Girl love


So…my therapist and Papa Bear think it would be healing for me to fall in love with a woman again. Now that my life is safe for that experience, maybe it’s something I should try to find.

I have wondered why I always go for men–why despite being equally attracted to both sexes, I haven’t spent much time looking for a woman to date. There’s been a handful of dates here and there, but nothing that’s become anything.

I’ve never really stopped to analyze why that might be, but. . .You know how after you break up with someone, especially someone you thought was THE ONE, you feel like you’ll never love again?

Well. I just cannot picture myself ever falling in love with another woman. I can’t imagine what that would look like. It seems impossible. I think of being with a woman for anything besides a sexy friendship, and all I can see is HER. Her face. I hear her voice. Picture her smile. Think about her touch. She is my sole experience in loving and being loved back in that way that only two women can love each other.

And maybe…I feel like by having another girlfriend, I’ll be somehow sullying what we had. Diminishing it, and her place in my life. Maybe I don’t deserve another woman to love. I already had the most intoxicating, deepest, truest, purest, intense female to female experience possible–and I threw it away. I caused her pain. Why should I be allowed a second chance at that kind of connection? How could it even compare to something so all-consuming?

Maybe my penance should be to never let myself have that again. Or maybe I won’t be able to fully realize who I am unless I at least try.


I don’t know (Part II)

(I don’t Know Part I)

Jailbait came over on Friday. Daddy gave her a crash course in D/S, while I was at work. He sent me photos of her tied up, of her with her ass covered in welts, of him with his dick inside her. He sent me the text “Just de-virginized her ass.” I turned off my phone.

The next day when I made it over to join them, Daddy said he was surprised I hadn’t asked if I could come over the night before.

I mumbled something and tried to swallow my jealousy, but I was thinking: You didn’t invite me.

Okay, that isn’t exactly true. He DID ask me to spend the whole weekend. For reasons that will be explained in Part III I couldn’t. So I suppose he would have been fine with me coming over that evening and then going home, but it hadn’t occurred to me, and I still felt I hadn’t been asked.

When I arrived at the condo and texted Daddy to let me in, he responded with a picture of her tied up, blind-folded, gagged, and filled with toys. “This is what’s waiting for you.”


When I got inside he told me she was mine for the next half hour. I breathed “hey slut”, into her ear. I stroked her while she lay there with muffled moans coming from her throat. Her blonde hair was a mess and her size H boobs wiggled as she writhed. I licked her pussy and played with the toy that was in her ass. Eventually she wiggled out of the blindfold.

“Did I say you could take that off?” I asked.

“No,” she smiled. “But you are really fucking gorgeous.”

We kissed. I wrapped my tongue around hers. I spanked her and whipped her until she begged to be let out of the restraints.

“Please?” she said. “Let me lick your pussy.”

“Well…since you asked nicely.”


When we were done playing, Daddy said he was going to fuck me. “It’s too long since I’ve been in that pussy,” he said. He fucked me from behind while Jailbait used her dildo on herself, and eventually I took it and used it on her, playing with the settings. When she started to scream, Daddy said “Well, it looks like you found the right one!”

We fucked for a couple hours, taking turns with each other. Me attempting to dominate her, and her being a little smart-mouthed masochist trying to accrue more beatings.

Jailbait likes it rough. When I smacked her pussy she came in ways she never did when I was playing nice.

I was having a good time, even though she was an 18 year old brat who was clearly competing with me.

“I have an extremely tight pussy and ass!” she declared proudly.

I smirked at her as not one, but two condoms broke, one after the other, while Daddy was entering me because I was just that fucking tight.

“I’m wet all the time,” she bragged on the patio.

I opened my legs and Daddy commented that I am a slip and slide. Don’t fuck with me, princess. I will take you down.

Still, she was a young girl. I have shared my doms before and I have shared my boyfriend, and I never felt I was in competition, but she was still lacking the life experience to know that other women are not her enemy.

Daddy went to get us dinner, and Jailbait and I sat on the patio and talked. We traded rape stories like we were trading recipes. My heart went out to her and I just wanted to pat her head and feed her grapes.

When the conversation turned to Daddy, I said. “I love him.”

She talked about how much they’d fucked the previous day, and I resisted the urge to throw in my own stories about him taking me for hours and hours and hours.

She mentioned how much she loved older men, and I agreed.

“You’re adorable,” I said. “But if you call him Daddy, I will cut you.” She needed to know.

