She loved her trips over his knee. She’d feign modesty as her bottom was bared his hands so strong but gentle with her. First the buttons were undone, then the zipper slowly lowered. His touch always so sure, so unwavering. Other times looked at him playfully grinning seductively stripping down as she crossed the room toward him until there wasn’t a stitch of anything left on her except for the hair band keeping her long flowing locks tucked neatly in place before she all but jumped enthusiastically across his lap.

Squirming and writhing in ecstasy as his hand warmed more than her bottom up. Teasing and tempting to her it was foreplay at its best. She liked the tingle and the gentle sting each smack brought. The anticipation of the next one and where would it land and just how crisp would it be. She loved the feeling of surrender but knew she was really the one in control. She’d moan in delight as his hand moved from her bottom to between her thighs brushing over her ever so gently. She’d push herself back into him but maddeningly he would lighten his touch, and tell her “not yet”. She’d pine in frustration as her desire grew and he went back to spanking her, a release unto itself before teasing her again. Slow and rhythmic, he played her sensations like a symphony bringing her to a crescendo.
Oh how it turned her on, oh how she knew the magnificent intimacy of those moments and the ones of pure pleasure that would soon follow as they would melt into each others arms and make love for an eternity afterward. Each billowing heaving breaths in unison with the other as in time they would collapse exhausted into each others embrace, fulfilled each time beyond desire; at least for the moment. It was never discipline, it was never cruel. Each encounter over the years left her always wanting more, longing to feel a little more sting.
Slipping into the bathroom she would admire her glowing bottom in the mirror, looking at it from each and every angle, rubbing her hands over it feeling the warmth still lingering but the sting had long since faded. Savoring the occasional small raised mark a finger had left. She would do this often over the next few hours locking the door for privacy until the color in her cheeks had all but faded.
Tonight would be the night, she would ask to stay across his lap just a little bit longer. He would know what she wanted he had always taken his cues from her so very well. He was in the den reading the house filled with soft light and music dancing through the halls. She opened the glass door to the den. There he was sitting on the leather couch reading. The look in her eyes said more than words ever could of as she slowly began to disrobe.
Something was different he thought to himself attempting to determine exactly what it was as her blouse was discarded to the floor. At last her skirt was cast aside onto the chair. Certain that she had his full and undivided attention turned her back to him and removed her thong, her round bottom in his full view. She reached back to the table where his book had been place and facing him in all her glory reached into the drawer took out a brush with a hair band on it and began to pull her hair up.
“That’s it, her hair was down” he thought to himself. As she set the brush on his book and began a temptingly slow descent across his lap. Fidgeting she moved ever so slightly this way and savoring the anticipation stalling not out of fear but wanting to be perfectly positioned for him. Things began as always, her cheeks began to glow he began to tease. She resisted and didn’t push herself towards him.
In time she could feel his lust for her building, she was determined to stay committed, her bottom warm and tingly his fingers tracing across her seat to her thighs as his fingers slid upward on the inner part. She stated looking up at him “not yet” the words she had heard so many times herself.
Her heart began to flutter. Surely he would know what she meant, he had known her so well all these years. Surely this kind man wouldn’t actually make her say it. She was no stranger to sexual banter, but she hoped she would be spared the need to say what she wanted at least this time. She wanted him to know what she needed. His hand stopped exactly where it was at then made its way across her bottom before reaching for the hair brush.
Her back arched, her bottom danced from side to side as it landed on her over and over. The intensity built and built with each passing second as she wiggled and moved across his thighs. He held her in place a hand just above her well heated backside his forearm extending up her back to between her shoulder blades. Finally putting the brush down on the table his grasp lightened she relaxed, drinking in the experience, the throbbing, the arousal, the need to have him, to whisper uninhibitedly in his ear her passion for him. She slowly stood. “I’ll be right back” making her way to the powder room.
She had never delayed their loved making before after a trip across his lap but she couldn’t wait. She had to see herself right then and there. The old wooden door closed quickly and loudly behind her as she bolted into the bathroom. She admired herself in the mirror, first from one side and the other contorting herself in every imaginable position to admire her well spanked bottom. The deep crimson shade mixed in with a few marks from the brush, she had never been so red. She lingered perhaps a bit too long admiring herself. As she reached to open the door no longer able to contain her desire for him. It was locked. She looked feverishly through the key hole. It was not there. They key had not been inadvertently moved to the other side. She tore through the make up bag on the floor. After a few more moments of ransacking the linen cupboard in desperation realizing that she couldn’t find the key.

The next day she found herself fascinated with the marks he had left on her, posing and watching as she studied each shade and mark. Drinking it all in, her bottom tingled as she ran on the treadmill at the gym reminding her of her adventure. In the locker room adorned with mirrors she couldn’t help but steal glances of herself as she walked to and from the shower. When she got home he patted her on her still tender bottom and asked.

“Red enough for you?” Her face flushed as red as her backside had been the night before, embarrassed that he knew all these years what she had been doing afterwards. Then again she shouldn’t have been surprised he really did know her so well.

Teaching Him a Lesson

BE ADVISED This story depicts consensual M/F Spanking play and fantasies and is intended for adult audiences.

That said for my regular readers this is an older piece originally posted elsewhere. It is also a FemDom work which is very rare for me. If you’re not into such things skip it, if you are enjoy.


“That’s it!” She began in an irritated manner. She was tired of him always slapping at her bottom every time she walked by. Once in a while it was fine, even flattering but how many times had she asked him to stop today alone? Too many she thought to herself.

