Walking on the Wild Side

Walking on the Wild Side [part 1 of 2]
By: Nikita (menopawz2004@yahoo.com)

Walking on the Wild Side by Nikita

I had been in slave training for several weeks when he told me I was to be pierced that afternoon. Very carefully licking his balls, I was in no position to respond. A little tug on the chain clipped to my neck was a signal to snake my tongue into his asshole. I got it right, because his dick got very hard and he rammed it down my throat, cum hurling like a storm surge into my stomach. He held onto my head tightly while I shuddered and gasped for air. Gulping fast, some drops escaped and dribbled down my chin. I quickly lapped them up and he allowed me to relax between his thighs.

I wasn't very good at giving blow jobs. In fact, it was my albatross. Sir determined that frequent drilling would sharpen my skills. Any hesitation in decoding subtle movements and tugs by Sir would incur a swift correction. Needless to say, he would beat me frequently with the riding crop.

"Pay attention!" he'd say icily.

He forced my mouth to mold to him and fill my nose with his smell. When I opened my throat, he would drive deep into me, putting me at his mercy in the most defenseless and vulnerable position.

Hoping this would not go on forever, I had little choice but to keep trying. Yeah, I did get better at it. One late, rainy afternoon, looking up at him in a haze of pain and tears, I felt proof of my own power in the shuddering strength of his orgasms. I became the proud receptacle of his bodily fluids.

As he lay spent, stroking my head, he said, "Kymber, it's time to go. Slip into your heel and bring me your leash."

"Yes, Sir," I replied and scampered off.

I'd been jerking off to S/M porn and the Story of O, since I was a twelve-year old babysitter. I never thought those early beginnings of reading erotica would bring me to this point.

Sunday Afternoo three weeks earlier

The familiar smell of Coppertone waft ed to my nose. Cindy was energetically rubbing the coconut lotion on her golden arms. Her long, straight, flaxen hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She was peering at me over her Jackie O sunglasses. I was hiding under my baseball cap, pretending to be incoherent.

"You look rode hard and hung up wet, " she grinned, as she continued stroking lotion on her mile high legs.

Smiling, I pictured myself under the Master, squirming, skewered by his thick, pointed lance, while screaming through the ball gag.

"Kymber?"

Cindy shook my shoulder. I winced in pain. The plastic cap squeaked as she screwed it on the Coppertone bottle.

Twisting slightly to look at her, I said dreamily, "Did you say something?"

Cindy's luscious, thick lips were wrapped around a cigarette as she talked out of the side of her mouth. She opened a bag of carrots, flipped off the top of the onion dip, dunked, crunched, and created a cacophony. I wondered how she could balance all those activities at the same time and still be annoying.

"So. . . . what happened to you?" she asked nibbling like a rabbit.

"Pass me the carrots, I'm starving."

With a crispy carrot lodged between her choppers, she passed me the bag, and flashed her big, pearly whites. The last thing I remembered about last night, was Cindy's trembling figure, cum dripping down her legs, and no cigarette in her mouth.

"You were the one that left the whole bar gawking," I hissed. "What happened in the men's room?"

Cindy wrinkled her nose and quickly glanced away. Cindy loved to regale me with the wild and wacky escapades of the Saturday Night with Cindy Show. Tears welled up in my eyes from laughing. You couldn't shut the girl up to catch your breath, as she told animated tales about her victims. For example, one particular evening, I witnessed her brutal emasculation of a puffed up Ginzo who wanted to take her home. His mistake? A lame pick up line and gaudy, gold chains on his fat, stubby neck. With a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth, she stared incredulously

"Shut my mouth?"

She whipped her hair to one side, stood in his face, and stared him down with her blazing, blue eyes.

"The only time I shut my mouth is when there's a big dick in it. Do you have a big dick? Huh? Or are you just a dick?" she thundered, as if she were a Cleveland steelworker.

The poor worm took his shrunken balls, and crawled back into his hole.

Cindy glanced around the pool, "Let's hop in and I'll give you the short version."

A walking wet dream with a well stacked rack, Cindy parted a crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea. Being the polar opposite of Cindy, my body wasn't as tall and spectacular as hers, but, for a petite girl, I had long legs and a curvy butt. As Cindy straightened up and jumped into the tepid water, her bikini bottom revealed raised, thin, red welts. We swam together like shapely dolphins to the shady side of the pool.

"I was playing a game with Patrick," she said, gasping for air.