“I already did,” she replied flippantly. Now, I should have dragged her inside by her hair and beaten her until she promised never to do it again, but I didn’t. Instead I jokingly mentioned it to Daddy when he got back and said, “She called you Daddy? She’s not calling you that. She can call you Pops,” I smirked.

He looked sheepish. I could tell he knew it wasn’t okay that she’d said that, and that he should have put a stop to it before I had to.

“I guess she ran out of dom names.”

“Then I’ll get her a thesaurus.”


We ate, we talked, we drank, we fucked. Daddy whispered that he was so happy I was finally spending the night, and that he couldn’t wait until we got a chance to have a sleepover, just us. Maybe he meant it, but I felt like he was just trying to placate me.


While we were going at it as a group of three, Daddy’s dick somehow got bent in half. He was in serious pain and wound up curled up on the bed. Jailbait had been told that she was to sleep on the end, I would be in the middle, and Daddy would be beside me. Totally fair, I thought, since she’d got him all to herself the previous night, this was Daddy’s and my first night together, AND I was his baby girl. But Daddy passed out, and Jailbait curled right up beside him. I was on the other side of him, but I was still mighty pissed.

Daddy had promised to spoon and fuck me all night, and to take me out on the patio and fuck me out there, but I guess his sex injury made that impossible. Still, I was extremely upset as I lay there for hours, dripping and burning, with his one arm around me and the other around her.

I couldn’t sleep, so around 4 A.M. I got up and made a drink. As soon as I finished it, the tears started flowing and didn’t stop.

When Daddy finally woke up and realized his arm was around Jailbait and I was curled up on the end of the bed, he moved towards me and wrapped me in his arms.

“Are you crying?” he whispered.

I shook my head no.

“Why?” he asked.

I shook my head again, knowing that if I were to speak, I would begin to sob.

Because you didn’t fuck me all night. Because you dominated her the way you have never dominated me. Because you slept beside her when you said you were mine until morning. Because you let her call you Daddy and that word is mine!

Minutes later we were fucking. Daddy’s alarm clock went off in the middle of it, and when he got up to turn it off, Jailbait woke up. He climbed back into bed and said “Want me to finish you off, honey?”

Jailbait and I both said “Yes,” at the same time.

He turned to her. “We were fucking while you were asleep. I’m going to fuck her, and then you’re next.”

He moved me to the end of the bed and pounded me. I tried not to cry again.

After he’d fucked her, and we had breakfast, he fucked us both again.

While she was in the bathroom I asked if he’d fuck my ass before I had to go, if we had time. He said “I will try. I need to fuck her at least a couple more times since she came all the way from (insert city name here).”

“If you have time,” I said again.

He snuggled me and told me how happy he was to have woken up beside me that morning. “Even if you were upset,” he added.

“I’m fine.”

“I was happy you were there,” he whispered into my ear.

“I was happy too,” I lied.

When Jailbait returned, Daddy said to me “There’s only room in the shower for two, so either you can shower with Jailbait, or I can.”

I resisted the urge to stomp my foot. He’d promised me we’d shower together.

“You can,” I said instead.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve showered with her twice already, I don’t mind hanging out while you two shower. But either way we need to get in the shower soon because I need to take her to the greyhound.”

“I don’t care,” I said, in a tone that conveyed the very opposite.

He sighed and said, “Okay.”


Jailbait snuggled up to me while Daddy was in the other room. I ignored her until she moved away. I just couldn’t.

Daddy fucked my ass before I left, and then hers.

“I have to go,” I said. It was true. I was supposed to have left half an hour before, and he knew that.

“Okay,” he said, with his dick in her ass.

I got dressed slowly, and kissed him softly on the mouth, and then kissed Jailbait with tongue.

“Hey,” said Daddy. “I want a real kiss.”

I kissed him again and tried to mean it.

“I want another one,” he said, his dick still inside her.

I tried again.

Then I said my goodbyes, left the condo, and immediately burst into tears. I cried on the whole bus ride home. I cried in my apartment until my husband sent me to bed because I had cold sweats and was violently shaking. I woke up crying, and cried until my eyes were nearly swollen shut. I cried as my kids ran around the play area of McDonalds, I cried as I returned my Daddy’s text messages, and I cried until my husband had to fuck me just to make it stop.

Then I sent Daddy a photo of us fucking. Because payback’s a bitch.

