Archive for December, 2012

Two in the Hand, One in the Bush

Promises made to oneself in the cold, hard light of day are oh so easy to break. I can’t sleep. Between my legs, my cunt is huge, sticky and swollen. Wet. A touch is all it would take.

I squeeze my thighs together, and my clit throbs hungrily. This doesn’t count, right? I’m not actually touching.

I can’t sleep. It’s late, and I have to get up early. I think about my professor, that guy in my class who always wears the tight blue jeans with the torn out knees, that girl on the subway who caught my eye.

I picture them naked. Fucking, sucking; each other, me. I imagine pulling my professor’s hard cock out of his trousers and gobbling him whole. I picture that guy in my class tumbling into bed with me, his cock hard and fat, pointing up at my ceiling. I make up a whole scenario where that girl from the subway follows me home, and we don’t even make it into bed, but end up in a writhing, twisted 69 on my couch.

My panties are damp, through and through. I kick them off in frustration. I’m not just wet down there, I’m soaked.

Screw it. I give in to temptation at last, languidly trailing two fingers up and down my slippery valley. I can’t even touch my clit; she’s red-hot and hyper-sensitive. I won’t last long. Even if I try to drag it out, I’m too revved up.

I kick off the blanket so I can see what I’m doing.  My fist is clenched between my thighs, so that every time I squeeze my legs together it presses hard against my cunt.

I imagine them gathered around my bed, watching me, masturbating to the sight of me masturbating. My professor and the guy from my class have their dicks out, jerking off above me; the girl from the subway has her panties down, one foot up on the bed for better access, playing with her clit, her eyes fixed on me. In a confused montage of voyeurism and exhibitionism, my orgasm crashes over me, sending me gasping and spinning over the edge. I try to make it last forever. Finally, I am done.

So much for willpower. What has it been… 25, 26 hours? I mentally kick myself in the ass. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will stay after class and talk to my professor. I will ask that guy for his phone number. I will make eye contact with that girl from the subway, and I won’t let the moment scare me away. I will give her my best smile, I’ll sit down on the bench next to her, and I’ll tell her my name and ask for hers’.

I bask in the after-glow, sleep threatening to roll over me like a rising tide. Tomorrow I will get a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or an anatomically-correct Muppet friend. Or a two-headed space alien friend, as long as it’s genitals are roughly compatible with mine. And I’m not going to masturbate again until I do.


She wakes me up by dragging a pipe wrench along the corrugated steel of the cage. I’m not sure how much I slept; but I can tell you, it wasn’t much. My body aches. My legs are cramped and sore and my wrists are chafed, and I can feel the stripes on my back like they were etched there in acid. My mouth tastes like dry piss, and my dick is hard as a two-by-four.

“Rise and shine,” she sing-songs cheerfully, “rise and shine! I’ve got a special treat for you.”

I lap the proffered coffee up gratefully. It is mercifully warm and sweet.

“Still good to go?” She asks, gazing skeptically down at me. “After all that fun we had last night?” My erect cock twitches, answering for me. “Well, well, well, aren’t we just an eager little bunny?”

She unshackles my wrists, and I try to shake the tingling out of my puffy hands. She spits helpfully into my palm.

“You’ve got ten seconds,” she says. “Better get started, time’s a wasting. Nine… eight…”

I start frantically jerking off. My hands are partially numb, which makes it both strange and slightly clumsy. I concentrate on her tits, because they are naked and right in front of my face. I’d rather be masturbating between her ass cheeks, or onto her spread pussy, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Spank it little monkey, spank it! Five… four…”

She grabs each of my nipples in wicked pinch between thumb and forefinger, and tugs and pulls. I swear to God, I think she is trying to yank them right off my chest! Despite myself, I howl.

“Three… two… one!”

I come right on cue, not a second too late, orgasming with a shriek, an incredibly intense cocktail of pent-up lust suddenly released; glorious pleasure; and genuine wracking pain as she twists my poor, distended nipples.

Mercifully, she allows me to savor the orgasm for a few moments.

And then the manacles go back on, and she slams closed the cage door, and I am left all alone in the darkness, gobs of semen getting cold and runny all over my stomach and chest.

I have to pee something fierce, and there is nothing for it but to let go. The urine sprays all over my legs, warm at first, and then all too quickly cold and uncomfortable.

