Saturday, October 31, 2009
If things go really well, I'll see my friends wife at the pre-trick-or-treat dinner. She's a bit flirty, drop-dead-california-blond-beautiful, and is fun to be around.
Nothing will happen, but it's always fun to see her. (How pathetic is that?)
Anyway, this post matches the mood of this week, a little blah, a lot tired, and ready for January to roll around. I'm just not in the mood for the holiday season.
So, to entertain you, here are a few links to costumes that are way better than mine.
Halloween Body Paint…
Great Zombie Costumes
I have friends in the movie industry, but none in make-up. Just one year I need to do it right, but it won't be this year.
Happy Halloween every one!!
Friday, October 30, 2009
On Tuesday, when I should have been working, I got caught up in a debate/argument over the Disney princesses and their sociological meanings at this site:
Disney Princesses Deconstructed
Now, I don't know where everyone stands on the Disney princess debate, but I thought it was fascinating to watch the comments flow past all morning. I am proud to say that, according to this site and it's commentators, that I am an "anti-feminist troll" and that I am not to be fed.
Frankly, with this group, I'll where their derision proudly.
But, that is besides the point. I actually thought the picture and most of the comments were interesting, so, in the spirit of fun and fair play, I'm linking back to the original article. You may agree or disagree with the post, my response, or the now 200+ comments, but it was certainly was a fun way to spend the morning.
It really took me back to college days when I would spend hours antagonizing the ultra-liberal feminists in my program who, unlike me, had absolutely no experience in the field we were all studying. They argued till they were screaming that I, as a middle-class-white-Christian-male, was the root and cause of all evil. It was great fun.
Click on the like above to see what started the discussion and then join in if you want. I'm not sharing this to find like minded defenders, but only to point out a good debate and some (not all) thoughtful responses. My original response is below, but I'm in the comments section many times.
Comments on the Disney Princesses I think most of this "analysis" is based on hatred for men and the noble idea that men should love and protect women. All of the princesses have redeeming qualities, but they are the qualities under attack by feminist thought today. Snow White - Innocent and beautiful, yes, but also loving, nurturing, brings purpose and organization to a group of men who need to learn that work isn't the only goal in life. Jasmine - Independent, refuses to follow the status quo, fights her father and other power figures to set out on her own path for love and independence. Actually SAVES the prince instead of being saved by him. Ariel - Another independent free-thinking female, talented, curious, willing to break the rules, get out of her comfort zone and find out what the wide and scary world is about. Breaks social norms at home, and breaks down barriers of prejudice on land. Belle - the village intellectual, caught up in reading and knowledge, looks for something more, something grander for herself. Humiliates the town bully, sacrifices her life for the life of her father, tames the beast with love, culture, civility, and finally frees him with love. Cinderella - works tirelessly under the oppression of evil women. Stays hopeful, is kind, loving, gracious, but knows that she deserves more. Sleeping Beauty - She's just kind of cute and lives a sheltered life until Maleficent comes after her. OK, so she's kind of shallow. These women are bold, gutsy, loving, cultured, independent, and after discussion, can be a role model and case study for female empowerment. Looking only at the "happy ending" that most American movies, not just Disney, tacks on, the author gives a wildly incorrect reading of the sociological message these movies send. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click HERE, for a totally different troll problem.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Which do you like better?
Old school, a little more screaming, and a lot more moaning….?
(I love what the brunette says at 8:10, and 11:00 is very good too.)
Or, the soft and gentle kissing and new age soundtrack….
(min 16:00 is a good spot…. So is 19:00)
and you have to watch them before you vote.
Here's a bonus one, it's long, but getting to minute 23:00 is worth every second....
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Do I push her, make her stretch her boundaries, make her expose herself to me literally as well as emotionally? Is the picture a gift for me or a challenge to her? Something in public, a flash, or an unbuttoned blouse on the metro? Maybe I let her off the hook and tell her that it is her choice, and wait to see what she sends. Will she go soft and innocent or will she surprise me with an sexual expose that makes my heart race and my blood pump?
It's not fair for me to leave it to her, that is not her offer. Her offer is to me, she has asked me to decide, so maybe this is my test. Which part of our relationship do I try to capture? Friend, flirt, lover, porn star? What will the request say of me, of how I think about her, what I expect, want, need?
This is a lot of thought around a simple picture....
As I browsed the net the other day, I thought about giving her some samples, pictures that she can take by herself, of herself. Simple to take, simple to stage, solo shots, without a make-up crew (which she doesn't need) and perhaps a tripod as the only gear. Not all the pictures below meet that criteria, but it's been fun to think of her as I look at pictures I like.
On the roof
On a Bed
In a hoodie
Holding a cup
Wearing white Panties
In the shadows
in the sauna
Sitting in a window Sill (this is the one I accidentally sent to my wife)
Showing your Nipples
A simple T-shirt & Face
Cooking in the Kitchen
A lot of these came from, http://papuas.tumblr.com/, still one of my favorite tumblrs.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
seduce me at the bar
steal my key
open my door
i saw you looking at me
as I checked in, as I got my
hot chocolate from starbucks,
while i was waiting for the treadmill at the gym
i even said 'hi' once,
i nodded my head and smiled
i shook your hand and welcomed
you to the building
i changed my plans
moved my route
canceled a meeting
so we could accidentally meet at the door
you winked back
gave me your card
said hello before me
yet we still pass as strangers.
what will it take
to sit and share a moment that becomes a life
why do we sleep alone
buy single tickets to the movies
tolerate the empty bed
the silent answering machine
'table for one' gets lonely
rolling to the cold side of the bed
a cruel reminder
smiling at strangers, heartbreaking
where are you
where am I
Monday, October 26, 2009
He couldn't keep any medicine down for the first couple of hours as his fever went to over 101.5, which for a four-year-old is very high. Every time she gave him medicine he would throw it back up, so she had to wait it out, getting about an hours sleep last night. But, since moms don't get days off when their husbands are halfway across the country, she has to get our other two kids ready to go into school on her own.
