Erotic fantasies have been part of my life since before I even reached puberty or understood about sex. I've always narrated them to myself, but this is the first time I've ever tried to put them down on "paper", or even related them to anyone else in any detail. Bear with me then, as I explore a new space.
Please note. The people, situations, and positions (both ethical and physical) that I describe here are fictional. They exist only in my head, not in my reality. Some I might actually enjoy, some I most certainly would not, but I'm not about to tell you which is which. Enjoy them (or not) as what they are–fantasies.
Somehow on twitter today, the theme came up of sending naughty DMs. Some worthy recipients complained they hadn't received any, and I hate seeing someone go without, so…
Daddy's little girl
Has been so naughty today
It is spanking time!
Gently creeping tongue
Traces cool lines up your thigh
and then there was the brat…
There was a young kinkster from Boston
In subspace she wished to get lost in
But her tone was so bratty
She couldn't find a Daddy
So she resorts to Grey Goose to get sauced in.
No, that last one really doesn't scan very well. Fortunately limerick standards aren't quite as formal as haikus.
I texted you from the airport. "Have rental car. On way. You know what to do." I sent nothing more.
The house was as you had described. The door unlocked, as you had been told. I put down my bags and walked towards the bedroom.
Your pictures hadn't done you justice. So beautiful, and yet so vulnerable. The air was warm, but I could see the goosebumps, see you shiver as you heard me move. You were naked, kneeling sideways on the bed, ass high, blindfolded face flat against the bed, hands clasped over your head. Just as I had told you.
You flinched at the sudden sound of my voice; heard for the first time.
I took a small length of rope from my pocket and bound your wrists together.
I brushed the hair from your face, bent over and hovered next to your clothbound eyes, letting you sense the closeness, hear my breath, feel your helplessness. A stranger in your house. Your body at my mercy.
The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is “Games”. It was inspired by something I saw during a lovely relaxing evening last night.
They say that Tic-Tac-Toe is a game that can't be won, once you understand it. I beg to differ.
The playing area was beautiful; smooth and slightly curved, with room for two games, one on either side of the delicate crevice between. The crosses had already been laid in place; long needles which wove in and out of sight to clearly delineate the area of play. In place of X's and O's, my competitor and I held short colored needles; his black, mine blue. I moved first.
I chose the corner, of course. The lower one, nearest the damp line between the game boards. A quick thrust, and my piece was in place.
The board quivered.
SensualStories runs a writing exercise on Twitter. People submit phrases (from fiction, or of their own), and anyone who wishes can pick one and incorporate it into a short piece of fiction. The pieces don't have to be erotic, although they often are. She collects them and posts them on her blog for people to comment on. It's a great way to spark your writing spirit.
This time around, I chose SensualStories' phrase submission, "She hadn't imagined the sound." There are several ways to interpret the phrase, and I have no idea which she intended; I changed my own interpretation several times while writing it.
She hadn't imagined the sound from the doorway behind her; so soft that it lingered on the edges of imagination. Chills lapped across her back and trailed down her arms. A warm spark lit at her groin, blossomed into fire, spread up and across her breasts. Just one soft sound, nearly imperceptible—the parting of lips in a blown kiss—and yet it changed her life forever. She breathed deep of the newfound strength it brought her, turned to face the doorway, and dropped the robe from her shoulders.
The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is "Skin". This post is inspired by the incredible hyperfocus I feel when I am playing. It isn't this analytical, in fact I can't recall any distinct thoughts at all, but it is pure concentration on creating sensation.
Heavy brush of flogger on thighs.
Sliding touch of crop on breasts.
Loud thwack of flogger on thighs.
Soft touch of fur on calves.
Loud snick of knife by ear.
Sharp line of knife point beneath nipple.
Quick snap of crop on pussy.
Toys put away until next time.
The theme for this week's Microfantasy Monday is "What’s your perfect snapshot of a lazy morning?"
The sun streamed through the windows, flowed across the room, and poured its warmth across my skin. I didn't so much waken, as slide from one dream into another; from a warm ocean of tranquility, to an even warmer ocean of sensation. The heat of the sun on my loins grew in intensity. The beams of light seemed almost liquid as they drenched my cock in waves of passion.
And then I opened my eyes in time to see you glance up at me. Your face was filled with silent mirth, and the heat of your mouth outshone the sun.
At ten, she was working in her mother's market stall in the Punjab, when her beauty and grace caught the eye of a wealthy merchant. With the proper training, he knew she would make a lucrative addition to the harem of the great Kumaragupta, and for a small sum, she became his. He named her Khoshgeli, for her beauty, and for four years she underwent training. Never sullied, but constantly supervised by the greatest erotic masters he could find. Indeed, as knowledge of her grew, clients paid a great deal to be entertained while this slender maiden watched their every action with the rapt attention of her dark eyes. But then came the raids, and the merchant's home was destroyed in by the Hepthalites, and by the time Kumaragupta had driven the nomads back to the Steppes, Khoshgeli was gone from India.
See here for an explanation of what MfM is.
She told me to meet her in the garden, under the full moon. "Come at midnight, and wear nothing," she had said with sternness in her voice, but a glint of laughter in her eyes. And so I found myself, stepping gingerly down aisles of corn and sunflowers, searching for my mysterious lover.
I smelled her before I saw her; the odd scent of lilacs wafting through the corn rows. She lay motionless in a clearing by a small dead tree, covered with dew-wet petals that glistened in the moonlight. They shaped and formed her curves, defining her lips, her breasts, the inviting curve of her hips. Had they fallen upon her, leaving the tree bare and lifeless? Or had they indeed formed her, molded her, transformed themselves into the living, breathing soul of the lilac tree? Those questions come to me, each time I smell the sweet scent of a lilac tree again, each time I taste a shadow of the need and desire that drew me to her that night.
People ask if I'm a top or a bottom. They like putting things in categories. I guess it helps them understand the world, and everyone's place in it. But the fact is, it's not that simple. For me it depends on the person. Some people flip my sub switch, others trigger my Dom instincts. It's not something I can describe in a set of rules… it just is. If you can't deal with that, then don't deal with me.
But when it comes to Lisa (and one way or another, it always does), there is no question at all. I want to own her, body and soul.
I have an extended household. The software industry was good to me, so I can provide for the people I care about. Lisa's the youngest of our family. She dropped out of high school and floated around for a while, but now she's back in school, working on a college degree. I give her room and board, plenty of time to study, and a good set of incentives to do well in school.