I've got the entries up and running. If I've done my math right, the poll runs until midnight on Wednesday. If I haven't, it runs until 3 p.m. on Wednesday. So vote early, is what I guess I'm saying. I'll be posting the rules for the new contest shortly!
Enjoy!
Entry #1: Watching
I like walking around naked. And, these days, I like her watching. The first time I saw her? I’d looked up out of my window and saw her, looking down into my apartment. Her shirt was open, her hands were down her skirt, and well…who wouldn’t have put on a show for a pretty lady like that?
She’s ready for me. Does she know that I know? Maybe. I sit down on the sofa, knowing that she can still see me. There’s nothing on the TV. Don’t need nothing. I’ve got her. In the window. In my head.
She’s got a great ass. Can see her playing with it right now. I would lick it, slap it, cover it in hot white come dripping down her thighs. I stroke my cock, hips raising up. She’s playing with her pussy, two fingers plunging deep into her cunt, and…Jesus. Wouldn’t it taste like peaches and wine? Wouldn’t I lick her up like cream and honey? I close my eyes. It does. I do.
What’s she doing now? Her hands move slowly then quickly in and out of her sweet quim, and she bites her lip. Holding a scream back. But it’s coming. I stroke harder, pumping my hips up. Shit. Fuck. God.
She’s close. I can see it. I’m pleading. Come for me, baby. Please. Please. She freezes. Her head is thrown back. Heaven. I come. Hot liquid pouring into my hand. My eyes close, and when I look up, she’s gone.
Entry #2: Watching Her Leglock the Pillow
She said it’s not pretty. I said I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was watch her get off. She said she wasn’t sure she’d be able to with me there. Once she’d described how she masturbated. It sounded so deliciously primitive. Ever since, I’d been wanting to watch her. Kept asking her. Pleading really. So she finally gave in, said she’d try.
One night we were in bed reading, typical husband and wife stuff. She had one of her erotica collections. Me, a news magazine. Eventually I noticed her squirming. Glanced sideways at her. Saw her face, intent, glass of merlot held close to her lips. She must be reading a good part I thought. Wondered what was turning her on. She took a sip of wine, turned the page, moved her ass again. I heard an indrawn breath, saw her close the book.
She glanced at me. Without exchanging words we knew. I imagined her pussy wet. Left my bedside lamp on. At first she kept the cover pulled up, but I could see her hand move between her legs. Her eyes closed, her breathing became heavier. She flipped onto her stomach, grabbed a pillow, placed it folded between her legs. I carefully pulled the sheet back. With her face buried in the mattress, she frantically humped the pillow, making low, animalistic noises. Suddenly she grunted, held still, trembled as she came. That was fast.
And I was hard.
Entry #3: What Was I Doing?
The email says: You are in trouble.
My knees are watery, my insides hot. I bite my lip, try to focus. What was I doing? Oh, yes, the Pinski file.
Click! says my email. My stomach flutters as I double click.
Email: I’m really sorry but I have to…
I turn back. Shuffle papers. Shift in my seat. My panties are wet, head thumping, heart racing. What was I doing?
Click!…punish you. I’m thinking the small leather one. Square. WHORE it says. Whores get off at work. Did you know that?
I turn back. Cross my legs. Uncross. Wiggle in my seat. Shut my eyes. WHAT. WAS. I. DOING?
Click!
Email: You know what else whores do?
I shuffle the paper but in my head I hear us. The crack of the paddle he’s talking about. The sting of his hand on my red flesh. The pushing and the fingering. The fucking and the biting.
Click!…They pull aside their panties and touch themselves in public.
My hands are shaking. I shimmy so my skirt rides up. Spread my legs. Push aside my panties. Touch myself. Stroke. Circle. Fingers in my cunt, fingers in my mouth to get them wetter. Fingers moving.
Click!…They bite their tongue when they come so their punishment isn’t worse.
Fingers fly. I bite my tongue when I come.
My email: I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I am a whore. See you at home?
My face blazes. I laugh a little.
Click!… I’ll be waiting.
Entry #4: The Power of Words
"Where do you do it? In bed? In the bathroom? Do you think of me as you're plunging your fingers into your slit?"
I like to watch, and I’m genuinely curious. But, my writer girlfriend is shy, barely willing to talk about it, let alone actually do it in front of me.
At work, an email popped up on my screen:
"In the morning, I do it at my desk, in my swivel chair. I think of you as I squirm side to side, reveling in the moistness you inspire."
OK, that was hot.
