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Slave Girl Paintings, Pornography And Art

April 14, 2012 7 comments

With digital cameras and willing models, who seem to be in plentiful supply, anyone can be an artist, and images of scenes that tickle our fancies, whatever forms those fancies take, are readily available. But oh how much more difficult it was in times past to create these  image. One had to be really be an artist.

In the nineteenth century there was an art movement called Orientalism. It depicted life, real or imagined, in what looks to be Southern Europe, such as the slave markets of ancient Rome, or the Near East. There were several painters—Jean-Léon Gérôme, Giulio Rosati, et. al.—who specialized in this work. Following are examples for your pleasure and edification.

Slave Painting by Otto Pilny (Swiss, 1866-1936)

In the painting above, the desert tribesmen are enjoying a smoke when two slave girls are brought into camp and held by men sporting leering grins.

Slave Girl by Ansen Hofmann

I love the little blush of hair, and I note the girl—well, okay, clearly a woman—is a natural redhead. She is displaying herself, but the men seem to be distracted. Is she displaying herself because she was ordered to? Trained to? Or is she willingly asking for attention? The man on the right seems as if he’s about to pat the young woman’s ass. He’ll be telling her: Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll won’t be ignoring you much longer.

Pharaohs Handmaidens by John Collier

Ahhh Yes, I remember well the days when I was a Pharaoh, and these three beauties were in my service. The one on the right is asking: do you need me Master?

Selling Slaves in Rome by Jean Léone Gérôme

This young woman is certain to bring a good price. Her clothes are discarded behind her, as she stands before the buyers. I see several hands raised. I wonder what roll is played by the young man in the lower left? Does he bring her and take her back to her cell? I wonder what perks he enjoys.

Jean-Leon Gerome (French , 1824-1904). Snake Charmer, about 1870. French, Oil on Canvas.

It’s not the snake she’s charming, its the snakes. I wonder what the young man is thinking i.e. the boy on the left.

Slaves For Sale by Gustave Boulanger

I wish I could read the girl’s sign. For Sale, plus some other choice words I imagine. He has a sign as well, so I guess he’s a slave too. He doesn’t look happy, but she seems to have accepted her fate.

Bargaining for a Slave by Giulio Rosati

If I owned her I’d drive a hard bargain too, so to speak. The buyer is putting on a tough face, but the seller is clearly holding all the cards.

Slave Market by Jean Léone Gérôme

Nearly every hand is raised for this young woman. I love her figure. The scribe behind her, the one with his writing instrument in his mouth, is certainly checking her out.

I’ve looked at this painting many times, but it wasn’t until today that I realized its story. This is not just a woman being sold. It’s a family—mother, four children, and perhaps a nanny. The oldest child seems to be a developing girl, and I don’t mean woman. Child porn, something I find repulsive, just for the record, seems to be subtly expressed in Léone Gérôme’s fantasy.

White Slave by Ernest Normand

Yes, a White slave indeed.

The Slave Market by Gérôme Jean-Léon

I know a man who is especially attracted to girls with straight teeth. This is another.

Nails

April 6, 2011 3 comments

Nails. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

I’m good looking enough but nothing special. I’d give myself a seven on a scale of one to ten, though I’ve been told I deserve better. I have short brown hair, I’m not comfortable dressing sexy or wearing a lot of makeup, and I’m not outgoing, which isn’t surprising, since I’m a software engineer. I’m kind of nerdy, but at least my figure is attractive. It gets me attention, but it’s not always the kind of attention I want.

By contrast there’s this girl in accounting. Her name is Tina, and she’s hot. Her hair is long and blond, and she keeps it in a ponytail that she swishes from side to side as she sashays down the halls. She wears bright red lipstick, blushes her cheeks, darkens her eyelashes, and she’s talkative and vivacious, which makes it seem like she’s flirting even when she’s not. Her figure is wonderful—smaller and bigger than mine in all the right places, and she has great legs, though I don’t like the way she shows them off, with fuck-me skirts and high heels. If I was a guy I’d want to fuck her for sure.

I was going to say that I don’t like Tina, but she’s really not that bad. When it’s just us girls she’s pretty nice, and she’s smart and works hard. It’s just that she’s insecure, especially about her looks—go figure. When she’s with a guy she needs his approval, which translates into showing off her body—the fuck-me skirt thing—and shameless sucking up.