"You really should stop smoking. You can't swim across this tiny pool without running out of breath." I nagged.

"It's not the smoking. My jaws are too sore to open and my nose is stopped up," she complained.

My pussy twitched and started to drool as I hung onto her words. Cindy glanced at the black and blue marks on my shoulders and the bags under my eyes.

"Hey, you are holding out on me!" she squawked.

Flashing her a secretive smile, I fingered the welts across her ass. Her face smarted in pain as she twisted away from me.

We always played this cat and mouse game of telling. I admired Cindy for her self confidence and ballsy demeanor. She oozed sex, like a neon light, in her charming gum chewing, lip smacking way. Cindy was much better at telling stories than I, but, I got a rise out of her for holding back. This made her madly curious, and sometimes I indulged her. Cindy was shameless, like a puppy looking for a bone, snapping furiously, tugging away, and using all the wiles at her disposal to wheedle the truth out of me.

One time, we compared notes on oral sex. Although we found giving blow jobs distasteful, Cindy had figured out how to give a bad one. Some guys might ask, is there is a bad blow job? She reasoned if you gave a bad blow job, they would throw you on the ground and fuck you really hard until they blew their nut. It sounded logical to me. I've had nightmares of my pouty, bow shaped lips being violated by long, thick, heavily veined dicks. Cindy calmed my nerves by using a banana to demonstrate the technique.

"Try to get him to lick your pussy and then fuck him. If he gets his dick in your mouth first, lick and nibble around the head like this."

She swirled her tongue around the helmet and across the piss hole.

"Suck the knob a little, then lick along the shaft while gently squeezing his nut sack." she mumbled, while licking and sucking the banana's sweet nectar.

"Once he starts shooting, dodge and duck. Milk the rest of it with your hand. If he doesn't lick your pussy then, Hasta la Vista, baby," she proclaimed, throwing up her hands.

Then, the bitch made me eat the banana. Cindy knew how to make me cream with her sex talks. She'd smile as I'd excuse myself and scamper to my room to jerk off.

Stalling, I dove under the water and goosed her. My wavy mass of chestnut hair matted around my delicate face as I popped up behind her. We played cat and mouse for a while.

"Come on Kymber," she growled, gripping my hair tightly around her fist.

Grateful to have free hands to rub across my clit under water, "Well, it started with your blow job lesson . . . "

Saturday Morning

Saturday mornings started the same way. We staggered out of bed. One of us spilled coffee grounds on the floor before they made it to the cup. We forced a cup of joe down our throats and don our sneakers for a quick run. Brunch and shopping would fill up the rest of the early afternoon. If money was tight, we hung around the apartment, put on some tunes, and wallowed in our own makeshift spa. This was a spa day. Hair and nails were on the menu.

"Do you have any favorite sex fantasies, Cindy?" I asked, innocently, while I trimmed her bangs.

Cindy lit another cigarette, turned her head to the side, and blew smoke rings, lost in thought. She squirmed in her seat, trying to adjust the seam up the crack of her ass.

Looking at me sideways, "No. Do you?"

Visions of fucking, sucking, handcuffs, and leashes danced in my head.

"No."

I resumed, quietly, like a cat on a wire.

"You never thought about being kidnapped, tied up, spanked, forced into doing things you'd never do?"

Taking another drag, Cindy squinted at me. "Let me braid your hair, bitch."

My nipples got hard when she called me bitch. Her fingers moved very firmly along my scalp, grabbing sections and tugging sharply, almost to the point of pain. The tugs stimulated my nerve endings all the way to my clit.

"Where are you going with this?" she asked.

I was getting horny and needed to splash. Always the instigator, I thought of a way.

"Let's play a game, a sex chain story. It has to be really hot and nasty. We can stop whenever you want. You set the stage to start. I will add to the story, make it nastier, and then stop. You will add more to the story to make it nastier than I did, and then stop. Got it? The more nasties we add, the hotter it will be."

Cindy grinned, knowing where I was going.

"I'm game." She said with a laugh.

To get comfortable, we lay down on the floor with pillows under our heads. Sounding like a little girl trying to be tough, Cindy started the tale.

"A young girl, about our age, walks up to her front door without her key. It's dark. She bends down to look for the key under the flower pot. As she's fumbling with the pot, someone grabs her . . . " she stopped.

"A masked man leans into her ear and hisses, 'I have a knife in my hand, do you feel it?' She feels the knife cut her bra off." I continued, "She feels the serrated edge stroking her nipple and she shivers."

