Hi, Dan Savage

Dear Dan,

I've been an admirer of yours since I discovered that the AV Club carried your column, back, let's say, early aughts. I was younger and more of a newbie into what I desired back then, and while I was titillated by the questions you answered, I equally appreciated the safe and sane and OPEN answers you gave to so many questions.

I bought your books. I recommended them to others, in the hope that more people would recognize what I saw in you, that there is value to every person, despite his kink, her desire, their compatibility. You opened my eyes and I wanted all eyes open.

(Can you imagine the conversations I had to have with my Reagan-era-Republican mother about gay marriage and adoption - you probably can - and more recently, the long conversations I've had to have with an aunt who truly didn't understand why straight men find two women kissing hot?) I carried you on my sword and your published resources as a guide, and I tried to listen, be open, and in turn, perhaps ask others to consider a more forgiving existence.

But I saw you introduce Hump in 2010, and things started to change. I heard your jokes about waist/body size. And now I see the cracks in your armor a bit more, as evidenced by this. I know that it's easier to make fun of the rounder people. It's an obvious flaw, out in the open, causing everyone else to move just a bit more aside for the benefit of another. It's a sigh, a look, a comment - hell, it's the energy on which YouTube feeds itself!

Has it occurred to you, though, that maybe, just maybe (and this is my theory) that excess weight is pain carried on the outside? I would certainly think so, as I think you to be an intelligent, well-read man. So would you read a little more, please, for people who hurt in ways that don't yet have words, for those trying to reform but for whom the gaping maw still hungers? Would you consider that maybe the fat joke is the equivalent joke to slurs from the past?

Maybe just consider that being overweight isn't a character flaw. Y'know, like finding your own path isn't.

An Email From Beyond

You know that myHim and I have known each other for over twenty years, right? Well, thanks to the glory of Yahoo mail, I recently found an email exchange between us from 2000. Here's how we sound when we speak (as we both write the way we speak):

Bonus points if you can rapidly figure out who's who:

From: me
To: myHim
Sent: Sunday, June 25, 2000 4:21 PM
Subject: (Not really) rocking the casbah


> You know, you surely could have picked a month ago to decide that you needed my attention. I searched high and low for you for the 4 days o'decadence I had there. Figured you might show up at some of the hot spots, but apparently I've no idea what they are now. Damn! Ah, well, que sera, sera.

How was the trip? There are a few cool places to go. East [location redacted] is
the hepcat new spot in town. It's kind of like L5P, but not so commercial
and, I hate to say it, Generation Y. Lots of cool food and drink, and a
couple of music halls.

> So, leaving us, eh? But the question remains, will you still call me when your heart's broken? I'd miss those random calls if they stopped coming. I am sorry to hear about you and [name redacted], but it seems you're handling it well (or you're a heck of a liar).

I've always taken pride in my innate lying skills. I have good days and
bad days. Remember, if only she hadn't been 15 years older, it might have
been wildly different. Of course, that wasn't the only reason. She has a
house and kids here, I wanted to move, I also want my own chilluns
someday...I'll probably stick to emailing you when my heart's broken; if
(when) I get this job out west it's going to be super-expensive.

> Why SanFran? It's expensive there and so many damn people that I'll be surprised if you resist the Uzi urge. Of course, I'm always invited, right? You'll need the alibi.

You are welcome anytime. Why SF? I know two people there (my Los
Angeles connection bombed out), earthquakes, and freaks, freaks, freaks. You
would be surprised how dot-com conservative [location redacted] is. And yeah, that's my term. Feel free to use it everywhere you see Dockers and Martha Stewart. Don't get me wrong, I love the old Nazi decorator, but her fans-yeesh!!

> So, are you victor now, or has mp3.com not updated info on the band? I'm listening to it now as I write. You don't mind the "She's only 17" giggle, do you? I'm afraid I can't resist. Who's [part of terrible band name redacted], anyway? Am I ill-read? Probably. All I read now are emails from irate customers. I love my job. Jealous?

Victor is gone, and they just don't update. [Name redacted] is the lead singer's
wife (yowp!) Ill-read? I'm not sure. I've been getting dumber lately, and am
just now trying to turn it around...

