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NaughtyPixie

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...Little girls can be such naughty creatures...... I got inspired to do some blogging or journaling ...I really hope it doesn't seem like rambling or ranting..I would hate to be "that girl"....and..I am writing..well....sort of a story...stuff that has happened..some stuff that is..in the works...planned but yet to happen...some stuff I might like too..other stuff that is.....lets just say...fantasy...anyway..as I come up with interesting stuff..I will stick in in the little journal area down below....wink... I get really busy at work sometimes, and sometimes i peek at my email by phone while driving, which i do alot of.... so it looks like i am online, but i am sort of not really..so i cant always write back right away..so, if you write me, or chat me, and i don't respond right away, don't be mad...i am not ignoring you...OK, well, i probably am not anyway...wink I've been active in BDSM for awhile now, as far as "Real Time/Hands-On", and conscious of that part of my identity for even longer. I think I'm not supposed to imply that I started experimenting before.....I could....you know.... vote...but it was definitely before that. I have always had a clear idea of what works for me...its primal and....wild...I don't believe we can choose our orientation, I think if we're lucky we recognize it while we are still developing the other parts of our sexuality. Some don't make that discovery, perhaps they find fulfillment in other things but sexual fulfillment remains mysterious and elusive to them, or, they see it as an intruder and spend much of their lives fighting it. Certain things seem to stick with me, and build up steam. I know we are sexual beings from before birth, and so I suppose, our sexual identity/role begins developing then, but its on auto pilot, and not something we control or are even conscious of…what I know for certain is that at some point- I started realizing that "different things" appealed to me. I didn't know how to define them, morbid, dark, macabre, those terms didn't really fit. The feelings were more emotional and...well...definitely physical...its hard to put into words but I'll figure it out and rewrite this then. From an early age I had exposure to certain things that inspired me and my family circumstance being what it was, I was able to explore some of those interests without having to be secretive or feeling embarrassed. I remember, I had this amazing awakening-a specific vivid moment when all my murky thoughts and...desires..made complete sense to me for the first time. Imagine my (surprise/shock/joy/fear/relief/) when I realized I was hyper-sexualized and kinky at the tender age of XX...(...hmmm...actually ...X). The more I learned the more I wanted (still do). Before I actually discovered "BDSM" and understood that it was a forum for a completely legitimate form of sexual identity, I thought I must be the only one who had those particular fixation s, those needs. I don't think the term "obsession" applies but I do know I am a lil'bit OCD so perhaps it does, it all ultimately ties to brain chemistry and hormones). Images and scenarios I saw on TV and movies, my unorthodox dynamic at home- and then what I discovered on the internet when I went looking-(OMG!!), all sort of melted together into a bubbling witches brew of dark scary naughty fantasy. It was clear to me that my desires were in no way similar to those that most of my friends were romanticizing or giggling about. The thoughts and fantasies I was having, took on a life of their own and were becoming a terribly frustrating distraction before I learned how to satisfy myself, I mean at least temporarily. It was(is) more like releasing that built up steam, but I know now that no amount of furious masturbation, regardless of how artfully done can take the place of real experience. My private pleasure time has evolved into something extremely ritualistic, and intense, not to mention time consuming, but as I said, no matter how exquisite, it will always be two dimensional, missing something, second best. From the start, in my fantasies I would imagine, being a prisoner of the Inquisition in a dungeon. I saw a movie called "The Incubus" and those little flashes of imagery and others from similar movies have always been the “reel” playing in the back of my mind. I wrote something about it once in a journal somewhere. Another vivid fantasy in my head is one where I am kidnapped by a maniac( OK....its a group of maniacs in my fantasy)...duct tape over my eyes and mouth, a black canvas bag pulled over my head, cuffed tightly at wrists and ankles-pulled into a backbreaking hog tie with zip ties, stuffed in the trunk of an old car, and driven away into the foggy night. ....And....another where I am a prisoner in some jungle prison or Eastern European jail,...fated to experience what SHOULD have been portrayed in those "Hostel" movies, but wasn't ( I saw all three...what a let down...pitiful...they spent all that money and still totally blew it...three times...jeeze...I want a refund...) There are so many fantasies, similar stories with different settings, props, and costumes, but very similar underlying themes. As I experience more and more in real life, the brutal-dark-wicked- Sadistic-perverse-p*do-pr**t-torture-porn fantasy running on a constant loop in my head gets supplemented with facts and recollections of actual events. I prefer to play w mature men for a lot of reasons, experience, confidence, longevity ( hmmm...if you've been active as long as I've been alive...or longer...this is not a passing interest for you.) Mature men tend to be patient , more deliberate, less frantic. I have also discovered that “ well seasoned Sadists ” who have dedicated decades to perfecting their dark artistry, have quite often been inspired to create an environment, a hide-away, a place to practice their “wickedry” undisturbed, outfitted, of course, with the most deviant implements, tried and tested over time. This requires patience, experience, creativity, time, and no small investment of resources. Mature men can, not always, but more often, work better in a pack (did I mention the pack thing?...) Comfortable in Alpha/Beta roles without needing to urinate on the dungeon furniture (or occupants) to mark their territories. Generally speaking, "Beiber-Doms", even with their wildfire desire and boundless energy-just don't have the depth of experience- to stir my chemistry-I hope that doesn't sound closed minded-it wasn't intended to. Men that age (my age) definitely have...hmmm...assets and qualities...that are positively priceless-but not the sort that I look for in BDSM.I don't know a lot but I am clear as to what works for me personally...and what doesn't. I believe masochist is the best deion as far as the terms we use.....Sadomasochist actually....I have a little secret special interest that I indulge occasionally under certain special specific circumstances, but the larger thing by far that inspires me is extreme sensation, pain, torture, fear, helplessness, inescapability, the feeling of being overwhelmed, all of those and more, and the flood of hormones and brain chemicals that ensues. Preferably these events take place in an environment appropriate to the event. A dungeon, a torture chamber, a dark scary warehouse, a basement, an isolated house. It adds so much to the whole sensory experience.

