eroserato

Publication Day

Wed, 07 May 2008 14:04:29 GMT

The new erotic bdsm story, Class Clown, is now published by Eternal Press. Come see the intensity and heat that two old classmates can generate in an empty elementary school after parent-teacher night. It is part of my series of stories about the first nights of play between powerful male Doms and their strong and submissive women.

Read more here: http://www.eternalpress.ca/classclown.html

Here's another taste --

She turned the corner and asked, “Did you lock up?”
I turned the lock on the front door and nodded to her. “You let me back in.” I observed. I seemed cool, though my brain was burning. The fire was stoked by the knowledge that this strong, intelligent, beautiful and feisty woman was inviting me to bend her to my will. Adrian’s choice to submit was more arousing than anything I could imagine.
“It takes a strong man – and a man I trust – to make me follow instruction.” She told me, “You are definitely that man.”
I fell easily into character, because the character is truly me. “Then you followed instructions and made certain we are alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are ready to accept your punishment for your inability to ignore your sexual needs at school on parent teacher night?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And for cumming in your office during school hours on several occasions.” I accused pointedly.
Adrian cocked her head and looked at me for a moment and then answered, “Yes, Sir. You know me too well, Sir.”
“Are there classrooms without many windows?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then take me to one of them.”
She simply turned and walked down the main hall, took the first left and clicked in her heels to the second classroom. She started to open the door and I stopped her.
“Don’t go in yet.”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“Take off your blouse.” I instructed.

Two New Stories

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 02:26:13 GMT

My next bdsm story for Eternal Press will be published May 7. It's called Class Clown and it is part of the "First Night" series of stories about the first night of discovery for Dominant men and strong, but submissive women.

Here is an excerpt:

I walked directly to her, grabbed her throat with a large strong hand and kissed her long and deep as she gasped from the rough touch. Her eyes closed as we kissed, and she raised a hand to her throat and placed it on top of mine. Not to remove my tight grip, but to acknowledge and accept it. I stopped kissing her, took her hand and brought it to my mouth, sucking on her first two fingers, then nibbling them hard as she looked on, her breath deepening. I pushed her bare back against the cinderblock wall and kissed her mouth hard again, pinning her hand to the wall over her head. Then I stepped away, dropping her hand and pinching her nipple ferociously. She let out a loud gasp.
“Does that hurt, Adrian?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you deserve it, Adrian?”
“Yes, Sir”
“Why do you deserve it, Ms. Assistant Principal?”
She gasped quietly as I continued to twist and pinch her nipple. “Because I’m slutty.”
“Louder. I can’t hear you.”
She said loudly, “I deserve to hurt because I need to be punished. Because I am such a slut.” Her voice echoed in the tight little hallway, and I smiled.

Where have they gone?

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 13:46:29 GMT

Two stories that were originally posted on this Live Journal space have become the first erotic bondage publications for Eric Erato with Eternal Press. You can download the stories for less than $2.00 at http://www.eternalpress.com.au/coffeebreak1.htm

Many more to follow, with a full book of stories in print after several of these coffee break releases.

First Night -- Her Mouth

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 03:33:15 GMT

I would like to think it was her eyes.

Or maybe her easy laugh and quick wit, or the way one long brown hair kept falling across her cheek and needed to be brushed away with her intensely overpainted, black-and-white nails.

But it was her mouth. . .

Sorry All, I had to take my longer stories down from the site, but I will supplement soon.

Desire Grows Beyond Control

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 20:35:40 GMT

The vine grows
weaving through the thickets, thrusting upward to the sun
wrapping its tendrils around the branches
embracing the trunk, deeply combining until no one knows where vine ends
and tree begins
inseparable without destroying both.
telling it to stop is useless,
willing it to stop is useless.
The vine can't be stopped without a knife,
slicing it out of host -- but severance arrives too late;
cut the vine, eviscerate the host;
We now live as one.
The vine grows when we are not looking
expanding in girth and length and structure;
Fighting to live so that I may live
encompassing all that I am before I realize I am lost to it
The desire grows within me

Outdoor Sex

Mon, 14 May 2007 01:37:02 GMT

Rites of Spring

So now is the time of year when a young man’s fancy turns to – well, to where it’s been all along. Only now he can do it outside. With friends.

