I want to learn about you.

I want to know every nuance and thought that passes through your mind. I want to understand what I do that exacerbates you. You don’t know I do it on purpose, because of how cute you look when you crinkle your nose at me.

I want to learn why you do that little squint with your eyes. When you’re thinking. I want to be apart of that moment when you arch your eyebrow, when you’ve found your solution.

I want to know everything there is to know about that little smirk you make. You know the one? Like when I see you dressed for dinner in that salmon dress you just bought, and you come out of the bathroom, looking as spectacular as you do. When my eyes open wide, and my mouth opens just a little, when I stammer out, “you look great.” The smirk you give just before you say, “this old thing?” and giggle at me… 

I want to know you well enough to know everything that goes on in your head at that exact moment.

I want to learn about you.

I want to learn every inch of your flesh. I want to know it intimately. I want to trace my fingertips over every bump, every crease, every scar and every ridge.

I want to examine you, with my hands, my eyes, my mouth, my fingertips and my tongue. I want to know what your body smells like. I want to see every freckle, mole, and dimple. I want to taste and touch you until all of my senses can identify every inch of your body. 

I need to learn your sounds. That little gasp you make when I run my tongue down your collarbone. The purr you make before the contented sigh as my fingers graze your thighs. And the moan. You know the moan, the one you make as I enter you. I want to get to know that moan real well.

I want to know your eyes. The ones that you look at me sideways, when you’re angry. When I know I’ve done something wrong. When the light flickers in them just right and makes me want to stare at you forever. Even as you scold me.

I would like to be schooled in the ways of your mouth. When it turns up when you see me. When it pouts as I refuse you. How it scowls, and growls and when we argue. How it kisses me as we make up.

This isn’t the type of learning that you do in school. There’s no books to read or manual to highlight. It’s a hands on job. It takes time, not measured in classes or terms or semesters. It takes a lifetime. And if you find a partner who’s willing to invest that time, it’s a lifetime well spent.

I want to learn about you. When can we begin?

(Source: staylxfted)

zaza-sant:

piqueyour:

For those of you that are fans of DirtyStoryTime - he wrote a fun, sexy piece for Pique.  Here’s a little preface for the full story:

dirtystorytime:

“If you don’t trust my judgement, you can stand at the counter and pick him out yourself.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Tara,” I said. It wasn’t really that difficult a task. Find a man. A good looking man. Offer him a ‘complimentary’ upgrade, and from there, I would seduce him. 

“Is Upper Class fully booked?” 

Tara’s eyes scanned the passenger manifest before advising, “yes, 15 seats assigned, you have the two you paid for. So your seat, and the extra for your mystery man.”

“Is coach full?” I inquired.

“No. There’s almost 20 empty seats. Hopefully whoever I upgrade doesn’t notice. Or at least question it.”

“Did you get the sushi?”

“Yes, it’s been loaded on the plane for you. Just let me know when you want me to serve it to you. I really don’t understand how you can eat it without the soy sauce and wasabi,” I recognized that sarcastic emphasis she put on the ‘Yes’.

“That’s how they do it in Japan. It’s …”

“Yes, I know. An insult to the chef. Either way, the wasabi is my favorite part,” she interrupted.

“And the hotel is booked, you confirmed?” I questioned.

“Yes, Victoria. I called the Dorchester, you are booked in the Terrace Suite. Overlooking Hyde Park. It’s the room you like,” she sounded impatient with all the questions. I just wanted to ensure everything was arranged.

“You are staying with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara responded.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’, Tara? Where else would you stay?”

“I might have to work. I might have to do the return flight Wednesday. Back to LA.”

“I can’t spend two weeks in London without you,” I sighed. I was not impressed with this at all, “I don’t know why you insist on working still. You know I’d take care of you.”

“If I didn’t work, who would help conspire with you? Who would help pick out your perfect mystery man? Maybe your mystery man will stay with you,” she said, spite added in to her sarcasm.

“Is that what this is about? You know I love you. I just … I just need a man,” I knew it sounded horrible. It was the truth. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dabbled herself. It was an open, bi-sexual relationship. We’d shared people before. But we remained committed to each other.

“Yes. Every once in a while. Good for publicity, having a man on your arm for those paparazzi pictures. I get it,” she mocked. It had been something I’d said before. 

