Month: May 2011

The Infamous Car Story, Part 1

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It was the weekend I invited my boyfriend – at the time – to my home to meet my mother. It was summertime, a few weeks before I had to return to campus to start up sophomore year. He had made a good impression on my family and I had set about introducing him to whichever friends still remained in my hometown. One of them was her. 

I was a bit reticent to introduce him to Elle. She and I were certainly now on a friendly basis, sometimes a bit too friendly. I was worried they wouldn’t get along. I thought she would bite his face off, frankly. She’s a bit of a spitfire. But, she had heard that he was in town and offered to have the three of us go out to dinner.

They hit it off almost instantly. They just jived so well with each other. I just sat there breathing this huge sigh of relief as they laughed up a storm. I was content to take the third wheel on this one. It was almost comforting.

She had driven to reduce gas and I had left my car at her place. As set off to head back after a really pleasant dinner, I elected to take the backseat with my boyfriend. We all kept up conversation as she drove towards the highway and stopped at a stoplight. This was when the trouble started.

He and I had been planning a game all that weekend where he would reach down and rub me whenever we hit a red light. This was pretty normal in the car just the two of us and I could manage to keep a poker-face as I waited for the light to change. Confessedly, I almost drove right off the road when the light changed during a drive to get lunch earlier that day, but it was mostly a fairly “safe” endeavor. 

But in the car with my ex-girlfriend? I tensed up when I felt his hand snake over to me. My eyes begged him not to. It was too weird. She would kick us out of the car. Why had I worn a skirt that day?

I went to slap his hand away and tried to keep quiet until I noticed she was tilting her rearview mirror in order to be able to see what was going on in the back. I caught her face in it. She was smiling. Oh no. This was worse than the awkward interaction that I had predicted would come about at dinner. Her dominant instincts were coming out and she was getting such a kick out of this.

The light changed and he moved his hand away. She chuckled, merging onto the highway and heading back toward our town. “Sorry, dear,” she cooed into the back.

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest in mock upset. I was trying to keep this cheeky, funny. I was hoping the joke was over and that we wouldn’t be getting into anything too…weird.  

He laughed and put his hand back down, starting to rub at my clit through my panties. I looked up at him and shook my head, pleading with my eyes for him to just stop. I knew if I opened my mouth to talk to him, I’d just start moaning. He had a way with his hands. It was astounding. 

“I don’t know why you’re so ungrateful, Ivy,” Elle said from the front seat, “I seem to remember a certain girl who begged for it all the time in the car.” She glanced back quickly at my boyfriend, “she once got herself off with my vibrator while I drove her home. I wouldn’t drop her off until she came." 

To say that I have trouble orgasming when I have a goal is an understatement. Any metaphor that I could make for how much I was blushing would also probably be an understatement. 

He was beaming like a champ. My legs were shaking, my body was responding eagerly to his touch. I was so humiliated, yet so aroused from it. I couldn’t believe she was playing along with him and vice-versa. I didn’t expect them to hit it off socially. But sexually? This was almost porno-level interaction. 

He stopped before I came and gave my pussy a little pat. It was a typical gloating move of his and I groaned in frustration. I realized my back had sunk down in the seat and I was basically spread out. I was covered in goosebumps, I was embarrassed, I just wanted to orgasm. 

I noticed Elle was taking the long way home and huffed. "May I please cum?” I couldn’t believe I was saying it in her car.

“What do you think?” he asked, looking up at Elle. Suddenly, she veered off course and pulled into the parking lot of a playground we were about to pass. It was dark out and no one was there, thankfully. 

She pulled the car in a way that it faced the road and the other vehicles that sped by. I instinctively reached to pull my skirt back down and he slapped my hand away. 

“Nah,” she smirked as she turned off the car. “I think someone has miles to go.”

To be continued.

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The only kind of rapture anyone should be experiencing tonight.

cindersk:

sexysoul:

that is a look of sexual exhaustion

i would love to see you lying next to me looking like this

That would be the last thing you saw as you fell into a orgasm-induced coma from getting me to look that way…

Just sayin’.

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I’ll have you know that I encourage audience participation. 

nataliejones1987:

May I watch? 😉

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Pleasant Surprise: I was out for lunch yesterday with one of my best friends from high school. I kind of assumed she was vanilla because I have this terrible habit of just doing that (better safe than sorry?). I forget what we were talking about, but suddenly she looks up from her food and goes, “do you know who Sasha Grey is?”

Needless to say, we bonded like crazy at that point about how upset we are that she retired. I love when my friendships just get a teensy bit deeper like that. 