> So what are these interviews for? I mean, aside from CEO, of course. I'm sure you've got many takers for your ingenious creativity. I mean, they've got your resume, right? So they know you're a master of word games.

Mostly just layout and design stuff using Illustrator, Freehand, and
Photoshop. I would rather be a rock star (think Peter Gabriel meets Butthole
Surfers or Janes Addiction), but the computer pays the bills. All hail King
Computer!! As an aside, you know, I really wanted the whole Y2K bug to hit
fairly hard. Or at least, have all the power go out for about five seconds.
Think of the dry cleaning bill!

> I can't resist--tragical? Please tell me there's a drug-induced tale behind that one. At least it's an excuse to whip out the old buckled creepers and mousse that you've been hiding for years. (Yes, that was me, peeking through the window that night.)

It was SUPPOSED to be a play on the Beatles' "Magical Mystery Tour"; try the "Tragical Misery Tour" on for size! But instead, I sound like I'm in high school. And the last pair of boots I bought have buckles to the knees, thank you very much!

> So I suppose I ought to fill you in on me. Since I haven't seen you in a year......{Name redacted] and I split up in December and are now on the slow, incredibly painful route to getting back together. I've never done well playing by someone else's rules, but I'm doing my best now. I've got to if I want him. Hopefully this won't be an eternal thing and I'll end up some fat housewife in a muumuu picking up dust bunnies so I don't get beat again.

Beat by love? Beat by [name redacted]? Kinky beatings or abusive? There is a
world of difference, let me tell you.

> Work's good, I guess. There's a lot going on there so I'm pretty lame now. I've got a conference to put together, with pretty much no help. Still, if it works, I smell a raise! And, dream of dreams, my own place. [My college roommate] still wants me to live with her but I so badly want something of my own.

Do I know [my college roommate]? Is that the girl [name redacted] used to date? Have I slept with her??? Just kidding (I think).

> Well, o ye of the steady beat, I shall wander off now and try to find another way to debase myself for his pleasure.

MMMmmmm...debasement. Actually one of the issues that [name redacted] and I had
trouble with. I'll fill you in sometime when you're feeling filthy.

> Fight the power!

I'd rather usurp and BECOME the power!
Luv and shit-
myHim
p.s. Write back; there are a few [location redacted] I would rather not lose touch
with...

Fantasies

Here are things I've been using as source material for stories, games for myHim and me to play, and masturbation:

- Me as a pleasure goddess, chained to a ceiling and worshiped by followers, all who lavish attention on my breasts and nipples, and fight over who can use their fingers on my clitoris first. For as the giver of the pleasure, I must be the first to experience it so the others can as well.

- An interrogation room, where I am unaware of the two-way mirror, being beaten into confessing something, anything, yet the goal of the questioning is not to provide answers, but to demonstration the limits of my body to those watching the encounter.

- A gang bang, where I am of use solely for the holes I can provide. I am nothing to these people, yet painfully abused, because myHim likes me that way.

I miss writing.

New Limits

There have been so many things I've asked for, and so few that we've actually done, because he knows me better than I know me.

Until this weekend.

Now that the medications have left myHim's system, he's back to being the lively, alive, dirty, dirty man that I remember and have wanted.

One day, I might tell you about the months of tears, arguments, and sadness that accompany sex drives that are not on the same page. That being said, I'm sure that many of the advice columnists out there have answered questions regarding the problem. That being said, no offense to those columnists, but were it so easy when love (and finances) are involved.

I've always said that I gave up my ability to say, "No", with myHim, and that still stands. He's more careful about such things in general because the repercussions are so much harsher for him, and I can only imagine the recriminations I've receive.

So.

The other night I openly begged to be slapped, because I love the feeling, and generally he does it with one hand cradling my jaw and the other applying the pressure. Something must have come over him that night because he slapped me so hard, numerous times, that my jaw hurt the next day. I now have hand prints on my left cheek and have been fortunate that I can stay home while I heal. It's strange to see myself with marks so visible. The prints on my lower cheek. The bruise along the bottom of my lip. The mark above my eye. I loved every minute of the pain, and I do love wearing his marks.