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5/4/2012 10:55:12 AM

 November 15,2012...FINALLY...I had time to put up another part of this story, as usual, if you scroll down, everything after the "xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx's" in new.

 

 

 

 Here is a little bit of a new story that I am working on. I am still working on the other story,  that I had posted here previously, but, it has a long way to go and a lot of work yet to be done, and since I have had it posted here for such a long time, I felt like changing things up abit. I wish I had more time to write, as I have found that I enjoy it, but I am always so busy. I am easily distracted, and so I have a dozen or more story lines in the works currently.  I am letting them grow in my head, and develop their own personalities , and as little bits come to me, I write them down so I won't lose track of them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUBURBIA

 

 

     She strolled into the market, aware that there were eyes on her, but, not bothered. Not intimidated. She wasn't an exhibitionist, well, not really, just, beautiful, and confident of that. Minka, at forty three, had a body that a woman in her twenties would kill for. Much of that was good genetics, and the fact that she had married well was certainly a contributing factor as well. At 5'2", the five inch  stacked corky heels, with their tan canvas laces that ran up her calves almost to her knees, put her at least close to  eye level with most of the men. 

     Men that made a point to make eye contact with her, not so much  because she had the face of a model, with her high cheekbones and piercing eyes, but, so that it would be less apparent that they had moments before been staring at her amazing legs, smooth and perfect, and the ass that was hanging in two perfect curves beneath her frayed levi cut offs, her " shortie-shorts", and, the amazing set of perfect breasts that protruded proudly out of the top of the tight white half shirt that she wore. There was a moment, just a moment, when, every man in the store stopped and caught his breath. That is, before their wives glared at them in  "that way".

 

     She always dressed like this.....revealing....youthful...flirtatious....slutty ...like a stripper... a hooker even.....and,  at one point in her life, she had been all of those things and more...but, that part of her life was long past, and a world away. Her current social status couldn't have been farther from where she started, or where she had been along the way. She had been gifted with a heightened sexuality, and a beautiful body, and felt no compelling need to hide those facts. The icing on the cake was the smooth, soft unmistakable russian accent that spilled like music from her full lips. 

      She enjoyed the flirtative dance. People are sexual creatures, and men, in particular, are visual creatures as well. Their inner animal with its keen senses, always searching for fertile ground to till. She liked that about men. At least as far as sexuality, most of the ones that she had interacted with at any depth  were blunt, straight forward, and relatively simple in the exercise of that inner primal instinct. A time to work, a time to play, even a time to kill, but all the while, always prepared for the opportunity to sew their seed.  

 

 

     She had climbed the rungs of the social ladder, through her own determination and tenacity, ravenously craving what she believed to exist ahead, in the promised land, leaving the unimaginable horrors of her past behind her. As much as she still looked back quite frequently on the rich culture and fascinating history of her soviet homeland, with a certain amount of nostalgic retrospection, the unpleasant particulars of her past, were best buried, along with the bones of her mother, father, and brother, in the ruins of the collapsed communist empire.

     The images of that earlier time were as clear in her mind as if they had happened yesterday. There are those people who have survived horrific experiences, and are constantly haunted by the vivid recollection of those events, ultimately becoming  so hobbled  by emotional scar tissue, that their lives become permanently handicapped and distorted,  They cower in the shadows, and live in a constantly revolving replay of the worst moments of their lives. This was not so in her case. She compartmentalized things, and could turn things on and off as easily as opening and closing windows. Having that control made her very confident, and it showed in her every action. 