“Look, I can’t have this conversation here. Not publicly in an airport terminal. Let me just ask this. Are you fulfilled? One hundred percent happy? There have been times when you just want the strong hands of a man. His arms around you. Being held? Being loved? I know that you love me, Tara, but I also think there are times when you need more, just like there are times when I need more. Something I can’t give you. I am a woman, and I am happy with you, as a woman. But there are days and times that I just need a man. When I’m insecure, when I am needy. I know you’ve wanted it too.”

She paused, reluctant to answer. I could see her mind churn, before she admitted, “There are days, yes. Days when I would like a man. It’s the ‘bi’ part of being bi-sexual. We all sacrifice in our relationships.”

“Wouldn’t you like a relationship that you didn’t have to sacrifice?” I asked, and paused with a revelation, “Pick a man for you. Today. One that we can share, maybe? One that’s your type. Not mine. A man you find attractive. I’ll seduce him into joining me at the hotel, with the added bonus of you. We can share him. Or, he can be yours. I won’t mind.”

She again paused and considered my offer, “I’m not you. It’s not easy for me, do you understand? I’m not famous, I’m not a glamorous actress. I’m just a flight attendant …”

“JUST?! Oh, Tara, you aren’t ‘just’ anything. You are a gorgeous woman. Any man would be lucky … I am lucky to have you. You are exceptional.”

She smiled at me, and we shared a heartfelt moment where we both almost broke down in tears. We struggled to retain our composure, and after that moment I added, “Will you do this, for us? Go find us a man to fuck!”

“It would be my pleasure, Victoria.”

…..

This is a preface to a longer story I’ve written for Pique. They are a new, sexy, smart, shameless ezine publication. I hope you all go check them out! 

To read the rest of the story, simply click on the link to “It would be my pleasure” - I hope you enjoy!

Mike.

(Source: missharper100)

dirtystorytime:

I had to lay back on the bed and just watch a moment. It was such a turn on watching you spank another woman’s ass. 

“This was a good idea you had, hun.” I said. My breath heavy, almost panting. You smiled at me in agreement.

“Spank her again. She’s a very naughty girl.” I grinned. 

I reached over and grabbed her hair. I pulled her head to my cock. “Suck it.” I ordered. I watched your head tilt as your eyes peeked over her shoulder to watch.

“He said, suck it. NOW.” You commanded. You were never in charge like this. Today, you were an extension of me. And we were gonna fuck this dirty little bitch silly. I was so turned on, and I could tell from the look in your eyes, so were you.

We had talked about it for a while. Would it feel alright. Would there be any jealousy, any animosity? You told me that you wanted to watch me fuck her. You convinced me. I gave in. But the rules were.. you got to dominate her, just as if it was me. Your commands, your orders. Your aggression.

So here we were, your playtoy sucking my cock as you spanked her ass. Me pulling her hair, forcing her head to bob up and down on me. You watching her suck me off. “I want to watch you fuck her. The dirty little whore.” As you say the words you start to slap her face, just enough to get her attention. Not enough to leave marks.

I pull her head up off my cock. “You heard her. Sit on my fucking cock.”

Now I hate being on the bottom. I like to be able to use my hands. I like to grab, to grip, to spank, to yank hair, to choke. From the bottom, I couldn’t use my hands as much as I want. So I grab the slut’s tits. Pinching, and groping. Squeezing her nipples in my fingers. You have the power. You are in control. It’s up to you to spank her ass as I fuck her. It’s up to you to choke and slap her. It’s up to you to pull her hair. Are you up to the task? 

Oh, but I know, it’s not all about me. “Come sit on my face baby. Lemme lick your clit while you choke her a bit.”

You take my suggestion well, and you come hover your pussy right in my face. Knowing it’s already killing me that I can’t do everything I like with my hands, you add to the torture by pushing my arms down and kneeling on them. But choking isn’t your style, and you lean in and start to kiss, lick and suck on her neck. And then you bite. Just like I taught you. Mark what’s yours.

Your hips buck as you ride my face. Grinding as you go. My tongue twisting and pressing your clit, as the little toy we found rides my cock. From the shaking in your legs, and the moans you’re making while you rest your face in her chest, I know you’re gonna cum. Our little slut is starting to get vocal as well. 

I arch my back and head to reach my tongue into you, teasing your clit, alternating with long, slow licks down your pussy lips. “Cum for me baby.” The vibration of my voice against your lips sends you quivering. Your hips thrust as you force yourself on my mouth and nose.