Still...I'm reminded of a past relationship where there was much unconsentual violence, and I wonder if I am one of those who tries to work through trauma by re-creating it with some control. I don't think so, intellectually speaking. This was years ago; I had it out with this partner, and I've worked in DV shelters which helped me really understand the psychology and cyclical nature of that kind of control. But how can I not wonder? Will more of experimenting with the kinds of love that I crave quiet that voice?

Cheating

Let's have a chat, shall we? I have such a way of ignoring you, of not deciding to share...true. Yet I hope you'll lend an ear/eye to this.

Today is my general lazy, self-indulgent day. If you don't have such a day, I highly recommend that you find you one. You deserve it, and fuck the world, it'll be there another day, just like every single Monday finds a way to raise its sun and your eyes.

Regardless.

Wandering through TV, I found something on the OWN network about cheating. OK, fine, whatever, until it turned into an episode featuring people with whom I went to college.

Now shit's real.

I watched, tried not to judge, failed, and landed solely on the side of the wife. Yes, I knew her and not her husband; yes, it's Oprah's channel so who do you think is going to pay; and yes, it's a thirty-minute once-over featuring inappropriate shots of husband and mistress over a sound board.

Charming to see, I'm sure, for the wife.

Surrender

MyHim hurts me. You know that, right? He's rarely emotionally violent, and only physically violent when I ask for it and when he feels it's a good time.

He's actually more grown up than I about such things. I expect punishment for a myriad of my actions, but when I ask, he tells me that he will never hurt me because he's upset. Only because of the situation.

You know that I have scars from myHim? That he's run a Wartenburg wheel over me until I bled? That I have teeth marks on my ribcage from a bite? This last time, he did soft tissue damage to my shoulder. Once he was done, he asked me how I handle the pain.

Here's how I handle the pain: It hurts like fire, like I don't know what, until the endorphins kick in, and then I can relax and let it go. Even when the pain continues, the body protects itself. And I relax. And I surrender, because that's the moment I've waited for. I can breathe through the pain (and ohgod it hurts) because the surrender is there. Peace.

All my life I fight. In those moments, I don't.

My Name is Inapprop

If you look at this site at all, you might have noticed that I've taken a hiatus from writing. Even longer than the last hiatus. I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes and let me explain.

Just about everything I've written on this site is autobiographical. Not everything (but I'm hoping those posts were prophesy and not fantasy) is true, but most is. After a while, I began to run out of things to say. You may know that myHim lives far from me (for now), so there really is a limit on what I have to say. Also, it took me years to realize what I really wanted in a satisfying sex life, so older stories wouldn't have the same type of appeal. There's a reason why erotica gets extreme, right? Otherwise, we'd all spend our lives reading bodice-rippers and wondering if that's all there is.

To add to this, myHim and I have been struggling with how much of our life I keep private and how much I tell the world. Admittedly, I have a limited audience, but he is exceedingly private and isn't entirely comfortable with any sort of social media or web publishing. I want to respect his wishes as much as I want to share, so sometimes I stay quiet.

You should probably know about this exchange:
In the middle of a perfectly normal conversation one Friday night a few months ago, apropos of nothing, he yells, "ARE YOU FUCKING ANYONE ELSE?" "No," I answer. "Are you?"

That was pretty much the end of what is generally considered an open relationship. Now all games and others are confined within us, although we're always looking for willing partners.

So I plan to move this site in a slightly different direction. I will tell you the prurient details of some really fun, mind-expanding, and certainly painful sexual encounters, but I will also write of my life with myHim and separately, my own life. There are many changes coming, pretty rapidly, and I've got a lot to figure out.

I hope you'll join me.

Rest

As I'm lying still, on my side, I feel your hands move over me. I'm mostly asleep, but my body reacts to your fingers and I move closer to you. "Don't," you whisper, as your hand reaches lower down my stomach. "Don't," you say, as you reach between my thighs and your fingers graze my clit. "Don't," you tell me, as you start working me and everything in me wants to turn over and open myself more to you. The wetness I can feel, that you use against me, over, and over, makes me breathe harder.

"Don't you dare move." I stay still, trying to control my increasing need to pant and move. Finally, after minutes of adoration of my clit, do I feel your other hand pulling my torso over, and your breathe against my breast. My hips still balanced on each each other, the palm of your hand now forcing its way down to my clit, your fingers dancing around my pussy, your teeth biting my nipple, I find it hard to maintain the balance.