On this trip I have not been able to get to the gym once, I am eating too much, watching too much porn, and working too long. The only highlight of the trip is that I have had a couple of really good meals, but what I sat down in front of my computer after my shower last night, and my WebCam happened to be pointed at my belly, I realized that those meals have to stop. The old cliché says that the camera adds 10 pounds, well, there must be three or four hidden cameras someplace in my room because it certainly looked like a lot more than 10 had been added.
I can honestly say that I would rather be home cleaning up.
( I wrote this before my "CAUGHT" posting of the 23rd. Maybe staying out on the road isn't such a bad idea, since going home isn't going to be pretty)
Sunday, October 25, 2009
If you read my earlier post on 10/23, you can put this in to a little context. I was working on this post the night I sent the wrong link to my wife. Luckily I only sent her a picture, and not one of the links below.
I don’t know if these are really the first 15 videos ever posted to RedTube.com but it’s kind of interesting to look back on web site that gave me more orgasms than I care to count. Including tonight’s. The frightening thing is that I remember all of these. I think must have been one of their earliest fans….
#1 is hot just because of her enthusiasm and #10 has been watched a million times, all by me. This was the first time I ever saw a woman get fisted and it’s something that still fascinates me.
#11 introduced me to the beauty of female masturbation and #13 is just an amazing body. #4, I think, was the first time I saw an “amateur” video and I’ve been a huge fan ever since, and #15, again, huge points for enthusiasm, and I think it’s the same girl as in #1.
http://redtube.com/1 A fantastic blow-job and swallow
http://redtube.com/2 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/3 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/4 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/5 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/6 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/7 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/8 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/9 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/10 One of my ALL TIME FAVORITES w/ Nella
http://redtube.com/11 Glamour girl pleasuring herself
http://redtube.com/12 Video Removed
http://redtube.com/13 Sexy artist seducing and body painting
http://redtube.com/14 Sexy teen webcam striptease
http://redtube.com/15 sweet girl deep throating
But this begs the question, where did the missing videos go? Were they too explicit for their time? Too tame? Did they violate copy write laws back in the day when they were still enforced? I’d love to know what used to be there.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
But then we get stupid. Stupid on the simplest things, like cute and paste and being in a hurry.
Last night I was doing a little late night browsing and e-mail. I found a story about an actor getting arrested on drug charges that used to be on "ER", one of our favorite shows. So, I copied the link and sent it to my wife and my sister.
But, I sent the wrong freakin' link!!!
I was putting together an e-mail for a friend and was copying links to some of my favorite pictures. I finished her e-mail, closed GMAIL, relogged in as my "real" name, and sent a note to my wife. I thought I send this link, but actually sent this one.
This morning started like any other day, a quick shower and off to work. At lunch time I call my wife to check on the world back home and after getting an update on my sick kids (2 of 3) she asks me if I had checked my messages. I said that I didn't have any. She clarified and asked if I had checked my personal e-mail.
"No" I said........
She then asked me why I had sent her, and my sister, a picture of a naked woman?
What on earth was she talking about? My head was spinning. I was already nauseous from fighting a killer headache all morning and this about made me loose it. I told her that I sent her a link to a news story. My headache immediately cranked up from painful to brain-killing. "Then why did I get a naked lady?"
Now my head is really spinning. I was hitting a few sites last night, sites she absolutely hates, and I had to think, was it a video? Holy Crap that would be bad. Linking my wife to some teenage slut getting it in the ass.
I stuck with my story for a few more seconds, "No, I meant to send you a link to the KTLA web page."
"Well you didn't, you obviously had copied the link to save it or something and you put it in my e-mail." I was busted.
So I apologized, for about 10 minutes, and then apologized some more. She hates porn, really does, and combined with the fact that I was trying really hard to avoid it for a while, she sees this as a major down fall. Busted. Caught. CRAP.
She made me promise to write her an e-mail explaining why it happened and said that we were going to "talk about it" when I got home. Oooh boy, I'm sure we are going to talk about it for a looooooong time, and not just once. Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap
Luckily it was a beautiful picture of a beautiful woman, soft lighting, topless only, no spread legs, no toy jammed up her cunny, no cum dripping from her tongue. Damn. It could have been a lot worse.
This would make for a really funny sitcom episode, especially since I also sent it to my sister. You have to admit that it would be funny if it happened on "Two and a half men" or "The Big Bang Theory." I'm sure that hi jinks would ensue. but my life aint no sitcom.
Did I kill someone? No.
Did I cheat on her? No
Did I watch hours of porn on the web while on a business trip? Yes, but she doesn't know that.
Did I screw myself over? OHHHH YESS.''
Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn that cut and paste.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I run early
I wake up at 0-dark-hundred and crawl out of bed
Its cold, foggy, damp and EARLY
Too early for my knees that need at least an extra hour of sleep
Too early for my head that kept me up too late last night playing "one last round" of on-line Scrabble
Too early for my back that never gets enough rest.
One shoe, two shoe, always need some new shoes
Where's my iPod?
Chest strap? GPS? Who said running was cheap?
Snap! What the #!a$ was that?
I'm pretty sure that my body is NOT supposed to make that noise.
Keeping the lights low and the sound down I creep through the house
Shirt from the dryer, water from the fridge, map and music from the desk.
The porch, lawn, and driveway, covered with dew sparkles its greeting and my first smile appears.
Tracks in the grass warn the neighborhood cats to stay inside
Wide furry hunting paws have staked their claim and marked their boundaries and I take note.
My friends say I'm crazy to wake so soon and beat the dawn
But life is crazy
Headphones slips raggedly into place and the violins begin. Mozart. Fiery, inspired, forlorn, always seeking resolutions in a world that offers no easy answers, just more messy questions.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A new friend of mine was chatting me up the other day and we turned our discussion to our blogs. She was surprised to learn that I wrote stories. I guess I haven't posted one in a while, so here is a new one. I know that some of my readers may not like it, but it's fun to write, it makes my hot, and some friends seem to like them very much.....
This one started out as a conversation between friends, and then talk turned to her lover.
She claimed, at first, not to be in the mood, but I convinced her otherwise…..
Real life intervened and we were unable to continue together, so I finished the story on my own. She helped me with some edits which is greatly appreciated. However, all mistakes are purely my own.