As I feel you cum, I thrust my hips into her. My balls start to tighten and I feel her cunt contract, squeezing me. My pace quickens, and my breath is short. As I shoot my cum in her you take your spot behind her. Whispering in her ear as you spank her ass again, “Cum for me. Cum on his cock.” And she does. Her own twitches as you command her. Still riding my spasming cock. 

And as she collapses off of me you attack her pussy with your mouth. Lapping and licking my cum from her. You scoop your finger in her cunt to coax my cum back out. 

Staring in her eyes you growl, “He may have fucked you, but his cum is mine.”

(Source: blueyesparklegrey, via gymnastlovesbondage)

piqueyour:

For those of you that are fans of DirtyStoryTime - he wrote a fun, sexy piece for Pique.  Here’s a little preface for the full story:

dirtystorytime:

“If you don’t trust my judgement, you can stand at the counter and pick him out yourself.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Tara,” I said. It wasn’t really that difficult a task. Find a man. A good looking man. Offer him a ‘complimentary’ upgrade, and from there, I would seduce him. 

“Is Upper Class fully booked?” 

Tara’s eyes scanned the passenger manifest before advising, “yes, 15 seats assigned, you have the two you paid for. So your seat, and the extra for your mystery man.”

“Is coach full?” I inquired.

“No. There’s almost 20 empty seats. Hopefully whoever I upgrade doesn’t notice. Or at least question it.”

“Did you get the sushi?”

“Yes, it’s been loaded on the plane for you. Just let me know when you want me to serve it to you. I really don’t understand how you can eat it without the soy sauce and wasabi,” I recognized that sarcastic emphasis she put on the ‘Yes’.

“That’s how they do it in Japan. It’s …”

“Yes, I know. An insult to the chef. Either way, the wasabi is my favorite part,” she interrupted.

“And the hotel is booked, you confirmed?” I questioned.

“Yes, Victoria. I called the Dorchester, you are booked in the Terrace Suite. Overlooking Hyde Park. It’s the room you like,” she sounded impatient with all the questions. I just wanted to ensure everything was arranged.

“You are staying with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara responded.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’, Tara? Where else would you stay?”

“I might have to work. I might have to do the return flight Wednesday. Back to LA.”

“I can’t spend two weeks in London without you,” I sighed. I was not impressed with this at all, “I don’t know why you insist on working still. You know I’d take care of you.”

“If I didn’t work, who would help conspire with you? Who would help pick out your perfect mystery man? Maybe your mystery man will stay with you,” she said, spite added in to her sarcasm.

“Is that what this is about? You know I love you. I just … I just need a man,” I knew it sounded horrible. It was the truth. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dabbled herself. It was an open, bi-sexual relationship. We’d shared people before. But we remained committed to each other.

“Yes. Every once in a while. Good for publicity, having a man on your arm for those paparazzi pictures. I get it,” she mocked. It had been something I’d said before. 

“Look, I can’t have this conversation here. Not publicly in an airport terminal. Let me just ask this. Are you fulfilled? One hundred percent happy? There have been times when you just want the strong hands of a man. His arms around you. Being held? Being loved? I know that you love me, Tara, but I also think there are times when you need more, just like there are times when I need more. Something I can’t give you. I am a woman, and I am happy with you, as a woman. But there are days and times that I just need a man. When I’m insecure, when I am needy. I know you’ve wanted it too.”

She paused, reluctant to answer. I could see her mind churn, before she admitted, “There are days, yes. Days when I would like a man. It’s the ‘bi’ part of being bi-sexual. We all sacrifice in our relationships.”

“Wouldn’t you like a relationship that you didn’t have to sacrifice?” I asked, and paused with a revelation, “Pick a man for you. Today. One that we can share, maybe? One that’s your type. Not mine. A man you find attractive. I’ll seduce him into joining me at the hotel, with the added bonus of you. We can share him. Or, he can be yours. I won’t mind.”

She again paused and considered my offer, “I’m not you. It’s not easy for me, do you understand? I’m not famous, I’m not a glamorous actress. I’m just a flight attendant …”

“JUST?! Oh, Tara, you aren’t ‘just’ anything. You are a gorgeous woman. Any man would be lucky … I am lucky to have you. You are exceptional.”

She smiled at me, and we shared a heartfelt moment where we both almost broke down in tears. We struggled to retain our composure, and after that moment I added, “Will you do this, for us? Go find us a man to fuck!”

“It would be my pleasure, Victoria.”

…..