(Stay tuned for part III)




Bad Girl (the deets)

(Bad Girl, The Prologue)

This past weekend Daddy set up a threesome for us. When we’d discussed it in the past, I told him I trusted him to pick out someone for us. When he showed me her picture, though, I have to admit I was turned off. She wasn’t my type at ALL, but Daddy thought she was yummy.

I didn’t know what the rules were. I kind of hinted at my hesitancy, but obviously wasn’t clear enough. I asked him about her personality–I thought I could tell what she’d be like from the photos she posted, but I was hoping I was wrong. When I hook up with someone from online, I don’t choose strictly on their looks. I pick someone who looks like my type of person (Daddy’s profile picture is a marathon photo, for instance), and if the person can banter, seems to be easy-going and like someone I think I’d enjoy hanging out with, then I move forward.

When I asked him about her messages though, he said she sounded “just fine.” Looking through some of her texts I had some misgivings, but I wasn’t sure how to broach it with him because he’d already made plans with her. I avoided commenting on her appearance (frankly, she looked over the top, loud and tacky), but gushed over the photos of another woman we are supposed to be hooking up with soon. I figured he’d pick up on the fact that I wasn’t so into this particular woman, but no dice.


The day before we were supposed to hook up I wasn’t feeling great. I texted Daddy that my stomach hurt, and he said that I needed to do whatever I could to feel better by Saturday because we are “meeting a new friend and need to make a good impression.” Right, then.

I was really nervous leading up to it, but was hoping that she would back out. Before she arrived at Daddy’s condo, he and I went out to dinner. He took me to this great restaurant that serves creole food and we had a really nice time. We talked a bit more about The Girlfriend and Yoga Girl, and all of our insecurities about the situation. I told him my fear that The Girlfriend may want me to be strictly for sex, and that she may not want him to care for me. He said that wasn’t up to her–she has to deal with the fact that he cares about me, and she has to deal with the fact that she cares about Yoga Girl, and if she doesn’t like it then obviously the two of them “are not forever.”

He took me home and we opened a bottle of wine while we waited for the other woman. We didn’t have sex because he wanted to make sure we were both horny as hell when she got there. I crossed my fingers that she would flake, but despite being late, she did show up.


She was even less my type in person than in her pictures. I tried not to let it show but I definitely would have never considered being with her in any other situation–you know when you’re not just not attracted, you’re actually UN-attracted? Yeah, that’s where I was.

So to force myself to be okay with the situation, I just kept drinking.

It was a bad situation all around.

We started fooling around on the couch, and eventually the three of us moved it to the bedroom. I licked her pussy and she licked mine. I licked and fingered her until she had a screaming orgasm, and then Daddy fucked me, and then fucked her from behind while she moaned and gasped and came again. After a long while he told her that he was not even close to coming, so she breathlessly asked if they could take a break.

She asked me if I had a cigarette, which I did. Daddy has me down to two a day and I’d already had my allotment for the day, but he allowed me to have another one with her out on the patio. Then I got on my knees outside and blew him. Blurred Lines came on the stereo and I started dancing with his cock still in my mouth, and then said “Wait, what happened, it’s over?” when the song ended. She burst out laughing and then I started giggling and then Daddy said if I was going to be laughing then that was the end of the blow job.

We went back inside and I pounded another glass of wine without permission.

Daddy was not impressed.

The other girl gave Daddy a blowjob of her own (a very impressive looking one, I might add!), while I got on my knees behind him and rimmed him.

“That’s a surprising development,” he said. He had asked me before whether I do that, but I’d told him it was a soft limit. Apparently all the alcohol did the trick because I did it with no issue and actually kind of liked it.

Annnd, everything after that is a blur.


Apparently there was more drinking of contraband wine, more smuggling of un-authorized cigarettes, much drunken stumbling about and many instances of disobedience and rudeness.

I told Daddy I loved him a bunch of times, even though I had promised myself I would wait to say it. At least he said it back.

I told him I wasn’t being loud, and then proceeded to scream, on purpose.

I bit Daddy’s ass hard–he later told me I was lucky he hadn’t responded by yanking me up by my hair and slapping me.

I wandered out onto the patio and tried to curl up and go to sleep under a towel.

I was so hammered that after the other girl left, Daddy put me to bed and set the alarm for two hours later. He said I was in no condition to get into a cab until I’d had some sleep. When he woke me up, I was still totally drunk, but in slightly better condition. He put me in a cab as I apologized profusely, and he just kept saying we’d talk about it in the morning.