I'm waiting for you to pull my hips apart, to take what's yours. I want to buck against your teeth and your hand; I want to be more available; make every opening yours.

"Move, and you'll pay. You'll hurt for days." I know those words are true, so I stay still but begin to feel eruptions in my body. "Please," I whisper, because there's nothing more. You take your mouth from my erect, painfully red hipple and kiss me. "There'll be no more talk from you. Trust me."

10am, Saturday Morning

I feel wider, more open, more broken. I awake to the sound of light snoring, my legs curled around me, moving toward myHim. I know how to stop the snoring; light touches across his face, loving fingers draped across his neck.

It soothes him, and me, to feel the pads of my fingers on his skin. Once that’s done, I realize that I need release and upon doing so, I start to feel the pain.

He got so close last night; I could see the widest part of his hand inside me before I couldn’t take any more. I wanted it – I wanted his whole hand inside me, I wanted his cock deep into my ass, I wanted the thrusting into my cunt. Hard thrusts into me, no matter what he used or where he was. I didn’t think of consequences, I didn’t think of the pain, I surely didn’t think of the strange emptiness I have this morning without him inside me.

I didn’t think I would crave more even as I heal.

Pain

When I run my hands over your body, I can feel you relax. You love the touch of my fingers, hands, my nails. Every morning, there's nothing I love more than feeling your body release under my hands.

Your painful torso loves my touch on your ribs. Everything on you hurts, my poor baby. I can massage your feet, your thighs, your back, your temples. When I rub on your head, I reach for your hair and pull. You relax when I pull your hair. There's nothing I love more than feeling your body move to my hands. There's nothing you love more than when I ask you if you want rubs.

Rubs is what we call it. I force my hands and elbows into your poor tired back, and when I do it right, I can feel you align. And breathe better. Then you fall back to sleep in my arms. And you are safe.

Machine

I'm lying down, knowing that my punishment will come. It will come this time in the version of my own destrustion. Legs tied apart, lifted and wide open. Arms attached to the top of the table on which I'm strewn.

I've craved and worried about this for a while. Open and ready for the cock machine to have me. I cannot escape; I cannot do anything but take and take and take. I want it, but I don't at the same time. I am grateful to have no choice.

As the camera rolls, so does the machine. It moves in and out of me, a bit slowly at first, but then the jackhammering begins.

As I begin. I want to buck and move and avoid and enjoy, but I cannot. I'm held still, taking its every thrust into me. My pussy open for each movement. Although I don't mean to, I begin to get wetter and wetter as it has me. I can feel the camera recording my movements and excitement, as I finally begin to fuck this mechancial cock back. My movements are limited; I belong to the machine.

Is there anyhing better than being required to come on this?

Tyra

I awoke from a nap apparently answering the questions from her quiz in my sleep, and I was seriously brassed off. So I rewound the show to the beginning and decided to answer her "cheating" quiz here...I'll be honest, so let's go:

1. Do you think all men cheat?
No. I think most men do, but I don't think all do. There can be a few reasons for not cheating, ranging from belief in the traditional form of relationships to being too afraid. Note that my final (perhaps) reason is because he doesn't want to.

2. Do you think all women cheat?
No. I would suppose that fewer women than men cheat. My reason for this is that the repercussions are much more real for women than men. Who catches the illnesses, generally? Women. Do gets pregnant? Women. (This is assuming a heterosexual cheat.)

3. Would you give some permission to cheat?
Giving permission negates the term "cheat". You cannot cheat on someone who's given you their permission, assuming honesty in the relationship. I have only my own experience on which to rely here - myHim cannot cheat on me unless he lies to me about it, and vice versa. Cheating inplies dishonesty, and I believe dishonesty is what pulls people apart. Trust is much more important than fidelity.

4. Is sexting someoe other thn your mate cheating?
I hope not. I don't think so. Do I love the idea of my partner talking sexy to another person? No. But I do it, and as much as I want to be a hypocrite, I cannot. I'd prefer not to know about this, however. I don't consider it cheating, consider it a part of flirting, and I think flirting with other people enhances one's own relationship.