Later, she brings me a bowl of cold, congealed oatmeal. I hate oatmeal. Next weekend, when it is her turn to bottom, she is going to suffer mightily.


I’m still a little bit high on the E as we stumble back into my apartment. Goblins and leprechauns lurk in the dark corners of my peripheral vision.

I’m so horny I can taste it. We were practically making out on the dance floor, kissing and touching lewdly right there in the club. He told me his name earlier, but I don’t remember what it was: Jim or Tim or was it Chip? It was loud and I was pretty toasted. Horny, drunk, and more than a little bit nervous. All this conspired against my short-term memory. Especially when combined with a healthy dose of ecstasy. I’ve still got the jitters. My whole body feels like it’s made of electricity.

He’s cute. Not my usual type, really; but cute nonetheless. Pretty boy, fine feminine features. And a highly visible erection inside those tight, tight pants. I kept playing with that cock while we danced; grabbing his package, running my hand up and down his length, rubbing my ass up and down his crotch.

He did his share of touching too, but I know something he doesn’t. The bulge in the front of my jeans is a sham. I’m packing, and underneath that pastiche my panties are damp and sticky.

I don’t know how he’s going to react when he discovers the truth. I never do; that is part of the thrill, the terror, the lust. I hope he likes what he finds. I hope he likes my strap-on rig too. But one never knows…

We kiss and grope our way across the room, tumble onto the couch. I want to fuck this one in the worst possible way. Hard and deep and fast, until he’s begging for mercy. And then, if he’s up for it, I want him to fuck me exactly the same.

He doesn’t seem as into it any more; he’s not kissing me back the way I’d like him to be. His erection seems to have faded. He doesn’t know already does he?

No. He’s asleep. Fucker. He’s fallen asleep, and he’s not waking up, not without a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, and I’m not that much of a bitch. Shit.

Frustration. I pull off my jeans, toss aside my panties and the dildo I was packing. I shaved and everything for this. I straddle his chest and whack off over him. It doesn’t take long, not in my present state. If I were a dude, or one of those girls who can squirt on command, I’d shoot off all over his expensive Armani shirt. As it is, when I’m all done, I press my wet, come-slick finger up against his sleeping lips. We’ll see what happens in the morning.


“Are you serious?”

“Darn tootin’ I’m serious. Twenty bucks, right here, right now.”

“Twenty bucks?” She’s not really my type: kind of fat, copper-red hair, mean eyes. I don’t know why my dick’s suddenly so hard.

She fishes out her wallet, checks her billfold. “Forty dollars. You’re not going to get a better offer.”

I came here with my friend Clarissa, who has conveniently disappeared. Chatting up some cute little lipstick lesbian in a dark corner, no doubt.

Another woman, curvy hips and cleavage and long dishwater hair, pulls a bill out of her front pocket. “Ten bucks more makes it fifty. Whip it out.”

The bartender, who looks like Xena gone to pot chimes in: “And a free drink. Come on Mister, let’s see the goods.”

Paralyzed by indecision. Staring, hungry eyes. I’m surrounded, encircled by predators. And then I take the plunge.

I slip off the barstool, fumble with my zipper. They hoot and leer. “Get up on the bar. Get up there so everyone can see!” Helpful hands push, shove, and pull me up onto the bar.

I let my jeans fall, pause, and pull down my boxers. My erection bobs and waves to the crowd like a glad-handing jack-in-the-box. “Nice one,” somebody chortles.

I am suddenly high, dizzy on the attention and the exposure and the weirdness of it all. I don’t think my cock has ever been harder.

“Jack-off! Jack-off! Jack-off!” the women chant, and so I do it. The entire process won’t take but two minutes. One hand is wrapped around my erection, the other spreads my butt-cheeks, penetrating my anus. The short, fat copper-hair lady hoots. Dishwater Blonde pumps her fists like a cheerleader. My back is arched, my balls drawn up tight, my penis is purple and drooling.

The bartender proffers a shot glass, and I come right into it, grunting like a bullfrog, filling the bottom third of the glass with pearly white semen while the girls all hoot and holler. They applaud as I milk the last few drops of come out of my swiftly wilting cock. Bartender smoothly fills the balance of the shot glass with vodka, and hands it off to Dishwater Blonde, who slams the cocktail down without hesitation.

I slide down off the bar and back to my stool, pulling up my pants and buttoning up. I feel kind of shaky and hollow inside. Clarissa is no-where to be seen.