“You think smacking my butt is fun so now let’s see how you like it.” He smiled back and laughed it off. After all Joe wasn’t very worried. What was she going to do smack his butt as he walked past. Soon a lazy Saturday afternoon was going to take a surprising change of direction.
“I’d stop laughing if I was you. Since you find a way to work the word spanked into every conversation possible I figured it was time to address your interest.” He was now sitting up and taking notice, she had his attention but it might not exactly what he was thinking.
“I’m going to turn your bottom bright red.” He started to protest, to explain his actions and stopped just short of admitting that he thought about spanking quite often. She was not amused.
“Stand up right now!” There was something in her voice that told him not to disobey. “Go into the dining room stand in the corner and think about the spanking you have coming.” He looked her in the eyes she wasn’t kidding, this was not her playing. As he sheepishly began his walk through the house it was clear in his mind that she wasn’t going to back down. As he rounded the hall more instructions and another requirement was given. “And you had better be perfectly still with your nose pressed in the corner when I get there or you will really be sorry mister.”
Joe stood in the corner for 15 minutes waiting, thinking wondering what was really about to happen. He had been curios about spanking for years but never quite knew how to bring it up. Although until a little while ago he never expected to truly be on the receiving end. Mary entered the room and remained strictly business
“Joe you can come out of the corner. Close the drapes and come over here.” The chair at the end of the table had been moved away off to the side something he couldn’t help but notice as soon as he turned. He closed the blinds and pulled the drapes. Finally making his way to the end of the table where she was standing waiting for him.
The tone of her lecture made sure he understood why he was there. She added all the things that he had failed to listen to her about in recent memory. His stomach nervous and filled with pounding butter flies but there was also something sexual to him about what was going to happen.
As she finished her lecture the time came to start. How bad could it be? He thought to himself until she said. “I’m going to discipline you just like I was disciplined growing up the only difference is its going to be your own belt that gets used on you. Now take off your belt.” She instructed him. He knew she had been “well spanked” as she would put it growing up but he didn’t know what that really meant. Now it seems like something that he should have ask years ago.
It was a formidable piece of leather was over an inch wide, thick and well worn it had been the belt he used every time he worn jeans for years and years. Still not knowing exactly what was coming he told himself 3 maybe 5 licks at the most with the belt over his jeans. Not a problem no big deal.
Mary on the other hand was determined to make an impression. She wanted to teach him that listening to her and considering what she wanted every once in a while was expected.
As the belt slid though the last of the seven loops on his jeans he folded it over and handed it to her she noticed a little more bulge in his jeans than was usually there. This wasn’t actually exciting him was it? She was going to spank him, it had already been set in her mind but now she intended to make sure he knew he was being punished.
“Are you ready for your punishment?” Asking she watched for his reaction. Nervously he admitted that he was. She mistook his nervousness for indifference. Turning him she stood between Joe and the table and began to unbutton his jeans, slowly one button at a time. She ignored his erection and he was told what to do. “step back and lower your jeans and your underwear to your knees” He did so slowly but without protest.
“Lean forward with your hands on the table and don’t you dare stand up! Understand?” He understood and she moved his feet closer together and pulled his bottom further backward giving her a much better target.
“Smack, Smack, Smack” She began with her hand, landing slap after slap on his bottom then paused. “Since you seem so interested in spanking I’m going to beat your bottom just like I used to get. First mom would spank me with her hand.” She peppered his now tingling bottom with her hand as she continued. “I asked you at least eight times in the last two days to stop so it will be eight with the belt.”
His hand spanking continued on until his bottom was getting raw and sore as she smacked from cheek to cheek completely covering his backside but he remained set and stoic. It wasn’t the first time he was spanked it was just the first time as an adult that it wasn’t just playful, a slap and tickle that led to other things. He was determined that she wasn’t going to get the better of him.
Pausing she picked up the belt folding it in half it met his blushing bottom with a moderate swish that stung different than her hand. He didn’t flinch so she swung harder with the second lick but still not a reaction. The third was a full swing and the fourth she had put even more effort into. His legs finally tensed moving ever so slightly. The next four were well spaced and hard and his bottom was welted and glowing.
Knowing that the eighth had landed he began to stand up. “Who told you, you could stand up mister?” swatting his bottom sharply with her hand. “but that was eight” he answered. Two more crisp smacks hit in the same place as the last one as he placed his hands back on the table. Her hand again smacking away at him and after about a minute she paused. He stayed in place hands on the table his seat hot and glowing.
Mary was almost convinced that he had learned his lesson. She was certain that he wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for the rest of the day and maybe even tomorrow. She lectured him about respecting her requests, some where in there he just didn’t seem contrite enough. Sure he answered the questions correctly but what else was he supposed to do.
She sent him and his still bare and shiny rear end back to the corner. He could hear her walking through the house, rummaging around going from room to room. Upon her return he was standing in the corner just like she had left him. “Do you know what day it is?” she asked. “Saturday” he replied.
“yes it is Saturday. Do you know what happens on Saturday?” Her question left him perplexed and he admitted that he didn’t. “if mom used the belt on us at all during the week after lunch on Saturday we got the paddle from dad for acting up.” Suddenly he realized it wasn’t yet over.
“Now get back over here.” She commanded and as he shuffled his pathetic little shuffle, his pants long ago at his ankles and not his knees. “you mister have the misfortune of being paddled on a recently spanked bottom” In her hand she was wielding a half in thick a cutting board.
As he assumed the position he had learned earlier again his feet were repositioned his legs brought closer before starting she centered her aim but tapping the wood on his butt.
CRACK! The first swat landed. His reaction and the buckle in his knees afterward gave her a sense that this really had his attention.
CRACK the second landed and the undeniable mark of a wooden paddle began to show on his already well reddened backside.
The third and fourth followed spaced apart well enough that the full effect of each had settled in. The next left him starting to bruise. She wasn’t swinging that hard but then again it was having the desired effect as the second five left him struggling to hold position as he danced in place trying to ease the intense discomfort. After 10 he was told “stand up, pull up your pants” which he did gingerly “after you’ve thought about why you were spanked open the blinds and go back to your day.”
Nothing else was said until a few hours later when he was lying on the floor watching TV and Mary entered the room not at all regretting what she had done and asked with the sternness of her voice from earlier gone ”did you learn your lesson?”
Joe looked up “yes I did.” She smiled satisfied with her results he was after all laying on his stomach and not sitting. She became convinced that this is something she should have acted on a long time ago far beyond a few playful smacks. He deserved to be treated like a little brat when he acted like one. Until as she left the room he added in a confident tone “ I hope you know that this is a two way street.” She unfortunately knew exactly what he meant and that it was only a matter of time.

Anna’s late arrival part 2 the next night

BE ADVISED This story depicts consensual M/F Spanking play and fantasies and is intended for adult audiences.



Getting out of her car she dreaded even more what she knew was coming when she got home. The previous night’s session still had a lingering effect on her. So much so that the normally tardy lady arrived home not only on time but a few minutes early, which was a first. As she walked thought the laundry room she saw Mark sitting and waiting in the kitchen, seated calmly at the table looking over the day’s mail. That feeling was back again, that nervous pit in her stomach, the cool sweat on her skin and her heart racing. “good evening.” She offered trying to be pleasant, hoping he had forgotten but deep down knowing better. “well hello, on time I see.” Anna blushed at his response and the last bit of hope that he had forgotten faded all too quickly. She turned toward the kitchen knowing that she was about to receive instructions. She just wanted to get it over with and be done. She stood in front of him, silently, her legs weak and her hands shaking ever o slightly. He kept reading until he was done with the mail and then stacked in neatly looking up at her. “Anna are you ready for your punishment?” She fought back the urge to dispute the use of the word punishment, she had lied and he knew it. On second thought perhaps the word punishment fit. She blushed a deeper shade of red wishing he had chosen a different word, he could have said spanked or paddled and it would have been less embarrassing to her than “punishment”. Instead she simply answered yes.
Looking at her. “Good. then please move the mail to the counter.” She moved cautiously picking it up and walking to the counter. As she retuned she found him standing next to the table a chair set to the side. At last this was drawing near. She hated waiting, shifting all day long on a sore bottom knowing that it would be much sorer not long after she arrived home. She waited for him to take a seat but he kept his eyes focused on hers as she looked at the chair. “Oh you’re not getting off that easy tonight miss.” His hands began to guide hers to the table’s edge. He positioned her leaning forward with her arms straight and her legs planted firmly but spread. Her bottom felt like it was pushed out and just waiting for him. He raised her skirt, she tensed as he tucked its length into her waist band. Then Mark slowly began to lower her panties. “No. Please Mark leave them up.” She ask quietly as he observed her bottom sporting a few lingering bruises and sore spots from the night before. She stood waiting but instead he lectured her on how she shouldn’t have lied, how disappointed he was at her to not follow even the simplest request when she was not in trouble. “you didn’t even listen when you knew what was already coming.”
Finally she thought he was going to begin the lecture had lasted forever, why wouldn’t he just get it over with but he kept torturing her by making her wait. “We’ll start with the spoon.” He proclaimed. He put one on each cheek and then followed it by nine more on one side and then nine more on the other. The smacks landing near or on top of the previous ones. She tensed as hard as she could trying to take the sting out, trying to make it hurt less but her position made that mostly a wasted effort.
As Anna caught her breath she could hear him stepping back and opening a cabinet. Wondering what in the world he was looking for she learned all to soon that it was a half inch thick wooden cutting board. “this should do the job nicely.” Mark said aloud tapping it on her glowing bottom.
“Anna, you need to count them. Out loud. We’ll start with 5 and see from there”
He began the first one taking her breath away, her knees bent. “one” she said finding her way back into position. A long pause letting her feel the full effect of the swat then unannounced the 2nd landed catching he unprepared. “Two” she stated with less than dignified intent. Her resolve to just take her punishment without express was fading away, her stoic I can take this express left her face the third swat landed. This was not fun it had never been fun but the fourth caused her to scream and stand up clenching her bottom together. “fine then it will be ten” Mark said “and you forgot to say four so that one didn’t count.” Each of the next six swats was well spaced and firmly landed on her back side. It felt like the last six had taken an hour to receive. In fact it was a little over 4 minutes. Anna was left lightly sobbing and with a very sore bottom and a bruised sit spot that reminded her of her punishment for days, but at least it was over.

Anna’s Late Arrival part 1

BE ADVISED This story depicts  consensual M/F Spanking play and fantasies and is intended for adult audiences.