     

      Western culture in general, America in particular, with its promise of potential upwards mobility, available to those with certain rare and exceptional qualities, seemed well suited to a woman who was fortunate enough to be both beautiful, and clever. She wasn't brilliant, her level of intelligence was quite ordinary, but she was indeed an old soul, surprisingly wise, and well versed in strategy, and the politics of social interaction.  

       

     She smiled. She had been watching him, for the past two months or so. He started working at the market then, though, only part time, after school. It was almost summertime, school would be out. It was a time when ambitious  young men would be scrambling around to find jobs. Hungry for money, and the perks that accompanied it. Girls like boys who take them places and buy them things. 

     He was handsome. Sandy hair, amber eyes, and a marvelous build for a teen of his age. She loved tormenting him with her overt flirtation, frustrating him, and watching him squirm in his awkward adolescence, caught between a rock and a hard place. The overwhelming sexuality that  emanated from her was the rock upon which he could not help but to smash into, over and over again, and the hard place, hung just below his abdomen, and extended down the right leg of his jeans to an impressive length. She wondered if he , "wore that" just when she arrived, but, reminded herself that he was, young  after all, and so, it must be his "constant companion." 

     

     She smiled to herself. She always timed her visits to the market to coincide with his schedule. Ironically, a couple of her closest friends had found themselves on the same shopping schedule, and they would pass each other in the aisles, smiling, speaking to each other with their eyes, exchanging thoughts. They made sure to congregate together, chatting, giggling, and without fail, every time, he would situate himself to work at some mundane task that allowed him to be as near as possible. And then they would break apart and flutter away like  so many butterflies in different directions, no doubt frustrating him, until, he would come and find them, and begin the process over again. 

 

     They were confident mature beautiful women, and they were, in no way competing for flirting rights. They had an understanding. They had been a team for the last few years, doing nearly everything together despite their cultural and socioeconomic differences. They were closest of  friends, but as well, they were.....co-conspirators.

 

     This was a much more calculated game than mere flirtation and toying with the affections of a young man clearly in the hormonal overdrive that was only normal for his age.  It was a  game that they had perfected, first, in their younger days, as individuals, and later, when they met and discovered their common interests, as a unit. They were sister spiders spinning a web. And he was the most recent naive creature to have found itself drawing in closer and closer, curiouser and curiouser, oblivious to the inescapable trap that had been set to ensnare him. A moth, driven by an insatiable hunger to dive headlong into the heart of the flame. 

 

     She had spoken with him on occasion, usually to ask him some silly contrived question that she didn't really need answered. She found him in the produce section once and asked him to pick her out a cucumber, clarifying that length, and girth were vital, and that it must be very firm. She even commented that she just might need two or three of them. Another time, she leaned over the area where he was stacking cantaloupe, so far over in fact that, the full blossom of her cleavage was visible, only from that angle, and thus, only to him. She asked him if he had any experience finding the firmest roundest melons, and whether he preferred small melons or great big ones, She spoke to him in that hypnotic accent of hers, forcing him to make eye contact, even though he found it almost impossible not to look, no stare, at her perfect breasts. 

 

     Today, however, was different, the time for innocent flirtation had passed, and other windows and doors were to be opened. She breezed around with her little basket, tossing in this and that, without really paying attention. She was waiting for his inevitable arrival, at the end of whatever aisle she was on. He was as pleasantly predictable as any man could be. She smiled at him, and, still making eye contact, she nodded her head ever so slightly, beckoning to  him, letting him know that he had to come closer now, that she needed him. He summoned  up whatever courage he could find, and walked towards her with the best imitation of confidence that he could muster. She smiled, and softly said "Hello, how are you today Darling."

     "I'm fine, ....I mean...I'm fine thank you Ma'am"...  

     She smiled at the fact that he called her Ma'am. In truth, she did have a daughter at home that was not much younger than he. "I'm looking for something , I thought maybe you could help me find it, you seem like the man to ask".

     He smiled, but to himself. She had referred to him as a man. Boys his age, find it ultimately complementary to be referred to as manly and masculine. It offered a tiny morsel of sustenance to their very hungry and very fragile male egos.

      She smiled again, at the way he had adjusted his body ever so slightly, to look bigger, sturdier, harder. He might have even been unconsciously flexing just a tiny bit. She had tapped a little crack into the ice.  

     She knew the question would immediately reduce the flexing man-boy in front of her back into the charmingly insecure youth she had spoken to just a moment ago. She smiled, and then...asked him which aisle the condoms and personal lubricants were on, He mumbled something about aisle twelve, feeling immediately uncomfortable. He didn't know very much about "sex stuff" and that lack of knowledge lay over his confidence, and suffocated it like a  wet blanket. 