5. Is it cheating if you kiss someone other than your mate?
Depends on the intent. A kiss, for fun or for a few seconds of connection, is fine. A kiss as a prelude to something else is a bit different to me. Call me generation Pretty Woman, but I can live with a whole lot of touching much more than I can live with making out.

6. Is it cheating if you flirt with someone else besides your mate?
NO!!! I believe that the goal of flirting between two parties is for both parties to feel better than they did before having that interaction. In truth, I get a kick out of watching myHim use his game, and I know he loves watching me at mine. Maybe that's the thing, though - we're mostly open about such things. I can admit to twinges of jealousy when he tells me a story, and he occasionally gets jealous of me. OK - flirting can be dangerous, so know your goal before you get into it. Or at least know where your loyalties lie.

7. Is a date with someone else besides your mate cheating?
I've been a fantastic wingwoman for myHim and gotten him dates. He has not done the same for me, but he knows that I date other people. My rule in this is the hierarchy: myHim at the top, and others in various positions. But no-one ever rivals him. So is it cheating? Not if we're honest.

8. Have you ever caught your mate in bed with someone else?
Nope.

9. Have you ever found incriminating photos in your mate's belongings?
No, but then again, I do not snoop. If I know any truth at all, it's this: Don't go digging into someone else's belongings. You'll find what you never wanted to know. And it'll be in a form you never expected. Why look for trouble?

10. Have you ever caught your mate having an online relationship?
No. MyHim doesn't have internet.

11. Have you ever found someone else's underwear in your mater's belongings?
No, but I left one of my bras at his place recently, and I cannot wait to get it back. It's my best-fitting bra!

12. Have you ever kissed someone else while you were in a relationship?
Yes. Probably every relationship I've ever had. I'm not good at the one-person-forever paradigm.

13. Have you ever had sex with someone else outside your relationship?
Please see #12 above.

14. Have you ever been caught cheating?
In the act? No. But caught? Sure. You can't act the way I do and expect to never get caught. I hate that I hurt other people, though.

15. Have you ever had sex with someone who is married?
Not to my knowledge. I cannot imagine that a man who wants to fuck me is going to tell me all about his precious wife, though. I have kissed a man I knew to be married though.

Weekend Edition

MyHim invited his neighbor over for burgers and home fries. I had a bone to pick with his neighbor; he posted something not good on Facebook involving myHim.

So I thought. Until we met. Furtive glances, flirty comments, occasional touching. This man is younger, but so beautiful.

We went to the deck to talk and smoke, and once the conversation started, we all knew what was going to happen. I could barely keep my clothes on as we went back to myHim's apartment.

Tongues on me - both boys enjoying me. The neighbor went down on me, as myHim kissed me. Oh, the neighbor was good. Wet, with pressure, he made me start working my hips against him. That tongue made it perfect. He kept sucking my clit as he worked my nipples, and myHim kissed me over and over and I didn't know where to focus. So I let them focus on me.

Finally I got the neighbor on his back so I could pull his cock into my mouth, and I felt my hips moved into position. Yes! One man in my throat and another in my very wet cunt. And it was perfect. And that's exactly where I'm supposed to me, taking care of one man while being used by another.

Training

We went shopping today, to explore and to see what works for us. Once we hit the bullet aisle, we found something in common. I mentioned that once there is a remote control for a mini-vibrator, I didn't understand the point.

He did.

He mentioned that it would be amazing to have someone attached to the device, and another to control its impulses. I said, "Like training?" He just grinned at me.

So I now have a device that will force me to come when he wants me to. I love that. I love knowing that we can shop and I'll get wet, so wet, and ready - yet I can't show it off. I'm not good at hiding my desire and need. This tends to get me into trouble.

I cannot wait to play with our new toy.

He lies me down, reminds me of the rules. "First I get you, then I watch you, then I get you again." This calms me down. I breathe, knowing that I trust him and I want this experience. I lie back, spreading my legs in anticipation of his cock. "Please, baby," I tell him, and a smile spreads over his face. "You don't have to say please - it's going to happen. But I love when you say please."