‘Tis the season to sing carols to the unique pleasures provided by physical love abutting the boundless womb of mother nature. In fact, acts of outdoor love present themselves in as many varieties as the Spring tulips, with my personal favorites including (in descending order of risk) the urban/suburban fresh-air quickie, the park visit with benefits, and the consummation camp. This list is not intended to be exhaustive, and I would appreciate reading about your own favorites. I only have time at the moment to explore the first tasty morsel here and now.

The fresh-air quickie can certainly be performed deep in the woods, far from the maddening crowds, but if you have that kind of time without fear of exposure, why rush? No, the quickie is best suited for encapsulating the act into a manageable frame to avoid the inevitable scrutiny (and possible termination or arrest) that would occur if co-workers, building guards or homeland security happened into your space during the act. Granted, the intensity and urgency engendered by an ever-present risk of capture (or an impromptu education to a wandering gaggle of third-graders on a field trip) is one of the great thrills of the urban quickie. But you still don’t want to tempt fate too much by orchestrating an intricate iron-cross bondage scene at the corner of First and Main. The unique joy of the urban quickie is to express and consummate your passion in a fluid and impromptu manner, with the bustle surrounding you, to zip up at your own pace, and to walk away – together or separately – unaccosted, satisfied and flying on adrenaline.

An outdoor setting changes perspectives in sex just it does for food. The campfire roasted fish and the patio grilled burger taste better when prepared and eaten in the open air. Similarly, outdoor sex peels away societal veneers, making formalities less important, pulling forward the most primal aspects of coupling – cock meets its moistened opening, filling and creating friction without the need for special uniforms or positioning. Two animals, bred for the function, exchange thrust and parry, breathing the eternal ether beneath the sun or stars, accepting each other exactly as presented.

Best spots for an urban quickie are as diverse and perverse as your imagination. Stairwells in great public buildings provide a classic combination of defendable space with limited visual range, but my task today is to praise the confluence of genitalia in the open air, so we limit our discussion to open stairwells in parking garages and plazas. The trick is to find a spot outdoors that provides a fleeting security and privacy where romance can bloom. I would also offer style points for choosing a site with appropriate romantic atmosphere. Shoving yourself balls deep into your inamorata against the dumpster at Chili’s may hold a certain frothy and filthy appeal, but it reeks of poor planning (and probably stale urine and two-week old chimichangas) – like offering a birthday present in the plastic sack displaying logo of the gas station where you picked it up on the way over. While the urban quickie may be a spur-of-the moment decision, it helps if you have thought out your best spots, capture strategies and escape routes before the coupling begins. So isolated corners on the edges of public plazas work particularly well, but the most satisfying can be hiding in plain site. A cluster of trees and bushes may shield you from all but the most persistent of voyeurs. Stopping between a building and its landscaping may provide the optimal conditions of fresh air and visual cover. And always keep in mind that a public area that is packed during the day, may contain the perfect sexual romper room when the lights are off inside and the staff has driven home. I find museums of all sorts – art, natural history, sports and entertainment – host the most adventurous lovebirds, and provide interestingly-shaped sculptural love nests.

What happens if someone walks upon the event in progress? That depends on the degree of delicto, and how inflamed was your inflagrante when viewed by the interloper. If you are caught with treasures exposed and nasties grinding, then not much more than a sheepish grin, a quick withdrawal and an apology will suffice. However, if there is still a modicum of uncertainty in the mind of the invasive viewer, you may want to implement a previously prepared script of a breakup or a lover’s quarrel – this plan can sow confusion for the unwanted party, can explain why two people would be hidden away in this otherwise public space, and would be sufficiently uncomfortable so that the viewer may want to avoid learning more and/or involving more deeply. This strategy also gives the lovers permission to make the intervener feel guilty for intruding in their argument.

