in small pitter-patter’s first, then more heavily.
On the tin roof above her the rain played a gentle concerto, swift and at ease. 

Zoe moved to the railing of the verandah and ran her hand song the rough wood. She stood there a moment watching her hand slide along the panel, wondering what everything meant – her tastes, the past few months, where she was going in life, is she a lesbian? 

It was true that she hadn’t been able to get Sharon Bridges out of her mind. But the reasons why this was so was unknown to her, much as she tried to make sense of it all.
For if she were interested in women, what would that mean? She’d have to reset her whole perception on her life, on what family meant to her, marriage too. She didn’t even know if she wanted to get married but the option, as a straight person, was there. 

As the rain belted down and somewhere amongst the noise the cicadas sang, nineteen year old Zoe stood naked on her Verandah with her arms outstretched to touch the rain. 
Pretty soon she would hop the ledge and go run in the rain behind the house. Pretty soon, her mum would knock on her door and get no answer. Pretty soon, Zoe would enjoy the rain stinging every part of her body and see that as cleansing herself in some way – for what she didn’t know.

But for now, Zoe stood naked watching the droplets of rain smack on her open palm.

Lesbianism In Medieval Times

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I wonder..

I’m not the biggest historian on a topic such as this but wiki tells me homosexuality, in medieval times, was punishable by death. And because I am a dreamer, I wonder..

How many women had discussions behind closed doors. How many betrothed women shared passionate forbidden kisses with their servant girls and ended up in a clusterfuck of sheets like this:

 

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And before people wonder, I do want to say that I am not excluding men out of this equation. But it so happens I was writing a scene set in medieval times between two women and there seemed to be an underlying sexual tension. Characters tend to live a life on their own terms, I can’t control them. And I got wondering about this myself. How many tantalising secrets behind closed doors were there?

How many servants went to wake their lady and saw them in their sheer nighties? was there any sexual tension there at all? Or is this all just me on a male-wish-fulfillment rant?

It strikes me, coming from 2016, that maybe these people didn’t have the labels we do, they didn’t wake up and go “Dear me, I am a lesbian” – to them, it was just passion. Passion, love and stolen kisses. Forbidden love.

Intoxicating, sheet-soaking, forbidden love.

So I wonder. And I fantasise. And I think about this love. And I smile to myself.

Sometimes daydreams are lovely.

Teaching Her A Lesson, Part II

 

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Some of you have asked when I will finish this particular story. I hope the conclusion does not disappoint.

I found my hands sliding down the curves of her ass, tracing the freckle right on the tip before the flesh slid under towards her cunt.

My hand travelled up her skin, edging closer towards her.

Laura struggled to move, even kicked her legs out but before she could even move her legs probably, I had found her lips and was tracing my finger along her slick wetness.

“G-get off..get away” She whispered but her voice was low and trembling.

The daze washed over me then, filling my mind was a certain warmness as the blood rushed there. My heart continued to hammer.

I slid my finger into her slowly, easing its way in till her cunt had swallowed my entire index finger.

Laura’s legs did a spasm but she held herself together. Her curses underneath her breath became moans and long before I knew it, she was rocking back into me. I quickened the pace of my fingers, moving in them rapidly in and out of her.

Each time my fingers slid out, they were thicker with her sweet juice.

I found the aroma of her to be quite appetising. I wanted to taste her.

“Get away from me” Laura hissed, trying to wiggle away from me.

I went to open my mouth but my hand reacted almost instantly, striking her hard across the face.

Laura’s face snapped to the left, instantly reddening her and knocking her fringe over her eyes.

Behind the hair, she sobbed. O how she sobbed like a little lost girl.

I left my index finger resting within her as I pulled my body back to take in the view of her.

She stood there, her hands bound to the coat hanger pole above her.

Even in her sobbing, she must’ve thought – somewhere deep down – that she had to be quiet because it was as if she was suppressing her sobs. Gritting her teeth as they came out through her throat choking her.

 

I took in the sight of the BITE ME scrawled across her ass. But something was missing in that moment, I felt. Something the teacher’s did to me when I misbehaved in primary school – a spanking.

I raised my hand and struck her. She fell forward into the wall, her ass shifting upwards in front of my face.

I struck her again, this time on the right cheek. She winced and began to sob, a little bit more loudly this time.

I struck her again. Then again. And again. I recall that it was as if something possessed me. Maybe it was all the anger that was built up because this little whore was mocking me in my own fucking class.

I spun around, pulling off her cotton school shirt. It fell, unbuttoned to the floor.

Her tits were in my face, small perky things. Her nipples were pink little buttons. I lowered my mouth onto her right nipple and bit gently. Laura was still crying quietly, doing her best to muffle her sobs.