Anna was no stranger to being in trouble she seemed to be in trouble with some where all of the time but when she came home 3 hours late her husband was not amused. He could have cared less that she was late, he trusted her completely but the fact that she was so late with out a word caused him great concern. As he sat there wondering if something terrible had happened on her drive home, had the car broken down, was there an accident and after all she had gone into the city for dinner and the city in general had its own host of potential problems. Fifteen minutes late would have been early, thirty minutes late would have in his world knowing her as well as he did be considered on time. But after 90 minutes from when Anna said she would be home Mark decided to call her. The phone rang and went unanswered. He did what anyone concerned would do and left a message, the call went unreturned.   Anna had heard the phone ring, she had glanced down and knew that it was Mark but she simply didn’t take the few seconds it would have taken to answer. No real reason why other than she didn’t want to miss a word of the fun conversation she was having with her friends.
Time continued to fly by for Anna but Mark sat still distracted by his concerns, each moment passed slower than the last 45 minutes after his first call he tried again. She didn’t answer thinking he would just go to bed. By the time she was pulling into the driveway he was standing at the front window looking out. Just the sight of him told her already in trouble but his glare at her as she pulled into the garage had made it perfectly clear but the events to come were a surprise even to Anna.
“every thing OK?” He asked as she sheepishly entered the house.
She thought about lying but figured that it was best that she didn’t and answered “just fine but I’m really tired and ready for bed”
Looking at her not believing her cavalier attitude. “Why didn’t you call?” He asked. She bust out with “I was having too much fun. I figured you’d just go to bed”
Mark not angry but still concerned “I was worried about you, all you had to do was call.”
That was it she was not in the mood to have her fun evening ruined by his worrying she yelled “ Quit treating me like I’m 10.”
He stood silently for a moment “You’ve been acting like your 10. and that proves it.” She heard a subtle change in his voice, something in his tone now worried her. “I’m sorry.” She offered genuinely.
You think I’m treating you like you’re 10 then I might as well actually do that. Go stand in the corner.” She smiled playfully, Ana loved a trip across his lap from time to time as part of their play. “ You really shouldn’t be smiling” his tone still not playful “ You’re getting spanked but this time it’s not for fun.” She still wasn’t sure if he was just playing until “now go to the bedroom and stand in the corner and think about why you’re going to get spanked.

Ana’s stomach sunk just a little, but how bad could it be. He wasn’t really going to spank her hard she wondered to herself. She went up stairs and puttered around the room eventually finding her way to the corner as she heard Mark coming up the stairs. He had heard her footsteps as she paced the room, any mercy he was about to have left when she didn’t follow his instructions.
The door opened slowly and she was by that time tucked into the corner at the far side of the room. “did you go straight to the corner?” Mark asked.
“Yes” she said confidently.
“I know you’re lying now come over here.” As Anna turned she saw he was holding a ping pong paddle, but her heart sank completely as he reached for his belt buckle and began removing that thick and wide piece of leather from his belt loops.
Anan move slowly towards him her eyes cast downward for fear of seeing his. She stood in front of him. “Now turn around, and pull down your pants” It was really happening he was going to spank her there was no doubt about it. It was not a playful trip across his lap but she was going to be disciplined. Her hands fumbled to unbutton her pants, shaking she undid her zipper and began to lower her pants to her knees. “panties too.” He instructed.


She pleaded  “no Mark please let me keep my panties”


Not amused replying “really do you think that you deserve to keep your panties on? I sat here for three hours worrying. Not a call. You should just be glad I haven’t gotten out your sorority paddle from college” he paused and after a few seconds added “yet.”
Her panties were soon around her knees, she bent forward without instruction just hoping he would start and then it would all be over with. “are you ready he asked?”
Ana replied with a quiet “yes” resolving herself to the now inevitable.
“and tell me miss why are you in trouble?”
She paused to answer but right as she began the first stinging smack of the belt shot across her backside. She gasped.
“because I was late.” She answered
Two more smacks each harder than the last landed.
“No do you want to try again?”
She paused to think but after a few seconds another one landed.
“because I didn’t answer the phone”
three more swats sent it from stinging and uncomfortable to painful. Mark’s tone grew annoyed, was she just goading him. “No, do not move. Keep thinking.” Five more with the belt had landed before Anna called out “Because I didn’t call.” The spanking had stopped, allowing her to continue “ you are spanking me be cause I was very late and I didn’t call. I’m so sorry I made you worry.” Anna started to stand up. “You’re not done yet.” She couldn’t believe it, he was going to punish her more. “now that you know why you’re bent over in front of me, the warm up is over and the real spanking can begin.” Warm up she thought to her self no one gets a warm up with a belt but she thought better of pointing it out to him at that moment.

Anna Bent back over and Mark spanked her with the ping pong paddle from the basement. She danced and whimpered but each smack was timed and consistent, building the heat and the pain in her bottom with each blow. None were too hard the belt had bitten much more but the frequency and rhythm seemed endless. And finally when he stopped she had managed to mostly hold herself in position and take her punishment, only once did he have to readjust her bottom which was red and glowing.
“That was for being late. Is there anything else I should know about?” Mark asked.
“I didn’t go straight to the corner. I waited to hear you coming then I went to the corner.”
“ah so you disobeyed me and you lied.” Anna admitted “yes”
“So what happens when you don’t listen and you lie.” He asked
“I get spanked?” she responded, more of a question than a statement.
“Yes, would you prefer that spanking before or after work tomorrow?”
“now I’ll take my spanking for that now please.” Her eyes pleading with him to just get it over with.
“That wasn’t an option. So it will be after work. Now go back to the corner.”
The next day was a long and uncomfortable one as she sat gingerly on a sore bottom worrying about what she had coming when she got home. Amazingly she arrived home on time.

In an ugly world

Rochelle thought to herself, how ugly everything passing outside the windows on the street was at that very moment, as she peered out onto what many people would have thought to be one of the most scenic sky lines in the world.   Then again, she thought that fairly often.  It was not the backdrop, but the people that inhabited it that mystified and offended her so very often.  Her tone mumbling and with no one else to hear “For god’s sake why were people so foolish, so petty, so blind to beauty and what it could do for everyone”  the thought was that most people remained in at least her mind in the darkest ages of dress mankind had ever known.   The world with rare exception was much better viewed at a distance.  It was best seen as an abstract where the lines and colors blended gracefully into one and other like a beautiful collage where no one detail took precedent over another but was a feat for the eyes none the less.


She sat in her condo high above the world contemplating the things that were to come that day, things that should have concerned her, things that she should be looking forward to but ambivalence to anything of such stature was all that could be found.  Instead, she obsessed about the depth of her deep dark eyes, the softness of her feet, and other things that perplexed her like a book given as a gift from one of her dearest friends,  “the Complete Book of Running”.  Rochelle and her companions were so often on the front edge of things, their trends would end before the rest of the world would begin them, this trend was one of those but she could not see the forest for the proverbial trees as she stared out onto the park off in the distance.  She pondered with all of her intellectual prowess and to date, uselessly sharpened mind if there was a there a hidden message in there for her as she pawed at the first few pages.  It seemed perhaps even a little too preoccupied with the entire running thing.   That was in her mind best left to men who were paid to do so and poor country children that lacked other means of transportation and entertainment.


It was a shallow world that she inhabited, but she studiously spent her life knowing every inch and grain of sand in the small pond  that was her habitat and changed quickly with it as the currents would shift.  She would tell you after all that she had in fact chosen her world and while she believed that in her heart to be one of the purest facts it was the biggest lie anyone could tell themselves.  She had not chosen her world any more than she had chosen to be conceived.   She had not created anything in it, she was simply one of those things that was a dot on the abstract that is life, a dot with exceptional grace, beauty and mind but a dot none the less.  The world she lived in and had committed herself to with an unwavering purity had chosen her and done so from a very young age.