Public fresh-air urban sex can be satisfying in all forms – oral for either, bent-over-skirt-lifted-tree-anchored vaginal or anal penetration, or, if your body types allow it, the standing-front-facing-ass-gripped-leg-wrapped riding mount. I recommend them all, and may you enjoy a lusty Spring and Summer exploring the joys of nature with your favorite friend (or friends).

Thanks to Johnny 101 for use of the barn picture

Denial

Mon, 07 May 2007 01:44:55 GMT

Denial makes us strong.

You entreat me to fill you.
To drive desperately deep down into you.
To grasp your hips with insistent strength pull them toward me as I invade your body.
To roll my eyes upward as you envelope me in velvet.
I say “no”.
And pain overtakes you.
And it makes us stronger.

Denial teaches us patience.

You implore me to release your passion.
To speed my stroke.
To accede to the insistent vibration gripping to your hungriest centimeter.
To flow with the wave rolling, thick and foamy, over your consciousness.
I say “no”.
And pain overrides reason.
And it teaches us patience.

Denial helps us survive.

We plead to the heavens to bring us together.
To extent tendrils intertwining.
To pull the breath from the depth of each and mingle in mélange of aerial essence.
To feed the insatiable beast, the brute that knows nothing but its own need.
And circumstance says “no”.
And “no”.
And “no”.
And “no” again.
Indefinitely.
And pain overwhelms us.
And we learn to survive.

Denial intensifies emancipation, allowing us to appreciate the “yes” when she finally arrives.

Quicky at school

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 03:09:28 GMT

This was an expansion of one of the fast 50 stories below -- by request.

Diane was pissed and she didn’t have time to wallow in it.

Criminal procedure class in less than ten minutes.

The picture of determination, Diane pushed through the doors of the law library and tromped past the circulation desk without looking up. She wore her usual comfortable sweat pants and powder blue tee shirt with thong sandals, now that Spring had warmed campus. Two guys from last year's torts class motioned her over to their long wooden table, and Diane just glanced their direction and kept moving without acknowledging their waves, as her thick red hair flew over her shoulders. Her sandals slapped the stairs in her haste down into the musty stacks.

“James could be such an unbelievable wimp.” She thought, angrier at herself for obsessing when she had so much work to do, then she was at James for his last transgression. Diane knew she loved James, he was handsome and bright and sweet and comfortable and occasionally funny, but just once she would appreciate James taking the initiative, making the difficult choices – even putting her in her place. He couldn’t even decide where to eat half the time, and it was driving her crazy. If she planned to spend the rest of her life with this man, he needed to take change.

She knew that careful, studious James would already be at his seat in class, reviewing his notes and waiting for Diane to slide in the chair next to him at the last minute. The first two months of law school --- before she started dating James, Diane had dated a tall third-year named Campbell – a jerk of the first order, now off practicing law in Richmond – but, God, could he make her knees week and her toes curl. He would just pull Diane’s small, slim body to him and force her to his will. To say that she dated him would be overstating the matter. She fucked him – as he wished – morning, noon and night. She sucked him and fucked him in every conceivable position at least two or three times a day, for the first sixty days of her time at school. They rarely went out, but just studied together and fucked away the tension and frustration and ennui that threatened to envelope them. The relationship – if you could call it that – burned too hot and stood on too shaky a foundation to last long. But Diane still sometimes wished that James could be a little more like Campbell the arrogant bastard. And not just in those one or two evenings a week that James could tear himself away from the books long enough to touch Diane tenderly and deeply, but also when it came time to decide on a direction in their lives or even to decide on lunch.

“Damn James,” she thought as she sped down the stairs. “Damn his dithering.” She pushed deep into the stacks and back toward the outside wall of the building where she kept a locked carrel, barely three feet square and half of that taken with an aqua metal desk behind the matching metal door. When Diane took the job as Professor Collins' research assistant for the year, the school assigned her this carrel, and she had left her red notebook there this morning. She needed to take it to class.