This is a preface to a longer story I’ve written for Pique. They are a new, sexy, smart, shameless ezine publication. I hope you all go check them out! 

To read the rest of the story, simply click on the link to “It would be my pleasure” - I hope you enjoy!

Mike.

(Source: missharper100)

“If you don’t trust my judgement, you can stand at the counter and pick him out yourself.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Tara,” I said. It wasn’t really that difficult a task. Find a man. A good looking man. Offer him a ‘complimentary’ upgrade, and from there, I would seduce him. 

“Is Upper Class fully booked?” 

Tara’s eyes scanned the passenger manifest before advising, “yes, 15 seats assigned, you have the two you paid for. So your seat, and the extra for your mystery man.”

“Is coach full?” I inquired.

“No. There’s almost 20 empty seats. Hopefully whoever I upgrade doesn’t notice. Or at least question it.”

“Did you get the sushi?”

“Yes, it’s been loaded on the plane for you. Just let me know when you want me to serve it to you. I really don’t understand how you can eat it without the soy sauce and wasabi,” I recognized that sarcastic emphasis she put on the ‘Yes’.

“That’s how they do it in Japan. It’s …”

“Yes, I know. An insult to the chef. Either way, the wasabi is my favorite part,” she interrupted.

“And the hotel is booked, you confirmed?” I questioned.

“Yes, Victoria. I called the Dorchester, you are booked in the Terrace Suite. Overlooking Hyde Park. It’s the room you like,” she sounded impatient with all the questions. I just wanted to ensure everything was arranged.

“You are staying with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara responded.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’, Tara? Where else would you stay?”

“I might have to work. I might have to do the return flight Wednesday. Back to LA.”

“I can’t spend two weeks in London without you,” I sighed. I was not impressed with this at all, “I don’t know why you insist on working still. You know I’d take care of you.”

“If I didn’t work, who would help conspire with you? Who would help pick out your perfect mystery man? Maybe your mystery man will stay with you,” she said, spite added in to her sarcasm.

“Is that what this is about? You know I love you. I just … I just need a man,” I knew it sounded horrible. It was the truth. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dabbled herself. It was an open, bi-sexual relationship. We’d shared people before. But we remained committed to each other.

“Yes. Every once in a while. Good for publicity, having a man on your arm for those paparazzi pictures. I get it,” she mocked. It had been something I’d said before. 

“Look, I can’t have this conversation here. Not publicly in an airport terminal. Let me just ask this. Are you fulfilled? One hundred percent happy? There have been times when you just want the strong hands of a man. His arms around you. Being held? Being loved? I know that you love me, Tara, but I also think there are times when you need more, just like there are times when I need more. Something I can’t give you. I am a woman, and I am happy with you, as a woman. But there are days and times that I just need a man. When I’m insecure, when I am needy. I know you’ve wanted it too.”

She paused, reluctant to answer. I could see her mind churn, before she admitted, “There are days, yes. Days when I would like a man. It’s the ‘bi’ part of being bi-sexual. We all sacrifice in our relationships.”

“Wouldn’t you like a relationship that you didn’t have to sacrifice?” I asked, and paused with a revelation, “Pick a man for you. Today. One that we can share, maybe? One that’s your type. Not mine. A man you find attractive. I’ll seduce him into joining me at the hotel, with the added bonus of you. We can share him. Or, he can be yours. I won’t mind.”

She again paused and considered my offer, “I’m not you. It’s not easy for me, do you understand? I’m not famous, I’m not a glamorous actress. I’m just a flight attendant …”

“JUST?! Oh, Tara, you aren’t ‘just’ anything. You are a gorgeous woman. Any man would be lucky … I am lucky to have you. You are exceptional.”

She smiled at me, and we shared a heartfelt moment where we both almost broke down in tears. We struggled to retain our composure, and after that moment I added, “Will you do this, for us? Go find us a man to fuck!”

“It would be my pleasure, Victoria.”

…..

This is a preface to a longer story I’ve written for Pique. They are a new, sexy, smart, shameless ezine publication. I hope you all go check them out! 

To read the rest of the story, simply click on the link to “It would be my pleasure” - I hope you enjoy!

Mike.

(Source: missharper100)

I saw him staring. Over his shoulder. Peeking at you. Wondering. He was admiring your hair, lingering a little too long on your exposed back, while we waited for our entrée.

He immediately looked away when our eyes met. I had a smile on my face. He blushed. His nose turned back to his book.

“The man,” I said, “he’s been staring.”