“Am I getting fat?” she pondered with delight now standing nude in a dressing area lined with mirrors that alone was larger than most apartments found in the city.  “Of course I’m not” as she looked back at her own reflection it was as perfect as a naked human specimen could be.  Her modest chest with taught breasts, led across a smooth stomach to her petite waist, which of course gave way to her sensuous hips.  She was woman that men would die for in her physical beauty alone although she had so often so much more to offer.  Her honesty, her commitment to something she believed in and of a genuine caring nature, at least if she deemed you worthy of her time.




The day passed and she made her way to meet friends.  It was one of those previously mentioned events that typically would be a high point in a day not filled with very many low points, still today this was just another thing that must be done.


The two old men sat to her left, one eating a baked spinach knishes and the other hot pastrami on warm rye.  Each one adorned in their own ill-fitting, off the rack, garments made of questionable synthetics at best were the perfect example of what so often troubled her.  “It is a travesty and atrocity beyond compare”  She blurted out to her table filled with other impossibly thin, vaguely sober, and equally ungrounded friends at Ben’s Kosher on 7th not far from the garment district.  It was a time when models, designers and anyone who could be associated with the fashion business frequented the art deco laced eatery.  It was in the fashion world as much of an Icon as the hot spots of any era.  It was littered with agency types, up and comers, models, photographers and magazine people.  It was a place to be seen, the midtown fashion world equivalent of the best country and private clubs for the Wall Street set.


There in the contrived elegance and fake schmaltz, serious, perhaps even life altering conversations were afoot as Rochelle and her friends picked at their food much like they picked at the surrounding worlds obvious and often obscene imperfections.   Each and every time she went out in public she considered it to an appearance, not the kind you’d find on page six that was for movie stars and wanna be’s but the mere fact that she was gracing the world with her silhouette, her panache, and her knowledge that by just being there she was making the world not only a prettier place but a better one as well.


Once, not so long ago, a soon to be former friend asked her if she had married into money.  After all, her upper east side lifestyle was akin to that sort of thing.  It was for most part neither uncommon or shameful. In disgust Rochelle replied that “Marrying into money is nothing more than prostitution, the ugly things you would have to do for the lifestyle were hardly worth it.”  Her tone now acusatory itself finished with, ” My money and life came to me the only decent way it could have….Inheritance!”   Not long after that, the Long Island born acquaintance who innocently ask the question but had in fact married her money was cast aside as any unwanted mutated orphan might be by trite soulless people.  Perhaps held in even lower regard than the same penniless people Rochelle had so often passed on the street quickly and in utter disgust.




There was afoot the notion, and some of her friends even the most refined ones were beginning to accept if not embrace it, that the truly Couture could be produced outside of not only Paris, but France.  To Rochelle, who considered anything not completely created in Paris a mockery and a shamble of rags, sat there on the edge of her chair shaking in disgust at such a thing.  Before her sat her usually well informed and educated peers but how could they suggest this?  Milan for all its fine tailors, its exotic and quality swaths of fabric produced impeccable garments, but to refer to anything as Couture was unthinkable.


She argued with logic that Yves Saint Laurent qualified, that they carried the seal needed.  They followed the strict guidelines and standards.  The others just rolled their eyes.   Rochelle who was a purist in the purist sense of the word was not willing to wavier.    She has horrid memories of a home in a pastured wasteland as a small child in Westchester.  It is covered with sprawling lawns and an affluent suburban set which is mere miles from Manhattan, 30 minutes by train.  Yet it might as well have been in the middle of South Dakota to this very day as far as she was concerned.  Fortunately she was rescued from a life that consisted of green grass, room to run, to play and puddles to splash in when it rained that weren’t lined with asphalt.  Her mother who felt equally isolated there moved the family back into the city before she was old enough to start school.


As the debate raged on, she recalled all too fondly her first trip to Paris in her late teens accompanied by an overly domineering mother to Channel’s Paris location.  She felt alive there, like a child filled with awe and wonder, to be standing in that great house.   The fittings, the energy of the staff,  the absolute precision.  It was then that she realized that it was a language and world all its own.  Ever since, she had traveled there at least once and often twice a year for new additions, she was awaiting her latest Nina Ricci.


The nights at the Lincoln, and all that that often meant, with pomp and posture attended with other well heeled individuals.   She was so often not just a face in the fashion crowd, she was known in the inner most circles.  She was considered an authority, an expert on such things and despite often wondering the streets of both NY and Paris, a fixture at runway shows often as the personal guest of the most renowned designers she was never complementary and polite just for the sake of being so.  Their works were what mattered and achieved accolades only if she felt they warranted it.   Yet somewhere in the distance something was eating at her, that unspoken something that had been a distraction all day, the hours of conversation were merely a way to pass the hours before she had to make her way toward the inevitable.</p>




The thoughts perplexed her as she made her way back up town.  Standing again in her dressing room with wine in hand as afternoon slowly gave way to evening and her most pressing engagement of the day. Again she stood naked in front of those mirrors pondering what to wear, carefully assessing her options and her collection.  Nothing seemed quite right and then at that very moment she noticed it, it had been there all of her life, an imperfection that shook her to her core, the one thing that not all the clothes in the world could hide, the ethnicity of her face and hair.  More so, that damn round face.


The bell rang and she slipped into her robe to answer it.  The box of all boxes was in the hands of the door man.  She thanked him emphatically.  Her mood lifted, all of her problems vanished.  The gentleman who rarely thought much of anything his wards received did know her well enough to understand her joy of seeing him with such a plain brown box.


Quickly she fixed her hair, and perfected what she could on the round face and obvious nose.  Her pale skin rosed with the softest shade of pink, her lips pouted demurely with a wicked smile, her eyes darker and deeper than they had ever been from her sense of satisfaction.

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Moments later taking the elevator down she moved purposefully toward the already open and waiting door.  She crossed the street and made her way into the park each stride bringing her a greater sense of satisfaction, her face still round, her hair covered  as she walked like all the world was watching so strong so confident and then the  thought she had been suppressing all day crossed her mind.  “Let’s see the bitch out dress me now.”  She smiled and then took an appropriately somber face.   After all, she thought “She’s dead.  It’s not like she can go change, all she has left to do is rot.”   And that is how Rochelle paid her last respects to her mother.   By whispering into her ear, “This time it is you that is horridly dressed.”

Thongs, push up bra’s, itchy burlap, and the decay of America’s morality

Greetings from the middle of a cornfield, if there is a hell, it is in the heart land and surrounded by cold winds, dark skies and brown desolate fields…and one very disgruntled foul mouthed and morally liberal east coast bastard or more simply put me. That is more or less where I am at the time of penning this little rant, in a make shift “city” in the great state of corn and formerly great state of a college football team dedicated to corn that now at very best sucks balls.


While for those from there might seem like the fourth horseman of the apocalypse but where my current home is had declared the end of the world on AM radio today as I drove to the airport and prepared to climb onto yet another flying phallic symbol.  “WHY FOR GOODNESS SAKE WERE YOU LISTENING TO AM RADIO”  you bellow at the top of your lungs and it is a point well taken the answer is simple…traffic reports.


The almost cookie cutter alarmist well informed and morally superior radio personalities come on using their 50,000 watts of influence and state “Tweens and teens in Push up Bra’s and thongs perpetrated by Victoria’s Secret”.  Now look anyone under 25 is probably far younger than I would entertain more than a passing conversation with on topics of a relationship of any type, unless placing a drink order at a regular stop of a watering hole then that is a relationship that I would fully support even at my somewhat advancing age.  But why the outrage?   To validate their point, they had two authors whose names I can’t recall but who claimed to “have their pulse on young people and trends”  they were billed as best sellers and had written books something like “inner beauty and burlap sacks”, and “keep your kitty to yourself you slut boys and grown men only want sex”  ok so I may have gotten the titles wrong but think I caught the general gist of their message quite well.