I take my money, and my free drink.

The dirty-blonde lady with the big butt and the cleavage popping out of her flannel shirt puts a sisterly hand on my shoulder. “Stick around here kid, you might learn a thing or two.”


They’ve been going at it for hours. A thin layer of sheetrock does next to nothing to mask the sounds they are making: with my ear pressed up against the wall, I can hear everything.

My brother has a new boyfriend. I never caught his name. It doesn’t matter, he’ll have another one by next week. My brother goes through boyfriends like I go through tampons.

While they were just making out and fooling around, I mostly couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, who was doing what to whom; but just that was more than enough to make my pussy all juicy-wet. All that kissing, bumping, slurping, moaning; all those intimate noises of male pleasure turned my crank something fierce. And the best part was still to come.

There is a pause, a sudden silence. This is what I’ve been waiting for. On the other side of the wall, they are getting into position, shedding any last articles of clothing, rolling on a condom, slathering in lube.

“Go easy Dude,” I hear my brother say. “You’re fucking hung.”

I’ve seen my brother jerk off. It’s hard to imagine him describing another guy as ‘fucking hung’, or being intimidated by any cock.

“Take it, cunt!” That’s the boyfriend’s voice, harsh and guttural, resonating through the sheetrock.

“Oh… Fuck! Fuck… fu-uck… fuuuuck! Yes!”

“Like it, don’t you little slut? Come on bitch, fuck my dick!”

I can hear the bed creaking underneath them. I can hear the boyfriend slamming into my brother, who is grunting, gasping and whining incoherently. My pussy is soaking wet, absolutely drooling joy juice.

“Fuck dude! Fuck dude! Fuck dude!” The boyfriend is chanting, raspy and throaty, as he brutally shoves his cock in and out of my brother’s asshole.

I wonder if the boyfriend is jerking him off as he fucks his ass; I wonder if my brother is flat on his back so he can look the guy in the eyes, or if he is on all fours getting fucked doggy-style; I wonder if they are kissing as they fuck. God, I’m going to fucking come.

“Oh shit!” my brother wails, “I’m going to come! I’m going to fucking come! Fuck my ass! Please, please, please don’t stop!”

Please don’t stop. They are snarling at each other like a pair of fighting dogs. I have a finger up my own asshole, and I’m strumming my clit like a steel guitar. Please don’t stop. They are coming now, both of them, and they don’t give a shit if I hear it, or if our parents hear it, or if the freaking neighbors up the street hear it. And I am right there with them.

Sometimes, when I listen to my brother fuck, I imagine him doing it to me. Sometimes I picture doing it with his boyfriend, right in front of him. Sometimes I imagine them double-teaming me. But mostly, I think about them fucking each other, right there on the other side of the wall.


I wouldn’t feel so weird about watching, I don’t think, if Dad jerked off like a normal guy. I’d still watch of course, and get myself off to it, but I don’t think I’d feel like such a big fat perv about it.

He tiptoes out onto the deck, wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of emerald-green bikini panties. He is hairy, and has a big belly, and they look funny on him. His cock is erect, peeking out the waistband like a papoose.

He is carrying a little green spangled purse in one hand, a big fat dildo in the other. It is an obnoxiously large one; realistically molded with veins and fake balls and everything, the not-quite-flesh color of cheap latex, and a suction cup on the base. He looks around one last time, just to make sure no-one is watching, licks the suction cup, and slaps it with a squelch against the sliding glass door, where it sticks, quivering like a spear.

From my perch up above, I can see everything.

Three clothespins come out of his little handbag. This part always makes me wince, and it makes my already damp pussy positively drool. One clothespin goes on each nipple; the last one gets clamped onto his extended tongue. I wonder if he and mom used to play this way. From the pictures I’ve seen of her, it’s hard to imagine: she looks so pretty and prim, as if she was made of porcelain.

His tongue lolling awkwardly out, he fishes a little bottle of lube out of the sequined purse. This gets slathered liberally all over the obscene dildo. Now he is ready. And so am I.

Down on all fours, he shuffles backward, a semi-truck backing carefully into a loading dock. The protruding dildo finds its target. He grunts softly. His penis springs out of his undersized panties like a sprung trap. His balls hang down, heavy and pendulous.