Besides designing product software I’m in charge of IT, so my cube is near Administration. And since I’m a girl, and with the way Tina dresses, they put me in the cube that looks into hers. I think they figured a guy wouldn’t get any work done, and I’m sure that’s true. Tina keeps her modesty when the boss is in her cube, but when she’s just working she often lifts one leg and pushes off with the other to swivel around in her chair and get at her file cabinet. This causes her legs to spread, which, with her short skirts, exposes her between her legs. I’ve fantasized about keeping a spreadsheet that tracks her panty collection and which ones she wears on which days—Monday’s tend to be ordinary—Friday’s are always special except when she’s having her period. I guess I could keep track of her cycle in my spreadsheet too.

It was the end of our fiscal year, and a crew of auditors came in to check our books. There were five of them—two older guys, a guy in his forties, and two younger guys. The five of them, our CFO, and Tina had a get acquainted meeting. I could see them through the glass of our conference room as I walked by to go to the ladies room, and the new guys checked me out, though with Tina there I don’t know why they bothered. After the meeting the bigwigs left, leaving the middle-aged guy, the two younger guys, and Tina to do all the work.

Audits are a pain in the ass. The job of the auditors is to poke into everything (preferably Tina, they must have thinking) and find mistakes, and they can ask for pretty much any document. It was Tina’s job to give them everything they asked for and to insure they were satisfied, figuratively speaking.

The middle-aged guy was a slave driver and had his two underlings hopping. They, in turn, took their frustrations out on Tina, whom they ran ragged. All day long they sent her into the back room to retrieve piles of paper that she had to put away when they were finished. By the end of the day her ponytail was undone, her makeup needed refreshing, and her blouse was no longer tucked into her skirt. She looked like her mother just caught her in bed making out with a boy she wasn’t supposed to be with.

I caught Tina’s eye and mopped my hand across my forehead.

She nodded yes, tough day.

After the second day the auditors had the situation in hand—they would have preferred to have Tina in hand—and the middle-aged guy left. That’s when the fun really began. The two young guys had gotten to know Tina, had spent two days ogling her legs and looking down her blouse (she’d been wearing her best bras, and I knew, matching panties), and now they were in charge and had the authority to give Tina orders of their own.

The problem was they had to compete for her, and being guys, that’s what they did. While one was adding figures the other was sitting on Tina’s desk flirting. When he had to do some work, the other guy came to tell Tina what a good job she was doing and how helpful she was.

The first guy got it got it wrong—he assumed Tina was a dumb sexy blond who’d respond to innuendo and jock humor. It is true she was sexy, very much so, but she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t coarse.

The second guy got it right. Tina desired to please, and his praise touched her where she wanted to be touched most, at least as a starting point. To be fair, his praise wasn’t wholly manipulative. Sure, he wanted to get into her pants, and Tina knew that, but Tina had done a good job and had put out extra effort to make the work of the auditors easier.

After awhile Tina’s signals became clear, and guy number one licked his wounds and left. Guy number two hung around to see if his tomcatting was going to pay off. Even I wondered how lucky he’d get.

They stayed in Tina’s cube where I watched them while I pretended to work. They sat side by side, looking at Tina’s PC. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language was clear—they were touching shoulders, touching hands, making eye contact, and smiling. Also, Tina’s skirt had ridden up immodestly, and she wasn’t pulling it down.

Tina went to the ladies room and came back and sat. Her skirt was way up, and her friend couldn’t take his eyes from between her legs. My guess was that she had taken off her panties, an outrageous thing to do, and was giving him a look. He put his hand down, I couldn’t see where, but I saw Tina open her legs. She started squirming, and she grabbed his hand and removed it. She looked toward me, but I pretended to be engrossed in my monitor.

His hand must have had the desired effect, for Tina whispered something to the guy, and then she got up and walked out back. He gave her a moment and then followed.

I waited exactly three minutes and followed too, and using my key to the server room, which also opened the door to the financial records room, I let myself in.

Tina was already moaning, and I tiptoed to see what she was doing, or, more accurately, see what was being done to her.