“Oh,” you replied as your head dipped to turn, “which one?”

“With the book,” I raised my nose as if to nod. 

“Are you jealous?”

I leaned in and whispered, “he can look, I don’t mind. But later tonight, when you’re writhing on the bed, arms and legs strewn here and there, grasping at the sheets, and gasping about cumming on my face, my tongue, my hands…we can discuss jealousy again.”

I smirked, my hand fell to her knee. Your eyes closed. My hand traced slowly up your thigh, my index finger working small circles, teasing you for what was yet to come. Your eyes closed as you anticipated. I paused a moment at the hemline of your skirt before returning to you knee.

With a gentle nudge I pulled, “I want to see the wet spot in your panties. You can show me now, or at home, your choice.”

Your head turned to catch the attention of the waiter, swallowing hard, you managed to speak, “bill please…”

(Source: gallery.airows.com)

You have to love when someone reblogs something from you, and replaces your credit/link with their own, and then starts telling the people on his blog that he wrote it. 

dirtystorytime:

How to treat a woman.

Caress her face. Stare into her eyes. Love her.

I by no means claim to be an expert. But to me romance is the time you spend NOT making love. Yes, all of that time. It’s a 24 hour a day job, loving your lady. 

How do I love my lady?

Like this..

I wake up early, and make her breakfast in bed. On work days. I’m late to work, a lot.

I send her texts that say “You look fantastic today” and when she replies “LOL, you don’t even know what I’m wearing” I send back “I don’t have to, to know you’re beautiful”

I take her for picnics. Walks in the park. Bike rides. We talk on the phone. I take her shopping, I spoil her. Not just with material things, but with time, with emotion, with love, with compliments. 

I don’t just make her ‘feel like’ she is the only woman in the world. I make her know, she is the only woman in my world. Time stops for her. 

It’s scratching her back when you wake up in the middle of the night, just to touch her skin. It’s snuggling back into her. It’s about shedding the blankets and cuddling to keep warm.

I protect her and stand up for her, because nobody gets away with upsetting the woman I love.

It’s when I come home, with a bouquet of flowers. Her asking “what’s the occasion” and you saying “It’s our anniversary.” Her puzzled look. “Fourty Three months. Six days. Did you forget?” - Make EVERY day special. For no reason at all, except that you want to. For her.

When we go out, for dinner, to a movie, wherever, I hold the door open, I walk at her pace. 

It’s about listening to her. Absorbing her words. Feeling what she feels. Not about thinking what you’re going to say next, waiting for your turn to talk. 

It’s paying attention, to understand her perfect day, her perfect moment, the times when she is happiest. It’s about fulfilling those dreams with her.

It’s about stopping in a crowded room, staring at her, watching her grace. It’s the moment when she catches you, and not looking away, but smiling at her. It’s when she smiles back, and you mouth ‘I love you’. While all her friends watch. Making her blush, and her heart melt.

It’s whispering something filthy in her ear at the most inopportune moment, and following it up with “Let’s get out of here.” Like at a wedding reception. Or even better, YOUR wedding reception.

Most of all, it’s about sincerity. It’s about doing all of those things, and meaning it, one hundred percent of the time. 

I could go on. There’s a million things you can do to be thoughtful. It costs nothing and takes no effort, if you’re truly in love.

(via dontloseyourheartunderthecovers)

deadysgirl:

dirtystorytime:

As we lay together after, just touching and being close. The conversation turned philosophical. “Do you ever wonder,” she said “how you’ll know when you’ve met the one?”

“Nah,” I said “I’ll know”

“How will you know?”

“When I look in her eyes, I’ll see utter awesomeness. I’ll see how she looks back at me, and it will be nothing but love. She will be comfortable with me in her most vulnerable moments. She will cry in my arms when she’s weak. She will comfort me when I have sorrows.

She will laugh at my dumb jokes, and be silly with me when we’re old. When she wants to play the ‘ten names of people you can have a free pass’ game, her name will be the one I write ten times, and when she shows me her list, it will ten times have mine.

She will be the one I want to see first thing in the morning, no make up to hide her beauty, exposed flaws and all. She will be the one I want to fall asleep in the arms of every night for the rest of my life. 

The one will sit on the roof with me, she’ll watch the perfect sunset, stay up with me all night, laughing, playing, talking and in the morning, she’ll turn with me and watch the sun rise. The one will ask where the time went and we’ll both know it was time well spent. She will share my hopes and my dreams. The one will stare adoringly in my eyes and give me strength when I’m unsure of myself.