I tested her then, suckling the little young tit into my mouth, seeing if she reacted. Her body tightened, as did her little nipple, which stiffened. But nothing came of it. She stayed still.

 

There came a muffled noise traveling through the door. I felt the anger leave me, drain out of my body. And I heard this –

Is everything alright ma’am?

It was a woman’s voice. A teenager, it sounded like. I remember thinking about turning around and whipping that door open and whipping the girl for the interruption. But that could lead to darker paths.

Instead, I grabbed Laura by the hair and put my mouth to her ear.

“Say, you’re fine. Do it, you little slut, or you’ll wish you did by the time they can stop me and free you..”

“I’m fine, thanks” came Laura’s shaky broken voice.

The teenage voice replied with “Okay”, which sounded a little unsure but when I was confident she was gone, I turned on Laura and something possessed me again, rising up my body with tingling rage…

 

..I spat on her. It hit her in the cheek and rolled down her luscious lips.

She cried out at the act and begged to be let go, that she won’t tell anyone. The begging came fast and low as her voice trembled.

I couldn’t help but look down at her pretty little cunt and smile as it pulsated for me. Her lips were quivering, vibrating almost.

Better than that, she was terribly wet.

“And you call me a dyke?”

I struck her again and her body shivered.

Little Laura shook her head violently. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t”

“And yet look at you. You’re fucking soaking.”

“No, I – I didn’t mean it”

The girl was delirious.

I remember sliding two fingers into that wet cunt of hers, which slid in at ease. Or was it three fingers? I can’t recall what I used on her first.

Whatever it was, she groaned, as if winded.

I took no notice of it as I slid my fingers in and out.

To my surprise, the little bitch was rocking back into my fingers, trying to get the full length inside her. I didn’t let her. When she rocked her hips, I held back.

Her gutted groans became soft moans.

“You don’t seem so troubled now”

Laura was delirious. She mumbled something low, her face covered by her dyed hair.

“And you call me a dyke” I said to her softly.

“I didn’t…I didn’t…”

“You didn’t what?

“I can’t think…with…with you…”

My thumb slid down to her clit and began to massage her. She trembled on her spot and I saw..I saw her knee shaking.

“That’s your problem you little bitch”

“I am…”

“You are what?”

I struck her ass at this.

“A little…a little…”

“Dyke?”

“Yes, I mean no…”

“I think you are”

Little Laura began to breathe quicker then.

“No”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m…I’m not”

“SAY IT”

She jumped at that and still she accepted my fingers and thumb.

“I’m a…I’m a…”

“Yeees?” I hissed at her.

“I’m a little dyke”

“And you believe that?’

“Y-yes…I…I guess..”

I pulled out my fingers, moved closer to her and wiped them on her face.

“Yes. You are a little dyke-whore”

“Please…please…I need it”

“Do you? A moment ago, you were crying.”

“I…I just need it”

“Goodbye, little Laura.”

I quietly left her there, tied to the pole in the dressing room.

The workers looked at me strangely but they knew nothing.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have left her bound by her legs and arms to the dressing room of the shop but the hussy needed to learn her lesson.

So hopefully the little bitch will figure out I loosened the knots so she would finish her task by getting her ass back to mine.

The Night They Took You Away

  
This is how it goes:
You snap awake. The first thing you notice is you can’t see anything. It’s not just dark, you can feel the fabric of the blindfold over your eyes. It’s coarse and irritating your forehead.

The second thing you notice is your hands are bound. Wait, that’s not at all. So are your legs. Which way are you facing? What direction is up? What direction is down? You start to squeal but that’s the next thing you notice – you’re gagged. You can taste the rubber as you try to call out. It’s metallic taste makes you gag.

Your world is thrown into light. Blinding light. It takes a few seconds to adjust to the environment but when you do, you see…
People. Standing all around you, gathered in a circle. Their arms are linked and their heads are down.

You hear the person that brought you into the light walk away from you, their footsteps echoing in this room. What is this, you wonder? What the fuck is this? You struggle to move but you are secured right. It’s rope, you think. You can feel it scratch against your ankles and wrists. 

Wait, more than that – you’re naked. You can feel a gentle breeze against your thighs. It travels upwards, tickling the lips of your cunt.

How did you get here, you wonder? You try to trace your thoughts back. You remember a party. A Halloween party. But that’s all. The rest is…foggy.
That’s when you hear it. A low chanting. It makes you turn your head in surprise. And you notice it – the men and women gathered around you – the one linking their arms and bowing their heads – are completely nude. You take the sight in, just to make sure the darkness of wherever you are isn’t playing tricks on your mind. You squint to look a little closer. You noticed a man’s shaved cock. The woman beside him has a landing strip. You notice her breasts rising and falling. Is she scared? Or exciting? The sight of these nude people strangely arouses you.