He told me to text him when I got home safely, and by some miracle I managed to do that. He responded with “Sleep well, Baby Doll.” Swoon.


The next day we had a confusing and heated discussion via text.

He said I had acted like a drunken teenager.

I told him I only did that because he made it clear I was to fully participate and it was the only way I could make myself fuck someone I wasn’t remotely attracted to.

He said he’d had no idea I wasn’t attracted to her.

I asked him what he would like me to do next time instead, and he said “Not get hammered and act out? I expect better from you.”

I felt bereft. I felt sick all day and cried on and off. I went back and forth between being upset that I’d embarrassed and disappointed him, and feeling enraged that I’d been put in this situation in the first place. I texted him later and asked when he could talk. He said the next day (today). We squabbled a bit more and then, realizing that this conversation needed to be had in person in order for it to be at all productive, decided to leave it.

Tonight after work I went to Daddy’s condo. I was late because we were short staffed so I had to close. I texted Daddy that I would be there as soon as I could, and he responded with “sigh.”

I felt so nervous waiting for him to come to the door and let me in. I couldn’t look him in the eye and followed him back to his unit like a chastised puppy trailing behind its master.

Daddy shook his head. “Well, while we have this conversation you might as well be naked,” he said.

I obediently undressed and stood in the living room with my hands behind my back–a modified version of the submissive position.

“Bad Girl” by Madonna was playing. Despite my genuine heart-sickness over being in so much trouble, I had to stifle a giggle. It was clearly atmospheric. He made me stand there and listen to the entire song while he moved around in the kitchen.

When he came out he handed me a glass. I expected it to be just straight Coke–a message of some sort about how my drinking days were over–but to my surprise it had rum in it.

Daddy sat on the couch and I continued to stand. I held my drink in my hand and kept the other behind my back.

I stood there naked while he detailed my transgressions from Saturday night.

“It will never happen again,” he said when he was done. “What do you think is going to happen if you ever behave that way again?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.

“You probably don’t want to know what is going to happen.”

“No, Sir, I don’t,” he said, but the message was crystal clear–I would lose him.

“Now,” he said. “You are not obligated to sleep with anyone if you don’t want to. Ideally, you would have told me you weren’t into her when I showed you her photo so I could have cancelled.”

“I tried to tell you Sir, but you made it clear I was expected to go through with it.”

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t into her–you just said you were nervous. You need to be more clear about that. Next time you choose the girl.”

“But what if we like their picture but we meet up and I can’t stand them?” I asked.

“Then we need a signal–say you have cramps or something.”

“Okay, Sir.”

“Well,” he said. “At least there were a couple of good things to come out of Saturday night. One, we know you lick ass.”

I smirked.

“Two, it was very nice getting to cuddle with you for a couple of hours while you were passed out snoring like an asthmatic old man.”

I smiled.


The Other Side: Part II

(You can read part one of The Other Side, here).

It started with The Switch. I’d been dumped a couple weeks before, and I was ready to get laid again. I had a few friends in the kink community who’d communicated an interest. Since I was now a free agent, allowed to screw whoever I wanted without having to ask, I started flirting.

I sent The Switch a message, and he wrote back, telling me that he was working on a spanking bench. He asked if I was interested in coming over and testing it out. Hours later we were together, drinking and fucking. Then came the photo shoot, where I met Suicide Girl. That weekend their relationship statuses on Fet Life announced that they were in a polyamourous relationship. The next day she asked me to be her Pet, and The Switch put me under his protection. We were a House.

It happened fast. It nagged at me–we did not know each other that well. I wanted something real. But I liked them, and if I said no at that point they might not have asked again. I didn’t spend much alone time in the bedroom with my new Mistress. Neither of us were able to host, so if it was just the two of us we were having coffee or shopping. We both slept with Sir on our own, or together. When we went to events they whored me out, but only played with each other. I was jealous, but knew I had no right to be. They were both single and I was married–and I liked getting fucked by different people, so it really made no difference.

The problem was, I liked The Switch, our Sir, more than I liked my Mistress. I was turned on by her sexually, but as far as our personalities went I didn’t feel like we had much chemistry. Sir, however, could make me tingle just by laying in bed together, talking. But he was her boyfriend, not mine.

On our very first night out together, she collared me. Again, it felt too soon, but I accepted. It did not matter that my ex had cut me loose–I was collared. I belonged.