Fumbling with her key as time grew short, she clanked open the door, disturbing the peace of the entire floor. Diane cringed a bit, but she was in a hurry, and could already tell that none of the other carrels in this row were presently occupied, so she pushed the chair noisily as she searched the various stacks of notes and cases for her red notebook. Nothing up on the shelf, damn, that’s where she thought she left it. It wasn’t on top of any of the desk piles. She stepped back and caught a flash of red beneath a small stack of photocopies on the desk. “Oh thank God” She thought, I won’t have to be late for the third time in two weeks.

“I heard you might be here.” Whispered a voice low, but urgent. I was Campbell and he smiled as he approached. “I heard you were assigned a carrel this year – care to break it in?”

“How do you know that I haven’t broken it in already?” asked Diane, knowing precisely what he meant.

“Because,” said Campbell, “that wussy little boyfriend of yours wouldn’t dare take that kind of chance. He’d never be able to get it up in the library.”

Diane looked scornfully at him as she collected her book and notebooks for class. “Campbell, you are a dick. What are doing here anyway?”

“I was in town and I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Fuck you,” said Diane. “You came for nothing.”

“No, I came to fuck you.” Said Campbell, pushing Diane into the carrel and lifting her small body up on the desk. There wasn’t really room for both of them.

She put down her books and hit him on the chest. “Damn it, let me go. I am seeing James now, not you. I have been done with you for a long time.”

Campbell didn’t answer. With his left hand he reached behind Diane’s head, grabbed a handful of her thick hair at the base of her skull and pulled her head back. With his right hand he shut the carrel door softly behind him. Then he kissed her hard and long. She hated him, she belonged to another man, but she kissed him back just as enthusiastically, probing her tongue deep.

He slid his right hand down the open V of her shirt and pinched her small, pert nipple, then he rolled it between his fingers like he used to do. Diane gasped a bit and bit his lip. Campbell pulled back a bit and smiled, then pulled his hand out of her shirt and shoved it firmly between her legs, rubbing through the outside of her sweatpants. “Just as feisty as ever,” He said, his hand still pulling her hair. And Diane looked hungrily into his eyes, grinding her drenched pussy against his hand.

Campbell held her gaze. “I’m only in town for half a day, but I knew what you needed. I’ll be gone soon, but not until I give it to you.” He kissed her again and reached down with both hands to wriggle her sweatpants off past her hips. “And then you don’t ever have to see me again.”

Diane lifted her hips and set her newly naked ass back on the cold metal desk and the small stack of papers, as Campbell slid her sweats off over her feet, taking the sandals with them. There wasn’t any room for the pants, so he dropped them on the floor and kicked them under the desk.

“Hmmm, black cotton thong – that’s new.” He breathed in Diane’s ear as he slid the underwear to the side and slipped a finger inside her, then another.

She grabbed his belt and tugged at it as she wriggled her hips and threw back her head against the window that allowed the only light into her carrel. Soon their mouths were pressed together and as busy as their hands.

Diane’s breathing quicken as Campbell worked her wetness up to her clit and pinched it mercilessly. She finally managed to free his belt, and he helped with the zipper of his kahki dockers as they soon hit the floor around his ankles. He went commando that day, and his thick cock pointed exactly toward its target, seeming even bigger than usual in this cramped space.

Diane slid her hips to the edge of the desk and lifted a thin ankle up to his shoulder in an effort to gain leverage. She shifted so that her head would hit the window, giving the lovers an extra three inches of space. Campbell drove his cock deeply inside her, and she wrapped her hands around his neck, twisting and grinding back against him – moving like a caged animal. He pounded into her over and over, lifting her petite ass off the desk for a moment. He leaned back against the metal carrel wall, almost falling over the chair as he held her ass in both hands, keeping her weight just high enough to engulf him with each push.

They had started urgently, and built into a frantic pace, both concentrating on keeping silent in the already quiet library and upon the furious thrusting that neither could stop. Diane’s head banged repeatedly against the window as they both leaned back as far as possible to maximize the angle of friction. Her tee shirt was starting to show sweat drops and she closed her eyes as she recognized the signs of Campbell’s imminent release. They came together hard and quietly, emitting a series of muffled grunts and guttural noises that echoed in the cramped little room.

