Mar 272015

Emily knocked the cover off the ball.

She didn’t do precisely what I asked, I should say. She didn’t virtually pack the entire suitcase. There is one pair of shoes, for example. No panties, in her selections. No bras.

And yet… and yet…. A big part of the way in which she knocked the cover off the ball was in form/at. She sent a single e-mail (as I asked), without requiring a single click, but capturing the hotness of what it would be to reach under, say, that little skirt, or that soft green dress. This is a triumph in general, but especially for Emily, who generally eschews e-mail and prefers SnapChat.

One minor point (because I’m filled with minor points, it seems): Emily writes, “Also I wouldn’t need to wear a bra or panties underneath and knowing that, I’m sure, would drive a man wild and have him ready to take it all off at once.” This is not a sentence targeted at me – in two  ways. First, grammatically, it’s not targeted at me: a man? What man? Wasn’t this done for me? Aren’t I the man you’re trying to “drive wild”? And second, if it is me that you’re trying to drive wild… you always should wear panties. I’m just not the guy who’s driven wild by the knowledge that there’s nothing between you and your Calvins. I’m the guy who’s driven wild imagining what it is that’s touching your pussy, what it is that I’m going to press my beard into, my nose into, my mouth into. What it is that I’ll sneak my fingers under, around, before slowly removing it. Or tearing it off. So. There’s that.

But otherwise?

She knocked the cover off the ball.

Don’t you think? I mean, doesn’t this make you want to give her a massage, sliding a finger or three into her wet, wet pussy? Doesn’t it make you want to tear each item of clothing off of her while kissing the back of her neck, grabbing her breasts? (A funny thing about Emily: she talks a sort of gentle game – “slip” my hands, “move towards” her breasts – but that’s not, really, what she wants. She wants me to be rough with her, to toss her around, to grab her breasts, her ass, to tear the clothes she’s selected off of her, to ravish her with my tongue, my cock. But anyway. Where was I?)

Doesn’t it make you want to do that?

It makes me want to. For sure.

See what she sent, after the jump….

Continue reading »

Mar 262015

The other day, I posted an assignment.

But then, last night, as I was doing a little web site housekeeping, I stumbled on this assignment. Pretty damn similar, no? Separated by more than three years, sure, but still….

Anyway: hurry up. Winking smile

Mar 262015

I told L at lunch that T and I were seeing the movie. “Why?!?” she asked.

I had read The Hunger Games. I loved the book, and I hated it. I loved the story, but the writing was painful. I saw the movie, and loved it. They took a great story and made it better and fixed all the bad writing. Plus, Jennifer Lawrence.

In my fantasy, the movie version of Fifty Shades of Grey was going to be like this: a sexy, smart improvement on something that was unreadable (by me, at least). I hadn’t focused on Jamie Dornan. I’m close to a Kinsey 0. Dakota Hudson was where my pre-viewing attention had turned, and it had done so happily. I thought there was a sexy, cute, innocent, eager, seductive hotness to her, and I thought a movie about her introduction to submission (a la 9 1/2 Weeks or Secretary) couldn’t help but be hot, particularly given the level of funds committed to the project.

But UGH!

Continue reading »

Mar 252015

I want you to do some virtual, pretend shopping.

We are going away for a week together. We will be somewhere warm. While we are there, you will be my toy. I will use you when and how I please. I am giving you an infinite budget, and ask that you bring a suitcase chock full of clothes in which to entertain me.

Please send me a curated, annotated, self-contained collection of all the clothing you will buy and bring. By “curated, annotated, self-contained” what I mean is that I want you to send me a single e-mail or document that includes everything you propose to bring, as well as your thoughts about each item. Please don’t make me click links to see what you’re proposing. So, for example, you might caption a particular dress by saying, “I have a fantasy that, in this dress, you will press my back against a wall, lift the dress over your head, and lick my pussy,” and the caption for a bra might be, “I hope to wear this bra with the dress I just described, and to feel you pinch my nipples hard through it, or better yet, under it.”

Please include everything you intend to bring, from head to toe. Hats, if you’re so inclined. Dresses, t-shirts, tops, bras, skirts, jeans, panties, stockings, shoes, bathing suits. Everything.

Thank you, as always.


p align=”center”>Wicked Wednesday

Mar 212015

It’s really quite easy.

There are two possible routes, not mutually exclusive:

1) Give me everything I ask. (Subject to handling instances of not giving me what I ask well.)

2) Interact with me in something like real time.

Either is adequate to inspire me. Neither? Doesn’t cut it.

Mar 202015

Ahhh I wish you would. But I’m in and out of meetings all day today.

So if I tell you that I’m imagining being in and out of you in between two of those meetings…

That I want to kiss you hard, press you to your knees, and feed you my cock…

That I want to come down your throat no more than three minutes after your lips touch the head…

That won’t make your pussy wet today?

Mar 192015

Both brunette, both brown eyes, both long lashes. On the left, round cheeks, full lips, dimples. On the right, high cheekbones, pale, clear skin, several moles, and a ring through one nostril. The one on the right is tall, slender. On the right, shorter, curvier.

Left wears leggings with a floral (Mexican?) pattern down the side. Right wears Levi’s.

Each, individually, is sexy. Together? They’re fucking hot.

Mar 192015

She’s very, very sexy. Long, flowing, curly, thick, lustrous black hair. Early on, she told me she was proud of her hair and she has every right to be. It’s very sexy.

She can count the number of partners she’s had on one hand. She was married for a  long time. She’s just now waking up. But slowly. She broke up with a guy the day before she met me because, several dates in, she wasn’t ready to have sex with him.

She knew things would (have to) be different with me, and she told me she was “all in,” that she was ready for me, that she “needed” to give me what I wanted from her. And, for the brief time we met – a long, very sexy, lunch – she did. She gave me all of what I wanted from her, and promised so much more.

But after we parted, she faded away quickly. She didn’t give me what she promised me that night. The next day, when I asked, she offered a lame excuse, neither apologetic nor convincing. And from there, it was downhill quickly. There was, I believe, one more e-mail, and she was gone.

Did she not like what she found when we met? Did I extinguish enough of her sense of “needing”? Or did she, like Icarus, fly too close to the sun? (The sun, I should be clear, isn’t me – it’s her sexual desire.)

In any event, I haz a sad.

(And add this to the list of rejections I’ve courted. One day, I’ll do a little tally of rejection….)

Mar 182015

I am going to ruin at least one pair of your panties by drenching them so completely with your cunt that they will never recover.

And another pair by tearing them off of you.

And I am going to write, gently, on your pretty ass with a Sharpie®. And on your pretty breasts. Before I slap that ass and pinch those nipples. So you have to scrub hard to erase the evidence that, for just an hour, or three, I owned them.

And I’m going to take pictures of your pretty face on my cock. With your phone.

So you can erase the pictures if you like. Or masturbate while you remember how it felt to suck my cock.

Your choice.

Wicked Wednesday

Mar 182015

MollyHeader Photo courtesy of Molly’s Daily Kiss

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