Us anons? How many of us do you think they are? One? Ten? Three? Do we all know each other? Do think we coordinate our questions? We plan them like prelude to an act? Breadcrumbs on a trail? If you were blind folded in a room and various people approached you and whispered things in your ears would you be able to tell us apart for our “interesting senses of humor”? Could you handle us? Do you fantasize about us? Do you think out there in that anonymous crowd there might be those of us that can push you to new levels. To give you exactly what you want when you give up all control. To play you and hit all the right notes? Maybe you should join us. Maybe you should look in your inbox one day and find the name of a hotel, a room number, and a time. Maybe this is how it will go: You show up at the hotel room. Walking out of the elevator you catch yourself quickening your pace to get to the door. You slow down. Don’t want to be overeager. Pause. Adjust your skirt and question if you should be there at all. It is insane to show up to this place. Not knowing who and how many. You knock on the door. No answer. You knock again. No answer. Then you remember. We like to fuck your mind first. You try the handle. The door opens. There is a note on a small table directly in front of the door. Heavy off white stock. Beautifully handwritten: “Put it on”. On the sliver platter, underneath where the note was is a blindfold. You take it. You put it on. Feel the silk as you tie the knot. Afraid you didn’t tie it properly, securely. Afraid we won’t be pleased about that and send you on your way. But you don’t want that. You want to go through with it. You know anything that happens will be consensual but that doesn’t lessen the the anticipation, the trepidation. the fear. It may be consensual but it will not be boring. It will be safe but thrilling. You put it on and you wait. Nothing. You wait. Your hearing grows more sensitive with each passing moment. You can hear that there are people in a room further down the hallway. You can sense them there. Their breathing. You walk towards the sounds. Slowly. Trying to make out more details. Are there people talking? How many? Did someone shift in their seat? You can hear the blood coursing through your neck. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Nervous. Excited. Afraid. You stop. You can’t see but there is someone in front of you. You can feel his body heat. He is taller. Broad shoulders. If he were behind you, your shoulders would fit perfectly in his chest. You wan to reach out and feel his face with your hands. His hair. The muscles in his back. Trace his outline. But you must not. You know that. He takes your hands from behind you and brings them to the front. With a quick but deliberate motion rope is tied around your wrists. You knew it would be like this but the force, the speed catches you by surprise. He walks away. You follow the sound of his shoes. Trying to picture them. Are they black? What size? He sits down on a chair. You stand there. Not knowing. Not wanting to move for the fear of being admonished. You wait. Still. Obedient. It fells like an eternity. Your mind wonders. Maybe no one else is there. Maybe he left while you were lost in your thoughts. You feel drunk. Wet. Head swimming. You feel yourself dripping. You hear another footstep. This time from your right. It is high heels. You try and picture her. Her body. The color of her hair. Does she have fair white skin and dark nail polish? She reaches for you. She tightens your blindfold. Oh no. It wasn’t tight enough. Are they disappointed. Will this end now? Will you be sent on your way never knowing who these people were or what they looked like? But no. No my dear. She puts a collar around your neck and leads you towards where the man sat earlier. You get closer to his chair. He runs his hand down the curve of your ass, slowly, methodically, down the hem of your skirt, down your thigh, around the back of your knee and strokes your leg. You are hopping he runs it up your leg again. But he doesn’t. You won’t get what you want so easily. You’ll have to be patient. She leads you around in a semi-circle. There are others there. She stops at each one. Is this going to be the strong hand of a man, or the soft skin of a woman? You can’t see them but you know they are looking you up and down before they touch you. They touch where they want. How they want. The last one isn’t sitting down. He is standing. You are very close to him. You can smell his cologne. He walks around you. Strokes your hair. You can feel his breath on your neck. He leans closer. His stubble brushes your cheek. He runs his other hand around your neck and grips it. You want him to tighten his grip but he holds it just on the periphery of where you want. Teasing you right at the edge. He lets go. You didn’t get what you wanted. So close. Then slap! Hard. Across your face. Yes. Yes. If you could you would beg for more. You would fall to your knees and beg him for another one. Harder. To stop the teasing. To stop the unknown. But no. The girl yanks your hair. It is sudden. Your pussy responds. She leads you away from them. To a bed. You reflexively bend over. On all fours. On the bed. Your ass towards the men who you can’t see. You feel it against your skin. It is cold. She moves it quickly and the blade rips through one stocking. Before you can process this she rips the other one. Your wetness grows. If only you could have relief. She puts force between your shoulder blades signaling you to push your head down. You comply being the good girl that you are. Your body forms a long slender shape, a seductive curve sloping down from the roundness of your ass to the arch of your back, over you shoulders, flattening to your long outstretched tied arms. She runs the blade up your inner thigh. Your excitement grows as it gets closer to your panties but she flicks it away from your body instead and cuts through the back of your skirts with one motion. Your ass, your soaking panties are now on display for the men. Your skirt cut in half, opened up, like petals of a flower. Like your pussy lips opening in anticipation of a hard cock. Begging to be filled. You can’t hide the fact that you like it. They know it. You know it. You can hear them smile. Pleased with what a good obedient girl you are. You hear them walk towards you. Slowly. Nonchalantly. Knowing exactly what they want to do with you and they will do it and you can’t wait for them to get closer. And then just before they get there you notice the cold chain that has been caressing your right ass cheek. Your thoughts of what is to come, of to get fucked, must have clouded the sensation earlier. You realize that it is a long thin chain and it moves in sync with the girl’s body. She is also theirs. She too is here to serve them. You drip with anticipation as you wait for what is to come next knowing that at the end of it all, after all that you will endure in the next hours, all the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation, the mind fuck, the denied orgasms, at the end of it all there will be warmth, satisfaction and contentment.

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Bravo. My goodness. You anons, however many there are, are always welcome here.

Especially you. I like the way you think.

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I was never much of a biter. But I dated a girl who definitely was. She used to love to grab my hand, my fingers, my neck and bite down. She used to love the marks it left. She loved to be able to run her fingers over it and see the marks of her teeth that were left some prominently for a few minutes. 

And after a while? I started to bite back. 

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The Southern Gentleman: My frequency of listening to Stronger has drastically increased in the last few days. And it’s all your fault.

Me: Why is it my fault?

SG: You know that line “I’d do anything for a blonde dyke”? 

Me: But I’m not a…

SG: Shhhh.

thefashiondontlivewithoutvogue:

“Blondshell!” – Vogue Germany June 2010

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I suppose one day I’ll have to get to my car exhibitionism story. Maybe. If you ask nicely.