Campbell continued to hold her cheeks as he softened inside her, then set her back on the cold desk as he pulled back the few inches room allowed.

He grabbed her hair again and kissed her hard one last time. Then he disappeared toward the floor for a moment and returned with his pants secured at the waist, belt hanging open. Campbell flashed her one more devastating grin, turned and opened the door, and was gone.

When she finally arrived at class, sitting next to James and ten minutes late, she just shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her book, smiling. Diane now had 50 minutes to devise an explanation of where she had been. She wondered if he could smell it on her.

My Very Good Girl

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 04:23:23 GMT

A D/s dialogue reported --

“Fuck me.”

“No”

“Please Sir, fuck me deep and hard.”

“No”

“I’m so wet – so wet for you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Doncha wanna feel it? To check?”

“No.”

“Sir, do you mean no, or not yet?”

“No.”

“Then may I taste you?”

“May you what?”

“May I taste you, please Sir? Worship your cock, Sir, awaiting your permission to take it into my mouth?”

“No. And don’t whimper like that. Begging is encouraged, whining is not attractive. You know, the difference, pet. Beg. Don’t whine.”

“But I waaaaaaaaant it soooooo baaaaaaaaaaad. Please, please. I’m on my knees anyway. You can leave me here, just please, Sir let me take off your pants and take you in my mouth. Pleeeeeease, Please?”

“No.”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“I know.”

“Am I being punished?”

“You know you are, pet. I told you to wear your plug for me, didn’t I? To be ready for me. But I had to shove it into you myself when I got here, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I’VE HAD IT. CAN’T YOU EVEN REMEMBER TO SAY ‘YES, SIR?’ CAN’T YOU?”

“I can, Sir.”

“WHAT?”

“I can, Sir.”

“Should I tighten your nipple clamps?”

“They are already tight, Sir.”

“But not tight enough to focus your attention – to make you remember your responsibilities, are they?

“No. Oh gosh.”

“Is that my name now? ‘Oh gosh?’ Instead of saying ‘Sir’ you say ‘Oh gosh’. What is this, an elementary school?”

“No, Sir, no.”

“Stop crying. Is this a Sunday school class?”

“No, Sir, no.”

“I have talked to you about the word ‘Gosh’ – its not sexy, its not submissive, its your small-town Midwest hayseed coming out, isn’t it, pet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what do you say instead?”

“Fuck me, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now, I am taking off my belt, to use it on you, not to give you access to my cock. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stop sniveling. I’m not going to whip you with it. I going to pull t tight around your neck, like this. Like a collar and leash so I can stand and control you. Is that uncomfortable?”

“A little, Sir.”

“Does it cut your air?”

“A little, Sir.”

“Whose slut are you, pet?”

“Yours, Sir.”

“You feel that tug on your ‘leash?” Good. Stand up and move over to the dresser. Bend over it so that your breasts press against the wood and I can hear when the chain between your nipples slides on the surface. Good girl. Spread your legs, but keep the plug held in your ass. Good girl. I haven’t told you how sexy you look in your white corset and stockings – virginal but sexy. And the heels hold you up beautifully. The way your curls fall over your shoulder makes me want to reach out and grab then like this. And kiss you like this.”

“mmmmmmmmmmmm, Sir.”

“Well, you ARE very wet. And I haven’t even started spanking you yet. Like this. And this. And a couple more in the same red spot. Even wetter. Very nice. But you need you clit pinched. STAY DOWN ON THE DRESSER. Good girl.”

“Ahahaha, Sir.”

“Again and harder?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you my slut?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what do you want? Let me tighten this on your neck – What do you want, slut?”

“I want fucked.”

“From anyone? – mmmm, still very wet.”

“No, from you Sir. I want you to fuck me. Just you. Please, fuck me, Sir, please Sir.”

“hmmmmmmmm, like THIS?”

“Oh Gosh, yes, Sir.”

“MMMM, let me turn on the vibration of this plug. Oh, yes.”

“Fuck me, Sir.”

“With a smack, like this?”

“Oh, Yes Sir.”