 I will know she’s the one, because those nights, when I’m out with the boys, drinking, playing pool, or cards.. I’ll wish I was with her. I’ll know because when she calls my cell and I see her name pop up, my heart will race. I’ll always answer that call. I’ll know when I hear her voice and feel at home. I’ll know.

The one is the one who will treat me like a prince. She’ll do all this for me, because I will do all of this for her. She will be my princess, and more. I will sacrifice everything, for her. That is how I will know.”

When I finished speaking there was a moment of complete silence.  She turned to me a little and inhaled like she was going to speak. I put my finger on her lips and whispered “Shhh. Let me admire your eyes, and the utter awesomeness I see within them.” 

Soooo aaawwww!

(Source: wherehaveyoudoneit)

Yesterday I had a daydream. I was in the ocean with a you. We played a game, standing in the waves. As the waves rode in we would stand, arms length apart. We both bent towards each other at the hips, extended our necks, closed our eyes, held our breath and kissed.

The game was to see who could stay standing, withstanding the power of the ocean, of nature, as the wave crashed down on our heads. If one of us fell, the other got a point. I have to admit I was at a distinct advantage, I’m taller, I weight more, and in our game, I was winning, 3-0.

But a funny thing happened in our little game. After you had been knocked over by that last wave, as the water from the shore was retreating back to the vast ocean, you turned and gave me a simple look. It was breathtaking. You had been facing away, picking yourself up from a fall in the waves, and your head turned. My mind will play this moment over in slow motion, over and over.

First your chin, it spun over your shoulder, then your cheek, flush a little from the excitement of it all. The corner of your mouth, and a hint of a flash of your teeth. Then your nose, and the corner of your eye. Your eyes, bluer than even the ocean we played in, and the streams of sunshine on your face. You blinked as you faced me. A blink that felt like an eternity. And your eyes turned and closed and your smile pursed into a pucker. It was the last thing I remember, before being knocked senseless.

It wasn’t the wave that pushed me down; I could have withstood their blows all day. It was ‘the look’ that made me weak. The moment that I knew. Life changing. 

“Doesn’t count!” I protested.

“Three one,” you smiled.

I nodded and relented.

“I’m going to win,” you said, with a wink.

I was sure that you were going to win. This game, maybe. But I knew at that moment, I had won something much bigger.

Photo by Clark Little. clarklittle.com

(Source: ishawaii)

What it means to be a dominant.

This is by no means a ‘guide’. These are the characteristics that I was told that I should hone in order to be a person who would be a good choice for a submissive. I am not a dominant. I have never claimed to be. I don’t know if I will ever be one. For me, in order to be a dominant, you must have a partner who is willing to offer you his/her greatest gift. Their submission. I have never had a submissive. Therefore, I am not a dominant.

I frequently run across blogs where people make demands, “you must call me Sir,” or “you will obey me.” In my opinion, dominance is not something that someone can command of a submissive, it is something that is earned, like respect. The louder that you yell to demand it, the less likely it is that anyone will ever grant it. 

To me, dominants are accepting. Accepting of self, of peers, of their submissive. Accepting their limits and limitations. Nurturing their flaws, and guiding them to overcome their fears and shortcomings.

A dominant is compassionate. The understanding of the physical, emotional and mental situations that arise daily. The ability to offer comfort and security during times of need. Without compassion you are not a dominant, but merely a sadist.

A dominant should act with courtesy at all times. They should be able to display respect and manners. They should act with dignity and avoid being rude or outright cruel in their actions.

A dominant should have poise. The ability to take charge in any situation and bring a calming influence; grace under pressure. In a world where stressful situations can easily be ignited, a dominant should always retain control.

Humility or the ability to judge one’s own self-worth. Do you put your needs ahead of those of your submissive. Do you choose to demean or are you derogatory towards others to feel better about yourself? Do you use your stature to bully others. 

Dominants should display loyalty, an unending devotion to their submissive. A desire to have their submissive know they are safe, secure, and protected in all aspects of their life. 

A dominant should be patient. A dominant is the key to the growth and success of their submissive. They should be willing to invest time, avoid frustration, and be there to celebrate their submissive’s achievements.

A dominant is responsible. In control of their actions, and accepting of the results of their actions; good or bad. They should apologize when they have made mistake, and rejoice when they have achieved.

