Posts tagged ‘porn’

March 18th, 2015

The Van

Oh dear, I seem to have let this blog stagnant for a little while again.  I’m very sorry and will try and do better.  For now, though, here is some smut.

You throw me into the back of your van, naked, on to a scratchy, old, dusty blanket and slam the door, not a word said to me, leaving me in the pitch black as you obviously get into the front and start up the engine.  I try to grab something as you move off, to not bounce around too much, the combination of fear and arousal confusing me.

When you stop, I think you’ll come straight for me but instead, the fear keeps building as I hear you talking to some guys outside, the words muffled, unclear, unknown.  As the door swings open, the light hits my eyes and temporarily blinds me as someone gets into the back with me.  Just I can start to see again, I’m bundled over onto my front with rough hands, definitely not yours.  I don’t see a face, and as I try to turn and look, my head is pushed into the floor by a boot.  I hear the zip of a fly, the weight of someone against me, a cock pushing hard into my arsehole, no care or control, just rough and painful, straight in.  I scream out, although muffled by the filthy blanket as the man starts to fuck me, building up speed quickly.  The pain of his thick cock starts to ease and I start to push back into him, my hips thrusting up.  I hear you chuckle.  Someone grabs a fistful of my hair and my head is pulled back.  There’s a huge cock in my face, dripping pre-come already and I open my mouth ready for him with hunger obvious in my eyes.  The guy teases me with his cock, hitting my face with it, smearing those beads of pre-come on my lips.  I groan and whine, desperate.  Just as the guy makes that final thrust to come in my arse, this huge cock is shoved into my waiting mouth so I choke and splutter, tears filling my eyes.

I am distracted now with this monster in my mouth, trying so hard to swallow him all.  I’m choking, tears and spit running down my face.  I barely care as I feel fingers invading my cunt, comments about how dirty I am for getting so wet from this, how cheap I am.  Those fingers are probing, hands all over me elsewhere, grabbing, pulling, teasing.  My nipples pinched, my breasts groped, my arse spanked.  The man in my mouth pulls out just as huge streams of his come erupt, aiming them on my face, my hair, my back.

I am flipped over on to my back and another cock is pushed into my tight arse.  Another guy straddles me and presses my tits together so he can fuck them.  Both of these men come all over me and leave, a moment to wait, a moment of relative calm.  I’m panting, filthy and dirty.  My face and tits are covered in come and spit, my hair sticky, my arse dripping, my cunt soaking and all I can hear is you chuckle as another couple of men step into the van, their weight shifting the floor so I know they are there.  I see them hand you a note, a fiver I think.  My brain can’t quite comprehend how little you are charging them.  

These two stand over me, calling me everything they can think of.  Fat whore, slut, pig, cow, filthy animal, come dumpster, worthless piece of meat.  They spit on me, they hurl more abuse and I can feel my cunt heating up, more juice running down my legs.  They see it too and pull out their cocks.  They piss all over me.  In my hair, my mouth, on my tits.  They wash away one type of filth to replace it with another.  They pull me onto all fours again and tell me to oink for them, to moo for them, to prove how much of a dirty animal I am.  One of them is making me clean his cock with my mouth, the other is pushing his fingers into my ass, one after another.  I feel the stretch as his fist slips in, the pounding and then the probe of his fingers at my cunt.  I grunt and groan.  1,2,3, 4…rhythmic pounding as his hand fills my arse.  I feel the final push and realise I have a fist in my cunt and ass at the same time.  The guy at my mouth needing to piss again and using me as a toilet.  I’m starting to loose focus, all the hands, cocks, piss, come, spit, it’s all over me and I feel violated and abused.  My body betrays me, my cunt dripping with the excitement as I beg you for more men to service.  You chuckle again, jump out of the van, slam the door and soon we’re on our way again.

September 5th, 2013

Consequences for a brat

This is a sequel to The Brat. Again, I’m not 100% about it but it has got me writing again, plus there is a possible 3rd part to come too.

Alone, crying to myself in my confinement, I long for you to come back now. I want to apologise, to say I’m sorry for my indiscretions, to beg at your feet. I hate to disappoint you. Time passes and the tears dry on my cheeks. Where are you? I want to shout out for you, but I know better now. I have to wait, be patient, to learn my lesson.

I must have fallen asleep as I am suddenly aware of a crick in my neck and the clatter of metal against metal. I open my eyes and there you are, opening the door. A smile breaks out on my face, until I see yours. There is a cold, hard look in your eyes and your lips are drawn in a thin line. I don’t think you are about to forgive and forget and why should you?

“Out”

There is nothing in your voice that hints at warmth and I stumble out of the cage, hugging my near naked body, shy and desperate for your caring arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I really am. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good.”

You don’t even look at me as I talk to you, your back turned, moving furniture around, tidying the room.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I was doing.”

Still you ignore me and I shiver, feeling myself on the edge of tears again.

“Please let me make it up to you, Sir, please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything? Really?” you question, with the hint of a smirk.

“Of course, Sir.” Desperate to please, eager for you to forgive me.

“Hmmm” you don’t sound convinced and I try to look at remorseful as I can. “You need to prove that you have learnt your lesson. Brats are not worthy of my attention and I won’t think twice about locking you back in that cage if you disappoint me again.”