“Is this what you needed.”

“Yes Sir, I needed you inside me. Oh, fuck me Sir, yes fuck me Sir, oh fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

“Cum for me, pet, cum for me.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Sirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Now that’s my good girl. My very good girl.”

["Breathe" pic thanks to xxx_kitten, window pic thanks to Desire_not_lost]

legal fetish -- fast fifty

Tue, 30 Jan 2007 19:33:45 GMT

Per instruction, Kim knelt cramped in her tiny cave for more than two hours, overwhelmed in the scent of varnished pine. Finally, noise abounded and the chair before her slid out, then back again with master’s knees in her face. She hungrily parted his robe, awaiting the pounding gavel.

New 50 Quickie

Sat, 27 Jan 2007 19:12:24 GMT

For a new friend, by request:

“Solid as a fortress, ethereal as the wind, such is the gift of my submission” said Elizabeth, streaming tears unable to mar the light of her smile. Master’s paddle struck hard again, vibrating the plug deep in her bowels. Through gritted teeth, “Solid as a fortress . . .”

New 50 worder -- for a young friend, and an old friend

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 20:20:31 GMT

"Way too damn small for two" thought Liz as her leg pirouetted over James' shoulder, wooden heel clicking on the metal carrel wall. Each thrust pushed her pelvis against stacked federal judicial reports and her head thunking on the window, relieved to finally enjoy the law library.

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 14:16:37 GMT

x-posted

Cool stone of the Cathedral wall pressing against Toni’s cheek and naked breasts offset the heat of Father Cedric's hands pinning her wrists to the small of her back and hungrily invading her wet and wanting flesh. "I should protest,” briefly flashed a lucid thought, quickly banished into the dark.

An erotic story, written in 50 words. I know we have some very talented erotic writers on Live Journal, so let your imaginations fly -- succinctly. How vivid a picture can you paint with limited palette?

Kim enjoyed the blindfold and cuffs from Tom’s birthday surprise. She apprehensively shuffled outside in her flimsy white slip to be immobilized against a tree. But her panic rose, realizing the soft mouth on her nipple belonged to a woman. Then another mouth joined on her thigh. And another.

Thu, 04 Jan 2007 03:30:22 GMT

depth of submission

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 20:59:19 GMT

The gift of submission is always appreciated more than a Dom can adequately express. We feel it as deeply as you, but the role of our nature, and the nature of our role, inhibits the full expression of love and gratitude.

This is a favorite sonnet of submission from the Bard --

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desires?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool to love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

— Wm. Shakespeare

Sun, 31 Dec 2006 02:12:25 GMT

I had attached behind the cut a law office sex fantasy inspired by the Journal of one of my friends on the site. It is one of the only fantasies I have written that deal with D/s or power exchange in a new relationship where the players haven't discussed the rules before hand. They are just two passionate people, highly experienced in D/s activities and rituals.

This was the other story that I had to take down. Sorry, all.

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 18:46:41 GMT

Finger sucking -- yours or mine?

Finger sucking

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 17:21:07 GMT

Why is fingersucking so damned erotic?

The digits are tactile masses of sensitive nerve endings -- so they register a wide range of feeling -- especially outside their traditional environments. Face it, when the ambient temperature is comfortable, our fingers are not used to being totally encased -- surrounded with feeling. We normally peck and slide and lunge with our fingers -- gathering information. We grasp and grab and poke and type and otherwise engage them to carry forward the quotidian tasks that together encompass the drier portions of our lives. Fingers are tools of discovery and action, not erogenous zones.

And yet. . . and yet . . .

The moment I offer a finger and she slips it into her mouth I am lost.

I can stand there fascinated, with growing arousal, and simply watch as she begins to nibble my tips, then she rolls her tongue around the ends so gently, and plunges her glorious mouth over two fingers deep past the second knuckles, so that, measuring her entire tongue, I am enveloped in warm moist welcoming recesses of my lover's eager portal. I don't need much more than that.