Between my legs, I am sopping wet. I squeeze my thighs silently together, pressing my hand against my sex.

Gingerly, he inches back, impaling himself. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable. His face is twisted into a grimace. His dick twitches with every movement. It is an angry shade of red, and even from up here I can see it is oozing clear sticky juice. His hairy testicles, half-captured by the waistband of his panties, swing like wrecking balls.

I watch, fascinated, as my Dad sodomizes himself on our open-air back porch. Faster, faster, faster, I can hear him panting and grunting, his tongue lolling out, the wooden clothespin emphasizing the point.

He is going to come soon, and so am I. My hand is clutched between my thighs, thoroughly coated in slippery wetness. I can feel my own pulse.

He reaches, gropes, pulls a tiny silver lipstick-shaped vibrator from his purse. With the grotesque dildo buried all the way up his ass, he presses the tiny humming vibrator against the underside of his cock, just below the head. His back is arched, his head thrown back in apparent ecstasy. With a drawn-out rasping, choking noise, he comes, shooting gobs and gobs of pearlescent semen all over the slats of our elevated back deck.

If I were another, braver girl, I would let him know that I know. I would drop subtle hints, not-so-subtle hints, interrupt him in the middle of the action. I would jerk him off with three slippery fingers up his butt; I’d make him lick my spread pussy while he butt-fucks himself. But I’m not that girl, so I just watch.


I haven’t jerked off in a week. I’ve been studying too much, too hard. Calculus II. Differential equations. Heavy-duty math. It makes my head hurt.

30-odd students file in, sit down. I take my place at my regular desk, and she passes out the exams. Professor Langerfelder has a reputation for tough tests. This one is a single page, double-sided, sixteen questions; blurrily photocopied; typed for fucks’ sake, typewritten on a genuine old-fashioned typewriter, with the exponents penned in by hand.

All around me pencils start to scratch. My palms are sweating, my heart rate is elevated. Between my legs, my dick feels heavy and thick. I glance up, and make brief eye contact with Professor Langerfelder. Is that a hint of a smile? She has long, gunmetal hair, and ghostly pale skin.

I press a button on the little remote in my pocket, and the plug in my butt starts to buzz. I glance guiltily around to see if anyone can hear it, but nobody is paying any attention. They are all buried conscientiously in their tests. My dick is instantly hard, a log, an old growth redwood, straining against my jeans.

I squirm in my seat, humping against nothing. My asshole is stretched wide around the toy. The vibrations jangle my prostate, threatening my sanity. The thing is pressed hard against the base of my cock from the inside, grinding away like an ill-tuned chainsaw.

This worked like motherfucking voodoo last semester.

I am rocking back and forth in my seat now, desperate. I don’t give a rat’s ass about discretion, I just want to come. My dick is straining, strangled. Just the friction of flesh on denim is driving me insane. The buzzing is relentless. My sphincter tries to clench, but is deliciously frustrated by the fat toy in my ass.

I glance up again. This time there is definitely a small tight smile on her face.

It takes everything I have not to shout out as I come. For a second, it feels like it will last forever. Every muscle in my body is locked in a rigid state of tetanus. My penis jumps inside my jeans, spasming desperately against nothing, and I come, squirting hot and sticky semen all over my inner thighs, instantly creating a big fat wet spot on my jeans.

The wetness inside my pants is already cold and clammy. I thumb off the remote, halting the buzzing, and settle down to work on my exam. I am going to ace this motherfucker.


It never ever fails to do it for me, and I almost always come circling back to this scene, usually sooner rather than later, but I don’t really have any say in the matter.

I remember every detail with unnatural clarity, which makes the whole scene seem stilted and unreal, but I’m convinced it actually happened.

It is winter, and it is night. The stars are out. I am just a girl, right on the borderline of puberty, balanced on the knife’s edge. I am alone in the house, I don’t know why.

I am upstairs in my bedroom, kneeling on a chair, looking out the window, gazing down at the scene unfolding in our front yard. My hand is inside my panties.

A pickup truck hit a deer, right in front of our house. It was a big stag, a four-point buck; and the front end of the pickup is all caved in, the hood crumpled up like aluminum foil.

The stag’s back is broken. He is in our front lawn, struggling spasmodically again and again to stand up on his front legs. His eyes are huge and rolling. The back half of his body is split open. There is a lot of blood, and worse things than blood.