     "Be a dear, and show me would you Darling?" She began walking towards that aisle, leaving her basket sitting in the  aisle, and never turned back around to see if he had the taken the initiative to grab it and follow. She heard the wheels squeaking behind her. It was as if there had been an unspoken request, no, demand,  that he should accompany her,  show her their exact location, and make himself available to assist her in anyway she should request. 

     The shy voice in his head, was screaming now at the top of its lungs,  demanding retreat, but she did not allow that choice, and so, he followed her instead. He hated that end of aisle twelve. The sex things were at one end, the secret items that women used for their particular ...processes...were in the middle, and the baby things which always smelled horrible to him even though they were tightly wrapped in plastic, were at the other end.  This aisle was the sacrosanct territory of women. Men ( and boys ) were no allowed here. It was forbidden. 

     She was keenly aware that  young men his age were known to get shy or uncomfortable when matters of bodily functions, particularly menstruation, and sexuality enter the discussion, feeling some shame or sense of social repression, seemingly unaware that, everyone old enough to feed them selves was already evolving into the sexual creature that they were to become. 

     She turned and went down the aisle without looking back, and he followed because he desired the precious moments of her company, moments he had only day dreamed about before this, and, because, she offered no alternative but to follow her  into the belly of the beast. They got to the proper section of the aisle, and he pointed generally in the direction of the " sex stuff", and stared at the floor. He had left the basket a few paces behind him, and, like an animal in the wild, instinctively fearing the unknown, he didn't move closer. She smiled, and looked directly at him, making him feel even more awkward,  and said in her whispery voice,  " Thank you darling"

 

     He paused for a moment, trying to gather his voice so that it didn't come out sounding like a crackly screech. "You're welcome Ma'am". 

     She stood in front of the shelves for a moment, and sighed, like a little girl, a little girl in a donut shop trying to decide between fruit filled or chocolate glazed, and frustrated that she had to make a choice and couldn't have both. The kind of little girl that made you want to say " It's OK, why don't you have both", just so you could see her eyes glitter, her soft lips bending into a smile, her perfect teeth peering out from behind. 

     He was shifting back and forth uncomfortably, and couldn't imagine that she would want anything further from him, but, had a haunting feeling. He felt as though, he was somehow still engaged in his " service' of her,  and that it would have been rude of him or some how...forbidden...to depart without getting.....released....or something like that. 

 

   His hands on experience with actual women, well, girls, the female form in general, was greatly limited, by the insecurity of his age, and his shy nature, and the real or imagined restriction of his economic strata, which is to say, he was a poor, and the small amount that he earned doing odd jobs, he felt compelled to give to his parents, who both suffered from a chronic case of meager beginnings, coupled with a lifetime of poor choices. There were certain rules to performing the courting ritual properly, and at least part of that involved expendable income. In time, he would discover that he had certain assets that money could not buy, but at the present time, he  vacillated back and forth between horny and hopeless.

     He had fantasized about them, and worshiped them in a manner, their amazing bodies, as if they were some different species, from the very moment puberty had come upon him. There were of course those who hid their charms as if they were secret, and for this was a mysterious enticement, though, for most young men his age, life was to short for such nonsense. Their eyes, as the eyes of countless men and boys alike, were focused on those young girls comfortable enough to  display the assets they had been gifted with, girls who had the particular circumstance of having parents who didn't seem to notice or care that their daughters were sexualized at such a young age. They did their hair and  makeup, and arrived at school, wearing the most provocative things they could get away with, looking like women ten years older,  and displaying even more flesh during those hot summer months, when their mid drifts appeared, their little t-shirts strained against the continued growth from within,  their round bottoms peeked out from beneath shorts, and their smooth skin tanned in the sun. The swimwear they wore to the pool grew smaller in direct proportion to the increased  curves of their girly parts. 

     They learned how to walk and talk and behave like the women that garnered the attention of men. Girls at that age, are perfect narcissists, and their greatest desire, is to be desired, and their efforts are immediately rewarded tenfold with the attention of men of every age, who are programmed by nature to enter into the timeless competition, and  who are drawn to them like bees to a field of flowers.  To him, girls seemed to be in a constant state of evolution, and the more mysterious and tormentously desirable they became, the more unobtainable they became as well.

     Amazing creatures, with such smooth skin, scented with some naturally occurring perfume, their small still growing breasts, and the mink-soft tuft of silken hairs, hidden below, behind a thin layer of cotton, carefully guarded, prized, well defended, saved for someone worthy.

