Archive for the 'humiliation' Category

She Never Knew

She never knew. You wanted her to. At least sometimes you thought you did.

You were her friend, her buddy, her “best buddy,” she always said. And you always agreed. Grinned your simple grin and kept your secrets.

You liked it when she called you that. Best buddy, bosom buddy. The buddy left alone when she was out with Karl or Jacob or Michael, or one of so many others. It’s not that you ever loved her; she never broke your heart after all. You knew even then that you can’t break a heart that doesn’t love. It was always that simple and that fucked up.

You never fooled yourself, not even at first. Because it was never love–not even lust or reverence. It was deification. Yes, you fantasized about her, masturbated thinking about her. Thinking about her with them–all of them. You thought about her face, her dewy flesh, her gray-green eyes, her auburn hair–long and always freshly shampooed. But it wasn’t her beauty that caught you’re imagination. It was her cunt. It was the thought of her cunt that got you crazy-hot. You wanted to worship the cunt that all of that beauty implied. To be the rutting pig, the filthy whore-boy, the degenerate cunt-slut. To be a slave to the magnificent snatch that the Karls and Jacobs and Michaels–loved and ate and fingered and fucked.

Even now you don’t remember the first time. The first time you had to have more. The first time you stole her panties, sniffed them, jerked off in them. And finally wore them: Her cum and their cum, all those men’s cum, wet against your cock, spunk-soaked satin and lace. A dirty betrayal. A profane gesture. You knew it, but you did it anyway, time and again–even your guilt a twisted aphrodisiac that you fed upon.

That was long ago, back then, back there. You both moved on. She–to three states, two marriages and, now, two divorces. You–just to a different apartment, one town over. Always single, always remembering.

But she’s found you in the here and now.

Sitting on your sofa, drinking single malt whiskey instead of iced tea, wearing stilettos instead of sandals, smoking a cigarette instead of chewing gum–she is staring at you. Silence. Taking a drag off of her cigarette, exhaling slowly, never losing eye contact. Finally she butts the cigarette on the dish you’ve brought her in lieu of an ashtray.

“It’s going to be different this time.”

“What?”

“You know what. You know exactly what I mean. And this time you’re going to do it my way.”

She slowly uncrosses her long, silky legs and lights another cigarette. You attempt the silly grin, your old standby. But you’re out of practice. Nervous. Your lips tremble. And you don’t quite pull it off; know you look timid, stupid, probably even frightened. Because that is exactly how you feel.

She takes another drag of the cigarette, this time a long, deep one. Stands up. Begins walking toward you, her heels digging into the drab, grey linoleum. Standing in front of you she lets the cigarette hang from the corner of her over-glossed lips and starts slowly pulling up the sides of her dress.

“I was a busy girl before I got here tonight. You remember those days, the old days?  When I was a busy girl? A very busy girl all the time?” Her dress is sliding over the tops of her stockings. You push your back into your chair, gripping its arms.

“Funny thing is…I never had to clean a pair of panties. No matter how many men, how many cocks, how many fucks. No panties to wash. In fact, no panties–period. No panties at all. All of those nasty, dirty panties–gone, poof, nowhere to be found.”

Her dress is at her waist now, and she is reaching out with one hand, pulling you by the neck, pulling your face between her legs. With her other hand she runs her fingers through your hair, enamel nails lightly scratching your scalp.

“We’re going to get it right this time,” she says, pushing your cheeks against the inside of her thighs. The hem of her skirt catches at your brow as she presses your face against her crotch. Inhaling the scent, remembering the scent, you open your mouth and press your tongue into the soaked, pungent, satiny crevices. As she starts to grind her pelvis, you hear her murmuring above you.

“I knew. I always knew.”

The Alley

She is watching you. You feel her eyes, lasers watching every move, every nuance, even the breaths you take. Yes, you paid her for this. To be here, to make you do this. But she is enjoying it. She likes her work. She likes making you do this dirty deed. This realization excites you.

You are on your knees in an alley off Garfield street. Not a very nice neighborhood. You can hear the music, the noise of the crowd from the biker bar on the corner. “Soon they will come,” she says. The gravel crunches as she moves closer, cupping your chin, pulling your face up to look at her. She studies you, stares into your eyes, her mouth a twist of a smile and a sneer.

“What do you say?”