On the last night I was with the both of them, we were at The Switch’s house. I had said I didn’t know how much playing I’d be able to do since I’d probably have my period. They said that it was a good thing I had other holes, but luckily (or so I thought at the time), I still wasn’t bleeding by the time our date rolled around.

I fucked Suicide Girl with a strap-on while The Switch fucked her ass. I rode him while she rimmed him, then put my finger in his ass while she sucked his cock. And then it was my turn–my first time having anal sex that wasn’t either forced on me or didn’t hurt so bad I had to stop after the first few seconds.

I slid onto The Switch’s cock, using him until I exploded with pleasure, and then he told Suicide Girl to grab a small purple dildo out of his nightstand. She slid it slowly into my ass until I saw stars. She worked me with it gently, making me writhe, until The Switch asked her, “Do you think she’s ready for the real thing?”

“I think she needs the real thing,” she said.

He told me to lay on my back on the edge of the bed. I spread my legs for him and  he slowly slid his cock into my ass, Suicide Girl playing with my tits.I let out a low, primal moan.

“Is it hurting?” he asked. “It’s not fun if it’s hurting.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t form the words to explain how it felt. He fucked me slowly as my cries built, then faster.

“I’m gonna come in your ass,” he growled eventually. I whimpered, so hot I couldn’t stand it. Seconds later I was dripping from both holes.

Later, having eaten and sobered up, I kissed them both and went home. It was the last time I would be with them.

Two days later I sent Suicide Girl a text. No words, just a single photo. A white stick with two pink lines. A death sentence.

The Photo Shoot (Part II)

( You can read part one of The Photo Shoot, here).

Suicide Girl pressed up against me, teasing my pussy with the tip of the strap-on. I moaned.

“Do you want this?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, who?” she and The Switch asked in unison.

“Yes, Mistress,” I whimpered.

“That’s better,” she replied.

I was aching. From the moment I walked into the bedroom and saw her, I’d been overcome with lust. Being so close to her with a strap-on between us was torture. Mercifully, she didn’t wait long before putting me out of my misery.

She slid it slowly inside me, once, twice, and then fucked me fast with it. I moaned loudly, entering that space where coherent thoughts are impossible and sex is almost an out of body experience. Suicide Girl was moaning now too, her pace growing jerkier, and I could tell without looking that The Switch was behind her, fucking her doggy-style.

We fucked until we collapsed with exhaustion, three layers deep. The fog lifted and we realized that camera was clicking and the make-up lady was still standing in the corner. Both were kinksters, and neither batted an eye, but I am slightly concerned by my ability to become so consumed by sexual contact that everything else, including other people in the room, disappears. I am not so much an exhibitionist, as I am a person who loves sex so much that self-consciousness and propriety are not even a factor.

The make-up lady packed up her styling gear and half-joked about how she was going home to jump her husband before their company arrived. The photographer left soon after, but The Switch got a text from him two minutes later saying he wanted to come back and rub our feet (he has a foot fetish, ha ha). The remaining three of us drank wine for a few more minutes in the living room, until The Switch said “Take off your clothes,” and made his way to the bedroom.

“Okay,” we said immediately, shucking the clothing we’d replaced only minutes before and climbing into bed with him, naked.

Suicide Girl and I kissed and groped, while The Switch fingered her. He entered her with his cock, and she narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “Get your pussy on my face.”

She licked and sucked me, rubbing with her tongue and nipping with her teeth, spreading me with her fingers to make sure she hit everything.

“Come for me,” she commanded in a deep, throaty voice.

I moaned loudly, muscles squeezing, pussy throbbing, soaking wet.

The Switch threw me on the mattress, held my hands above my head, and pounded into me with incredible force. I screamed, eyes half closed, as Suicide Girl gently shushed me. “Too loud,” she said, running her hand lightly up my arm.

I bit my lip and tried to make less noise. I didn’t want The Switch’s basement tenant to complain, but I have never been known for my ability to keep quiet.

He fucked me until we had nothing left, and then we all fell asleep, a tangle of limbs, holding each other.

The Photo Shoot (Part I)

The Switch met me with a hug, poured me glass of wine, and led me back to his bedroom.

“There’s not a lot of space,” he warned. “But we can squeeze into the corner.”

He was right. A large light occupied one corner, in another was a man with a camera, and by the window stood a red-head with chopsticks in her hair, holding a reflector. On the bed was Suicide Girl. Her long blue hair fanned out around her face, and her tattoos covered her body. She looked up at me and smiled–a bad-ass mermaid shipwrecked on land.