Tina was standing on one leg. Her other leg was raised and resting on guy number two’s hip. Her legs were spread, his hand was under her ass, and his fingers were exploring her pussy.

One of her arms was holding his ass. Her other arm was behind her, holding onto a shelf for balance. Tina was rubbing her breasts on his chest.

“Take off your shirt,” he told her.

Tina shook her head and mumbled something negative, but the guy wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he took his fingers out of Tina’s pussy and began unbuttoning her shirt.

She tried to stop him, but it was a halfhearted attempt. When he got her shirt open and began teasing her nipples her reserve melted away, and she allowed him to push her shirt down her arms and take it off completely.

Tina was nearly naked, only dressed in a miniskirt and heels, and his hands were all over her. She moaned as he felt her up and gasped each time he hit a sweet spot, and she frantically began trying to get his belt open, which he finally did himself. He lowered his trousers and underwear.

His cock wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but it was big enough and hard as any I’d had inside me. And though I’m not in Tina’s class, looks-wise, I do know how to make a man hard.

Tina was in his arms and in heat, squirming and pleading for him to “put it in,” but he was a cool customer and wouldn’t let her have it. Instead he teased her mercilessly, until she slid down and took his cock in her mouth and sucked it.

That didn’t last long, for her tease was better than his, and Tina quickly got him to where she wanted him. She was smart enough not to keep at it, for sucking a man is dangerous when you want to get fucked.

He lowered her to the cold floor (girls usually get the worst of it in that department), and he stepped out of his trousers.

Tina opened her legs. She was more than ready with milky fluid was pooled at her entrance.

He got on his knees, between hers, and played with her thighs with his fingertips. Then he took his cock and positioned it, with his hand, just inside the lips of her pussy.

Again he teased Tina, this time with his cock, pushing in and out, in and out of just her opening, until she would have no more of that, and she grabbed two hunks of his ass with ten fingernails and dug in hard.

“Ahhh,” he screamed. “You Bitch!” as she pulled him in.

Those were the only sounds he made, but Tina was making enough sounds for the both of them, and her sounds and his anger drove him wild. He pulled his cock all the way out, sneered sadistically, and he rammed into her depths, sinking to the hilt with a brutal thrust meant to hurt her.

But Tina didn’t seem to care or notice, or maybe it’s what she wanted. Her fingers tightened, her nails dug deeper, and she yanked him in and out, fucking herself in rhythms to suit her needs as she moaned, gasped, and squealed in a rut of lust.

I was seeing a different side of Tina—I’d always thought of her as unsure of herself, prudish, a tease who wouldn’t put out, but it was clear that she was in charge, at least at first. After a while the balance of power shifted, and it was hard to determine who was in charge—both were thrusting in a fury of madness in a tempo they’d negotiated for their coupling.

With a great grunt of release he came first, but to his credit he kept going, going at her, going at her until he flung Tina over a cliff, and with eyes tightly shut, her face twisted in agony, and a mighty “ohhhhh” of relief she fell headlong into an orgasm that she kept fucking to prolong.

Tina released her grip of Mr. Auditor’s buttocks, and he calmed down and became complacent. He was polite enough to stay in Tina for a long time, kissing her with kisses she didn’t return, until she gave him permission to pull out.

The last thing I noticed was Tina’s fingernail marks, deep crescents welling blood that dripped down his thighs; his cock, now limp, wet with Tina’s fluids; and Tina’s pussy, bright red, dripping with girl juice and cum. I sneaked back to my desk.

***

He was gone when Tina got back from the ladies room. She looked in on me, trying to gauge how much I knew or guessed.

I motioned her inside my cube, and I clicked my mouse and showed her my monitor on which there was a full screen picture of Tina with her legs spread, her face contorted with anguish, and the auditor’s cock buried deep inside her.

Tina was shocked and then angry, but I quickly told her not to worry, and I deleted the picture and emptied my Recycle Bin.

“I deleted the picture from my phone, too,” I told her, “but what if it hadn’t been me? You’d best be more careful in the future.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Tina begged.

“I won’t,” I said, and to assure her I confessed to the one time I fucked our boss at a hotel during a three-day convention.

Girls will be girls, and we had a good talk that we didn’t want to end. “Would you like to come over to my house?” Tina asked. “We could pick up some take-out.”