You heart quickens in your chest. You know what she wants to hear. You swallow. You aren’t quick enough. She slaps you. Slaps you hard with her leather gloved fingers.

“Say it, you dirty, fucking, piece of shit scumbag.”

“I am a cunt-fag, Sir. Use me.”

“That’s more like it. And I expect you to say it every time. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She starts to raise her hand and this time you know better. “Yes, Mistress.”

You think of the hotel room on the other side of town. The business conference you spoke at this afternoon. The wife. The three children. The birthday dinner at your in-laws last week. Your woodshop. I’m a normal guy, you think to yourself. With a normal life, a good life, a happy life. Yet, here you are on your knees when two guys stumble out from the bar and turn into the alley.

You watch them wallking towards you, leather vests, tight jeans. One of them, the one with the beard, is already unzipping his pants.

Echo, Mistress Echo, grabs your shoulder.

“Here comes dinner,” she says tightening her grip. “Now lets get busy.”

Peeper

I am watching you watching her. You aren’t even aware of me as you press your arm against your crotch, thinking nobody will see. Just a little rub. Ahhh.

But I see.

You waited there at the fountain watching her shop. Waited until she finally bent over to retrieve her dropped sunglasses. The flash of her white panties. That was what you were waiting for.

I wonder how often you do that. Waiting to see if you will get a little peek. A peek at something you can’t have.

Because you’re a pervert. A wreck of a little man that can’t get laid. Aren’t you?

How many pairs have you stolen? I know you have. Your sisters? Your aunts? Perhaps you watched a friend’s house while he vacationed and rummaged though his wife’s hamper? Finding a soiled pair at the bottom, then masturbating as you sniffed the still-moist crotch.

Pathetic little wanker, aren’t you? But I can almost understand. Because that’s about as close as you’ll ever get to pussy, isn’t it?

Well?

Samantha

“You wouldn’t dare!”

I hoped I sounded cocky, my usual smart-ass self. But, from the look on her face, Samantha wasn’t buying it. Mindy was laughing, watching Samantha as she taunted and teased me. And since I was tied up, there wasn’t much I could do about any of it. Samantha smiled, leaning over my torso, stretching to adjust the leather straps holding my wrists to the bed post.

“You think so, huh?” Then, looking back at Mindy, “Tell him what I was doing this afternoon.”

Because of her petite frame, girlish titties and wispy yellow hair, everybody assumed Mindy was innocent. And she played it for all it was worth. Always wearing tiny tank tops so you could see the hard little buds of her nips through the cotton. And then those wafer-thin sandals, ankle bracelets and toe rings. A lot of the time she even wore her hair in those little-girl braids or pony tails. And the guys ate it up. But I knew better. She was a wicked little thing and dangerous as hell. Now she was looking at me, and I didn’t like that smirk on her face.

“Samantha and I were drinking beer.”

So what, I was thinking and probably would have figured out what Mindy meant pretty quickly if right then she hadn’t distracted me, suddenly pulling up that swatch of pink cloth that went for her skirt and smiling at me.

“Uh, Samantha, honey? Your girlfriend forgot her panties.”

I couldn’t believe what came next. Samantha walked right over to Mindy and knelt in front of her, pulling those small pouty lips apart and putting her tongue right in the open slit. But my cock believed it. Oh boy did it believe it! It was pushing against the zipper of my jeans in no time flat. Of course little Miss Mindy noticed right away.

“Lover boy’s getting a hard-on.”

Samantha was so wrapped up in Mindy’s snatch, I’m not even sure she even heard me. I was starting to get a little peeved. I mean what was the point of all of this? But then Mindy moaned and grabbed Samantha’s head, her fingers pushing through the brunette curls, and started pumping her hips. I wanted loose. Mindy or no Mindy, I wanted some of that action. And Samantha knew it. I’d been begging since we’d moved in together to try a three-way with me. I knew she’d been with girls before we got together, yet she always brushed me off, said she was done with “all of that.” So what was she up to?

“Samantha, come on. Untie me.”

She turned, her hands splayed across Mindy’s pelvis, looking across at me from down on her knees. I thought I was going to cum in my pants, right then and there. Her beautiful, naturally pink lips were smeared with Mindy’s juices. I couldn’t help it. I moaned.