Cindy croaked, "She is so scaed, she wets her pants!"

"Then, he pulls a pair of dirty underwear from his pocket and stuffs it in er mouth, gagging her. He digs into her a little more with the knife. 'Where've I heard his voice before?' she's thinking."

I paused, unable to add more at the moment.

"She tried to scream, be she can't. Her voice is muffled. 'You're gonna die in a New York minute if you try anything funny,' he threatened," said Cindy, trying to mimic a New York accent.

I picked up the next thread, "He quickly handcuffs her hands behind her back. She's pushed down and her dress is up over her head as he rips her panties off. Embarrassed, she kicks him in the balls."

Cindy's eyes glazed over s she visualized the scene. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her crotch, taking a quick whiff of her fingers.

Cindy continued, "He spanks her butt, hard, leaving bright, red hand marks on it, the prick."

My breath got ragged. Juice soaked through my shorts. Where's a towel when you need it?

"The man jeered, 'You are a real slut, showing your bare ass on the front porch for all your neighbors to see. Let's give 'em something to talk about', " as I tried to mimic a man's growl.

"Kymber, what happens next?" asked Cindy, her head popping up, eyes open wide.

She stopped rubbing and squeezed her thighs together for a minute.

"He grabs his fuck stick and spits on her asshole. 'I'm going to stick my dick in your ass, bitch. When I'm done, you're going to lick me clean,' he laughed cruelly." I hissed.

Slowly, Cindy laid back on her pillow with a dreamy look on her face. Both of us envisioned the scene unfolding. As I feverishly rubbed my fingers over my clit and grinded my ass into the carpet, Cindy was searching for her nipples under her stretched out tee shirt. Her fingertips roamed around in lazy circles, as she rubbed and twisted her big nipples. I never saw her naked nipples, but always wanted to suck them.

I continued, "She's so humiliated that anyone is looking at her THERE. Her hole looks like a star, tiny and defenseless. She clenches her anus really tight, hoping to keep the intruder out. He forces his knob in with a grunt and briefly savors the feeling of his dick being squeezed by her sphincter. He drives it home in one stroke, like a jackhammer, sawing back and forth, relentlessly pounding her into oblivion."

Hand in my pants, breathing hard, I slapped my pussy lips urgently, trying to keep my moans to a low roar. . . whatever . . . pant . . . I . . . just . . . had . . . to . . .CUM. I released a low moan. My legs squeezed together and trapped my hand. With toes unfurled, eyes squeezed shut, and my heart pounding, I reached the crested shore. I embraced the little death with fireworks and joy.

We were quite a sight. As Cindy floated back to earth, her breasts quivered. She used a similar technique to reach her apex. Legs splayed, Cindy's hand was twisted downward as she slapped away at her straining pussy like a runaway train. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back in her head as she grimaced. Cindy's face stayed in that freeze frame until she exhaled with an earpopping groan. Finally, she rolled up into a ball.

After several moments of jerks and tremors, she settled down to breathing normally. She opened one eye to see me staring at her, with my mouth open. Smiling like cats licking milk from their whiskers, we quickly unplugged the phones and retired to our respective bedrooms for a nap.

Later that Saturday Evening

As we walked into the night, our adrenaline surged. Cindy and I were flying high and dressed to slay. Attention, a poultice for the ego. Cindy draped her chassis in a blue silk skirt with a matching halter top. Stilettos encased her painted toes. Bouncy hair with side swept bangs, swung down her back.

A short, tight black dress hugged my healthy curves as black sandals were platforms for my diamond shaped calves. My braided ponytail betrayed school girl innocence. The only accessories were my green cat eyes.

Brass handled doors opened to heart pumping music and the low roar of talking. Smoke hung in the air like a wet suit.

"How you ladies doin tonight?" asked Jimmy. "Jimmy!" we squealed in unison. "The usual?"

We nodded, flashing smiles.

Cindy liked to stand at the bar and smoke. She exuded an untouchable quality. Flanking her other side, I was fresh, un-jaded, and approachable. My face was a clear canvas of naivete. I happily perched on a stool next to Cindy, Manhattan in hand, ready to observe the unfolding tableau before me.

Jimmy was a body builder stuffed into a tuxedo, complete with bursting buttons. A bow tie strangled his neck. Wavy hair complemented his thick, black, mustache. I imagined him in a pickup truck and cowboy hat, complete with a bumper sticker advertising MOUSTACHE RIDES 50 CENTS.