“Sounds like fun,” I replied. “You know, you’re very pretty. It’s no wonder all the guys go for you. And you really do a great job here. You’re one of the most competent people in the company.”

Tina smiled with pleasure. We left together, but I wondered what I was going to do about her nails. Tie her hands behind her back, I thought. It was going to be a fun evening.

Candi Coating

March 31, 2011 4 comments

Candi Coating - Illustration by Andrea and Ale

Brandi saw her aunt on the street, ran past with a breathless “Hi,” ran up the walk to her cousin’s house, and entered without a knock. She took the stairs quickly, burst into her cousin’s room, and found Candi lying on her back, in bed, her face flushed, her dress pulled up her legs, and her nipples impudently poking peaks in the soft cloth of her top.

“What are you doing?” Brandi asked, knowing full well what Candi had been doing.

“Nothing,” Candi gasped, having difficulty coming back from the brink of an orgasm and not in any condition to formulate a convincing lie. She was achingly aroused and terribly frustrated, and she wished her cousin hadn’t come in when she did. Fuck, I need to come so bad, Candi thought, and she cast about, without hope, for an excuse to get her cousin out of the room so Candi could lift her dress all the way again and rub her clit to the explosive climax she had been about to have. Not only was she dying to come, but she had had a hard week in school and was looking forward to whiling away the afternoon with her legs spread, masturbating repeatedly.

“Guess who’s coming to visit?” Brandi blurted, ignoring her cousin’s obvious need for privacy.

Candi resigned herself to frustration and wondered if delayed gratification might add to her arousal and the satisfaction of an even greater climax after her cousin left. “Who?” Candi asked.

“Alessandro, our cousin from Argentina, the guy I once told you about.” Brandi couldn’t stop thinking about her trip to South America with her mom and dad, when she was fifteen, and particularly about Alessandro, her Dad’s relative’s stepson.

“Cousin?”

“Yeah, well, sort of. He’s a God—at lease he would be if he wasn’t such a Bad Boy. I wanted to fuck him more than anything. If only he could have been my first instead of stupid Clint Fengler.”

“You’re such a slut. Clint’s a pig.”

“Yeah, I know, but… He’s coming over now.”

“Clint?” Candi asked with horror.

“No, Alessandro, you idiot.”

“Here? Now? What do you mean?”

“He’s in town, and he called me up.” The only reason he called is because he wants to fuck me,” Brandi thought. “I gave him your address. I knew your Mom would be out, and I figured…” Brandi shrugged.

“I’ll get in trouble,” Candi said immediately. “I’m not allowed to have boys over when my parents aren’t home.”

“They’ll never know,” Brandi said.

Candi calculated the odds of being discovered, the thrill of having a Bad Boy in her bedroom, and the consequences if it was discovered he’d been there. The throbbing need between her legs tended to push her in the direction of saying yes, but what would I let him do? Candi wondered. She wasn’t going to let some strange boy fuck her. She knew that for sure. That’s what Brandi does, Candi thought. She wondered if she had the courage to show herself naked to the boy and then even let him rub her where she wanted to be rubbed most. She clenched her legs tightly and had a mini-orgasm at the thought.

The doorbell rang, but before Candi could protest Brandi ran downstairs and brought back the most delicious hunk of young manhood that Candi ever imagined. In no time at all and with barely a hello he had his shoes and shirt off and was sliding his trousers down his legs.

Candi’s eyes opened wide at the sight of his stiff cock pointing at her, bobbing and waving back and forth as he moved.

“Oh No,” Candi protested. It was happening too fast and was frightening. She wanted to slow down and get control of the situation, but Brandi was behind her and Brandi’s arms reached around and opening the front of Candi’s dress. “Wait!” Candi screeched, but before she knew it she was sandwiched between Brandi and the naked Alessandro. And then Brandi had Candi’s breasts in her hands and was pulling Candi’s nipples and running fingers all over them.

“Ohhhh,” Candi screamed in delight, raising her mouth, which Alessandro took as permission to kiss. He put his tongue deep inside her. Then he positioned himself in front of Candi, while Brandi locked her arms around her girl cousin, imprisoning her against the new boy.