The Switch introduced me to everyone. I said hello, then made myself scarce, allowing the professionals to do what they were there to do. I was a spectator–for now.

The photographer directed the posing, the stylist swooped in every few minutes to re-apply lipstick or smooth a stray hair, and The Switch and I stood and stared, our temperatures rising. At one point he picked me up by my crotch and smirked.

“Getting a little damp there?”

“Yep,” I quipped. “Through my jeans!” When Suicide Girl stuck out her ass and propped a leopard-print heel up on the bed, I nearly came. God.

It was time for a wardrobe change. I followed the women-folk into the kitchen. Suicide Girl stripped off her lingerie without a hint of self-consciousness and began to dig around in her bag for her next outfit. I was amazed at how much lingerie she had, and she told me I could try on anything I wanted. Minutes later I was standing in the kitchen in a black bra, and matching black and red garter and thong. I was just messing around, but was soon informed that I was now part of the photo shoot. At first they wanted me just as decoration–they chained me to the dungeon wall as background art for Suicide Girl’s shots. Eventually, though, she started to touch, kiss and grab me, and that was caught on film too.

When those shots were done, they unchained me, and Suicide Girl and I were instructed to get on the spanking bench. They took some photos, and then The Switch told her to get up.

“What am I going to do with you?,” he mused aloud, referring to me. “Okay. Suicide Girl. You can do whatever you want to her.”

“I get to do what I want to her!?” I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell by her tone of voice that she was smiling  and possibly bouncing up and down. She sounded like a kid at Disney Land.

I received several bare-handed spanks to start off. Then the whip came out, and while it didn’t exactly tickle, I wanted more.

“Harder you Pussy!” I smirked.

And from there I was completely dominated. I ended up yelling “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”  and then I got some cuddles and kisses to make it better. Not a bad reward for my insolence!

The Switch left the room for a couple of minutes while Suicide Girl and I snuggled on the bench, and when he came back he said “Suicide Girl, you’re wanted in the kitchen for a minute. They want to fix your make-up.”

She left the room and I was instructed not to move. When she came back and climbed up behind me, there was a distinct difference in the way she felt: She was wearing a strap-on.

(To Be Continued…)

The Surrogate Sir (Part I)

While my Sir is away, he arranged for me to be trained by Sir.S. I get to play with him and Peanut, but only if I am a good girl. I have been asked not to fuck anyone else in his absence, which is already proving to be a challenge, but I am determined to obey him. I may have to buy a sex-toy next pay day, though!

My training began on Saturday night, at a party with some people from Fet Life. Peanut came to pick me up and bring me to her house, where Sir. S was waiting. We talked and flirted in the car, then when we arrived she went and got ready and Sir. S and I had a chance to chat. We talked about hard limits, trigger words, where I am as a sub, open relationships, and the fact that we both dream of having big poly families someday.

He told me to get down on my knees and suck his cock, which I did. He had me lick up and down his shaft, and then try to deep throat. I gagged immediately but he continued to fuck my face, periodically asking me if I was okay. I murmured that I was. When Peanut came out, he asked her to show me how to deep throat. She gave me a few tips (which include sticking your tongue out just a little bit), then demonstrated effortlessly taking his sizable cock all the way down.

“Share my cock,” he said, so I got on my knees beside her and we both licked him. “Kiss her neck, Peanut.” She kissed my neck and exhaled into my ear, making me go weak as I continued to suck Sir.S. She grabbed me and kissed my lips while he stood over us, pulling my tits out of my skimpy dress and sucking my nipples. I wasn’t sure this would be okay, since he hadn’t instructed her to do this, but he seemed to enjoy it. I undid the halter on her one-piece cat suit and pinched and licked her nipples, grinding myself on her leg until I started moaning loudly. Sir. S asked if I was going to come, and I said yes. He told me to tell him when I came, so when I felt waves of pleasure rock my body I said “I’m gonna come!” I rubbed myself on her at an increasingly frantic pace until my orgasm subsided.

When I was finished, Peanut and I still sitting on the floor holding each other, Sir. S asked “Was that a real orgasm, or did you fake it?”

“I never fake it, Sir,” I said, smirking dirtily.