A state trooper has already arrived. His cruiser is parked diagonally across the road, the blue lights on his light bar flashing epileptically. He gets out of his car and walks calmly over to the flailing buck.

He draws his automatic from the holster on his hip, and shoots the broken deer in the head. The gunshot is shockingly loud. The animal collapses immediately, unstrung, dead, a lifeless piece of meat. The trooper shoots him again. This time I see the tongue of fire leaping from his gun. My finger brushes against my engorged clit, and I come.

Thinking about that night never fails to make my pussy wet and twitchy. I don’t know which part does it for me: the trooper, calm and erect in his crisp uniform; the broken animal; or the gun itself; but I come, and I come hard. That first time, and every time thereafter.


It’s not the best porno I’ve ever seen, but then again it’s far from the worst. The disc came out of a little wooden box secreted under my roommate Victoria’s bed.

The action centers around a skinny girl with a lot of tattoos, asymmetrical eyes, and relatively normal-sized breasts. She is entertaining two fairly thuggish-looking guys with the requisite big dicks.

Victoria is lying face-down on her bed in front of me. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a red-and-white checked dress that just about exposes the backs of her knees. We’ve been roommates for just under six months; I answered her ad on Craigslist. The girl has a huge set of tits, oversized for her small frame. They remind me of a pair of juicy, ripe cantaloupes; and I would pretty much give my left nut just to jerk off all over them.

“Are you ready?” she asks. All her attention is focused on the movie playing out in front of us, which is not really my cup of tea. The skinny protagonist is noisily and sloppily trying to suck two cocks at once. The camera is zoomed in so tight that it’s almost abstract. If it were any closer, you wouldn’t even know what body parts you’re looking at.

“I’m ready,” I say.

She hikes up her skirt. With a wiggle, she sheds her modest pink panties, slithering them down her legs and kicking them off with a flick of her ankle.

Her ass is a gourmet’s delight. Soft, petite, pale; two delicious-looking globes of flesh split down the middle by a dark, enticing cleft. My cock, which was hard already with the innuendo and anticipation, to say nothing of the porn, jumps and throbs. I extract it from my pants; it points at her ass like a guided missile. Warhead armed.

“Do you want to see?” I ask. On the screen, the action has shifted. The girl is tag-teaming the guys, fucking one while sucking the other’s dick.

“No,” Victoria says, “but I do want to hear. Make it loud for me.”

I start jerking off over her butt, watching her watch the porno. I want to see, very badly, but I’m not about to push my luck. I make it loud for her, grunting with every stroke like I’m doing karate chops. This seems to do it for her alright, and she wiggles her tush invitingly. My balls jiggle and swing as I masturbate, heavy and full.

It doesn’t take me long. I’m pretty primed, more turned-on by this whole scene than I had realized. When I come, I don’t even have to ham it up too much. A vibrato grip on my swollen dick sends me right over the edge. I am arching my back and squeezing my balls and hollering like a wild boar as I come, spattering big fat drops of semen up and down Victoria’s cute little buttocks like a summer rainstorm.

“Awesome,” she says, still not looking up. “Now lick it all up.”

This is what we agreed to, before we even started, and while I’m not exactly psyched about the prospect, I don’t really mind either. I get down on my belly and start lapping up the come that I spilled all over her ass.

I don’t hate the taste. It is salty, slimy, a little bitter. Reminds me of rice pudding. The girl in the video is busy being double-penetrated, and the on-screen trio is working up to the grand finale. Victoria’s fingers are busy underneath her, just out of sight. I can hear her touching herself. I can smell her excitement, taste it almost. Her flesh is soft and warm. I let my tongue explore the dark cleft between her butt cheeks, experimentally brushing up against her tiny anus. She makes a little mewing sound and presses back against me. I am hard all over again.

The mewing noise abruptly cuts off, and her body goes rigid, and it takes me a moment to realize that she is having an orgasm. My face is nestled between her ass cheeks, my tongue is flicking against her anus.

She squirms away from me when she is done. The credits are rolling on the TV screen (Bunny Pudenda?? Who comes up with these names anyway?). Victoria rolls over, legs pressed discreetly together. There is a neat triangle of thin, closely trimmed black hair between her thighs. She has a big, fat sloppy-drunk grin plastered across her face.

“Nice,” she says. “Very nice. Next time I want to watch you do it.”



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