Candi felt Alessandro’s hard penis searching for her prize, coming closer with each probe, and then he found her wet opening and pushed in—not all the way in—just enough not to be dislodged.

It wasn’t that Candi was unwilling—she had even moved to help Alessandro find her wetness, but she felt that feminine modesty demanded at least a show or resistance to being taken so quickly and without so much as tacit permission. Candi tried to rise up, tried to dismount the overwhelming demands of the stallion partly in her, but he followed her up, staying just inside until she could rise no more and had to come down, burying the stiff hot rod all the way into herself.

“Ahhhh,” Candi screamed. The rubbing, pulling, and twisting of her nipples; the tongue swishing wetness all around the insides of her mouth; the hands of a young man she didn’t know holding her buttocks, spreading her cheeks, and stretching her anus as he pulled her tightly to him; and the arousal she felt even before either of her cousins laid a hand on her: it was all too much, and Candi couldn’t help but commence madly fucking the pole inside her.

Before long, Alessandro took pity on the poor girl—he didn’t want her to have to do all the work, and he carried her, still on his cock, and laid her on her on her bed and took over. He drove Candi, and she screamed herself into an orgasm, and Alessandro, holding her pinned with his muscular hands on her shoulders and his rod buried deep inside her, let her writhe.

Candi gasped for breath as she had her first climax, but Alessandro did not let up. He picked up the pace and fucked her fast and furiously, driving her into another and another orgasm, until she was panting, drenched with sweat, and more than overly satisfied.

Alessandro fell on Candi and rested, and then he pulled out. He hadn’t yet come, and his cock glistened with wetness and was stiffer than ever as he turned toward Brandi.

Brandi licked her lips and began unbuttoning her dress.

Best of Both Worlds–a story

March 29, 2011 5 comments

Best of Both Worlds. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

Best of Both Worlds

by Matthew Dyne

“Surprise!” Ginny yelled.

Sally startled awake from her nap in the sunshine, outside the pool house of her multimillion dollar mansion. She looked up, but her gaze drifted downward. I must be having a wet-dream, she thought.

“I brought two friends,” Ginny said. “I thought you might need cheering up.”

The cheering up referred to Sally’s husband dying. It wasn’t a tragedy—the man had been in his nineties, but he had been good to Sally, taking her in and becoming a bit of the father she never had and then, for the last two years of his life, her husband.

Sally didn’t regret trading two years of faithfulness for his fortune, and she didn’t do it out of greed. She could have cheated—he never would have known. He even expected that she would need to satisfy a young woman’s cravings he could no longer take care of. But he didn’t want her in bed with others. He would have been terribly jealous, and Sally knew that. So she was honorable and kept her part of the unspoken agreement inherent in their nuptial vows by taking care of her own needs, as best she could.

But Sally was a highly sexual young woman, and not having sex with anyone, except herself, made her terribly horny. Now that he was gone Sally’s desires no longer needed to be repressed, and they burst forth in full force.

Besides being highly sexual Sally was a bi-girl, but she had preferences of which Ginny was aware. That’s why when Ginny met her two friends, whom she hadn’t seen since high school, and when they came out to Ginny, confessing their secret and even asking Ginny to go to bed with them, Ginny realized they were perfect.

“I’d like you to meet Jill,” Ginny said, pulling on Jill’s penis, which caused her to rise on tiptoes and squeal. “And Jo,” Ginny said, pulling on Jo’s penis and getting a squeal from her, too. “Jo and Jill, meet my friend Sally.”

“Hi Sally,” the girls sang out.

Ginny pulled the girls along by their penises—she so enjoyed their feel—so hard and responsive. She was reluctant to let go.

Jo removed Ginny’s hand from her and Jill’s penises, for Jo wanted Sally, who was clearly fascinated, to see the two penises in their full glory.

“I’m sorry for staring,” Sally finally said, embarrassed by the two hard penises now close to and pointing at her. “I’ve heard about… but… I never…”

“It’s okay,” Jill said. “A friend of Ginny’s is a friend of ours, and we are, somewhat, unusual.”

“Somewhat?” Jo teased. Her penis bobbed as she turned toward Jill.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind throwing a party, just a little one, for the four of us,” Ginny said.

Jo and Jill looked at Sally and smiled demurely.