      Thus far, his interactions, had been the awkward fumbling, beneath the sweaters of schoolgirls girls who agreed to slip around the corner with him, girls as inexperienced as he, and though perhaps some of them were not as pretty as some of the others,  they equally sharing a desperate hunger for discovery, and relief, 

     The first contact, hands grasping, grabbing, pulling close, tugging at clothing, two topographies coming into contact as if they were designed to do so, and then a sparing of sorts, as lips come together, he stooping, and she straining and tilting upwards, soft, wet, parted, signaling the beginning of a sparring match, two tongues, like sabers, thrusting and parleying each other. Wriggling, wet, flexing, a foreshadowing of intercourse, a throbbing spear thrust through soft pink lips. A taste like none other, that first time when you taste the desire of another, drink in their warmth, a bombardment of sensory experiences, as the circuit completes and an electrical current passes through.

     Hot breath, hearts pounding as fingers explored forbidden territory, he, grasping breasts, squeezing nipples, hands shaking somewhat, sliding down, down, and feeling that  smooth solid flat abdomen,  the subtle slope into the navel, perhaps reaching back to explore the firm rounding bottom, and then, with some bold assertive move, sliding his hand into the front of her pants, to find the soft triangle of cotton panties, with the tiniest strip of dampness in a vertical stripe, with its unique topography,            

     Sometimes, when wordlessly encouraged by body language, the slight further parting of legs, a tightening of her grasp, or soft catlike mewing, he slipped fingers beneath the elastic band,  to feel the warm moisture, the flesh, the unimaginable softness, all the while shaking and trying desperately not to cum,  knowing that an early orgasm,would bring this to an end far too soon. 

      And she, the schoolgirl, his dance partner, making herself as tiny and defenseless as she can beneath his larger more overpowering masculine form, tugs at his belt, the snap, and then the zipper, sliding it down slowly, as her excitement elevates. 

     Her fingers slide into his jeans,  feeling the texture and friction of jockey shorts now grown overly tight, discovering the prize within, firm, warm, alien, but recognizable in a primal sense, squeezing it, sliding up and down, feeling its heat, the veiny texture of the shaft, the spongy crown at its tip,  unsure, unfamiliar, feeling its swollenness, its hardness. It's just like she had always imagined it, though perhaps larger, somewhat  intimidating. her mind leaps forward, picturing it, thrust at her, into her, like a spear, tearing through her maiden flesh, awash in the warmth of blood and fluid,  invading, conquering,  pushing deep inside her...

      And then... shaking...a moment when two shudder, and gasp, clinging to each other as  hormones rush from brain to blood, leaning together, steadying each other,  the sensation, the orgasm, that briefest of seconds at the top of the mountain, breathing the rarified air, and seeing a glimpse of eternity.  For that brief moment, never long enough,they cling and gasp, then fall to earth, and catch their breath. 

     And then the sinking, the decompression, the deflation, as that brief flame dims, and the warmth dissipates,  an inevitable awkward period  follows..a feeling as though, it needed to be more, if it could have just lasted a moment longer, did I do something to end it prematurely, "will he think Im a slut"....., "will she giggle and tell her friends Im inadequate"....but the truth is, even in inexperience, and brevity, it was amazing.. 

     They hastily redress themselves, smoothing out mussed hair, and tussled clothing, searching and finding no words. Perhaps they giggle, or perhaps, they experience embarrassment,  but in either event, they retreat back from whence they came,  both parties looking for the shortest route of escape, hopefully involving  as little conversation or eye contact as possible.

 

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     The top shelf had the overflow inventory, and each of those items was also available on the lower shelves, but, none the less, she pointed to a box on the top shelf, just out of her reach, and looked back at him. "Can you reach that pink box for me, the one with the black writing on it.?" He wouldn't dare suggest that she should take one from the lower shelf, and so he moved forward, to reach up for the box. He got closer, and noticed that she didn't move, and so, he strained his body to make himself just a little "taller" so he could reach over her without actually touching her. She shifted backwards, a tiny bit, and then a little closer, and then a little more, as if her proximity was somehow assisting him in his task, and then, suddenly, she was in his inner circle, that "no-man's land", where, when invaded, generally created a very disconcerting feeling.. She was inches from him, closer than that even. Close enough where he could feel the warmth that emanated from her body. 

 

     The electromagnetic fields that surround our molecules are in a constant state of agitation, performing millions of unconscious functions, seemingly, in perpetual motion, from our very first moment until our very last. A perfectly choreographed process that, from a few ounces of carbon, and various other elements, a few gallons of water, and an electrical spark, creates a living thing, unique, individual, and self aware. Driven by primal urge, yet, highly evolved and specialized. 