A dominant should be respectful at all times. Of his peers and of his submissive. A dominant who is incapable of showing respect, will not earn respect. A dominant should also maintain a high level of self-respect, without the need for narcissism, pride or vanity.

Service. A dominant is only as good as his/her ability to serve their submissive. By safely, sanely and consensually applying their natural dominance over a situation and their submissive. For you are only a dominant as long as someone is willing to submit to you.

I choose the picture above because it embodies the vision I have of a dominant. An open hand, willing to guide, nurture and aid. I have no doubt that it will soon be parted from my words that I have written, as have so many others before. 

I would only ask, and this is a very pointed question to one particular follower, a friend, that you evaluate your situation very closely and carefully. Actions speak louder than words. For in a time when you are lost and confused and upset, did your dominant soothe you, or did he only stoke the fires of your situation. Did he act reasonably, responsibly, and sanely. 

I ask because when his hand is wrapped around your throat, when he holds you in a vulnerable and precarious situation, I hope you trust he will always act responsibly and not willfully destroy what you have worked so hard to build.

His cock thrust up into you with such force.. your eyes rolled back into your head. It had been a while since you did a proper ‘Skirt Friday’ but today, you know he’s getting paid back in full. Your back arches slightly to let him penetrate you deeper and you slide up just a little bit before slamming your hips back down on his cock.

“I want your ass today,” he whispers in your ear, “Not yet, David, just a few more seconds, let me cum first,” you reply.

You lean forward on the console of the cab and you pull your pussy almost completely off his cock before you thrust fully back down to him.. you are so close to cumming when you hear a noise, “someone’s coming,” you say.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he says, “keep going”.

Again, you hear something, more audible now, people talking…arguing…walking towards you.

“Goddammit, there’s three fucking cars in the entire empty lot and someone has to come now?”  You pull yourself off again, and push deeply one last time before you have to ‘hold’ your position. “It’s okay, let them see,” he says, “I don’t care, we don’t have much time.”

Just then the woman comes from around the wall that you had parked beside for ‘cover’ and a step or two behind her a man. They are arguing, but most of what you can make out from their conversation is “fuck off” and “You fucking whore”. She has hurt him you can sense, and she’s running from him. He’s wearing a dirty shirt and ripped jeans. She has a white blouse and a black skirt herself. They almost don’t seem to fit together as a ‘couple’ per se, but the unmistakable arguing could only be from love gone wrong.

You slide up and down a few slow strokes so as not to have David lose interest, as they seem to have not even seen you, and they’re continuing to walk away…twenty feet…twenty-five…further. It would have been extra naughty if they did see you, but you would have had to cover up and stop if they had, so you’re happy you can keep on going. Just as you turn your head to give him a little knowing wink, you hear a yell. Out of the corner of your eye you can make out that he has pushed her down, behind another semi-wall about forty feet away. He pushed her and she’s on the ground, he’s over her. He pushes her again, now you can’t believe what you’re seeing. He glances over his shoulder the opposite way, to ensure he wasn’t seen, but he doesn’t realize you’re in the truck.

She has blood on her hands, presumably from bracing herself from the fall, and on her knee you can see a crimson stain forming.. she’s not in good shape. David says “We have to do something,” and you say back, “we are…you’re fucking me.” You slide your hips down on his cock again. You start a slow rhythm; up and down, as you watch what’s happening in front of you.

He slaps her face and pushes her down again, only this time he’s over her with a nimbleness he turns her and twists, so that she is face down in the concrete, bleeding, beaten. He pulls her skirt up and rips her panties clean from her body. With his hand he holds her head down on the ground, forcefully. With the lack of movement she is making, she might have been knocked out with the brutality of the slap. You see his cock penetrate her, no tenderness, no concern, just force pushing into her cunt. You slam your pussy down on David’s cock with the same force, mimicking his movement. It takes a few strokes before he can fully get inside her, but all with the same force as the first.. and every time he slams his cock into her, you slam your cunt on David. It’s like you are the one he’s raping, and it’s turning you on.  Your husband slides a finger into your ass and you barely notice. Engrossed in what’s playing out in front of you.

By his seventh or eighth full thrust into her, she is making slight movements. You can see her hand moving up towards her face.. He is punishing her for whatever he presumes she has done, and you are feeling that punishment as he fucks her. You match his every stroke into her cunt with your own strokes on David’s cock. “Please.. can I have your ass, before you make me cum” David says, and you relent.. your own orgasm still building, but you realize that you are far more into what you’re watching than what you’re doing.