We all had a smoke, and then got into the car to drive to Sir. S’s place so he could get ready. Peanut and I waited in the backseat, holding hands and flirting, while he went up to his apartment and got dressed. He was back a few minutes later, dressed in a leather jacket and pants. Yum. On the drive there, we talked about the fact that he had never been with a Black woman before, and how it was one of his fantasies. I  have met a lot of men and women who share this fantasy–lucky for me!

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” I said lustfully.

We arrived at the party at about 8:30 (after a detour that involved getting lost and calling my Sir, who hadn’t left yet and said he might be making a late appearance at the party, for directions). We walked in together and Sir. S introduced me to those I hadn’t met yet as his “loaner sub.” I hugged and kissed people I recognized, and then we had something to eat before realizing we’d forgotten the wine in the car.

We told Sir and offered to go get it. Peanut and I held hands on the walk to the car, having girl-talk about all things sexy, then prepared to re-enter the house through the back yard. We opened the gate and Sir. S stood there with a small group, smoking. We chatted for a few minutes and then he said he was going inside.

“Okay, Sir,” we said in perfect unison. Everyone laughed. “You are such good girls,” he replied with a sexy smile, before retreating back into the house.

After another cigarette, we decided it was time to break into the wine. Peanut poured a glass for me, then one for myself, which I offered to Sir. S but he turned down. I think he wanted to remain sober in case he was called on to dominate anyone, because despite supplying the wine, he drank water all night. We mingled in the kitchen until Sir. S called us to follow him downstairs.

“Yes, Sir,” we said, and he led us down to the dungeon. In the entry area, there was a bookshelf stocked with first aid supplies–bandages, rubbing alcohol, swabs, etc. It was clear the hostess was hardcore. There were two rooms off the foyer–one was a bedroom with dim lighting, ropes, and a large bed with red silk bedspread and sheets.

The next, larger room had a brick bar, two walls of flogging tools, and a spanking bench. Peanut and I sat on it and cuddled, until Sir.S. told us to roll over. We obeyed, presenting our backsides to him, and he began to spank us with the flat of his hand. He hiked my dress up so my backside was bare as his palm connected with my skin, making it sting. It was seconds before we were both screaming erotically. Hearing the other’s arousal heightened each of our pleasure.

The dungeon had been empty, but it instantly seemed to fill. I heard someone say, “Now, why would you want music when you can listen to that?” I guess we sounded pretty hot!

The flogging seemed to go on forever. It was more than I was used to, but it pushed me to a point past pain, where I was flooded with adrenaline and endorphins. For the first time, I can honestly say, I am into pain. Not just the taboo of it, but everything. Sir. S spanked us harder and harder, and eventually I felt him roll Peanut over and heard his hand connect with what I assume was her face. I have no idea because I was face down, whimpering and gasping, until his boot collided with my ass, and then I felt him punch me.

When I had witnessed this before, at the party he’d hosted at Peanut’s, I thought it looked barbaric and couldn’t understand how she was getting off on it. Experiencing it, however, is something different. He knew exactly what he was doing–where to hit, how hard, and at what point, because at the moment I would have thought I’d have started to cry, I had an orgasm instead.

“Any tears yet?” he asked me.

“No, Sir.”

“Then maybe I haven’t been hitting you hard enough.”

“. . .I disagree, Sir.”

The room erupted into laughter.

After a few more minutes, he told us to sit up. He kissed Peanut, then me, and we were told to stand. I didn’t think I would be able to, but I managed. He wiped down the bench for us while we cuddled and kissed and stroked each other, half-watching a woman behind the bar who was having some sort of unseen sex toy bring her to orgasm.

Eventually we went back upstairs. I was struck by how hot my ass felt. It was burning. It was not unpleasant–it felt like  I’d been sitting on the heated seat of a car for an extended period of time. The rest of the party was spent eating, drinking, making friends, and ducking outside for smoke breaks. There was also a LOT of flirting.

Sir.S came up to me in the kitchen, pressed himself against me, and said filthy things to me until I was dripping.

“I can’t wait to be balls deep inside you.”

“I’m gonna teach you just how to take my big white cock.”

“I’m gonna have you on your back, wet and screaming.”

I hooked one leg around him and started to grind against him, needing him so very badly. Peanut made an appearance and he called her over, putting arm around her with his hand resting on her ass. Our eyes flitted back and forth between each other, communicating pure heat and lust, until we slowly started to exchange kisses, taking turns or kissing as three.

“You girls need to be fucked.”

(To Be Continued)