Sally couldn’t take her eyes from the stiff pokers—so masculine, yet, on the two beautiful young women, so inexplicably feminine, too.

“Sally hasn’t had sex in two years,” Ginny said.

Jo’s and Jill’s expressions turned to ones of concern. “Oh my,” Jo said.

Oh, you poor dear,” Jill gasped.

Sally blushed. She looked down again, and without thinking she blurted out, “You’re so big.”

“Thank you,” Jill and Jo said together.

“Mostly, Sally likes girls.” Ginny said.

“Yes,” Sally interrupted, “but I’m weak for a hard cock inside me. There’s nothing like the real thing, is there?” She looked longingly at the man sized tools jutting from just above the legs of the two most feminine creatures standing before her.

The three other girls agreed that there was nothing like the real thing, but Jill and Jo didn’t mean the same thing Sally meant. “That’s why we’re here” Jo said excitedly. Then, she said sadly, “We’ve never had the real thing. We’ve only had each other. We don’t own a vagina between us, and we’ve never tried one.”

“We’re virgins,” Jill said and giggled. “We asked Ginny to let us try hers, but she insisted you needed us more, and, well, if you wouldn’t mind, we were hoping…”

“Mind?” Sally exclaimed. She scooted over on hands and knees and rained kisses all over the two erect penises before her, and then she took each penis in her mouth and gave it a good sucking, which elicited gasps and made the girlish rods stand even more vertically.

“That feels great,” Jo said, “not that we’re inexperienced in that department.”

Amidst much gossip and laughter the four girls took off their clothing. They were all curves and waves, hills and dales—breasts, buttocks, hips, and thighs. There wasn’t a manly feature among them except for those two beautifully sculpted pokers standing at attention, waiting to perform their duty and take their pleasure.

“Sally and Jo first,” Ginny directed.

Sally assumed the doggie position and spread her legs. “Hurry,” she begged, thrusting her pelvis unambiguously, signaling that her needs had long been unsatisfied.

“I’ve never done this,” Jo said. “So, if I’m a little clumsy…”

“Just do what comes naturally,” Sally encouraged. “Vaginas are sensitive, but they don’t mind a bit of punishment.”

Sally was as wet as a rainforest, and Jo had no trouble finding her way in. “Ohhhh,” she screamed. “That feels soooo good.”

Sally gave Jo a couple of love squeezes, the kind that only a woman can give, and Jo took off like a mare pretending to be a stallion. She fucked Sally quickly. She fucked slowly. Sometimes she barely pushed in. Sometimes she probed deeply. She pumped hard, and she caressed, too, experimenting to find all the ways she could to give and get pleasure from Sally, her new girl-toy.

After awhile Jo took her penis out and asked Sally to turn over. Jo wanted to experience the missionary position, too. Sally turned over, and Jo was quick to put her penis back in. She tried different strokes and angles and listened to Sally’s sounds, paying attention to Sally’s feelings, and with kisses, nibbles, and words expressing love and contentment she teased, tickled, and thanked Sally for sharing her vagina that was freely flowing. A rivulet trickled between her buttocks.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jo repeated in a rhythm set to the tempo of her fucking Sally.

Sally was in heaven—a nirvana of no consciousness—a realm of joy and abandon she wanted to stay in forever. She tried to hug Jo. She tried to touch Jo’s breasts and stroke her skin, but Sally couldn’t concentrate on anything but the flush of her arousal and her approaching orgasm. All was feeling—distilled, concentrated, throbbing and burning between her legs, high up in her, high behind, within, and around her clitoris that was so swollen it was about to burst…

And then it did burst, and Sally screamed her way into the best orgasm of her young life, her best orgasm ever, and Jo stopped pumping, her penis inserted as far as it could get into Sally. And then Jo rose up, rose up high, lifting Sally, lifting then lowering then lifting her again using the penis that was deep inside her, so that all the pressure of Sally’s weight concentrated behind her throbbing clit.

Sally never imagined an orgasm the likes of that which ripped through her—more than not a continuation of her previous climax. She shook from head to toe. Contractions vibrated through her body. And Jo, sensitive as ever, waited, her penis still lifting but not moving, while Sally’s orgasm ran its course.