And that is when they knew they had me. Next thing I know they were on the bed crawling all over me, rearranging this, untying that, pushing me here, retying there. I was helpless. And, I’ll admit it, I really didn’t mind. Both girls rubbing up against me as they got me where they wanted me.

Anyway, next think I know, while my left hand is still tied to the headboard, my right hand is now tied to my cock and Samantha is squatting over my cock. Mindy is perched above my head, that smooth open pussy almost dripping on me. I swear her clit was the size of a grape. And I wanted it. I wanted it bad.

“Stroke your cock and I’ll let you get a taste of that,” Samantha said as she lowered her hips down a little. I could see her spread right over my crotch and instinctively squeezed my buttocks and thrust my hips up. She pulled back quickly.

“No, no, no….”

“Please, Samantha, just untie me. Let’s play. Come on, honey.”

“Oh, we’re going to play. We are just going to play my way–not yours. Got it?”

“You heard her. Samantha’s way. That’s the only way you get to cum,” Mindy said, lowering those swollen, moist lips to the very tip of my nose, barely grazing it. I inhaled deeply. I felt my cock flinch in my tied up fist.

“Stroke it.”

Samantha’s voice was stern. She meant business, and I was so hot I didn’t care any more. I started jacking off my meat, feeling the nylon rope tugging at my knuckles and wrist with each stroke. I started moaning and groaning–I couldn’t help it–as Mindy finally lowered that slick, wet, throbbing cunt onto my face. Her slender, hard thighs were pressing in against my cheeks. I felt trapped. But I didn’t want to be anywhere else and began licking furiously, swallowing every bit of juice that ran onto my tongue.

I felt myself riding that wave, could feel my balls drawing up and tightening, when Samantha grabbed my wrist. She didn’t stop me, but slowed my pumping down just enough that I couldn’t cum. I was losing my mind.

“I said my way, baby, and I mean it. So what’s it gonna be? Huh? My way or no cummy for cocky? You tell me.”

“Answer her,” Mindy said, lifting up. She shoved those slender fingers into her pussy and rotated her hips. “You want more of this? Do you? Do you want to jerk that dick of yours?  Then tell Samantha you’ll do what your told.”

“Yes.  Fuck it. Yes. Just let me cum. Let go of my arm. Just tell me what you want.  I’ll do it, damn it, I’ll do it.”

“Good boy! That’s just what I needed to hear.”

Samantha finally let go of my wrist, then slid up between my legs.  She reached under my knees and started pushing my legs up.  I was so out of it, I didn’t really get what was going on, but then Mindy was wrapping her sticky fingers around my neck, cupping my jaw, me still looking up into that beautiful slit.  I think I was whimpering at that point, watching my pelvis moving closer to my face, seeing my fist-wrapped, dripping prick right there.  Right there in front of my fucking face and I didn’t even care now, because I would do anything to cum.  And the girls knew it.

“Open your mouth and jerk,” Mindy said as her thumbs slid into the corners of my mouth.”

Samantha giggled.  “Go ahead.”  That stern voice again.  “You got your threesome, now you’re going to show your appreciation.”  I could feel Mindy wedging her thumbs, forcing my mouth open.

I started jerking, moaning, bucking my hips, grunting.

“You gonna cum, Jerky Boy?  You gonna swallow your load?” Mindy taunted.

And then there it was, gushing into my mouth, all over my face, down my chin.

I was cumming so hard,  I could feel my curved tailbone bouncing off the mattress, the muscles in my thighs clenching and un-clenching as I humped my own hand.

And I swallowed and I swallowed and I swallowed.

Because You Asked

You’re less than average, honey. I married you because I love you, not because of your sexual abilities. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here in this bed beside me.

So why do you think I should waste my time letting you climb on top of me to hump away on me like a rabid monkey?

I would never leave you. I mean, you can’t help it. Like I said, I love you. I just find you–shall we say–a little less than exciting. Perhaps even a bit inadequate. I mean, after all, you don’t even really cum like a real man, do you now? More like a little spritz, an itty-bitty trickle of a little bit of nothing. I don’t even believe you’ve got enough sperm in those little peanuts of yours to get me pregnant. Not that we need worry about that, because, like I said, that little thingy is not getting wet tonight or any night.