Yes the world is going to end any day not because Pakistan has been plunged into civil unrest and the nut job terrorists could wind up with the bomb, not because al gore has an ever increasing carbon footprint from running all over the earth telling us how to change our lives (try video conferencing instead of a private jet you big wind bag) but because teen age girls are wearing thongs and push up bras.  It’s been a while since I’ve railed against our stupid racist homophobic mentality as a whole but this one got me going yet again.   12 and 13 year old girls with the fashion equivalent of dental floss between their cheeks is the last front of moral decay.  Blah blah blah, ironically the push up bra topic got dropped almost immediately from the conversation…why?  Because flat house wives wear them to appear to have a racks since they were the age in question might be listening to the show.


“American business will sell what it can without moral regard.” The host and guests all agreed emphatically with the statement.  I shuddered at the hypocrisy.  Not a word was said about boys going from tighty whities and boxer shorts to skin tight sport briefs.  You know if they paraded though town in those the family jewels could and would be on full display.  But not a word it was all about girls as sexual objects…just like always.



As I pondered it I wondered what was thought of the decline of hoop skirts, ruffled bloomers and the god awful invention of the tennis skirt and bikini. Moral out rage we must pass out hefty bag like garments to all females immediately or god will smite us.  Warnings of the end and utter demise of our moral boundaries probably echoed through the town square and in the papers.  Men used to always wear hates in public now it is guys in ball caps, a few older men keeping their bald domes warm and wanna be style conscious nut jobs.  (said the shallow man writing this while sitting next to his Burberry overnight bag, talk about hypocrisy!)


Then came the “blame the parents” but I would like to offers some of my own suggestions as to why and how to fix this possible dilemma with my typical tongue in cheek manner.

1.  Have a thong burning outside your chosen denomination’s religious establishment.   Burning books has worked so well over the last century it really should be expanded to undergarments.  While your at it I’ll be across town at the local slut fest having a let’s burn your Granny panties party with your sister and husband who also thinks you’re a maniacal prude.


2.  Require that all thong purchases be recorded and insist on the purchasers government issued photo id.  Log them into a data base and track these miscreants every movement.  It would also help flush out transvestites, cross dressers, homosexuals and couples  that believe that there are more than one or possibly two acceptable sexual positions.  You really have to watch out for those kinky fucks unless they are ordained ministers or gov’t officials then it is all OK.


3.  Random thong inspection stations in publics schools, movies theaters, 4h meetings, and restaurants.   Surely nothing could stem the terrible tide of thong wearing girls and women than that.  Bloomers would of course be issued on the spot and the thongs seized.  Pulled off in a grotesque and painfully embarrassing wedgie until it snapped and was removed over the offender’s head.  Women from 6-80 would fall into the legal search range as to avoid profiling.



4.  Here’s a keeper hey Susie Fat Ass and Mother Mary Morality.  Lose 170 pounds or so, get a skin tuck or two, buys some heels and strut around feeling sexy instead of blobish for a change.  Now put down the good book, get thee to a gymnasium, and end your 4 decade love affair with Big Macs, things deep fried in lard and resign your post as president at the local “Any Woman under a size 20 is a Whore” Chapter


5.  Only sell them with biblical verses on the front, something about wasting a man’s seed comes to mind, also the one about not coveting things, they there is all the ones about only god can judge.


6.  Sell them only in mommy and me packages.  Talk about sick that would be troubling.


7.  Think of it as a small solution to global warming call your local elected criminal and demant that all sexually based and appealing under garments be made from “green” cotton and silk.  Look at it this way less material even in larger sizes, more could be shipped at once the possibilities of positive environmental impact are immeasurable and far out weigh the moral damage they would cause.


Before the conservatives (as if any are brave enough to read me on a regular basis) blurt out.  “Malfic you don’t get it”, or “wait until you have a daughter”, or any other number of things implying I’m in the dark.  Take this in I have two girls that fit in the age range discussed tween and early teens and guess what their undergarments are none of your fucking business and aren’t really any of mine either unless they are strutting though the house in them.  To which a simple “would you put some god damn pants on” usually tends to do the trick.



Let’s take a poll Go to church an Sunday and look at all the good god fearing women there and count the fake tits, push up bras and guestimate the number of thongs.  Then next week end go to the local swingers club, count the fake tits and thongs but bet you won’t see many if any push up bra’s and odds are the fake tits and bra’s will be greater per capita at church then with the swing set.


Here’s another fun fact based on my life and my life only.  Early on and though my college years most of the morally loose women I knew wore the most conservative undergarments day in and day out and the prudes and non adventurous ones were the most scantily clad under their outer layer.


Now I’m off to start my burlap, bloomers, chastity belts, and more website.  I intend to market it to the Religious Right, Hasidic Jews, Environmentalists (they like burlap from what I’m told, oh wait that was hemp my bad) and Moderate Muslims by talking about the benefits of virtue, chastity and the time honored tradition of female sexual repression and then use the profits from their puritan asses to put my kids through college at Berkley or NYU.  Which might make them complete ranting nut jobs (like their father) but would at least make them tolerant of others and generally accepting of people as they are regardless of what they do with their genitals and their type of undergarments.

Body Lube, Rubber undergarments, and girls sporting provocative sayings

Now for those of you thinking there he goes again off to the fetish shop to find a yet unattainable piece of deviant this or that to reach Nirvana, or off he goes sneaking out to the local munch to mix and mingle with the leather and pain crowd yet again but at least he knows not to wear white this time, or perhaps even outing an alternative lifestyle a bit again or participating in some St. Louis based kink convention like Spanksgiving. (Google it I didn’t make this one up)


I give you this. There is not a good Fetish shop in this town, if there is dime me in since I’ve been here 4 years and can usually find one in any city in the first 30 minutes.  So far no such luck and trust me it’s not for lack of trying.  Gay men may have Gaydar but I seemed to have a highly developed sense of Kinkdar.  No kink shops here thank you very much, and the Pizza sucks, damn puritans.


But while out the other night in a shop that caters to my completely obsessive new fetish that includes “specialty” shoes and body lube the nice girl asks me as I stare mindlessly at their wares.


“Do you have enough rubber underwear?” The pretty, rail thin little blonde asked again since I didn’t answer the first time.  This is the same girl that few months back was obsessing perhaps unhealthily over my feet more than an old lover with a foot thing ever did.  I was quite concerned at the time. But somehow I got over it.


Now I’ve been asked about a lot of things by women I don’t really know but about owning rubber underwear until that point hadn’t been one of them.  I love Latex, but not me in latex. Women in latex very sexy, me in latex well, not so much so.


I stare back at her ” I don’t think so” knowing damn well I didn’t own any for any purpose.  There are a lot of things I don’t own leather pants for example are for rock stars and gay bikers for example.  OK I’ll give you hunters if you are referring to brush pants.


She points out that they have both boxers and briefs that were obviously in plain sight somewhere in my soul I’m grateful she didn’t point out a thing option. Perhaps she assumed looking at me that I was blind or at least visually impaired from some acquired illness or jerking off incessantly.   I must have had that diseased masturbator look about me for a few moments there.


“Keep in mind they run a little small” She added then showing me the ones that were only rubberized in the dead center portion of ones nether region and how the rest was “comfortable lycra”.   I picked up what I came for body lube to keep from chaffing as I sweat and decided to pass on the new additions to my wardrobe.  When it gets colder out I’ll worry about freezing my balls off and getting frost bite on my member but not quite yet.


Great running shop and based on how lame this town is it is the first place I’d been to that sold anything rubber that was wearable by anything other than my car.  But still it’s not the same without them selling baby powder to put it on with and black beauty to make it shine.



The next morning arrives and as I head out into the 27 degree weather and I start with the body lube, it’s cold out and personally I can’t stand chaffed nipple so going from north to south I end with the arches of my feet and then head out to find an assortment of people in everything from short shots and teensy weensy tops to people bundled up for an artic expedition.


Now I’ve always been one for edgy phrases of bold declarations like, leather daddy, it’s only kinky the first time, or my personal favorite “Rope Slut”.  Most were in tights, the men included even though it was not the ballet or Peter Pan but my favorite was watching 4 lithe little numbers pouring out of a car that on the back window that had written across it “FAST GIRLS HAVE GOOD TIMES”.