Wait, playing tricks you think. Is this a joke? You try to ask that but what comes out is muffled.
That’s when the chanting rises. You can’t understand it but it sounds Spanish if you had to guess. The others around you join in on the chanting and suddenly the voices are booming across the room. Reverberating. Becoming one. 
The candles go out. You didn’t even notice there was candles in the first place. Then the room is plunged into darkness. The chanting continues. You try to break free, struggling once. Then once more. But it’s no use.

Then there’s a gust of wind and you get the feeling someone is standing beside you.

“Accept our offering, O dark one” comes a woman’s voice. “Let this seduction and darkness sate you for another 13 years”
It sounds a little silly to say the wind is knocked out of you but that’s exactly what happens next. You feel the unmistakable sensation of a cock sliding inside you. It sends shivers down your spine and sends spasms traveling across your body but you are locked in tight. You can’t move. Whoever, whatever is on top of you, inside you – is ferociously pounding you. You’ve never felt such energy in all your years take you like this is taking you now.

You hear moaning in the darkness. The people gathered around? Are they fucking? It’s a man’s grunts, it’s a woman’s husky moans. 

Pleasure. Pleasure is sliding over you, washing over you. It’s warm and delightful and…frightening.

This aggressive cock, what seems thick and hard and never backing down, never ceases it’s speed. It kind of hurts, but in a good way. There’s an ache but…no, you shouldn’t be going along with this. 
You try to break free but you feel a hand run against your cheek. It’s soft and calming. Feminine. 

“Hush, child” the woman’s voice says. “Give yourself over. It’s easier that way”

Her voice sounds gentle and soothing. Middle aged. Mid forties if you had to guess.
The hands remove the gag from your mouth and your first impulse is to gasp for air. It feels so sweet. So divine. 

You try to speak but all you get out is “please..”

You feel rough hands glide down your hips, hot breath on your neck. It frightens you. Whoever is on you is not showing signs of slowing you down. You try to break free.

The woman coos you softly. “Here, child”

You feel a nipple fall across your tongue. For some reason, your first instinct is to take the nipple into your mouth.

The woman lets out a low moan as you do. The sound compels you to suck harder. You feel dizzy. You feel a nibble on your neck from the man on top of you, the one violating you.

That’s when you feel milk spray across your tongue and down your throat. It catches you by surprise but you don’t stop. You swallow it down. It’s warm and creamy. 

“This will soothe y-you, child”

For a moment, you flash on something. You feel good. You feel like a good girl. You feel like you’ve been laying for an eternity suckling while being pounded raw.
Every thrust comes with a tinge of pain but an overwhelming amount of pleasure. You feel it rising. You can’t help it. Pain and pleasure and shame all at once comes crashing down over you as you spasm forward, your mouth clenching down on the nipple around your tongue. You let your orgasm wash over you as you lay there. And that’s when the man grunts. And you feel warm come spray across your stomach. 

“May I too, Master?” Says the woman whose nipple is on your mouth.

Silence. But then you hear it, the wetness of the woman. She’s masturbating while you are suckling. The sounds of her juices and her soft cooing as she plays makes you want a second round.

“Kathryn, step forward” says a male voice. 

The words make you spit the nipple out. “What’s going on?”

Your voice comes out low. 
“You are the offering to our dark lord” the woman says between moans. “Our toy to seduce and fuck in his honour”

“Whose Kathryn?”

“An initiation to our ranks.”

You feel gentle hands run across your thigh. The old woman sits her nipples back in your mouth and you fall back into a state of ecstasy.

“Tonight, we not only celebrate our long time success at satisfying our dark lord, lest we feel his wrath. But we also celebrate a birth year! Happy eighteenth Kathryn”

The circle around you echoes what the man’s voice says.

“You may begin”

“Yes, Sir” says a voice between your legs. You feel her warm breath skim across your clit. Then she lowers her mouth on you and feasts .
It goes like this: you are used and abused in that room. Each member of the circle takes their time coming on you, feasting on you, fucking your mouth, your ass. How many times you are made to come – it’s countless. Your mouth is dry, your cunt is dripping and your ass tingles – much to your confusion. One person even slapped you hard enough to bring back memories of your father smacking you as a child. 
When all is said and done, you are put back to sleep. And you awaken back in your bed, back in your home. Back with your stuffed animal toys. You are bruised, your cunt is raw, the taste of milk lingers in your mouth. You are weak all over. You think it was a dream. I can assure you, it wasn’t. 
Happy Halloween!

Religion, Sexuality and BDSM

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For some people, what I am going to talk about is going to be uncomfortable so I want to open with this: I’m using this blog as a platform for my thoughts and as such, you don’t have to agree with them. Hopefully, you can still go on to read them, maybe even have your mind changed. But these are my thoughts as I’ve lived my life and my experiences.