Jimmy was our favorite bartender and we tipped him very well. I respected Jimmy for his ability to size people up. Many times, he stepped to the rescue when someone was plying me with drinks. He watched over me like a big brother. He knew Cindy could take care of herself.

An honest man, he told me I was book smart but people stupid. He was right. I spent most of my formative years in college, studying and working. There was no time to learn the game of life. My experiences were limited to GIRLS GONE WILD frat parties, vanilla sex with my boyfriend, and typical Catholic schoolgirls' escapades.

Cindy liked Jimmy because he treated her like a fellow server. He knew she was a waitress at the best steakhouse in Houston. Cindy wanted the steakhouse job like a mouse would want a job in a cheese factory. She smelled money in the tips. Cindy had to blow the owner for the job. Little did she know, that he would have given her the job anyway. He reasoned her tits would be as famous as his steaks.

Cindy's laser vision scanned the crowd. A handsome, feral piece of beefcake attracted her attention. He looked like the bad boy from high school; standing out in the sea of suits wearing a white tee shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up under his sleeve. His name was Patrick.

Short spiked hair matched his sharp, chiseled features, a spider web of lines around his steely blue eyes. Patrick was secretive and seemed inpenetrable. His words were measured morsels that fell from his mouth. Patrick rarely smiled, but when he did, he was magnetic.

We met Patrick three months ago at this very club. Cindy was drawn to him. They had a strange arrangement; a standing appointment here every weekend. Disappearing for a while with Patrick, she came back different and subdued.

Patrick's eyes connected with Cindy's. Mumbling something in her ear, he guided her to a cloistered nook. The club had alcoves, scattered about, where couples could huddle in some semblance of privacy. With intense curiosity and simple nonchalance, I walked to eavesdrop.

"Please don't make me. I'll do anything else." Cindy implored.

"That will cost you ten more strokes babe." Patrick said in a quiet but steely voice.

Looking at him mournfully, Cindy said, "Yeah, I know."

Looking pleased, Patrick said, "Keep your eyes on me."

He pulled her massive tits out her top and ordered, "Give me your panties."

Patrick lingered over the aureoles with his lips and mumbled "You are a whore. You enjoy being outrageous and the center of attention."

Humiliated, a tear ran down her cheek, Patrick tucked her tits back in her top, took her panties and kissed her tear away.

"In ten minutes, come to the men's bathroom with the man I chose," he said, as if concluding business.

Quickly, I returned to my post. My eyes were fixed on Cindy. Her tits and ass in moved in tandem as she walked slowly to the bar and sat next to me.

"Jimmy," she said in a hesitant voice, "Long Island Ice Tea, please?"

"Sure, babe."

Cindy took long slurps, crossing and uncrossing her legs, each time opening them a little wider. She turned and pointed her snatch at a table of Geeks flanking Patrick. His head nodded toward a pimply faced, stringy haired man wearing a wrinkled plaid shirt that had a pocket protector with pens. He looked like he hadn't showered in a few days. Blanching, Cindy put her hand under her skirt and slowly stroked her mound. I touched her shoulder in concern.

Slapping my hand away, she hissed, "I'm playing a game with Patrick."

My pussy started to drip as she continued to caress herself. The geek came over.

Embarrassed, he was looking down and around, stuttering.

"Patrick said you wanted to dance with me," he squeaked.

She shot a disgusted look at Patrick and turned to the shy guy, "No, I don't want to dance with you. I want to suck your dick. Follow me."

She grabbed the shocked young man's hand and led him to the men's bathroom. Patrick followed swiftly at their heels. My head was spinning. I looked at Jimmy to see if he witnessed anything. He was busying himself with wiping the counter, sweat dropping from his brow. As he grabbed her glass, I told him to leave the drink as she was going to need it. He grinned.

I was squirming in my seat for fifteen minutes when Cindy returned. Her hair was disheveled, lipstick smeared, and there was a noticeable drop of cum on the corner of her mouth.

"Here's my mirror. Your lipstick is mussed." I offered, watching Mr. Geek returning from the restroom with a big smile framing his yellow teeth.

"I like it that way," she said, flipping Patrick the bird.