     And as her magnetic field overlapped his, engulfing him like a scalding tidal wave of raw unrefined sexual energy, he was unwittingly dragged down into the unyielding flow of her undercurrent, buzzing with a euphoria, not unlike that hypersensitivity that occurs in the oxygen starved brain of one drowning, after loosing the exhausting fight to stay afloat, in the moments prior, and perhaps immediately after, the desperate and utterly unavoidable deep inhalation of water. 

     The anxiety, the elation, the roar, the silence, the tension, and then .....the utter calm and quiet. The quiet part, in this case, only comes with experience and confidence, neither of which he had developed yet, even in small measure, though all the other sensations were in an unbridled cacophonous clash. 

 

     As involuntary systems and processes roared to life within him, he became very aware of her warmth, no, her heat, that seemed to bridge the gap between them, at the point where they were the closest, which just happened to be mid-thigh on his right leg. He was becoming positively intoxicated by her perfume, subtle, yet so very potent, floral, sweet. He couldn't tell jasmine from freesia, from honeysuckle, from the man in the moon, but what ever it was, it was compelling.

 

      From his height, around 5'10", he couldn't help but to see, from above, directly over her right shoulder, past her thick flowing auburn hair, and the dangling gypsy ear rings, directly down into the cleft that her breasts created in her t-shirt. Like two cantaloupes, firm, heavy, perfect, pressed tightly against each other in a space not quite large enough to accommodate, pressing and squeezing, and reshaping, and for lack of anywhere else to go, trying to escape by spilling out of the top of her shirt. There was the slightest glint of lotion with tiny gold "sparklies" in it, and a sheen that suggested moisture, not sweat, just the moisture that comes to the surface with its payload of pheromones, during heated moments, on a hot day, 

 

      They were firm enough to strain the elasture of the shirt, yet, movement made the exposed tops jiggle just a tiny bit, a slight undulation, and he couldn't help but to imagine how amazingly soft and alive they would feel when gently cradled in his hands, and then compressed ever so slightly, just until the fingers met with some resistance, but certainly not hard enough to bruise or cause pain, repositioning, fingers never quite loosing contact with the soft skin, so that the thumb and forefinger were poised to clasp the perfectly textured nipples, to feel their firmness, in an exploratory pinch, a baby pinch, feeling their stiffness, feeling them pulse, resisting the urge to pinch them harder, or perhaps follow some primal mammalian need to seek sustenance from them.. 

 

     He was close enough now to smell the cherry lipgloss that she wore, and the lotion that she massaged into every square inch of her skin, so close, that the frays on the bottom of those tiny denim shorty-shorts, were brushing right up against his thigh, below and to the right of his crotch,  a hundred tiny fingers, teasing, tickling, enticing, charming the serpent, now quite curious, to crawl from the comfort of its resting place, and wriggle down through the tight corridor between his thigh, and his jeans, in search of the source. Fearless, yet a  slave to its own ferocious appetite, a beast easily lured, and effortlessly captured by a predator of superior skill and cunning, for purposes yet to be revealed. 

 

     His felt his pulse, all through his body, seeming to end, throbbing, in his temple, and begin in the hidden confines of his jockey shorts.  His heart was pounding. He was getting so hard, he thought surely several minutes had passed, surely she must be aware that he was frozen in place, that he had become hypnotized. She was quite aware, in fact, though actually, only a brief few seconds had passed. 

 

     She looked back at him over her shoulder, holding his gaze with her eyes and smiled. It was a smile that words could not describe. It wasn't the smile she would give the other men in the store as she navigated her cart past them. It wasn't the smile she would give the girl who rang up her items. It was different. Like a beautiful vampire, soothing her victim with warmth and compassion, moments before ripping open a gaping flap of flesh precisely over the jugular, and ravenously gulping and slurping up the crimson geyser that burst from beneath.  

 

     And then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. He had an epiphany, a flash of true reality, and was both shocked and oddly relieved at the realization. Yes, that was exactly it. He felt as though, she had indicated that he should stay, that she had further need of his services, and that he had no choice but to comply...nor any desire to the contrary, and, should he do anything else, she would be displeased. He knew he needed her validation, her....permission. She was in full charge of this moment, and he would stand there, unflinching, for a year, a hundred years, if she looked at him and told him to, with her eyes. 

 

     He felt at that moment, as though he would do anything she asked. She held him in that spot, with her command, her authority, with lust, and an impossibly intoxicating .....cruelty ....of sorts, the sort that you obsess over, that you burn with desire for, that you crave with every inch of your emotion, and fear to the bottom of your primal soul,  that lay concealed from the outside world beneath her smile and her soft spoken-ness. She held his lean muscular body, his youthful unmarred skin, by his head of full wavy hair, she held him .......by his erection, .....as surely as if she had tugged open his zipper, and reached through the mail slot in his jockey shorts, and gripped it with in her delicate hands. Clenched like  the reigns of a mustang yet to be broken, like a chain, but a chain of muscle, and flesh, arteries and veins, a chain that was a part of his body, and therefore, inescapable. 