And yes, I understand that there are no quotation marks, I'm to lazy to insert them using my voice dictation software, so just put your editor pencils away and read, and hopefully, enjoy.
me i can play that game too, I don't have another meeting until noon
Miss: oh yeah?
Sir: if you want me to talk dirty to you
to get you wet and aroused,
to build images of love and lust and naked flesh.
to get your breathing short and shallow
to send you to the privacy of the ladies room to touch and feel and taste.
Is that what you want my little sub?
Miss: to make this poor lady at the desk behind me wonder what's wrong with me
Sir: she will worry and perhaps the paramedics will be called, and when the door closes on the rig, you invite them to check your heart rate in a different way.
Miss: lol.. oh that sounds lovely
Sir: two strong fit men caring for you, strapped to a gurney, defenseless
Miss: and panting
Sir: an oxygen mask covers your mouth and quiets your moans as four hands touch and explore.
Miss: mmm.. and where would you be? Supervising?
Sir: with your hands strapped to the sides of the gurney you are unable to stop their hands form moving up your thighs
lifting the edge of your skirt, playing with your skin
you feel yourself being more and more exposed, and your breath shortens
his hands move between your thighs, you try and resist, but the fragrance of your arousal is unmistakable
you gasp and breathe and then relent, spreading yourself for his touch.
Miss: where would you be, my Master?
Sir: you gasp at his first touch, high upon your leg, barely an inch from the thin fabric of your panties, now soaked and wet with need.
arousal mixes with fear as you face two powerful men behind surgical masks.
a gloved hand reaches for the buttons of your blouse.
Sir: the restraints prevent you from stopping him as his hand invades your chest and plays firmly with your full breasts.
surgical scissors are produces and a quick snip releases your breasts from their confinement and his fingers pinch and roll your engorged nipples.
four hands touch and explore
she's getting feisty on says, a dark and angry voice.
add the neck brace is the reply.
a leather strap, lined with sheepskin is passed across your throat, holding you down, forcing you to stare at the ceiling of the speeding rig.
Miss: oh keep talking... fantastic...
Sir: suddenly you feel the scissors cutting away more fabric, more of your covering, more of your protection
Sir: the cool air of the speeding rig is now on bare skin, where small tight pubic hair once covered, now shaved, exposed, and in full view of your medical captors.
the tall one pulls off his surgical mask and places it over your eyes and moves his mouth to your breasts
his touch is rough, a three day beard scratches and tingles the skin of your full chest. his tongue swirls and takes and suckles each nipple in turn as two more hands work below.
you resist but you feel your legs opening with need and hunger.
the expert nipple play proves he is a man of much experience and your body flows the juices that will aid his entry.
your body starts to swell, lip you can feel intimate lips spread and moisten, lubricating themselves, preparing for invasion.
you realize that the cold steel of the frame of the bed is cutting in to the backs of your thighs, you don't remember opening them so wide, your body has taken over, you are open, inviting them in, four hands, two mouths, two....
two of everything.
tears come to your eyes, tears of fear, desire, needs, passion, the need to be safe, the need to be taken, the need for your master to be with you, protecting you.
you feel wanton, out of control, but your body is screaming for release, for climax, for cum.
you feel the second mouth begin to move up your legs, inside, then out, kissing, caressing, tasting, owning, as if your body, your legs, your waiting cunt was his for the taking.
the rig comes to a sudden stop and the siren is silenced. A flurry of activity outside the doors forces the men to cover you quickly, hiding their crime and your nakedness.
you grown softly as they press your legs back together, you feel the wetness that has pooled.
Miss: ohhhh, oh my... more, more!
Sir: as the back of the rig opens the bright light of the emergency bay blinds you and new voices, new sounds, fill your ears.
you are rushed in, through doors and past nurses in crisp white uniforms.
finally a door closes and it is quiet. a man speaks, through your lust-filled haze it sounds comforting.
three voices now, a man, a woman, perhaps a nurse, and a new voice, questions are asked and answers, fears are calmed.
one voice leaves, two remain.
still restrained, you see only the ceiling of the unit, wires and lights fill your vision.
the female speaks, shall I undo her restraints now?
No, I need to examine her first.'
But sir, you are not a doctor,
I'm her owner the masculine voice replies, I will do what I will.
Do you need me to stay and help? she asks, a hint of anticipation in her voice.
Yes, but you must do as you are told and only what you are told. She is mine, and you will serve me as I examine her.
Yes sir is all she says, and you know that you are safe.
Miss: !!argh... frustration ,have a good meeting
Sir: i am hard.
Miss: and I am wet
stay that way.
imagine what comes next.
I will be back in one hour.
Sir: you will cum then.
Safety, that is the word that ran through her soul
He was here, he was in charge, and though still shackled to the bed, she was free.
Remove the sheet he said to the nurse, still unseen.
I'll need to examine her, and I need your help, I will need your hands. You may remove your gloves, she needs skin to skin contact, her trauma is not of blood and tissue, and her treatment will be with skin and tongue.
She felt the sheet slide off her body as delicate hands removed her covering. She could feel, behind the shards of ripped fabric that she was, for all purposes, naked. The nurse’s hands moved swiftly and assuredly over her body, checking her for injuries and finding none.
You may do your job nurse, you may question her, his familiar voice said. The nurse stepped toward her, and began to unbuckled restraint around her neck.
No, he said, she is to remain restrained until I release her.
Yes Sir, the nurse replied
The young brunette, barely out of nursing school and on her own, stepped to where she could make eye contact with her new patient.
Do you know where your sweetheart? she asked.
Yes, I am at the hospital with my Sir.
With who? she asked.
With my Sir, my safety, my owner.
The nurse looked a bit confused, and looked over at the man who stood at the foot of the bed. He just nodded and with a wave of his hand told her to continue.
Are you hurt?
Why were the paramedics called?
I think I passed out at my desk, I was reading something, and it, she paused, and it aroused me, and it made me dizzy. And I think I passed out.
You passed out from an e-mail?
She blushed a little bit but shook her head yes.
What was e-mail about? The nurse asked, with more than purely professional interest
It was from my Sir, he was discussing how he was going to, she paused again, her skin blushing a deep red.