Damn it! Stop looking so pathetic. The truth is best. Take it like a man, if you can work yourself up to that. And, besides, I know you visit those porn sites and play with tinkerbell the entire time. I’ve seen you, darling. Don’t deny it. Catherine and I caught you at it just last week. Remember Thursday night? When you heard us laughing in the kitchen and came running downstairs? Fumbling with your zipper?

Why are you blushing? See what I mean? Men don’t blush. Now, dear, put the little guy away. Go ahead. Tuck it back in your boxers. That’s a good boy. It’s so much better when you face facts, isn’t it?

And honey? Before you go to sleep, go downstairs and get me a glass of wine.

Marie Knows

You know she knows.

She’s been winking at you, licking her lips, eyeing your crotch, leering wickedly. You think she can smell your guilt, smell it on you, smell it oozing from your pores. You look out the window, feigning calmness. She can’t know. This is crazy thinking. It’s impossible. You think this to yourself, yet you don’t believe it.

The door opens. Kelly is back from her break. Watching her walk to her desk in those killer heels, you see her catch Marie’s eye. Are they both smirking? Do they both know? You need to get out of this office, take a walk, get some fresh air to clear your head. With a sigh of what you hope comes across as casual indifference, you push your chair back. You clear your throat.

“I guess I’m going to go out and grab some lunch,” you say, starting to rise.

“Not so fast, buster boy.”

You feel yourself turning red even as you sit back down. Flustered, embarrassed, you hear Kelly giggle at—what? What Marie said? What they know? The way you sat down so fast, like a well-trained puppy?

“Now that we’re all three alone…”

Marie is walking toward you, arms behind her back. She’s wearing black silk stockings again. You try not to look at her legs, try to think of something clever to say, try to tell yourself that nothing is wrong.

“I have something of yours, or I should say Kelly’s.”

Kelly giggles again, that beautiful girlish music, now a torment. You can’t even look at her. Worse, behind your desk you feel yourself becoming hard. Oh God, they found them. Fuck! What do I do now? How do I get out of this? I need to get out of here.

But it’s too late. Marie has brought her arms out in front of her. You don’t want to look at her outstretched hands, what she’s showing you. You try to look past the clutch of white satiny fabric to her face. You watch the cruel snarl of her red lips, moving as if in slow motion.

“You’re a fucking pervert, a dirty little dog, a crotch-sniffing panty thief.”

Kelly is crossing the carpet, one hand tugging at the hem of her skirt, the other dangling a key. Glimpsing a pink garter, you realize the key looks familiar. Your eyes darting back and forth, you start fumbling around your desk. Surely they are here somewhere.

“Looking for these?”

You hear the metallic clattering, even as Marie is pulling them from her ample cleavage. She smiles, leaning in close and jingling them in front of your face.

“What’s that,” Kelly says, sliding onto the corner of the desk, looking pointedly at your crotch, “a stiffy?” Her skirt is all the way up now. Seeing the pink lace of her panties, you feel your cock flex. You can’t help it. A moan escapes your constricted throat. Marie laughs as Kelly presses the key into your sweaty palm.

“Now let’s unlock that bottom drawer and see how many pairs you have in there,” Marie says.

And you know Marie knows and you know that you are fucked.

Dear Fiance

Thus we’ve moved to this.

All those moments we dared to test our chaste vows: You knowing my hunger by the quickening of my breath, the beating of my heart against your chest, the fire of my cunt against the thigh you shoved into the folds of my skirt. Desperate to keep your secret, even in those heated moments, you never dared press full against me.

A twofold agony for you: Wanting me just as much. Needing to fuck me the way a real man fucks a real woman. Aching for the tight clench of hot cunt around a fully formed cock. Yet always knowing that this would be experience forever denied you. And thus….me. Always knowing you could never fuck the woman you love, lying wantonly and wickedly beneath you.

Dreading—even as you respond in your very small way to the feminine scent of my arousal that is so upon you, filling your nostrils, inflaming your need—that I might in frenzied abandon forcefully shove against you. Skirt to trousers, pelvis to pelvis, crotch to crotch. Hastening the disaster that looms in our future: My pending discovery of your own sad inadequacy.

And here we are in this encapsulated instant.

You watch my face: Idolizing the hunger, the desire you see there, as your fumble with the zipper of your fly. No backward movement here……no escape. And you know it.

You watch my face. Cherishing my ignorance of that forever-held breath, that angel of disappointment that hovers about us ready to pounce. You see her. Your first love. She who can only be your true love. And you know it.