I was raised Catholic. I was taught BDSM and such dark thoughts weren’t proper. I come from a conservative family and should I visit my parent’s with my pet, we still have to sleep in different beds as we are not married. Though I am religious, I don’t strictly follow everything the bible tells me to. If I did, I couldn’t live an open and free life, that’s plain and simple.

But you know why this is? Because man has engineered religion that way. Now, I don’t want to spark a religion debate. Do whatever  it is that makes you happy. My belief is ancient and simple: Treat each other with kindness. Believe in God. Believe that he accepts you how you are because that is how he made you.

So, embrace who you are. Love who you are and never ever hide it.

A reader contacted me outside of my blog and expressed both her interest in being with another woman and her fear for going against her religion. Yet, that desire still remained. Perhaps I’ve been ‘unplugged’ too long, or maybe I adhere to a very loose but basic spirituality. Would God want you to be in that turmoil? I can’t answer that question and neither can anyone else but the man himself. Yet wouldn’t you think that He would want you to embrace yourself and ascend? I mean, isn’t this THE THING? Isn’t our humanity, our very life, just our time to walk to either ascension or eternal damnation? I’d like to think that the path to ascension is the one I am on, the one YOU are on. If you’re reading my blog, maybe you’re already half way there.

It angers me, you know? To find someone so afraid of taking that step, in this example – to explore their sexuality – because they were afraid of their religion, which is essentially years and years of teachings passed down from parent to child in an endless cycle of guilt and fear. Is that religion? Is  that God and love? To me, that feels like a trap. To me, I don’t stick to a lot of the bible states because I believe in my spirituality and my right to stay good and kind and just. I most certainly will mock-rape my pet but I’ll also be kind to my fellow man at the grocery store or take my time to look after my pets.

I guess what I am saying is: Be yourself. Don’t be afraid to walk that path or otherwise it will come out of you in negative ways. That I’ve learnt in my life. And doesn’t that sound counter-productive? You avoid doing what you believe is ‘negative’ and it backfires?

You were made how you are for a reason. Listen to your heart, disappear into your desires and remember to be kind. Otherwise then you really will go down the dark forest and you risk the chance of becoming repressed.

As always, my email is open 24/7. Questions, comments – if you want to, send them my way. I am always here to help and to chat. Until then, I’ll leave you with this tantalising imagery.

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Savage Desires

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Note: I want to do a bit of a free form writing here. As I write this, I have no idea what I want to put out there, I just know that I have ideas swirling around and feel like writingSo be kind if it’s dodgy.

I have this desire within me.
The Beast wants to tear itself out of my skin and hunt you down, as if you’re some puny animal.
See, I don’t just want to tear your clothes off the minute you walk through that door: I want to drag you by the arm into the bedroom, I want to peel off those slutty lil’ panties you’re getting away with wearing. The folks at work might not know your wild streak. But I do. Oh yes.

I know you crave another woman. And I know your loyalty is to me and for that, I am eternally grateful. But to deny your animal impulses is to deny your humanity. Which is why I have her waiting completely naked in the corner. Our toy to play with. Except…I knew you would get jealous if I played with her. Thing is, I have no desire to do that. Merely, I wanted to take you from behind. I want to pound you into submission, to reach dizzying heights together. I want to fuck you till we are breathless, till you are soaking wet so much that we are soaking our sheets. The sheets that might be already soaked in our sickly sweet sweat.

I want to see you get turned on at performing in front of this stranger, I want to hear you moan for her, you little bitch. Get the horrible work day out of your system and show off that delicious darkness that’s inside of you. Let out that animal of yours because tonight, we let loose. And when we’re finally done, when I pull out to shoot my load onto your sweet ass in quick, short spurts, I am going to cuff you at your hands and legs  so you can’t move when you find out what I am about to do next.

I know you’re a sensitive being. I know you are going to buck as your favourite toy slips inside you. But tonight I want to show this pet of ours how well behaved you are at keeping still and taking the pleasure, all because you’re a good little girl, aren’t you?

So you’ll take our toy. You’ll take our toy on the highest setting. I want to hear you coo. I want to see those delicious goosebumps travel across your hard nipples. I want to tease the fuck out of our mutual friend in the corner, who will no doubt be eyeing you with extreme jealousy.

My aim is to have her mouth watering as I make you come..again…and again. As much as your body can handle the sensation. And I expect to see a nice puddle beneath your sweet thighs by the time I am done pushing you to the limit.

And then, you might ask? What then, Sir? What do I require of you?

I will break our mutual friend’s heart. For as much as you enjoy a woman, I want her to know that you will always enjoy my cock more than anything.  I want to see her face sink as you suck greedily at my cock – your reward for being a good girl.

I can’t help my nasty side. What can I say? I am who I am.