My head bows and I feel tears silently running down my face. A fist in my hair and I am being dragged across the room. You pull me up to face you and I am suddenly scared. A hand across my mouth and nose, held there until my fingers are trying to pull you off me. I can’t breath and am starting to panic.

Released and I gasp for air but I have barely recovered before you start the process again. My head is getting fuzzy, my mind blanking and suddenly I can breath again. Once more, I feel you at my throat, once more my breath taken from me. Controlled by you. One of my basic human needs and you have taken its control away from me. A reminder of exactly who I belong to.

“Be thankful I am letting you breath at all.”

You bend me over the back of a chair and nudge my feet apart slightly with your boot. My knickers are ripped off and I feel ashamed, degraded, used. I feel you trailing a cane across my skin, my back, my arse, my thighs.

“100 strokes. One for each minute I had to keep you locked in that cage.”

I let out a whimper and you tut. Breathing deeply, I know this is going to push me but I have to take this for you. I have to show you I can behave. I have to prove I am still your good girl. Waiting, anticipating, fearful. Feeling exposed as a draft skims across my naked cunt. Hoping you have changed your mind, that it’s all just a game to mess with my head but I know, deep down, that is wishful thinking. Waiting for the cane is almost as excruciating as the physical pain it can cause and I stand as still as I can. Still waiting. You must have gone to do something, I get fidgety and move out of position, glancing around the room, just as you come in through the door.  You’re carrying restraints, a heavy wooden paddle and something else, black and bulky.

“You can’t even stay still for a minute, can you.”  It’s not a question, more a statement of my disobedience.  “I thought I might need these.”

He attaches straps at my wrists and ankles without care, padlocking them shut.  A leather hood placed over my head removes my sight.  I am just thinking that I am lucky to be able to breath through my mouth when a ball gag is shoved in there and buckled to the hood.  I will myself to breath slowly, knowing how small the air holes by my nostrils are, knowing you will be displeased if I panic.  You bend me back over the chair and fasten my legs apart, my hands together.

“You shall count each stroke for me.  If you forget where you are up to, we start again.  If I can’t understand you, I will assume it wasn’t hard enough and we won’t count that one.”

My whimper comes out as a muffle.

“What was that, girl?  I couldn’t hear you.” Amusement obvious in your voice.

You start to beat me, slowly, with force and I manage to count well enough for you, numbers uttered once the initial pain subsides, once my brain clears enough.  Each blow sears through my backside.  A leather filled intake of breath follows and I struggle to stay still against my fastenings.  Another number, another stroke.  We’re at about 40 when you seem to kick it up a notch and I start to falter more.  The pain isn’t subsiding enough to let me think even the simple act of counting and I can barely make clear sounds.  I am trying to not cry with both the pain and your certain disapproval.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I heard that.  What number are we on, girl?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” Tears pricking at my eyes.

“Oh, dear.  You know what that means.  Start counting again.”  You sigh, as though you expected me to fail.

On the next few blows, I try to count but I know you can’t understand me.  The blows continue.

“Quit counting, pathetic girl.  They obviously didn’t teach you very well at school.  I will continue until I am done with you.  Until I make you bleed.”

I slump and you beat me, the cane biting into my skin, my arse stinging like I’ve never felt before.  I feel defeated, broken, helpless.  I try to take it as well as I can, knowing that I deserve this, knowing that I should never have acted the way I did.

You pause for the briefest of moments and I take the chance to try and slow my breathing.  I don’t assume you have finished but what comes next was not expected.  A series of strokes down the backs of my thighs, feeling as though a blade has been drawn across my skin.  My breath is stuck in my throat, my head is swimming with the pain but there is no more.  You have stopped.  You are unchaining me, helping me stand, carefully taking off the hood.  Once my eyes are used to the light again, I dare to look up.  Your face is hard to read.  Not blank, exactly, but it’s not obvious how you are feeling.

“Get dressed” as you turn to tidy up. “I want to take you on a little car ride.  Think carefully about what may be a suitable outfit.”

Immediately, scary but slightly exciting thoughts run through my head.  I take myself out of the room, wincing slightly with each step, thinking of the perfect outfit to show off my new marks to the world.

June 21st, 2013

Filthy Friday

I promised you more smut and I wasn’t just teasing but you won’t find it posted on this blog! I’m sorry but you’ll have to head over to the Sh! Womenstore’s blog as I have been included in their Filthy Friday free erotica. Anyway…on to the smut! I give you Party Directions

May 11th, 2009

Porn

We have a rather large collection of porn. The cost runs into hundreds of pounds. But I’m pretty proud of it. Sometimes I need something to kick me off and porn does its job very well. Well, good porn, anyway. Some classy enough scenes, without too much oral sex and plenty of noise. Not that cheesy porn “yes, yes, fuck me harder” stuff but real sounds; people getting off and sounding like they really want it. We’ve got quite a lot that fits the bill (plus some pretty awful stuff) but the one I go back to time and time again is Camera Club. Retro settings, stockinged feet and girly dresses…I love it.

But then there’s the times that I want more sophisticated material to turn me on and that’s where The Secretary comes in. Just watching the look on her face as she’s spanked makes me weak at the knees!

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May 10th, 2009

Alone

Why is it that whenever he’s away or just out and I’m alone, I want him so badly?  I always end up watching poor quality amateur porn on the internet to get off to and then end up even worse.  I really should at least find something more erotic to masturbate to but I’m such an aural person; I love the sounds of sex, the moaning of climax, even the creaking of bed springs


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