Entering me, he exhales. I grip his cock with my cunt muscles, and I can feel him feel their strength. He moves against me, pushing hard into me, as I get wetter even higher so I can take all of him. Movements, motions, I keep pulling him in. He shoves one of my legs over his shoulder while looking into my eyes. He's entirely in me now. He moves his cock in me, pulling out more to tease me. To make me beg for his cock again. "Please, baby," I tell him, as he deigns to push harder into me.

Harder, so much harder, that it feels like he's pushing back my cervix. I try to retreat - this is painful, but not painful, yet my instinct is to retreat. He won't let me move away; he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back down to take him in as I did before.

The feeling of him banging my cervix, over and over, gets me wetter and more ready to come. "Come in me, baby, come in me," I tell him, as I feel his cock stiffening with my words. I will take all the pain because it reminds me of exactly who I am. I am his. He owns me, and I love him for for this.

His moans make my clit swell even more, as he mumbles, "I'm going to come." I was almost there already. His sounds, his words, make me finally explode. "Baby, oh, my baby," I whisper as he finally explodes into my cunt. I can feel his come against my cervix, filling me and running out of me. My mind is gone; I'm full of pleasure and I just want more. "Please, baby," I think as my throat makes gutteral noises.

Him, me. His weight on my body, his still-stiff cock in me, lets me maintain my orgasm and keep trying to pull him back in. "Soon, my girl," he tells me, as e moves away from me.

Next he pulls out the restraints and attaches my arms. There's more to come, more cocks to have, more to explore, but I love having him first.

I feel his hands move near me. Slap! I feel, as he hits my thighs, forcing them apart with his movements. My legs open, each slap harder, more insistant. I feel my wetness increase. Having him near me always has me ready, but the strength of his palms increase my readiness.

I'm open now, available, excited and a bit raw from his intensity. He's over me now, and his arms move under my thighs, pulling my legs up and wider. As he positions himself between my legs, I raise them higher, around his back. My ankles intertwine in readiness. I'm not yet touching him, but he's where he should be.

The first thrust makes me gasp. My head rolls back; I feel him move deeper into me. I extend down to accept his hard cock all the way into me.

I look up at him, wrapping my arms around his back, pulling him closer. He pulls away, so I bring my arms back and run my fingers over his chest and arms, feeling the muscles contract. I watch his face - he's determined as he runs into me, again and again.

He looks down at me and smiles. Now, I think, please, now. He raises his body away and I look between my legs to see that thick, hard cock move in and out of me. Watching him in me makes me wetter. I can feel the beginnings of orgasm, just because I can see him in me. He looks down as well, and then his movements change.

He gets harder now, and bangs my cervix over and over again. It would be painful if it weren't for his face, body, smell all over me.

He looks at me again, then raises his head and focuses. I'm close, more ready with each thrust. He, with each entry, says, Mine. Mine. Mine. Those words, him in me, it's perfect. I begin to come, feeling his girth in every part of my pussy, his length against my tightening cervix. Mine, mine, mine. I explode and feel him do the same in me. His come in me, his cock in me, is why I exist.

Story Via Text

All curves and heat, these three women are driven by lust and the smell of your body. One lies astride you, exploring your chest with her tongue.

Another straddles your head, massaging your face with her warm fingers. The last, the youngest, moves eagerly around your legs.

She's all enthusiasm, using her hands and askew limbs to learn your tight muscles. You relax, dropping your legs apart as she pushes her head between them.

The sound of kisses and the smell of sex permeate the room. You find you can no longer stay still as these women writhe around you and take you into them. Teeth, tongues, fingers. Flesh on flesh on flesh.

(I know, not my best. But not too shabby considering I was at work and interacting with a coworker while writing these texts in less than 5 minutes. Tell me a little of what you like and I'll write something for you.)

A Dream, A Memory

Last night I dreamt that he watched me shower, and then led me to the floor in front of my parents' bed in order to fuck me. Do what thou whilst, Freudians...

But it reminded me of an interesting evening I shared with a guy from high school. It was graduation time, and he had never shown any interest in me before. My only interest in him was because my best friend had a thing for him, and him her. So of course this meant that I had to have him.