She works, finger to finger, taking each in turn, prescreening the visions and feeling that will soon consume my hardening cock. Taking my tallest finger deep and then opening her mouth so that I can watch it slide back out across her tongue, lingering on wide, soft center of the delicious bottom lip, only to have that lip joined by its sister in a yielding, sensual embrace of the most useful, most ordinary, most exposed part of my flesh.

A kiss may be a perfect embrace, but taking your lover's finger to your mouth is the perfect anticipatory gesture of the acts to come -- a perfect invitation to the dance.

It is at once intimate, forbidden and silly. It can be taken humorously or playfully. We know it is in many ways absurd. It can be a most serious announcement of intention. Finger sucking can simply be the inventory taken by a methodical lover, of the bookkeeping variety, who wishes to explore her partner and not miss any possible erotic corners. It can be the first consumation of a rushed passion -- a declaration that I need to suck on the first part of you that reaches my mouth -- the rest will most certainly follow soon.

I watched a tender finger sucking in the movie Casino Royale last night where the two lovers-to-be shared a moment of comfort after a horrible and violent encounter with attackers. When they were alone, he sucked the tips of two of her fingers to remove blood (not her blood)-- sexy but not sexually intended -- in an almost animalistic recognition of shared experience and the intimacy of the moment.

Maybe that is part of it -- finger sucking is entirely primal. I offer my work tools to you and you accept them -- and me -- by taking them into your mouth. It is a kind of act we see from our fellow beasts -- the sniffing and licking and nuzzling practiced by our cousins who lack opposable thumbs. I lower my hand to the face of a pet, and if she takes it to her mouth without trying to ingest it, I am officially a friend. Therefore, while it has been noted that, due to recently changing mores, we live in the midst of the greatest generation of felators ever to walk upright and fall to their knees, finger sucking harkens back to our most ancient rituals of acceptance.

Maybe it is the mouth as door to digestion -- the Jungian mythic cavern that opens to the maw -- I take you in just as I take my food -- you nourish me.

It can be practiced in public -- restaurant or grocery or office or ballroom -- to boldly announce a couple's intentions to each other, to their neighbors and to the world in a way that is irrefutable and still socially acceptable. Well, at least it won't get you arrested.

But it doesn't stop there for me. I am a man of consummate control -- probably too much. I enjoy the sexual journey so much as to always want to prolong the advance of its inevitable conclusion. But when I am buried deep within her, working those angles and thrusting that friction that we both need so much, a slip of my finger into her mouth will inevitably pull me into the abyss. Being inside her in both ways completely wipes away rational thought, and no matter how often it happens, I can't control the outcome. I may last for minutes or an hour before release, but once both front and back orifices are simultaneously invaded, I am surely lost.

And I like that.

So viva la fingersuck! May you use it judiciously and to bold effect.

TC

Oil and Water

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 04:28:55 GMT

You knew I was in a strange mood when you entered the master bedroom and saw me through the door to the bath. But you smiled at me, as I stood standing in my blue jacket and gray dress pants, maroon tie loosened and dangling, hands in pockets. I nodded, knowing your first steps in our routine.

You carefully slide your skirt off with an extra wiggle of the hips for my benefit. You take off your blouse slowly, then your bra. and stand before me in black strap heels, nude thigh-high stockings and a cream colored thong. I watch you appreciatively for a moment as I lean against the bathroom counter, then push myself toward you and approach. I take you firmly by the throat and kiss your mouth deeply and long. Then step back, pinching your nipple hard as I do so. Your breath catches and I slowly release -- "take it all off tonight" I instruct.

I enjoy watching you slip out of your stockings and slide the thong over your lovely ass. I can tell you harbor much trepidation, not knowing what will come next, and yet, you trust me completely to choose a path we both will enjoy and gain from.

I approach you again -- you naked now, I fully clothed. You look not at me but at my approach as regstered in the mirror before you. You undoubtedly note my hardness.

You stand straight with hands at sides, just as you have been taught. I push my hand into your hair and pull your head back, kissing your neck and your mouth again, then sliding a ten foot length of silk rope hidden under my jacket, and quickly, expertly and methodically binding your hands. I walk you to the door, toss the rope over the door and tie it to the knob on the other side. Your hands bound together and tied over your head, you await my attentions.