In a fashion that is true to myself I found a position near the front and conversed demurely with the “fast girls” as they contorted themselves into a variety of positions fit for the karma sutra if it was published by Nike.  Scantily clad they stood there apparently so thin that their bodies had become immune to climatic changes and freezing weather.


Then it happened the gun went off, the mad dash began and once again I failed to keep up with the fast girls, ahh the story of my fucking life.  I could always get a fast girl but I could never really keep up with her after a while and away she went off into the distance with me still chasing after her ass, in this case quite literally.  Why should running be any different?


For more than a few minutes I watched and tried like hell as they pulled away from me more and more with each quick bounding stride.  And that’s when it hit me the girl in the store was not trying to sell me rubber pants to keep my Willy from freezing this winter because she cared.  It was because with a single glance and few words she had me pegged as slow.  Bitch!  Moral of the story never trust fast girls.

Girls night out, innuendo, and another woman in my bed

So many of us shade our sex lives from the light of day.  I’m usually a little different, more open, even an exhibitionist about things but still most often omit damming details and specific events that are best left to the imagination or kept between lovers.

So OK so my subscribe banner is a chest that is attached to a woman that I not only know but also love.  Trust me any part of her is far more interesting than anything I possess.  Ironically I still consider myself more of an ass man than a tit guy.  Anyone who pays attention to what I write knows what I’m into and in this case hopefully the Blonde will forgive me because this is one that I just had to share the details of unaltered, without omissions, and intended to recall it with out any embellishment in the least.  But that wouldn’t really be that funny so I punched it up a bit for effect or laughs but all in all for once it is an accurate depiction of how my mind works.

The black type is the Gospel of what happened on one specific occasion.  The red ink however limited is how I would like to think it went. You know if I was really on my game.

It is if nothing else the quintessential example of the life of Malflic behind the corporate greed, obsession with German cars, occasional distraction by shiny things, distrust of law enforcement, and blood lust for power beats the heart of a man who wants what all men and teenage boys really want at the very core of their beings.  SEX and lots of it preferably but not necessarily with beautiful women!!!!

So on this occasion my very, very beautiful companion has plans that didn’t include me, I’m a big boy I can entertain myself for relatively short periods of time with out the need for supervision.

She comes down stairs in black heels (mmm love her in heels), beautifully curve hugging deep dark blue jeans (you really have no idea what you’re missing), a tight black shirt accentuated by her long flowing locks (there’s good reason I refer to her as my Chesty Blonde), and a genuinely pretty face to top it all off. The kind you really don’t see very often. Add to it that she’s a good soul and a nice kind person and you quickly see why people are wondering what she is doing with my ugly, sarcastic, shallow ass.  Good question but who am I to tempt fate?

I offer to drop her off and pick her up at the end of the night.  No need to worry about a few soda pops if she wanted to imbibe.  She agrees and off we go.  I kill a few hours out and about doing nothing of particular consequence and head home to stare mindlessly at the TV and wait for the phone to ring.

It finally does a little before 10 and another woman is on the line.  Now it’s not another woman in the sense that I have another woman who calls me at home when the Blonde is out, nor is it a wrong number, or a telemarketer flagrantly ignoring the do not call list. Rather it a friend she is out with.

Wait why is she asking if I’m the only one on the phone?  Of course I’m the only one on the phone I assure her and she all but screams a few very suggestive things into my ear, not the subtle sensual whispers of a lover’s request, not the playful banter of a phone sex operator reading a script and pretending to get off, but a woman who uses words and made suggestions about the state of my usual companion that were by any estimate the stuff of the very best dear Penthouse letters from the late 80’s (which is the last time I bought a Penthouse so I’m not sure about the current content).   And from there it got really, really dirty.

I like people who aren’t afraid to say what they’re thinking.  I curse like a sailor and talking dirty isn’t usually an issue unless I do it at an “inappropriate time”.  She seemed to be very good at both using profane words and oddly combining them with suggested states of arousal, lewd acts, and suggest how I could in the not too distant future help remedy the situation and building need in a rather shall we say hard and fast manner.  The best part is she didn’t need my Amex number, or a case of beer first to talk like that and she wasn’t trying to tempt me just to get back at an ex anything.  Sorry boys (and in some cases girls) she’s spoken for, lucky man.

OK the girl got my attention and if a fraction of what she was suggesting was true I was in for a good night she’d drop the Blonde off in a bit.  30 minutes later pouring a drink that kills the last few shots worth of Kettle, the last drops of the OJ and a glass of wine for the companion of mine who should be arriving in the near future.  Off to light a few candles, turn up the heat so the house isn’t to cool, and always the hopeless romantic retire to the bedroom to wait and watch sports center sports center since there was no decent porn on cable.  (Why this surprised me is in itself a mystery there is never any decent porn on cable yet I hold out hope)

About 90 minutes (or more) later I hear the front door, her foot steps on the stairs, through the loft, down the hall, Sports pale in comparison and I stay reclined across the bed clad in plaid pants and zippered top. She walks in to the room as beautiful as ever and surveys it, says hello and then wonders back out into the hall.  I had by that point consumed the vodka, the original wine I poured for her and one or two more.  Still stone cold sober but mellow and patient knowing sooner or later she’d be back I waited.

The door opened again as she wondered in smiling, an extra twinkle in her eye and a devilish grin.  Trailing a step or so behind her was the quite alluring dark haired body of the verbally creative sexually charged woman that called me earlier making lewd suggestions about states of arousal, potions, lotions, and dildos.

” I see you brought me a present” I offered coyly.  The friend grins and then takes a few quick strides followed by a large leap over the foot board and jumps into bed with me.

“JACK POT, FUCKING JACK POT!!!!  FUCKING EH, GIRL’S NIGHT OUT IS THE BEST NIGHT EVER!!!”  And other similar things run through my head at a million miles per hour I’m thinking something about the number three in French what is it a again twat no that’s not right it just kind of sounds like that.  Trois! Trois! Trois!  I got it!

 In reality my mind is going a million miles an hour with things like “why is this woman in my bedroom” and “now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Her elbow and shoulder ricocheted off my head as she came to a sprawling rest next to me but who cares I’ve been hit in the head a million times for a variety of reasons, failing to move quickly enough is probably the most common one.

I’m still drinking it all in, the rest of the universe outside of that roomed ceased to exist completely.  She’s giggling, my Blonde joining in near unison watching me closely, things still look very good from my lounging view point.  My imagination is still doing the math on the possibilities and required questions like straight or Bi?  Kinky or Vanilla? Even if the answer is yes should we save that for perhaps another time?  What had they planned?  Then after a few awkward moments she rolls out of bed, stands up tall, looks deeply into the dog’s eyes, and starts talking to him.

Cruel vile women!  She’s already lost interest in me and is telling the dog how pretty he looks! What a good boy he is!  How nice it is to see him.  90 minutes earlier she was talking dirty to me completely unprovoked, 30 seconds ago she came bounding into my bed and now she was talking to the god damn dog rubbing his head, scratching him behind the ears.  What the fuck?  At this point my tail wasn’t the one that was wagging!

The ladies converse and said it was all her idea to shock me.  Shock me?  What shocked me was the fact that it was the first time in recent memory if not ever that a woman came at a blinding speed to get into bed with me and then topped it off with paying attention to the dog.  She could have brought home a 100 naked writhing sluts that looked like playmates but were really just nuns out on a bender looking for a nice hard fuck and it would have shocked me less than a woman jumping into bed only to jump right back out and talk to the god damned dog.  Sure I should have known better and the truth be told am such a Germ-o-phobe that sort of thing wouldn’t have worked for me anyhow even if I wanted it to.

And there you have it life summed up into a simple experience, no threesome, no wild new things to explore just a few giggles, some nice conversation, a dog that felt loved, and me as the butt of the joke.  In the end all was made right and ended well but the number involved was not trois but deux and those are the details best left between lovers and to your own imagination but it was awfully damn good.