Go on, the nurse urged; I need to know what brought you here.
He was describing what he was going to do to me, in this e-mail, he was describing what pleasures he would bring me, what humiliation he would put me through, and how he would own, control, and take me.
The nurse, breathing deeply herself, whispered, please go on
He talked about how he would use my body for his own pleasure, how he would use me to make himself cum, I remember reading, wanting so much to touch myself, but he told me not to, and I think I was just overwhelmed.
The nurse was picking at the buttons of her starched white blouse; her nipples were evident though covered with a sensible bra and nurse’s uniform.
Can you tell me what happened in the ambulance?
The two men, the patient replied, restrained me, and begin to do things to me.
What kind of things? The nurse asked, leaning in to hear the whispered reply.
They cut off my clothes, and touched me, one of them cut away my bra and began sucking, teasing, pleasuring my breasts.
At this, the nurse’s hand, no longer covered by an impersonal glove, began to stroke the very breasts the patient was describing.
Go on the nurse urged.
His tongue was all over my chest, I tried to resist at first, but they tightened the restraints even more, stretching me to the table and making me powerless to resist, at first I fought it, but then, as a tear comes to her eye, I,
The nurses hands were now unashamedly caressing and fondling her large breasts, still uncovered, the blanket pulled aside, with no sense of privacy or decorum.
They were touching you like this? The nurse asked, her hands were rolling the large nipples between her fingers.
No, the man, he was using his mouth, he was touching me with his tongue, sucking on them.
The young nurse turned and placed her glossy pink lips on the large and tender nipple, her lips, her skin, soft and smooth where his were rough and harsh. The patient moaned and gave in immediately to the pleasures this nurse was bringing her.
Yes, like that, but rougher, harder,
The nurse increased her efforts, tugging and pulling, urging the blood to flow in and swell,
The nurse pulled herself back, releasing the nipple with a pop, trying to regain her breath,
I'm sorry, she whimpered, I don't know what came over me, I should not have done that.
The man at the end of the bed assured her that she was okay, that the patient was okay, and that she should continue her interview and examination.
Her voice breaking and cracking under the arousal and stress, nurse continued, what else happened, what did the other man do?
The other man, yes, the other man, he used his scissors to cut away my panties, he left me bare, I could not stand to be uncovered, but at the same time he began to touch me, and I was weak.
What do you mean, the nurse asked, that you were weak, you couldn't help yourself, they restrained you.
But they had not restrained my legs, they have not restrained legs, she began to cry quietly, I'm so sorry master, I was weak, I was hungry, I was bad.
The man reached out and gently touched her foot, giving it a gentle squeeze as if to say, you are mine, you are now with me, and all is well.
What did these two men do to you? The nurse asked. The nurse’s hands began to roam more actively over her own body, seeking to bring contact and touch to her hungry skin that was now itching, tingling with need as was her patient.
After he cut away my panties he commented on the fact that I am shaved bare, he told me how I looked good so smooth, unadorned. I wanted to tell him that I did that for my master, that it was my sign of devotion to him, but it, the words wouldn't come out, I was befuddled.
The nurse’s hand traced gently over the bare skin above the intimate crease. She moved from hip to hip, dancing delicately over the smooth skin, feeling how perfectly waxed, how smooth and clean, the patient's body was.
You have beautiful skin my dear, the young nurse said, it is wonderful to touch. Tell me what happened next.
I remember fighting against the restraints, the more I fought the more my body betrayed me, I could feel my body swell, I could feel myself getting wet, and the next thing I knew, she paused, to catch her breath, to fight back the tears, the next thing I knew, I spread my legs for him, I spread my cunt for him, my master's cunt I spread it for another man, I was so hungry. I am sorry master, please sir forgive me.
As the patient told her story, her legs began to move again, involuntarily, subconsciously she spread herself on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed, opening herself to the nurse’s touch, the nurse’s gaze. The nurse, enraptured by the story, let her hands drift slowly between her patients legs, feeling the swollen wet lips, lightly touching the outer labia, tracing her finger over the inner, finding that clit, wet, swollen, tender.
Why do you spread your legs for them, if they were not your master?
I don't know, the way they touched, the feel of the restraints, it was too much, I was bad, I was a whore, I spread my legs for another man, I am ashamed.
You should be ashamed. With that word hanging in the air, the nurse raised her hand and slapped the patient square on her tender vaginal lips. You should be ashamed! She said with more force this time began pulling her hand back and landing a slap directly on the open lips.
You let another man look at what is not yours to give. Slap!
You opened yourself for another, slap, you invited him in with your thighs!, SLAP!.
The patient was gasping for breath, her fear and orgasm rising in dueling emotions within her body.
Is this what you do when you get turned on? SLAP! a blow lands to her inner thigh
You open your legs for any man, just because your master sends you and e-mail SLAP!. This blow landed on her breast, catching her by surprise, the nipple full and inflamed, took the brunt of the hit, and pleasure seared through her chest.
No, the patient cried out, I am my master's girl; I am here for no other. I am sorry.
SALP, the small fingers of the nurse landed on her open vagina, but this time did not move, two fingers sink deeply into her wet cunt and the patient gasped and moaned at the contact.
Yes the patient groaned, yes, please,
A deeper voice from the back of the room, came out, yes what?
Yes nurse, punish me, yes, reminded me, put me in my place.
The patient, no longer fighting the restraints, but embracing them, spread her legs further, allowing the nurse, full access to that which the master owned.
His deep voice spoke again from the darkness, that is good, you need to learn your lesson.
The nurse continued, small slaps, on her inner thigh, the cheeks of her bottom, one, that landed deep between, stinging the skin between front and back.
The nurses hands left her body, and the patient moaned, and felt alone, she began to lower her legs, to rest them, when a stinging slap, directly on her clit, reminded her to hold them in place. The jingle of metal buckles filled the room, and two more straps were put in place. One around each thigh, clipped to the edge of the bed, held her body open, her lips exposed, the shiny wetness was evident as it oozed from her luscious slit and brought a shining to the dark pucker below.
Fully restrained now, she felt a deep sense of peace, she knew that he was pleased with her, restrained, spread, ready for his pleasure, ready for his fucking. She was no longer the patient, she was his toy. To do with as he felt.