Patrick sauntered over to Cindy, roughly grabbed the back of her hair and whispered as he nuzzled her neck. Slowly sipping her drink, she tried to shake him off with a cold shoulder. He pinched her nipple hard. She almost choked on her drink. As Patrick walked to the banquet room, he stopped to mumble something to the rest of the Geeks.

Like Alice in Wonderland, I wanted to follow the rabbit down the hole, but I waited instead. Finally, Cindy stumbled her way back to her chair, wearing a crooked smile, glazed eyes, and cum stains on the back of her skirt. The Geeks trickled out of the banquet room. Waving wildly to Cindy, they grabbed their crotches in unison in a gesture of thanks. I looked at Patrick with eyes as big as moon pies.

"What did you do to her?" I whispered to Patrick.

Unable to get the obscene images out of my mind, I rubbed my pussy on the corner of the bar chair, scratching my twitchy itch. Patrick watched me, his lips curled up into a wicked smile.

A man who was watching me all this while said, "Can I be of some assistance?"

I looked up at him.

"That was quite a performance. You can mop the floor with those panties," he said staring at my crotch.

He was the most attractive man I ever saw, with pale gray eyes riveted on my ass. Appearing to be in his late thirties, salt and pepper hair belied a youthful face. He was dressed in a loose Armani suit and was very tall. I was inexplicably drawn to him, perhaps because he closely resembled my favorite mentor in college.

Humiliated by his remark, I felt naked, vulnerable, and very horny.

Quickly turning on my heel to run away, he grabbed my elbow and said, "I'm sorry. My name is . . ."

My mind went blank. It didn't matter what his name was, or who he was. I just wanted to go home with him. Spying my desperate need for relief, like a Neanderthal, he hoisted me over his shoulder, and carried me back to his cave.

In the Neanderthal's Cave

"Please! Let me touch it!" I begged.

"No. Not yet," he hissed, pulling my hand away from between my legs.

He held my face as he licked circles around my mouth. I couldn't see him because my eyes were blindfolded. I captured his tongue and gently sucked it, forcing a groan from his lips. I wanted him to let me touch myself. I couldn't wait.

Draped on a big, soft leather sofa, he pinned my hands under me. The aroma and texture of the leather was intoxicating. Wild Thing was playing in the background. I was playing his game.

He dove into my nether lips, drawing circles on my clit with his hard, pointy, tongue. He stopped to blow air on my tender bud, and then, started all over again. I started gasping in staccato. Crack! The crop came down hard on my upturned nipple. I screamed in shock and pain.

"Not until I say" he mumbled.

That didn't stop me from trying.

His long finger was worming its way into my asshole, one knuckle at a time. Trying to fuck his head, I ground my heated mound on his mouth with reckless abandon. My pussy was on fire. I wriggled and squeezed my legs together I just can't wait. I have to cum and fast. That's my problem. Reaching for the riding crop again, he wacked me on my hairless slit.

"Ow!"

The pain stung briefly. I groaned in disappointment. Trying to sway him, I arched my cunt toward his face again. Swat! The crop tattooed a welt on my cleft. I screamed in pain.

"Shh, be quiet," he warned.

I stopped talking and pouted. It was his way or no way. Wickedly, he teased me to another wave. His fingers traveled up my body, like slow, soft caterpillars. Latching on my stubby nubs, he twisted them. I winced in pain, a tear falling silently down my cheek. I tried to hump his leg. Crack! Crack! Crack! The crop landed sharply on my tits in measured strokes, causing my head to snap to attention in exquisite agony. Quietly, I contemplated my next move. I knew what he was doing. He was withholding pleasure from me so that the orgasm would be so intense, I would shake, shiver, and beg for more.

His name was Michael.

Michael flipped me over like a pancake, onto my knees, chest resting on the couch. Cold lube worked its way into my squirming holes. Whimpering, I bucked to get away. Holding my hands like a vise, he continued his assault. I screamed and writhed. He stopped. Don't stop! Michael fastened a ball gag on my mouth and tied my hands behind my back. I couldn't speak to charm him or make him feel pity. I was helpless, just the way he wanted me.

A cold, hard object was at my ass's door. The end, smooth and softly pointed, worked its way into my sphincter.

"Relax or it's going to hurt. Take small, quick breaths, and push like you are going to crap," he crooned into my ear.

With a pop, my asshole swallowed the slim shaped plug.

"Does it hurt?"

I shook my head to no avail.