And in all fairness I uncharacteristically let the Blonde read it before posting and she found my view point less than amusing, but boys will be boys even if all they really want is sex.

2 young lesbians, a drunk girl in a convertible & watching lovers quarrel

Best of works are older pieces originally posted else where, typically they are humorous looks into my less than normal day to day life.

Greetings yet again from sin city, if I had a fifth place I called home there is no doubt that this would be it based on the amount of times I seem to make it here every year.  As an update to my gambling losses I’m down, every red cent I bet this year but on the up side it amounts to 8 bucks (2 per trip).  I was up 80 and blew it all, most gamblers will laugh but for me to not walk when I go up a nickel is a rare event.  Now on to the sites and sounds on the strip this time around.

So Thursdays here start to get busy and with the big fight weekend coming up the news predicted of dire situations and “escalating gang violence” from all the LA hoodlums that were going to show up for the week end.  The erratic and alarmist news caster reassured the viewing public that it would be nothing like the rampant violence and massive crime problems encountered during the most recent Democratic National Convention oh wait it wasn’t the DNC it was the RNC, wait that’s wrong too it was the NBA all Star weekend.  I took a deep and relieved breath knowing that it would be bad but not that bad Still I was prudent and kept on the look out for commie bastards, any potential members of the Axis of Evil, and anyone who might attract the ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Clintons, G.W., or Al Sharpton. What they should have warned me about were the 5 Japanese senior citizens in the suite next to mine that would converse at a seemingly in human speed and laugh merrily at a sleep depriving level all night long the first two nights.

So as I finished my business and began roaming the strip last night me and another middle aged white guy in our blatantly demure corporate causal attire, served as a testament to the possibility that there would be escalating fiduciary responsibility in Sin City along with  the gang presence.   Yes the first two horsemen of the apocalypse had arrived reprobate financiers and drug dealers.  Get thee to a nunnery and may god have mercy on your soul!

The only sign of things that had begun escalating was all the fat mid westerns roaming up and down the blvd after grazing gluttonously at the no longer bargain priced buffets .  After stops at the Bellagio, NY NY and Caesar’s we headed toward Treasure Island.

Oh sure people had been trying to hand us pictures of mostly nude women who would love to visit us for a fee of course but standing waiting to cross in front of Treasure Island the treasure of the evening occurred.  A completely inebriated, perhaps inebriated is too polite of a word,  let’s start this over a completely  shit faced drunk about to pass out in the gutter with all three sheets in the wind woman looks out of her electric monkey shit blue Bimmer with the top down and asks the youngish couple next to us.  “is that your girlfriend?”

Frankly neither of us had noticed the couple before, we were too busy noticing the long legged show girl type strutting in front of us, the Latina with lovely hips and thin wispy skirt and the miracle of modern science in the see through blouse and dark nips standing in all their glory that were beaming at us as much as her pearyl whites that she flashed a little wider with each bouncing stride.

So on to the lesbians. Taking in the pair neither was over 5’3″one was dressed looked a slightly hippy McDonald’s eating out of shape skater boy in a ball cap, baggy pants  sneakers and t shirt.  If the question hadn’t been asked I wouldn’t have thought her to be female, I wouldn’t have looked close enough.  The other in a short denim skirt that showed off her short, thick legs and full round ass.  Not unattractive but compared to the surroundings not in the top 30% either, she had a cute little round girl next door face, longish dark hair and a good sized chest.  These were not the male idealized sexy hot play toy porno lesbians that the adult video companies portray in their fantasy indulging productions.  They were just a real people and a real couple out on the street.

As the boyish looking one replied that the other was in fact her girlfriend and took her protectively by the hand. The drunk hot long dark eyed brunette in the bimmer (who was flanked by an even hotter disassociated looking blond and two Latin lover types in the back seat)  began to blighter on how cute the young lesbo was.

She then eventually she called out ” I’d so fuck your girlfriend!” The butch one got pissed, it was more akin to the starting linebacker from a football team’s reaction  if the president of the high school chess club tried to advance his bishop to capture afore mentioned linebacker’s queen and began screaming back indignantly about how she wouldn’t.   As the light changed and the bimmer pulled out the young couple crossed the street and the pair began to argue.  They argued about the stranger’s proposition, they argued about how the other lacked a sense of fidelity.  The cute one tried to reassure her, she took her hand, she stopped threw her arms around her and kissed held her partner, quite lovingly.


Now any of us who have been around the block know that some people can kiss anyone they want to lovingly and with a heated passion at any time they need to so while it could have been genuine affection it also could have been an attempt to hide past infidelities and trysts.  The butch girl wasn’t buying,.. as we walked up the street a few more blocks you could see her discomfort, you could see her fear and I could remember how un-fulfilling, desperate, unstable, and all consuming young love was and seemingly still is.

How passion and uncertainty of a future could vanish in an instant, in the very second that something better came along.  Gone with little or no regret  by one party and a large gaping wound on the other, the uncertain one the one who failed to see the futility in their devotion and love, and the lack of intention and genuine reciprocation.

The cute one pleaded, she implored, she border on begging her lover to believe her that there was no one else that she had no interest in anyone else, not at that moment not ever, clutching at her, reaching for her hand, stopping just short of a Shakespearian act of throwing herself on to Las Vegas Blvd. to prove her own devotion. A cold hurt shoulder still existed.  Perhaps it was and I am merely speculating here that the butch girl would have jumped at the opportunity to have a dalliance with the drunkard in the car.

Fuck I would have done her and to put it in crude layman’s terms, she was a woman who wouldn’t just look good bent over a sofa, she was in fact very hot, quite pretty  facially and seemingly open sexually speaking …sure I knew nothing more about her than the Quarreling couple she could have had a host of un-redeeming characteristics other than  her adult beverage consumption rate to go with her looks but for them moment we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

As my counter part in crime ( or fiduciary responsibility) for the evening turned to me after four speechless blocks and stated “you don’t hear that every day”

I shrugged and said “I guess just because you live an alternative lifestyle doesn’t mean you don’t have the same problems of jealousy and insecurity.  If  she likes a she and she and she likes a she ,then I don’t see why the butch one didn’t return the proposition with and “I and I’d so like to fuck you too   Making it a ménage three.”

 He stopped and corrected my French saying don’t you mean trois ?”    “No I meant three it rhymes better with she.”   He looked perplexed and we headed back to Agent Provocateur to consider wasting money on an iridescent blue garter, g-string and matching mostly sheer bra that his wife will never wear, not for him, not for herself.   Sometimes I just don’t understand people.


I did however ever see a woman at 3:30am posing in a hotel lobby lips puckered up kiss to a Wayne Newton poster, her friend snapped a picture, then she turned hiked up her skirt revealing a thong and placed her backside with amazing skill and dexterity on poor old Wayne’s face as if  he were about to spring to life and get her off.  Her friend snapped another pic and security arrived to discuss their behavior.  Stumbling into the limo not from intoxication but fatigue I was passed by a woman that for some reason reminded me of the old Motley Crue song Same Old Situation and a line from training day soundtrack at the same time ”  …with a Portuguese time piece named Karen”

 These thing also go into the category of things I don’t and never will understand.

Do you like to watch? An interlude with a Masochist

That’s how it all began, hot and heavy into a lust and on my part a beverage influenced encounter.  The simple question of “do you like to watch?”  Was asked and at the time being young, dumb, and male I provided a look that must have explained all too clearly that I wasn’t quite following the question.

“Do you like to watch a woman?  Would you like to watch me?”  She directed the question somewhat more directly at me as she reached down and touched herself.  Did I like to watch? Now I was getting the idea of what she was talking about. What the hell of course I liked to watch.  If my college had offered a major in Porn watching,  advanced debauchery, and sorority girls with excessively questionable morals I would have graduated first in  the class with the exception of porn watching because my one anally obsessed roommate had seen more porn than the people who film the stuff for a living.  Unlike him though I actually had a very consistent carnal diet and had been not only around the block a few times but spent a few years playing in those less traveled alleys and dark shadowy spots along the way.