The nurse came up to her face, smiling brightly, Have you begun to learn your lesson?
The patient began to speak, but the nurse put her finger to her lips, just nod your head, or master is not done yet.
The words of the nurse had distracted her from hearing the sound of clothing hitting the exam room floor.
The nurse reached under the table, released a latch, and turned a crank, causing the table to tilt downward. The weight of the patient's body settled into the restraints, sliding only an inch before being stopped by the leather and sheepskin. Her legs now spread further, the weight of her thighs settled into the straps, as she felt her cheeks, ass, lips, cunt, clit spread for his view, for his use.
She is ready for use Sir. The nurse spoke respectfully.
Thank you, was all but deep and comforting voice would say. The patient could feel him nearer, could feel his breathing fill the room with love and safety, with acceptance and pride of ownership.
Nurse, you may stay and observe, but you may not touch her, or yourself, until you have my word.
Yes Sir, she said.
His voice spoke again, Please secure the door nurse, and remove any article of clothing which you no longer need.
The nurse walked quietly across the floor, locked the door, then turned back to the table, her blouse, skirt, bra, and panties soon laying in a pile blocking what little light came through the door of the exam room.
You are almost as beautiful as my miss, the voice said, you may kiss her, if you wish.
Almost in unison, two women said they expressed the same thought, thank you sir.
Almost breathless, the nurse’s lips touched those of the patient, breath mingling, tongues extending, delicately at first, but with more hunger with each passing beat of the twin hearts. The nurse’s hand came up and cupped her large breast, searching the nipple between thumb and forefinger. The master's voice rang out, I did not give you permission to touch. And the nurses hand dropped to her side, now, the two women were linked only through a deep and amorous kiss.
The patient felt her heart pound in her chest, her need was so great, the tension so high, that she feared having an orgasm without his permission, she felt the walls of her cunt begin to twitch and stretch and swell with lust and juice and slippery wetness, but she feared it. She felt her clit quiver, every passing puffs of air from the air conditioner almost made her come. She feared doing so before his command.
The nurse’s kiss was so tender, so delicate, yet so insistent, it was driving her crazy.
Are you ready for me? Ask to the voice, and give me your proper answer.
The patient broke the kiss, hoping to answer correctly so that she may get her relief, yes master, I am ready for you, my cunt is your open flower, I am yours for your pleasure, I am yours for the taking.
With her answer hovering above the three of them, she felt him lean mercifully close and impale her on his swollen cock.
The pleasure was indescribable, a mix of relief, sex, power, submission, a heady mix of erotic servitude, and power of the cunt. He felt him pull in and out, dragging her copious juices to the opening of her swollen slit, coating his body and hers with a perfect lubrication that allowed him to press deep inside without pain, with complete dominion. He tortured her with slow deep strokes, not allowing the nurse or herself to touch, only a kiss connected to naked women, only two small lips and the dainty tongue brought them together.
His thrusts were deep, then long, satisfying and call me.
Nurse, he said, do you want to touch my girl?
Oh yes master I would like to touch your girl, if it would bring you pleasure, if it would bring her pleasure, I will gladly assist.
You may touch her now, you may touch her clit, as my cock invades her sweet swollen pussy. You may help me, you may touch her, as I would touch you, you may touch her as you like to touch yourself.
Would you like to touch yourself nurse? Would you like to touch your swollen cunt as you touch your patient’s?
Yes Sir, I am very wet, I am aroused for you, and honored that you would let me help.
Nurse, you may touch yourself, you may play with your clit, but you may not come until my word.
The nurse’s slim hands again slipped down the patient's body, seeking out the hot swollen tissue, her clit.
The master’s strokes pick up their pace, deeper, harder, faster, the restraints hold her thighs open without effort and she is able to take in his full shaft, relaxing around his driving pole, allowing her muscles to grip and squeeze and concentrate on his pleasure.
The nurses hands are expert, spreading her lips for his entry, running roughshod over her clit, they circle, the press, they push her clit back up into the hood that protects it, deep between the lips, sandwiching it between her fingers in her pubic bone. The patient gasps and moans and sighs and bucks against her master's restraint.
Do you want to cum my patient? The voice asks,
Yes Sir, yes master I want to cum, I want to please you, I want you to fuck me until I cum.
Do you want to make her cum nurse, is she ready? Has she learned her lesson?
Yes Sir, I believe she has learned her lesson, and I have learned my place, I want to help her cum, I want to cum myself, we want to please you, we want to make you cum.
His thrusts again picked up the tempo, the intensity, and plowed into his willing patient. Again and again the tip of his cock stroked in and out, splitting and swirling her dark pink lips.
The nurse’s fingers dug deep between their bodies, circling and pinching and arousing her clit, until it was just too much.
May I cum Sir? The question came out as a plea, a heartfelt cry of need,
Yes miss, you may cum.
With permission granted, the nurse increased her ministrations, her right hand deep between the bodies of her new master and her mistress, her fingers tightened their circles around her clit and pressing and rolling. It brought her so much pleasure that she was barely able to stand. The patient erupted in orgasm, moaning and screaming and fighting against all restraints. Her body gushed and flooded her cunt with moisture and dew. Her heart jump and skip and pounded against her chest, the hands of the nurse, lubricated with her pleasure, continued to roll and crush and press the delicate skin, pushing her again and again to peak after peak of climax.
The nurses breathing changed, her hands faltered, but then regained rhythm as she found purchase within her own cunt, bringing herself to a crashing, knee-shaking orgasm.
The master, unseen by both women who had their eyes closed, was smiling down at his girls, two women climaxing at his command, he smiled, and nodded his approval and exploded within his girl.
The patient felt him cum, felt his body rigid and deep inside her, felt it swell one more time, and felt the hot cum of his cock flow deep within her. Spurt after spurt filled her hot and wet body. His thrusting resumed, as the nurse regained her breath, and focused again her attention on her new mistress. The patient lost count, lost the ability to count, as wave after wave of grateful orgasm crashed upon her.
Was it minutes, was it hours, was it a moment or an eternity? She could no longer tell, all she could tell was that hands were upon her, cock was inside her she was owned, safe, and grateful to be in the Masters hands.
