This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Strawberry Sex Stories #1: the John

It's May. May is verdant seedlings, buds readying to pop, copulation crazed spring fever. I'm a jitterbug in a musky breeze.
I haven't seen my boyfriend in 5 months and my local fuck-friends have all dried up leaving only remnants and debris: unused phone numbers, mix tapes, lube stained bed sheets. My spring fever turns into cock hunger. I got an itch even my best vibrator can't cure.

This is the tale of a big ache that finds remedy with an Ok Cupid cruiser.

I had been noticing that in the BDSM world, kink and play took time. Also, it often did not include the kind of cock to cunt action I was craving; no matter how much waiting, baiting and finally, begging I did.
The john baited me with a two line e-mail; some play on words hinting at rough sex. His next e-mail bluntly drew out our mutual kinks. He was looking for a woman to tie up, so I proposed a trade. The stipulations from me were simple: hard and ideally to orgasm. "I usually can only come from anal" he said. I told him to meet me at 8 and that I wasn't promising anything.
I arrived at the bar in his neighborhood early. The chill wasn't quite gone from the air as I waited outside the unassuming hipster bar. Despite living alone, I'd been having problems with the Egyptian neighbor downstairs making creepy remarks about hearing me "making love", and thought an escape route would be more easy to execute than an eviction process should something go wrong.
Waiting wasn't as difficult as I imagined it "ought" have been. I cooly postulated about societal rules, radical self actualization, and what my Grandmother would think. Another average looking guy approached, but this one was searching for a set of eyes to contact. I smiled, he held the door to the bar open.
Despite our shared mission we made small talk for half a beer, perhaps to show how civilized we "normally" were. The second half of the beer was consumed quickly as deviance danced in my eyes. He said, "You wanna do this?"
So suave. So succinct. So..."dude".
I chuckled, "yes," I did, and continued to observe the scene. His house was close, and I have no idea what we talked about because I was thinking about his cock. What would it look like? How long would it be? How girthy? Cut or not? Curved? Would he really fuck me hard enough? The word echoed in my head: hard, hard, hard. I fixated on the image you see in all heterosexual male porn: In Out In Out Red Wet In Slit Out Cream In Out In Out...

In his room, a bottle of Charles Shaw Chardonnay, the Shins, a hookah. He has sleek metropolitan taste, an architect degree, a hippified past turned consumer future, framed prints above his bed, candles, a weight bench on top of which sits a duffel bag. We make more conversation, though it comes easily and soon the first bottle is gone. I think about sobriety and kink. He again says, "You ready?" but this time, there's a difference. He's switching gears, going to a head space that intones: I am in control. I let a sparkle twink in my eyes: "Sure Am," and lick my lips.
My clit, growing rotund and hard, begins to pulse.
He pulls out lengths of rope and begins unraveling them. He tells me how usually the sub would do all the untying and tying of the ropes before and after play. I sit, and wait, and wonder what I need to do to get what I want. I cannot know at this time, but I will not find my power back in this interaction. I will give it up willingly, concede it to a person I have no emotion for, and let his desire dictate the realization of my own.
The night does not go ideally, but it goes. The john hogties me. I'm on my belly with my arms bound behind me at their wrists. My wrists are bound to my hips, rope runs the length of my girl-seam to my tail-bone and is then bound to my ankles. He makes a gag also out of the rope and the Shins continue wincing the night away. I am not in the blissfully high space that BDSM practitioners can get to, but am distant. I'm acting, for his sake, and observing from my internal vantage point with keen interest. I am disappointingly analytical.
His tying takes 20-30 minutes, he is clothed and I naked. I'm drooling all over the gag and am immobilized, the rope in my cunt is rubbing and it feels good. My muscles begin to strain, the pain is different, I am not controlling it. The pain brings me back to a human state, I am soft, immobilized, and contorted; finally I am getting turned on.
The john reaches back into his big bag of tricks. He flogs me lightly, then builds up steam. He moves from synthetic flogger to bamboo rods to paddle. My ass is unseasoned as of late and my lowered pain tolerance surprises me. When I am not committed to the one mastering me, I do not push my endurance. I yelp and squirm through my gag, and like any unfamiliar Top should, he backs off. My impatience is growing, I want what I have come here for.
He relents. It is 1 am. He leaves my reddened ass cheeks and I hear the unzipping of trousers. I crane my head around to see a nice looking cock in the brief glimpse I manage. He is arrow straight, practically parallel to the ground, nicely round and thick, about 6.5 inches hard. I'm pleasantly surprised and practically bucking like an excited kid at the rodeo. He snaps a rubber on and barks at me to get the gag back in my mouth.

The grand entrance, my favorite of any phallic entrance, is sublime. The eager nerves lining my tunnel ricochet with glee. The second and third thrusts are as good as the first and he begins to ramp up his speed, I give a squeal of delight, but the gold is not to be mine on this voyage. The john leaves me dangling, tangled in ropes and unfulfilled too soon. He does not come, simple stops after less than ten minutes and gets cleaned up. He unties me and goes to the kitchen for another bottle of two buck chuck. I am disappointed.
I am not mortified or bitter though, and stay longer. His conversation is as stimulating as it need be at 2 am on a work night and the Whigs are now lulling me and my worked muscles to dreariness. He says I can stay if I like. I am skeptical but very tempted. I have nothing to lose, so bluntness is working in both our favor. I ask if he will cuddle and he promises. He finished off the second bottle while I wonder about his drinking habits and ask him personal questions. He cuddles me well and all night.
At 5:30 his alarm begins going and I do my best to ignore it. He does the same until I feel him roll over and spoon me close. I know what's up, I love morning wood. He presses his warm body and thickening cock against my sleep droopy ass and sighs. I pretend to be asleep. He snuggles closer still and I give an "mm" in response. This goes on and I'm smiling with my eyes closed, having fun playing and being warmly tired.
When his alarm goes off again, he kills the buzzer and rolls half way onto me. His hands begin to rub and probe and I moan responsively. His voice comes rough and fatigued in my ear. His breath is hot, he knows my body is willing. He says, "You didn't think you could come to a stranger's house for sex and not get fucked in the ass did you? You didn't think you were going to get away that easy, did you, whore?" I fill up swollen and wet and respond humbly, small, "No. No, of course not."


pulley-whipped said...

very well written. i particularly like the word "girthy" to describe someone's sausage.

ammie said...

Should this bother me? 'Cause it doesn't really. Also, I'm leaving you way too many comments :)

ShanaRose said...

If you mean "hot & bothered" yes. If you mean "freaked out" or "jealous" or any other negative connotation, absolutely not. But if it does, we can talk about it :)

ammie said...

I'm pretty happily not jealous or freaked out. But thanks :) Hot and bothered is a different story... ;)