So I answered affirmatively and she moved her warm flesh away from mine, the heat from our intertwined bodies immediately dissipated.  She was petite, with almost porcelain white skin, a very cute little ass, racing stripe shaved pubes and just out of arms reach at the edge of the bed, as she went to work on herself.   Now as fascinating as it was after a 20 minute solo of rubbing, exhibition, and “oh now watch me as I move like this” getting herself repeatedly to the edge of god knows what, murmurs, moans, and her self called play by play and commentary that would have made John Madden jealous. I offered to help out.  Sure she was getting off but the thrill had faded and I might as well have been watching the news.  That offer led to a lets show the boy what I can stick in there session, and while a change of pace eventually I came to the conclusion that odds were short of cutting my leg off above the knee I possessed neither the length or the girth to meet her needs.  In fairness to her when I was allowed to rejoin the fun there was never a single complaint that I was no where near the size of her coke can wide dildo.

That was our first encounter, a little different pace but as we then began to do more civilized things like get to know each other a bit better, and on occasion fuck like normal human beings it quickly became clear that she was a little less reserved than yours truly which is to say pretty much not at all.  A few weeks later sitting in the warm and rare spring sunshine she brought up the topic of de Sade.  At this point I didn’t know what we now call a scene was but had been playing with the bondage and pain crowd on my own and was quite the budding little sadist.   Unlike a lot of people I admit that I have a sadistic streak, a well tempered one mind you but deep down it is part of who I am.

She went on and on about how she wanted to be whipped to orgasm, describing in great detail how and where. Talked about how she loved to see red welts raised on her flesh, that every one of her lovers had eventually spanked her and the more soundly the better.  After hours of discussion, countless innuendos cast in my direction she confided in me a fantasy that she said she had never dare share with anyone.   I wasn’t sure I believed her but what the  fuck after all the things she talked about  I was game to listen.

 If she was sharing what she had been and was such a student of such things as de Sade surely this had to be something spectacular that my twisted little soul might not have even imagined.   It was but sometime things just don’t turn out as expected.

 Rather than dime me in ahead of time she set a time and day for me to visit, one where we’d have the apartment all to ourselves.  So I showed up in true college fashion, beverages in tow.  The lights were off, candles were lit and music was playing, not soft romantic stuff like one might have expected but classic rock.

 She was in shorts and a T shirt, nothing spectacular just everyday clothes, after a very warm and passionate welcome and a few minutes of chit chat.  She asked if I was still ready to help her with her fantasy and of course not knowing what I was getting into I agreed.

 “great wait here I’ll be right back”  she said disappearing down the hallway towards the bedroom leaving me in the flickering candle light listening to music that I had no appreciation for at that point in life.

 My imagination raced as to what was about to happen but she showed up in heels, dress pants, and a blouse that had an inordinate amount of tiny little buttons on it.  She looked like an IBM employee hiding a button fetish.  Now I was expecting a slutty little number, a teddy, crotch less panties, maybe a leather skirt not a job interview suit.

 Taking my hand she got me to my feet kissed me and then said “ I want you to literally tear every stitch of clothing from my body.”  After clarifying what she had just asked for making sure of her desires I finally had a real use for all the time I spent in the weight room. Nothing with her was ever that simple.  “Pop every button off my blouse.”  The request was completed adding a deep wet kiss.

 Offering a wrist I took the cuff in hand and with a gentle tug popped the button.  Then the other arm followed suit.  “start at the collar.”  She instructed.  So I did.  Then she added after the first three had let go.  “Be rough, don’t just pop the buttons.  Rip my clothes off. Don’t just undress me.”   She didn’t have to tell me twice as I ripped her blouse open with one explosive pull, buttons flying through the air, bouncing off our bodies before finally littering the floor.  A bra, the girl was wearing a damn bra, a sexy little lacey number.  Pressing against me and doing her best to arouse me (even more) asked “Now tear off my pants”.

 I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to tear off a pair of pants but it takes a great deal of strength once the zipper has been destroyed, not to mention determination. She was bound and determined to have the pants turned into nothing more than a pair of rags that had been ripped from her frame. She responded to every torn inch of fabric and seam  with her play by play commentary when not murmuring in delight.  After that was done the same request came for the bra and panties whose lace possessed very little challenge.

 Now naked and visibly aroused with torn material draped on her and surrounding her feet she proceeded to undress me.   Normally thank you very much but finally we were getting some where that interested me a little more as she took me in her mouth.

 Then she stopped looked up and added “I know you like to watch”  she added stroking me with one hand while talking.  The other hand slid a small gym bag out from beside the couch.   Here we go again I thought as she eventually had me sit on the couch.

 Opening the bag she pulled out the infamously large toy, a few others and then a short leather strap.  She was on the table right in front of me spread her legs and then CRACK she smacked her inner thigh with her open hand again and again until it was a fiery red.  These were not playful little slaps the girl was literally wailing away on herself in the same spot over and over.  Then switching sides until every inch of her inner legs from just below crotch to mid thigh were literally beat red.  Her pussy wet and glistening in the candle light as I looked on.

 Closing her legs and kneeling between my feet she when to work on me again, unlike her previous solo act she was keeping my attention and passively involved.  It was still all about her but some how I didn’t seem to mind. Quickly I came to the conclusion she had not been exaggerating when we discussed her pain filled desires.

“I failed to get you off”  Her eyes meeting mine “ tell me to punish myself”.  Again she went to work on me, this time half heartedly at best.  So Playing along I reprimanded her and told her she needed to be punished. “you’re going to punish me she asked?”  but I played along and told her to punish herself and not to stop until she had learned not to disappoint me.

Back to the table she went legs spread wide red thighs waiting not a hint of modesty she cupped a breast in one hand and used the small (an inch or so wide and 5-6 long) leather strap on the breast and nipple.  Then viciously pinching her own nipple pulling it way from her body holding quite taunt she proceeded to whip the underside flicking her wrist and snapping the little piece of leather upward.  Once both were very self abused to the point just short of bruising it was back to her thighs this time with the strap.  Shortly there after she slithered between my legs as I looked on in wonder having played rough but never like this she was not only hard core but seemingly in to extreme self flagellation.

Looking up at me with the same eyes as before the routine repeated itself.  Warning her she had 2 minutes to make me cum.  She smiled so I guessed right.  After two minutes of a sloppy half assed suck fest she of course didn’t.   Bringing her to her feet I toyed with her lips teasing her mercilessly, she moaned in delight as I scolded her.  This time she sat on the edge of the table and slowly used the leather on her own kitty, little slaps, well spaced then adding a toy and reaching underneath herself with one arm to hold it in while swatting away with the other before again going on to a touch up session on her chest and thighs.  Occasionally looking my direction before looking away and continuing.

“There’s one more thing she said curling up on my lap”.  Again with no idea I just waited knowing she would tell me.   A few minutes passed in an odd silence and groping when she finally chimed in with, “I saved my ass for you”.  She got up, went to the gym bag, handed me a paddle and proceeded to cross the room and bend over the table.

I sat watching and she stayed in position just waiting for me to join in the fun.  By the time I had thought her bottom was thoroughly scorched since it was a fiery red with out a hint of the pale white it had started out as.  “Harder” she said “spank me harder”.  A few minutes later when I paused she pleaded for me to keep going.  Soon she was wincing with each swat but still wanted more. Obliging as she reached between her own legs the session continued on at varied pace and intensity until she was just short of completely raw.

Without changing positions she savagely impaled herself on me. Sometime later we hit a point of pure exhaustion. The rest of the weekend followed much the same way, she had thought it all out, knew exactly what she wanted and I was nothing more than a dick with a wicked streak.  A few more pure watch me get off solo acts, a bare assed switching while hand cuffed to a tree in the back woods of a state park, multiple request for this and that including trying to take her kneeling over the edge on the bath tub and countless other things.  She was insatiable