As the final waves subsided, as the tenderness flared and outweighed that the pleasure, the master moved the nurse away and quietly instructed her to dress, and clean herself.
The master, now spent, satisfied, happy, withdrew his body out of her and she felt the loss and whimpered.
He stepped away from the table and admired her beautiful body under the single lamp of the exam room. He smiled at her submission, her willingness, her tenderness, her need.
As he walked to the door he whispered in nurse’s ear.
There are clean clothes in the satchel by the door. Ensure that she is well cared for and allowed to rest until she is ready to leave. There is cab fare in an envelope in the bag. You are to meet me at the address printed on the envelope at 10 PM tonight.
He kissed the nurse tenderly on the forehead and said, good girl.
The door closed, and the room was silent except for the patient's breathing. Quickly, the nurse went about her duties, glad to have finally found a home.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I swear I knew where to find it last month, or maybe it was last year and I didn't notice. But, dang, I could have used some tonight.
Where did all the good porn go? The stuff that caught my imagination, that fired up my libido and my curiosity and my funny bone.
Why did I look for 2 hours and never get hard, never got caught up, enraptured, intrigued. I even found some old favorites but they couldn't make me stay, even to watch the very end, my favorite clip, for too long. Tonight, they did nothing.
Where are my friends? The ones that really fire me up, that get me going and make me smile and stroke and leak and cum? They are the ones,, the real ones, the ones that make me stand at attention. From the red rock deserts to the wind swept prairies, to lands far away over the seas. These are my pornographers, my artists, my good girls gone bad who make me crave their names and the little green circle and that magic word, "Available."
The images I sought tonight could not be found, no amount of flesh, no perfect nipples, silicone breasts, shaved pussies, and bleached behinds could make it work. I tried, I really did. A hotel room, alone, no meetings until noon, time to sleep, to recover. But what did I want? I wanted them, my friends, my wordsmiths, my verbal Viagra. I needed the the tease, the sub, the artist, the student. They say things that no camera will ever catch.
They have my imagination, my affection, my pleasure, my mind wrapped around their cute little screen names and keyboards that drip with what I need.
Don't get me a cameraman, lighting crew or cinematographer, I need an editor, a typist, spell checker, and a writer, a beautiful sexy innocent slutty wanton teasing giving writer.
That's what I need.
So where is the good porn? Locked in the heads of my 4 favorite friends.....
Monday, October 19, 2009
A couple of years ago a friend of mine, with whom I was getting very close, liked me to write stories for her. The series turned out to be quite long, but the couple involved in the plot never consummated. She kept asking me to write more and more about the anticipation of them getting together. The setting was always in the mountains, a hidden trail, a large rock, an abandoned cabin, she kept throwing new scenarios but never asked me to finish the story.
The same thing happened with us. I don't want to call her at tease, because I don't think that's what she was. She enjoyed the chase, the attraction, but in her heart of hearts could not bring herself to get involved with a married man.
I don't blame her, it probably saved us both a lot of heartache, and the anticipation was probably better than reality anyway
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sports Illustrated has a section of miscelaneous stuff called Extra Mustard, adn each week they profile some videos they found interesting. Some are purely sports related, others, like the one below, are great for other reasons.
I'm going to link directly to YouTube for the videos because they are only up at Extra Mustard for a while, but had to give credit where credit is due.
In a series of spots sponsored by Volkswagen, I found two really creative pieces.
My favorite - Piano Stairs
Another good one - Bottomless Trash Can
And, I can't pass up Sports Illustrated without pointing to at least one Swimsuit reference.
Elsa Benitez was one of my all time favorite SI models. So here is a link to her archive.
And, if you want more, here's more....
Friday, October 16, 2009
I am not a huge fan of texting, but I have recently discovered GoogleChat and so that has started to change.
It really is quite addictive, the other day I almost rammed in to the back of a silver BMW that must have been off the lot for less than 24 hours.
It was so clean and shiny and new and expensive that my life flashed before my eyes and, in my insurance agent's voice, I heard, "You are so screwed if you hit that car."
So I put my phone away for a while, sure that it will come out again soon.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Okay, so I joined Twitter the other day. I think it was about two weeks ago, and as of today, I am following eight people and eight people are following me, though they are not the same group. I have already been followed by three people I have never heard of, all of whom appear to be businesses or individuals trying to deprive me from my well earned money.
I have answered a few tweets, I have sent a few tweets, while my voice recognition software thought I sent tweaks and treats.
I don't see why it's such a big deal.
I guess I can see the attraction of keeping track of your friends, but since I have none in real life (you think I'm kidding, don't you) that is not much of a pull.
I also signed up for Facebook because my brother posted some vacation pictures there. I misunderstood one of the setup screens and ended up inviting about 20 people to be my "friend." That was not my intention. Within the hour, I had 32 invitations to be friends with other people I didn't care about. I finally figured out how to delete them all, shrinking my friend list from 48 down to zero in a few minutes. My profile picture states, "I do not use Facebook," and the only thing currently on my wall is a statement telling people not to leave me messages on my wall because I do not read Facebook.
I am, by nature and by training, a person with few friends. There are days, I will admit, when I wish I had a few more friends to talk to, to hang out with, to share an afternoon watching football with, but 90% of the time i am fine just the way I am.
I have many acquaintances, lots of colleagues at work, and a nodding acquaintance with many people at my gym, but true friends I have few, current friends I have none.
This does not reflect my cyber life, but even there, I only have a few people with whom I correspond regularly.
I don't see the attraction of Facebook and Twitter because there is no one I want to stay in touch with that closely. In a box, I don't care if you are standing at the bus stop and see a cute guy go by.
The other day my wife wanted to know if I wanted to hear all the gossip from of her circles of friends. When I said no, she asked me why, and I said with all honesty and absolutely no ill intent, "I just don't care."