 

     His imagination was running rampant, and he had positively no idea where these specific thoughts had come from. He had never had anything even vaguely resembling these thoughts before. It was if someone else was inhabiting his body, someone much older and worldly, someone sinful, wicked, thinking for him, making all of the decisions, as if, he had borrowed the brain of another, and the fantasies he was having were not his but those belonging to that other . He was shocked, confused, and, scared, and unimaginably and unequivocally  turned on, in a way that he had never experienced before. The voice in his head was begging, pleading, for the opportunity to serve her every need,  and to service her every desire, no matter how far reaching. He would do anything , anything, to be an implement for her pleasure.

 

     Her gaze  lasted only a brief second, and then she turned back to make her selection, but, .....at that moment....He heard her voice, not out loud, but rather, inside his head, as surely as if she had turned, locked eyes with him, and said it, in that same accent, but, spoken in a strict, harsh , and authoritative manner...delivering her commands, in a way that was impossible to refuse.....he "felt" her saying the words to him, words that buzzed, and resonated throughout him. Was she really projecting thoughts into his mind, or was he simply wrapped up in some spontaneous fantasy, brought up from the darkest parts of his sexual psyche, thoughts he didn't know himself capable of thinking.....

 

     ,,,,," You will do as I say, without question, do you understand...... Darling...you are mine to do with as I desire, and the things I desire are oh so dark and wicked, exquisite, terrifying...but irresistible..... remember this, never, ever displease me, never deny me or refuse me anything that I even slightly desire, or god help you, you will regret it beyond anything you can ever begin to imagine"..

 

     Still in his personal space, she reached over to pull  a tube of KY jelly down from the shelf next to him, and in order to reach it, she finally had to actually press up against them. They were officially occupying the same space. "Ah, I like this one, it's the kind that gets hot when you rub it on your body" She whispered to him. "You rub it on your cock, and massage it in very slowly and thoroughly, and it gets warm, and your skin tingles,  know what I mean? They also have the kind that gets cold,( and then she whispered as if it was a secret between the two ) , "which do you prefer, if you don't mind me asking?"

 

     He couldn't even come up with a reply. He was speechless. His cock was so hard, it felt as though there was some animal inside his body, trying to tear itself free and exit through his crotch. She smiled at him wickedly, "Both huh, you are a naughty young man, but ( and she whispered again), "I do too, I think that, if some sensation is good, then, more is better. I find extreme sensation , in copious amounts, to be very deliciously exquisite, don't you agree?" 

 

     She didn't wait for a reply. He was trapped. He couldn't leave, couldn't make eye contact with her, and he was suddenly aware that he hadn't even taken a breath while they were standing there and he was actually getting light headed. His heart was pounding. His throat was dry. And he could hardly focus his eyes. 

 

     She pulled down a box of the extra large condoms, and held them out to him. "Hmmm, I have another question, if you won't think me overly bold, but, I need some that are,( again whispering ) ... you know...bigger ...than the other ones. I like...full figured men...if you know what I mean. Have you tried these ones?" 

 

     She looked down at the very very visible bulge that has formed along his right thigh, even though he was desperately trying to cover himself with his inadequately small shopkeepers apron. It was an impressive shaft, straight as a battering ram, with the curvature of the perfectly shaped helmet at the end,  its unmistakable outline apparent, pushing and struggling  against the denim of his jeans, which were becoming tighter and tighter by the second, and said " Hmmm, by the looks of things, these might even be a little tight on you." She smiled wickedly, and locked her eyes on him, still looking over her shoulder, and still in contact with him, and with a slight turn, to look at something on the shelf, her firm perfect ass rubbed directly across the secret that he was growing in his pants, she turned back to look at him again for a moment, rubbing still more, and then, again she tuned to the shelf. 

     

     She pretended to be entirely unaware that they were even making contact, much less, in such an intimate manner, and, much to his distress, he could stand it no longer. He excused  himself as politely as possible, promising he would be back in just a moment, because he had suddenly remembered something very important in the back that he had to take care of immediately, And with that, he made a mad dash for the back room, and the relief that urgently awaited him behind the locked door of the mens room. 

 

 

 ..........TO BE CONTINUED..........