As you turn to pull your pussy up, you sit down in the passenger seat a second and give his cock a nice lick up the shaft and take him full in your mouth, tasting all of your juices, you bob your head on his dick a few more times before you slide back into his lap and let him take your ass.

He slides in effortlessly, you are so turned on. You focus back on the scene in front of you. He is sliding in now, deep, every stroke fucking her without any restraint, he is pounding her while still pressing her down to the ground. Her hand, which was moving up earlier to comfort her own face, you notice is now grabbing at her own hair, as if pulling it. She’s not screaming for help, she’s…enjoying herself? You have a wave of emotions as you can’t fully digest what you’re seeing…but her hips start to arch to meet his cock and grant him deeper access to her pussy, which he is now taking full advantage of.. You again mimic his strokes, a little off rhythm because you are distracted and confused with the situation, but fully engorged with what you are watching. The man’s strokes are so violent, so uncontrolled, so raw… you envy the woman on the receiving end.

“I’m gonna cum” David says, “I’m cumming in your ass”, you can feel your husbands lips on your neck as you lean back for him. The warning was almost mocking your excitement of the situation. This brute you’re watching would not tell you he’s coming, he would just fill you with his cock and hold in you, twitching. He would definitely not be tender and kiss your neck, but choke you from behind while he held you down. You have a longing to be controlled like that. You want to trade places. You want to lay battered, beaten on the pavement, getting raped and choked, fucked and bleeding. It would be nice, you think, to have that again. Yes, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“We should go, I’m gonna be late,” he says. “No,” you say back.. “I need to see this finish.”

His cock now fully flaccid is still in you, but you won’t move, you won’t let him clean up and dress. Still entranced with the sex in front of you, it’s only been a minute or so since David came that the stranger cums as well. True to form, deep inside her, twitching, holding her down.. and not warning her and no tenderness. She didn’t get a kiss on the neck.

He rolls off her, his pants still down at his knees and his cock fully exposed, glistening with the juices, you want to go clean him up and taste it. But you don’t dare move or leave the truck.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you say to David, and you lift enough for him to wiggle out from beneath you. You reach to find your skirt and slide yourself back in, pulling up your shirt and checking your tits are fully covered up David pulls his underwear and pants back up. You adjust the towel on the passenger seat, before sliding over to sit. 

“I’m really hungry,” David says, apparently unaffected, “How weird was that…should we have done something?”

You’ve stopped paying attention to the couple in front of you momentarily, and as you are sure you’re all ‘in place’ you glance back up.

He is still lying prone on the ground, exposed.. for the first time you can make out his face and features and you almost think him to be attractive…the woman…is gone. You look side to side, to see if you can catch a glimpse of her, and realize she is standing at the door of your truck, beside your husband. She knocks on the cab window, with her bloodied hand, and you both FREEZE. “What should I do?” he asks, “Well.. open it,” you reply.

Embarrassed he lowers the window, he is speechless as it lowers. Her face is bruised, bloody and she has scars over both eyes and on her cheek, blood dried around her nose and eye, her shirt ripped off to a point where she doesn’t even manage to cover herself up, her breasts exposed. She manages a slight smile,  “Thank you. We have this fantasy, and we play it out every once in a while. My husband saw you parked here a month or more ago and I immediately knew…I wanted an audience,” she explained, “I hope you enjoyed it, I know I got off having you watch”

(Source: eroticblog)

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And she turned away. She took a step, as if to leave.

“No.” I heard myself saying. It was all I could come up with. Through all the words that constantly floated through my head, they eluded me at this very moment when I needed them most.

She turned back towards me, just her head. Her body still moving away from me. She asked, “Why not?”

I had no reason why, but all I knew was “No.” My mind tried to come up with a reason, an explanation, any words that would convey my regret. “Because. I need you. I want you. I desire you, and you leaving right now is a mistake. It is unthinkable to me that you will walk out that door and I’ll never see you again. So, no.” 

My eyes rose to hers, I stood. She was unwavering. I took the steps, put my hand on her arm and kissed her. On the shoulder. My heart pounding, unsure if I had convinced her. I inhaled her scent, my mouth tracing it’s way along her skin, to her neck, to her ear. “Please. Stay.”

Her face softened. Her mouth turned up into a smile. Her eyes moistened just a little. Her hand crossed her body to cover mine.

“All you needed to do was ask.”

Aw