So, for now, I will read the blogs I love to read, leave a comment or two when I have time, e-mail five or six of you with whom I have connected, and otherwise, enjoy the feeling that I don't have to send anyone a birthday card this month.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I get these girly magazines in the mail because
I'm writing short stories for them again
and here in these pages are the ladies
exposing their jewel boxes-
it looks more like a gynecologist’s
everything boldly and clinically
beneath bland and bored physiognomies.
it’s a turnoff of gigantic
the secret is in the
take that away and you have dead
A century back
a man could be driven mad
by a well turned
one can imagine
that the rest
now they shoved it at us like a
on a platter.
there is hardly anything as beautiful as
a woman in a long dress
not even the sunrise
not even the geese flying south
in the long V formation
in the bright freshness
of the early morning.
These words, this poem, was written by Charles Bukowski in a collection that came out in 1986, called "YOU GET SO ALONE AT TIMES THAT IT JUST MAKES SENSE."
Too much porn back then meant he was just getting HBO, maybe another channel on cable if you really knew where to look. Porn was moving out of the back alley theaters and into the mainstream, but the Internet hadn't yet exploded, I wonder what he would say now.
23 years ago Bukowski was already tired of porn, when you had to go to a special bookstore, and walk all the way to the back, and go to the little door with the "no one under 18 allowed" sign that everyone ignored.
While I have posted a few links now and then on this blog, I have great empathy for the sentiments of this poem. There are days when it is all just too much. When the beautiful form turns into an endless parade, numbing the mind and senses to what should be beautiful.
I go through phases, like most of us do, where porn and sex and the lust and passion have great appeal. Where the pursuit of it defines my days and haunts my nights. And then you get days like today, shorter phases, where none of it even seems worth the bother.
Every dirty word jangles the nerves, each bared cunt is an affront to your sensibility, and the exposed nipple, so enticing just the day before, seems tiresome.
Today is such a day.
The feelings will come back, I know. The tingle, the need, the hunger, the thrill of the chase. It will all come back, but there are days when I enjoy it being gone.
Today is one of those days.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
My Darker Side was one of my favorite photo blogs and I stole many a picture from his feed for various pleasures. His original blog was shut down but he has resurfaced and I'm glad he's back!!
Check out His new tumblr.
Here is one from today...
Saturday, October 10, 2009
I love this picture. Soft lighting, a natural smile, and a terry cloth tube top. Just as George Costanza immortalized his love of velor, I'm here to stand up for terry cloth. Soft to the touch, easy to wash, it drapes over a figure with soft lines and shows every curve and detail. Call me old fashioned, but I love it.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The recipe below is a modified version of a recipe that my mom used to make for our family quite a bit, especially in our school years. My mom was a great cook, but a very practical one. Combine six kids and two parents with different music, drama, sports, church, scout, and social calendars, and you had a need for easy to make, easy to serve dinners.
My mom made a wide range of food and I learned to cook at her side. There are a lot of times when she was busy working and we would start pestering her to make it something yummy. She taught as early that if we wanted to eat it we better learn to cook it, so of course, we are all experts at making cookies and brownies. I think that is where we all started in the kitchen.
She was never, that I choose to remember, too busy to teach us what she was doing. Whether she was making a big Sunday lunch, her “secret recipe” chocolate, or a Monday-night chicken dinner, she would always take time to explain what she was doing. Mom was never an exotic cock, preferring our homegrown vegetables to things you couldn't pronounce that wouldn’t be available in our local grocery store. I remember fresh baked bread with butter and honey, green salads with thick sliced beefsteak tomatoes, homemade 1000 Island dressing, whichever croutons were on sale, gallons of ice water, clean dishes, a fresh tablecloth every night, the smell of a chocolate cake baking in the background, and breakfast rolls every Saturday morning.
As my mom got older and the household got smaller, her attention turned to more Mexican dishes. I don't know why, she never liked really spicy foods as far as I can recall, but she started making her own tortillas and I remember buying her a tortilla press for one of her last Christmases. The recipe below is my version of what we always called "Mom's Enchiladas."
Her original version is a very Americanized dish, a simple combination of tortillas, hamburger meat and lots of cheese. I like mine a little spicier, so I've added some onions, a couple of chopped jalapenos, sharp cheddar cheese, and a spicy pepper jack. No one will confuse this with “real” Mexican cooking, but it’s easy to make, filling, great for leftovers, and makes me think about mom every time.
2 pounds hamburger, browned and drained
1 small onion, chopped
1 can enchilada sauce
1.5 pounds sharp cheddar cheese, grated
.5 pounds spicy jack cheese, grated
2-3 jalapenos (optional)
8-10 tortillas, medium
Preheat the oven to 350°
Brown and drain the hamburger and let it cool.
Get the 20% fat version, if the meat is too lean it doesn’t taste as good.
Chop and sauté the onion. The onion is optional, I like it, my kids don’t/
If you keep it separate from the meat, you make some with, and some without onions.
Chop up the jalapenos. Again, these are optional depending on your taste
Coat the bottom and sides of a 9 x 13 Pyrex baking dish with a small amount of enchilada sauce
Pour some of the enchilada sauce into a cold medium sized frying pan.
Coat both sides of a tortilla in enchilada sauce.
Fill the tortilla with meat, onions, jalapenos, cheese, and a little enchilada sauce.
You want to use most of the meat and cheese inside the enchiladas, but save some to sprinkle on top.
Place in the baking dish, Repeat until backing dish is full.
Pour remaining enchilada sauce over the top of the enchiladas.
Sprinkle excess cheese and meat jalapenos on top.
Put pan on cookie sheet to catch drippings
Bake for 30 minutes at 350°
If you are going to prepare the enchiladas in advance, leave the cheese and meat off the top, bake as usual, then add the extra cheese and meat when you are re-heating it.
This is also a good dish to prepare and freeze. Prepare everything but do not bake. Cover the dish with tinfoil and freeze. One hour before baking removed from the freezer.
Some others have joined in the fun, I’m getting hungry already
And a big thanks to Topaz for getting this all together.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
My first affair loved to wear bright little baby-doll dresses with pantyhose. She'd call me and invite me to meet here somewhere in the building to prove that she wasn't wearing any panties.
Every time a woman walks by in one, especially if she's a bit on the short side, dark hair, Latina eyes, my heart skips a beat.