1/30/2012 9:51:25 AM

ENVIRONMENT

 

 

crying-sobbing-begging-pleading-helplessness-hopelessness...pain...sometimes seemingly unbearable....agony...ecstasy...throbbing throughout my body hand in hand......those are all a vital parts of "it" for me-or...the beast within me...the insatiable hunger....the need to be fed....it is a huge emotional release-like-"torture therapy"-kidnapped....prisoner....subject of Inquisition....helpless victim of maniac ....held in a torture chamber...a secret room...a dark basement...an abandoned warehouse....a prison..in a jungle in central america or south east asia...the laboratory of a mad scientist....the bedroom of that...scary terrifying man..who never leaves his house....the one that no one ever comes to visit..no one knows..what happens there.....the property outside of town...isolated...where...things happen to young girls...runaways...girls who get lost along the way....and perhaps no one even knows they are missing, and so no one looks for them..those .all run through my head constantly...it is the fuel of my consensual non consent-so different to me than "submission"-such a different experience..such a different dance..done with...carefully chosen partners....

 

 

.............Sadistic...mature...wise..viral...confident..organized...brutal...well equipped...creative...experienced..cruel..intelligent...fearless...observant...

cunning...capable...devious...deviant...diabolical....strong......well spoken....

 

 

.......OK...now...is that too much for a girl to ask....?...

 


9/1/2011 9:46:39 AM

 

A Purely Anecdotal Opinionated Personal Viewpoint-( September 1, 2011 )

 

I am new-ish....to participating in the....sport...the game..the hobby...that BDSM represents to me....( I know for some of you it is an absolute way of life...the larger part of you....which is certainly fine..but where I am concerned...it is not my life or my lifestyle, just a very special part of it ) I have been lucky enough to have had some excellent experiences  ( with some amazing people who are dear to me..who I respect and admire...) and learn not only the ....dance steps...but also..a lot of..philosophy..psychology..and sociology ( or is that anthropology )... associated with BDSM, I have been inspired by those who ....show great understanding of it..and a dedicated passion for it...and dumbfounded...at some of those I have encountered...who seem...at least to me...to be utterly clueless and ignorant...befuddled...sadly misinformed...and the kind of arrogance , narcissism, and presumptuousness ( is that a word?) that are often the trademarks of people like that...

 

OK..so here is what i ...think..and believe to be true..

 

Tops, Sadists, Masters, Dominants ...etc..are all...very different ...classifications...they can be combined..or..practiced exclusively...but none the less..they are not the same things..there are distinct differences .though, from the outside..( to the casual observer) they have many common qualities...and similar appearances... ultimately..you have to fit and conform to your polar opposite, for things to really work correctly..( OK, at least that is my opinion )..not everyone, in fact, actually, very few...are the exact match for your ...particular set of interests and desires...nor can you...."make them become that way"  The more you know about you and what your hard wiring is really about..the easier it will be for you to find your...playmates..

 

And just to clarify.....just because you own a pair of leather pants...a set of pink fuzzy handcuffs that you bought from the naughty book store...and a dark mysterious intimidating "handle"..does not make you a "Dom", or a "Master"....if you have a weenie, some self respect, and at least a few manners, it does, however make you a "Sir", but only in the traditional sense, just as I am a miss or a Ma'am ( but not a Madame,any time soon... lol)...perhaps it just makes you a little kinky..and..of course..that is OK too...

 

Bottoms, Masochists, Slaves, Submissives....likewise...four different animals..many have..aspects of one or more of these, but they are..very very different things.....some of those classifications mean that they naturally conform to...some of the categories above...and.. some of them fit a natural ....hmmm...chain of command ( couldn't think of a better way to say that )...and some of them don't...Some of those ...men or women ..can be dedicatedly committed...collared... owned...or property....( or lower than that if humiliation is part of the dynamic...)..but not all the categories qualify for that...in fact..for some...even the suggestion of such a thing is inaccurate....and even ...inappropriate....Masochism( not combined with any of the other dynamics ).for example..my....proclivity....in no way makes me submissive..or slavey..in fact....I am very..proactive....about..seeking out what i like...and taking an active role in the...choreography...of the..dance...I know what i want and like..and desire..and love..and what I don't like....I am..here for...me...I am a hedonist...I go to great lengths to have my pleasure...it is vital to me.....that doesn't mean I am topping from the bottom....which is fine too, if that is what both parties agree too...it means i have the need to feel certain things..that fire off the right brain chemicals for me...it means i have....an opinion...if that makes sense.. I need to be an  equal partner in the....game...those that find that to be ..willful..cocky..arrogant...and inappropriate..should reread this paragraph from the beginning..lol

 

If any of these, or any combination of these truly describes you, then you already know it...you have always known it... and you surely know , to the very core of your self awareness...that it has been part of your hard wiring for the larger part of your life...it has effected and steered many aspects of your life other than just your...sexual appetite... 

 

OK...thank you for indulging my  " time at the podium"...wink....Pixie...

 


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SexyAmazonDomme
 
 Age: 23
 Bayonne, New Jersey