You wince a bit and smile as you hear my belt extracted from each loop. I raise it in the air and bring it hard on your gorgeous, waiting ass. Then again. and again. The welts begin to form quickly, pink, then red, soon to be a deeper blue. I look down to you and you draw a deep breath and nod -- you enjoy watching me in the mirror as I raise the belt to you. So I continue to do so -- seven times, ten times, twelve times -- until I know we are both near our limit. Then the belt is replaced with my hand -- more surgically striking the areas on your ass and thighs that need it most, slapping up from the floor to smack your wetness. You cry out with each stinging blow.

I withdraw for a time, and leave you breathing heavily, eyes running, lips smiling. Your eyes are closed, so you smell the body oil before you can see it. You gasp as I gently caress your strike marks with a soothing cool oil. "You are my perfect kitten", I whisper to your ear as I massage the oil into your ass and thighs, and you weep as you nod in agreement.

My hand filled with oil finds your own soaking wetness and they meet in a destined union, loving each other with impossible tenderness. I slide my fingers inside you, feeling how ready you have been for me. Finding it impossible to leave you, my fingers find your most sensitive inch and glide gently past it over and again. Your legs tremple as you hold yourself up on the ropes binding your hand and moan loadly, building toward a fast but devastating climax, as trained, you ask "May I?". I hold my hand tight against your entire pussy and whisper, "Not yet, my kitten, but soon. Hold it for now." you nod just a bit and bite down on your lip.

I step back and release you as you catch your breath, and I turn you around so that your hands are directly over your head and you face me naked. I drizzle oil over your breasts and rub it in with both hands, pinching and teasing your nipples each pass. I drip more oil down your body and work it into your stomach and thighs, before stroking your pussy again. When I step back away this time, you slump in frustration and begin to cry. I step out of my clothes on the other side of the room and see that you have a huge and beautiful smile on your face.

Approaching slowly, I pour oil onto my thick hardness and direct it to you. We slide against one another as we kiss, having used an entire bottle of oil between our bodies. I push you hard against the door, lifing you by the back of your thighs to release the strain on your wrists from the ropes, and I easily slip inside you, pushing you hard against the door. your arms still held high, your legs wrap around around me for leverage and you immediately yell into my ear -- "MAY I, SIR?" -- and I tell you "yes" as I pound in and out of you, our rocking against the door becoming more urgent. You climax hard and loud, and then another wave hits as your nipples slickly run against me and I kiss you deeply so that we are connected in the deepest and most possible ways as we meld into one another.

Without asking permission, you cum again, and then again, until your intensity is too much for me and I cry out, releasing inside you for what seems like an eternity. We cling together for as long as our oiled bodies will allow, before I enventually release you to the ground and unhinge you from the truss above your head.

You ask permission to kiss me as the blood returns to your hands and forearms, and I say nothing, but take you by the hair again, and kiss you for as long as I can hold my breath. We move to the shower to clean each other -- but that is another story.

TC

Virgin

Wed, 15 Nov 2006 20:13:18 GMT

Welcome the virgin entry of my journal -- be gentle with me.

Please allow an introduction -- I am a Dominant man, straight to date, who enjoys the intensity and sensuality that BDSM can add to a relationship. I am strong, but respectful and reasonable. I am creative and fun, but grounded. I know what I like, and will be explaining that in stories and entries here over time.

In short, I am an executive with a large company, who looks like an eagle scout, dresses in suit in tie during the day, and wants to find a submissive playmate to tie up and spank and fuck in a variety of manners or methods. I am only interested in meeting a strong, intelligent, passionate woman -- a woman who effectively deals with a myriad decisions and issues during her "vanilla life", and who would enjoy escaping into a sensual world where we agree ahead of time on the rules, but within those rules she hands over the reins to me for our time together.

I love to tease and build the excitement in her -- as it builds in me as well. To bring her to edge, and back down again, only to pusher even higher minutes later. Very oral, very long lasting -- the journey is the destination.

More soon

TC