He called me over to his house one evening, and I went, wearing a cute shorts-and-top outfit. There were candles and soft lighting, conversation, lingering glances, but not much else; still, the room felt charged with erotica. He pulled out a camera and told me he wanted to film me. I was awkward and shy - I've never liked my still image, and I knew I wouldn't like a my moving image. But I felt powerless beneath him and I agreed to be taped.

He asked me questions about my thoughts about friends, graduation, and plans. He asked me how much life experience I'd had. He asked me about my sexual experience. Then, with my hand running over the top of my left breast, he told me that I was a slut. I paused. He said it again, more gently, "You're a slut. You know you are," and smiled at me in a way that made me tingle.

"Now tell me, tell me you're a slut. Look into the camera and tell it that you're a slut." And I did. I did because I wanted him. I said it because I didn't believe it as much as I did believe it.

He leaned me back, pushed my shorts and panties aside, and entered me. We fucked, fully clothed, and then, after he returned from washing his hands, I knew I was dismissed. I left, and on my way home, it occurred to me that we had never kissed.

Show Off

"Lie back, my girl," he tells me, as I recline across the bed. "I want you to do something for me. Something you've resisted, and it's about damn time you've shown me."

He hands me my toys, the ones he's seen in the drawer and sometimes, fully fitted with batteries and next to my bedside. "Tonight, you're going to get yourself off for me."

I take the smaller vibrator from him and warm it with my hands. I'm not good at showing off like this, because the stories I tell myself in my head are not always the fantasies I want to share. This real occasion is one of my favorites, and I want to be good for him - for me.

I reach down with the pink vibrator in my right hand and open myself with my left hand. I spread open my lips and touch the right side of my clit with the buzzing vibrator, feeling the sensation wrap around me. It makes me twitch and want to lift my hips, but I have to be sure that I'm actually getting myself off and not just pleasing him. He knows the difference. As I rub myself with the toy, the sensations begin, and I wonder when I'll get so wet I'll drip down my inner thighs. Soon. Very soon.

Light touches and then harder ones. I know exactly where I want to be massaged with the vibrator, and I know that he wants to see, to know more exactly where I get my pleasure.

I feel the wetness from inside my cunt and reach for the curved blue long vibrator. I switch it on before putting it inside me. I fuck myself like he does - no pretense. He likes to be in me before I realize it and am ready. I feel the tip reach my cervix and push further. I run the smaller toy over and over, from underneath, the tip of my clit.

I'm writhing now, and trying to pull myself away from such pleasure. I can see him above me. He's got his cock in his hand, stroking quickly, and I mirror his movements. "Oh, baby, oh," I tell him, as I get closer to coming.

"You want my cock?" he asks me, and I absolutely do. "You'll have it once you get yourself off, and you better come before I do. Your timing determines how many people you will have tonight. They will fuck you and not care."

First Night

As I rested my body across him, he posed a question. "Will you suck my cock?" he asked, and honestly, I giggled. He said, "Or laugh at me." I told him to give me few minutes. It had been a while since I'd been near his body, and I wanted to explore all of him before we started fucking.

I ran my fingers over his tattoos, tantalizing him. After a bit of touches and kisses, my fingers neared his belly button. Soon after, my mouth followed. I licked at him, wandering my hands, body, mouth, tongue.

Without even realizing where I was, I found my mouth at the base of his cock. HIS cock. The one I've adored forever. My first lap at him was perfection. His reaction was more so. I sucked him in, savoring his taste, his shape, his movements - to get him more comfortable.

On him, I sucked, and sucked, and sucked. He's so big - it's hard to take him in entirely. Yet his cock swelled under my tongue, and although I knew it would be perfection for him to come in my mouth, he pulled me away.

"Kiss me," he said. So I did. The taste of his mouth and his cock at the same time made me move over him.

"Put my cock into you," he said, and I guided him into my cunt. I was already wet, anticipating what I wanted to happen. I was astride him, feeling his cock hit my every depth. "Wait, no..." I exhaled, for he was so big that it almost hurt.

"Please, baby," I said, as I tried to raise myself over him again. His hands grabbed my hips and forced me down, to take him in fully. He hit my cervix and beyond again and again.

"Tell me that you're my slut - my slut wife," he told me. "I am," I panted, as I got closer to orgasm.

"TELL ME," he said. As I came, so hard, I said, "I am your slut wife. Any and every one."