The comforting sound of his zipper, shoes being kicked off, and his warm body crouched over mine made me shiver in anticipation. Cologne, mixed with his musky scent, filled my nose. His hand caressed my face. The other fingered my pearl as my body rocked in steady rhythm. The finger pulled away, leaving me in a neglected state again. Michael cleaved my steaming pussy with his throbbing bone and forced the juices from my cunt.

"Tell me how it feels," he moaned, as he removed my gag.

"I love you fucking me. . .fuck me harder. . .fuck. . ." I panted, meeting him stroke for stroke. I humped my mound on corner of the couch. As I rocked harder, he slapped my ass, a reminder not to cum.

"You little whore . . . how does it feel to have both holes filled? Pussy is so slick. I can slide in and out all day," he babbled incoherently, as he pumped with wild abandon.

Whoosh! The butt plug flew out like a rocket. Michael reared back and plunged the depths of my bowels with his hot, throbbing, cock. He fucked my ass in slow languorous strokes, his balls slapping against my pussy. He ordered me to hold on longer. "You have the tightest ass I've ever had!" I made a mental note to ask him, compared to whom.

"I love fucking your ass . . . I want to fuck your ass forever . . . " he rasped increasing the speed of the piston.

I flailed like fish on a hook. "I love you fucking my ass . . . fuck me harder . . . fuck my ass!" I screamed back.

Michael smacked my ass again. Instead of pain, it made me shiver toward an orgasm. Pumping back, I tried to squeeze my thighs together to get a little bliss. As he fucked me harder, I wailed, taking the pain that was turning to pleasure, and tried to make it last.

"Michael? . . . " I asked, "Can I . . . touch myself now?"

"Yes!" he screamed.

Cum blasted into my bowels in powerful jets, leaking out the sides of my gaping hole. He released my hands from bondage and my fingers, like birds in flight, landed on my pussy, briefly dancing and sliding across the lips. Little slapping taps on the mound while grinding my hips in circles, was all it took to raise the momentum from a crescendo to a raging roar. My brain was speeding like a bullet toward the bulls eye. At last, shaking, shivering, and long overdue, I reached my destination and with a piercing scream, collapsed. I was his slave.

"Later," he gasped, " we are going to try something different."

Still blindfolded, I cocked my head to the side, hanging on to every word. He picked me up as if I were a child, and gently bathed me. I was in no position to refuse. Then he fed me milk and cookies.

Something Different

Smiling down at my resting form, Michael whispered, "You're in desperate need of control. All that pent up sexual energy needs to be channeled." He fastened a leather collar on my neck and attached a leash.

Michael placed my hands on his throbbing cock. It was bobbing, searching for a hole. He mumbled as he guided my head to it's only target. Remembering Cindy's blow job lesson, I started to lick the tip. . .all around the tip. . .and in the slit. The knob was begging for a suck and I obliged, but only a little. I licked his hot rod; my tongue, riding down its length, to a pair of hairy balls.

I had to stop. Can't take hair balls; I'm not a cat. He saw me pause. Frowning, he grabbed my ponytail and tugged it hard.

"Concentrate." he said, pushing down my head.

I knew what he meant. His hairy balls needed a tongue bath. To me, it was unfair. My pussy was bald, pink, and clean. But sucking his hairy balls was obscene. That's where Cindy's lessons fell short. She didn't tell me about the balls. He pulled down on the leash, a signal to continue. I hesitated again. Crack! I felt the stinging crop on my back. Sucking his balls as if they were oysters, I gently rolled them around with my tongue, trying to savor the musky flavor. His cock spiked me in the eye. I made my way towards his hairy asshole, licking in between. His dick got even longer. Michael grabbed my shoulders for leverage and pumped my face with his turgid weapon. As I drained his bull sized balls, I gagged and retched. He filled my throat with hot, salty, stringy, goo.

"Swallow. . . All of it." Michael hissed between his teeth and fired sperm into my gullet.

I watched his face for signs, proud for being the cause of his explosion. Looking up with supplication, cum was dripping from my mouth. Michael studied me. I felt satisfied, yet unsure and frightened.

"I like the look on your face." he smiled, wiping cum from my chin.

He taught me about pleasure through pain. And so the story goes. . .

Sunday Afternoon, Back at the Pool

"Let me see your welts," she whispered.

"You can touch them gently, but first, bring me a beer," I sighed, watching Cindy swim away.

AUTHOR DECLARATION

I hereby declare that I am the original author of this article and that it has not been previously published in any form. I own the copyright to the work. I am over 18.