And thanks to ModelMayhem for making me think about her.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
You see, I am prejudiced, like ex-smokers who can't stop bugging people to quit, I am a nailist. Not a nihilist, but a nailist. I discriminate against people who bite their fingernails.
Until 2 years ago, I was one of them. I would bite and tear and tug and rip until they were so short they bled. My fingernails never had that little white strip at the end, never looked inviting, and frequently hurt like hell.
A girlfriend of mine attacks her cuticles until the skin look like she had dipped her hand in the company shredder. My wife picks at her thumb with her index finger, and my girls are constantly nibbling on their fingers... So I stopped.
After 42 years, I stopped. My dad couldn't make me, my mom couldn't find anything to make them taste bad enough, and my brothers couldn't tease me enough. So I stopped. It was about the the time when I made my first attempts at getting off porn, a whole self-improvement phase.
Now, I'm hyper aware of other people's nails, and I judge harshly those who don't have nice ones. I judge them as I used to judge myself. My boss has bad nails, my pastor has nubs, my best friend can't let them alone to save his life. If I had to pick between two job candidates the one with the nails gets the job. With women, I'm a little less harsh, but very aware. Nails can be short or long (not too long), polished or plain, but they must be well kept and clean. Otherwise, no deal.
So HyperSexualGirl's quote is right, we can find prejudice everywhere.
Monday, October 5, 2009
He was wrong. Within two minutes of my phone call starting, the gentleman at Western Digital knew what the problem was. The problem is that I talked to the guys at Best Buy. So now I'm in the market for software that can back up two terabyte drives, one connected via USB on one computer, and another on an Ethernet cable through a hub. Any thoughts?
The title of this post should change, because as I was writing, about an hour ago, THREE friends logged in and all of them said hi. It was a love fest. An orgasm-free love fest, but wonderful none-the-less to see them all after such a quiet morning.
Three friends, three great moments, three of many wonderful reasons that I stay on this wacky world wide web of our. Thanks Al Gore!!!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Internet makes you crazy.
I have become convinced of this supposition and find evidence of it in my life, the lives of those I blog with, and in the comments I see left on those blogs.
By crazy, I don't mean that you start thinking you are Napoleon, or that you think you can fly, but crazy in the way our perceptions get altered, our sense of time gets distorted, and our egos get goofy and then take a beating on a daily basis.
We start with the last one. My blog averaged about 60 hits a month until four months ago. Now, for a reason unknown to me, I am usually in the high eight hundreds. This means an average of about 28 to 30 users a day. That sounds like a good thing, but it is step one on to the crazy train.
When I was only getting one or two hits today, each one was special, and it was a thrill to get a comment. During this time I would check my hit count once a week; to check them more frequently was just silly. Now, my ego demands that I check it a couple of times each day. It's crazy, I know.
But now my ego is wrapped up in the knowledge that if I don't have 15 hits by about two o'clock in the afternoon, then I can’t hit the 30 I need to reach 800 or 900. I actually had one month when I hit 1,000, I have no idea how to re-create that, but my ego somehow thinks that it matters. Why can’t I be happy with 60 hits in a month anymore? I suddenly have this expectation that all of you wonderful people have nothing better to do than to check out my mindless ramblings, bad poetry, and fantasies about people I work with and will never see naked?
So now, my ego doesn't get bruised just once a week when my stat counter sends out a report, it can get beat up every hour on the hour if the numbers ticked by slower than I'd like.
This leads me to the idea that our sense of time gets distorted on the Internet. Can we remember the "good old days" when going to the mailbox and getting a letter from a friend could be the highlight of the week? A month? Getting a letter meant that somebody sat down, thought about you for a while, put pen to paper, spent $.22 on the stamp (yes I am old enough to remember cheap postage), walked all the way to the mailbox to drop it off. You would read the letter, think deeply about a response, draft it one or two times, and finally send it back. If your friend got a letter back within a month, they were thrilled. A month? Stop and think?
Now we are pissed if our friends aren't online all the time, even, strangely enough, when you wake up in the middle of the night with the screaming four-year-old and happen to locate your phone. GoogleChat, GoogleTalk, Instant Messaging, and little green status lights tell us if our friends love us or not. Where were you? I asked a friend before I realized that she is three time zones away from me and was, as she should have been, fast asleep.
Why didn't you write back? Are you mad at me? Are we over already? Did I say something stupid? Why are you mad at me? This wide range of negative emotion kicks in within hours of sending an e-mail. Sometimes within minutes if you've been doing something new, sexy, or a little too personal on the emotional front. We don't have time to think, we don't have time to edit, don't have time to take time.
And that's where the paranoia kicks in. I sent a package to a friend of mine today. When I went to the post office, due to the nature of the mailing, I had to put my address on it, a real address. With a real last name. I almost didn't send it, I almost put a fake address on it, but I am a horrible liar when it comes to police, and apparently, postman.
I thought that if I grabbed the package and walked away they would think that I was hiding something and I would have the police on my doorstep within minutes. The gentleman behind the counter at my post office has been there for nine years, and I have mailed hundreds of things with him, he knows me, he knows where I live, and I don't want to go to jail for being a failed terrorist. I don't want to go to jail for being a successful one either, but the paranoia about lying on a mail receipt, got the best of me and I chickened out, meaning that I put my real name and business address on the package.
So now the other side of paranoia kicks in. My friend is going to get this package and gain to pieces of information that I have never shared with anyone I have met through the blogosphere, my real last name, and my address. I have had that shared with me, and I took it as a great honor, a sign of trust, but now that I have sent it out for myself, it makes me a little nervous. This should make me appreciate my friends that share this information with me even more, but the paranoia kicks in. And to really make me laugh, the ego kicks in as well.
What if I become famous one day? What if I run for president, or governor, or dog catcher? Will my far-flung blogger friends read about me in my local paper and say, "Hey, your new mayor used to masturbate with me on the Internet while we talked dirty to each other."
My political career would be ruined! I should take heart in the fact that I don't want to run for office, I have no talent it would make me famous, and unless I accidentally take a bullet for the president in a freaky Fourth of July parade accident, I doubt my name will ever be mentioned outside of my hometown.
Even this rambling and unedited post proves that the Internet makes you crazy. It's fun, but it makes you crazy.