The dark angel who has taunted you in the lone dark as you cupped your incompleteness. After all, only a few brief strokes needed for such paucity. Did you hear her laughter? . Did you hear her whispered taunts as you squirted your scant bit of goo in a brief spasm of nasty relief?

Did she warn you? Did she tell you what you already knew? That revelation would steal away this countenance of desire before you.

I lick my lips. You see the brush of perspiration above them, knowing the hunger that causes it is about to be replaced with disgust, perhaps pity.

Your clammy fingers, slipping, sliding.

I blink my eyes.

Impatiently I whisper, “Hurry. Show me, darling.”

“Show me!”

Exasperated, I reach out to help.

“Now, darling. Now!”

I hurriedly pull down the zipper and grab inside.

I look up at you.

“Oh….”

You hear the dark angel snicker.

Miss Margaret

“I’m sending you away for a while. I don’t know what else to do.”

You’d heard Miss Margaret’s car pulling into the driveway, even as your mother started to cry. Sitting here now in the spare bedroom of her summer house, you’re waiting for Miss Margaret, wondering what she is going to do. She won’t break me, you think to yourself.

When the door finally opens, Miss Margaret is not alone. Two teenage girls, beautiful teenage girls, and some bulked-up guy–probably one of those weightlifters, you think– enter the room behind her.

“So this is the naughty boy,” the blonde says, “He doesn’t exactly look tough to me. What do you think, Barry?” She looks at the guy expectantly. He doesn’t answer her, but looks at you grinning. You don’t like that grin; there’s something menacing about it. And for the first time, you start getting a little nervous. Miss Margaret sits beside you on the bed. Miss Margaret’s voice hisses at your ear as she suddenly grabs your balls through your jeans.

“Do you know what Miss Margaret does with smart-ass college boys who don’t know how to behave?”

Before you can react, the redhead in the purple dress has pulled out a cord of rope from somewhere and you’re feeling a sharp pinch in your right shoulder muscle. You try to say something, but your words come out thick and slurred. Then everything goes dark.

***

You are swimming. No, it only feels like you are swimming, lead weight against your waking slumber, pushing you back. Forcing your eyelids against the heaviness you try to think, try to remember. Blurry shapes, movement. Something in front of your face.

“Open your mouth.”

The voice is deep, a man’s voice. Somebody is giggling. Something fleshy, bulbous is pushing against your dry lips. You want to lick them, moisten them, but don’t dare, because somewhere deep inside of you, you know what that something is.

“Rachael, why don’t you tell my nephew exactly what is expected of him.”

Miss Margaret’s throaty voice. The giggling again. One, no–two girls. You remember them, the blonde and the redhead. I need to get the hell out of here, you think. You try to move, feel the tight restraints across your chest and arms, your hips, your spread legs. Something cold, cold metal between your legs. The blonde is looming above you, sneering wickedly. “You feel this,” she asks, reaching between your legs, and you feel the the smooth, cool band of metal tightening around your testicles. She smiles as you moan in pain.

“Now here’s the deal, college boy,” Rachael purrs, pushing your bangs back with her free hand, then cupping your face. The redhead is there now, reaching for your cock and beginning to stroke it as Rachael wraps her free hand around the dick bobbing against your cheek. “You are going to suck my boyfriend’s big, fat dick and you are going to swallow his load.” She moves the head of the cock, a slick bubble of precum teetering from its slit, down the bridge of your nose, across your upper lip. You try to turn your head, but her fingers tighten around your chin as she smears the precum across your tightly pressed lips.

“Either you open up and take it like a good boy, or I’ll tighten this so quick you just might lose these balls.”

She gives the metal device a quick turn. “I’m not kidding.”

Your mouth opens in a groan as Rachael slides the head of Barry’s cock onto your tongue.

“Does our college boy dick-eater have a stiffie, Marla?”

As Rachael forces the prick into the back of your mouth, you hear the blonde and Miss Margaret laughing.

“He’s as hard as a fucking rock.”

And you know she’s right, because despite the shame, despite everything, you are hotter than you’ve ever been.

“That’s a good boy,” you hear Miss Margaret say as you start sucking the dick in earnest.” Now swallow that big load. And when you do, Marla will let you cum. Won’t you dear?”

And you do.

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