"In the afternoon, I do it at the gym. I get all sweaty, then I shower. I imagine you running the slippery soap all over me, and me kneeling down to suck you dry as the warm water washes over us."
Jesus, that was fucking hot. Now I’m squirming in my own swivel chair.
"In the evening, I imagine my hands tied to the bedpost with that blue silk tie I like, and your tongue slowly savoring my cream."
That’s it. I unzip and grab my shaft.
"As I write this, I think about you reading it. What are you doing? I think about watching you."
I’m really working it now. God, I hope the phone doesn't ring or my secretary doesn't walk in.
In the moment of blissful release, I make a discovery. I do like to watch. But, reading about it is not bad either.
Entry #5: What Matters
I’m not holding it because it’s my cock. I’m holding it because it anchors the story in my head. If I want to accelerate, I grip it harder, slide the ring of fingers faster.
But my cock is not what matters. What matters is you in my mind’s eye, lowering yourself onto my face; or splaying your legs, beyond a hiked nightie, at the edge of the bed; or humping your hillocks toward the ceiling, with your sly fingers burrowing past your belly to meet your clit halfway. My cock, half-forgotten, throbs hard in my clutch, while I inhabit the world you perfume into being by dripping femininity into my imagination.
When you’re here, I care that I have a cock: I care that what protrudes from the juncture of my legs is what you crave at the juncture of your own. I care that I possess a device that’s suited to your needs and your hopes. My cock can, literally speaking, go where my mind cannot. If only my consciousness could physically penetrate your pussy along with this crude shaft. Could I bring you a new kind of ecstasy, tickling your cunt with my thoughts?
Right now, when I’m home alone, the cock is a footnote. It’s the thing that I lose control of; the thing through which my passion—temporarily—exits; the thing that messes up my sheets. It’s a necessary but not sufficient condition for my orgasm—a serviceable lever I pull, with my eyes closed.
Entry #6: "Desk Job"
There she was, bent over his desk. Her short skirt tightened over her fine ass, raising a little as she leaned further into the conversation, allowing me a peek at her crotch, and her bare pussy.
My cock had been hard for her all day. And she knew it. My hard on twitched, getting harder with every thought. Her clean slit, my tongue slurping up her juices…
I needed to come, and I wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. Surrounded by cubicle walls, there was only one solution.
I lowered my chair, my chest pushed into the desk. Fumbling with my fly, I almost gasped out loud when my erection sprang free. My barely audible reaction reached her ears, and I saw her straighten up. Excusing herself, she silently perched on the edge of my desk, watching me.
Beneath my desk, I stroked my cock, the meat feeling good in my palm. Her tongue flicked out, licking her bottom lip, her nipples hard beneath her sheer blouse. My hand flew faster as I imagined that tongue bathing my shaft, nibbling the head, licking the pre-cum from the tip. I fisted it faster, harder than I had in a long time as I thought about her hot mouth, her hot pussy, her tight ass. My hips thrust upwards, my cock desperate to be shoved in her.
She leaned forward, whispering one word. “Cum.”
Hot white jets of obedience, and relief, hit the bottom of my desk.
“Thank you mistress.”
Entry #7: THE EMPIRE STATE, BUILDING
On my back, left eye shut, I align my hard cock with the Empire State Building -- my bedroom's eastern view -- until its antenna is a needle rising from my prick's eye -- a fleshy hypodermic, ready to inject.
The window in the opposite wall overlooks an apartment building, the nearest room close enough to jump into, were I Spiderman. Every night it presents a beautifully framed scene: a pale girl, face down on an unmade bed, naked except for knee-highs and pink stilettoed Mary Janes, ankles bound together with an ever-changing inventory of unassuming objects: a pair of shoelaces today, a scarf or dishtowel tomorrow. Her hands are beneath her, rump bobbing in air like a cork riding swiftly downstream. She hides her face under a pillow. I coordinate my strokes to match her behind's rhythmic levitations, as if posting atop a galloping horse.
My hand glides up and down my cock as her plump moons rise and fall. I grip myself, holding the Empire State Building. I wonder if the tourists on the Observation Deck know they are part of my erotic strategy. They've waited hours on line to unwittingly appear within the crosshair sight of my warm gun.
My balls ache. A feverish trail bubbles forward from the base of my spine. The Empire State Building turns into a geyser, a firework display. On the landmark's 86th floor dozens of Japanese visitors wearing I [heart] NY buttons open black umbrellas simultaneously. I reach for a tissue.
XXX,
Alison
0 comments:
Post a Comment