***

Jo lowered Sally and lay on her softness and rested, her penis, still bone hard, still inside.

Sally moaned, and Jo, her face buried in Sally’s neck, kissed her new friend repeatedly.

Time passed. Sally recovered. “You come now,” she whispered to Jo, and she felt Jo shake her head Yes.

Jo rose again, and slowly and steadily, and then more quickly, demandingly, she built to a fever pitch, and thrusting deeply, moaning and gasping, sweat glistening to sheen her skin, she burst into an orgasm of her own. A flood of girl-juice pumped out of her and joined the liquids Sally had so generously supplied.

Then the girls, still joined, rolled over, and Sally rested on Jo as the girls touched each other and whispered their appreciation—Sally for the first love making she’d enjoyed in two years and the best ever, and Jo for the first vagina she had ever had the pleasure of entering.

***

“My turn,” Jill said.

“You be on the bottom,” Ginny said. “I’ll put you in me and show you some of the things I like.”

That sounds like fun,” Jill said, and she lay down.

Ginny straddled Jill and sank Jill’s extra hard penis deep inside. “Ahhhh,” Ginny gasped.

“Ohhhh,” Jill moaned.

“Ride ‘em cowgirl,” Ginny yelled and proceeded to fuck Jill wildly, milking the girl cum right out of her. Jill thrashed and screamed in ecstasy, while Ginny hung on for dear life, not for a second letting Jill’s engorged rod slip out.

When Jill was done the girls turned over and Jill, not to be outdone, pounded Ginny into a fine orgasm of her own, but she didn’t stop. Jill kept fucking Ginny hard and fast, and the girls travelled their second and third orgasms together, coming as if they were one hot girl in the throes of her own bliss. Ginny marveled at the ability of Jill and her girl penis to match Jill’s own insatiable appetite yet never get soft.

***

Jill and Jo were still hard as the four girls drank iced wine in a hot tub. “Multiple orgasms are as easy for us as for you,” Jill explained. “And we don’t get soft until we want to. I love my penis.”

“I love it too,” Ginny said. “Together we’ve got the best of both worlds.”

Sally and Jo agreed and decided to sleep together. Ginny and Jill decided to sleep together too.

A hot tub, my own wine cellar, a girl with a penis that’s always hard, sleeping in my bed… Life is perfect, Sally thought.

Jill and Jo thought, Vaginas are awesome.

Ginny thought, I love it when friends get together.

Vet — A story with a self defense lesson for women

February 9, 2011 Leave a comment

Illustration by Ted Hammond


 

In hand to hand combat there is one and only one effective method for a smaller person who is untrained to incapacitate a larger person, and it isn’t kicking him in the balls.

 

Vet

a story by by Matthew Dyne

 
I was a seriously fucked up dude, but I’m not so bad off now. I found a shrink who went through some of the same shit I did, and understood. Aging also helped wear down the rough edges. Most of all, it was her.

I don’t think of myself as dangerous. It takes a lot to rile me. But, if I vaporize, you’d best not have been fuel for the fire. Hurt me badly and I’ll kill you; threaten a friend and you’ll wish I had.

I own and live in the last house on a dead-end street up against a thousand acres of forest. My father built my house with his own hands. I own another house across the street and down a little ways. My uncle built it.

I had rented my uncle’s house to a woman I badly wanted to get to know, but she made sure to tell me that she had a boyfriend. Shit, I said to myself. She’s not even trying, and I can barely keep my best friend respectful—Down boy, down. What really broke my heart was that, besides being good-looking, she seemed to be a nice person too. She baked me a cake the day after she moved in, and she stayed and ate dinner with me before she went home. She signed the lease using ‘Amelia.’ She told me to call her Amy.

As Amy settled in, she asked me to fix a few things, which I was happy to do. I got to be around her and to know her better. She seemed straightforward and sincere, and I couldn’t help but be stimulated by her appearance in the different outfits she wore. My binoculars kept wanting to wander toward her windows, but I forced myself not to invade her privacy. The only time I did spy on her was one hot day when she was planting in my uncle’s garden. She couldn’t be seen from the street—not that we get much traffic—but I had a clear view of her. She wore short shorts and a peasant shirt that was meant to tease with what was underneath it. It teased me all right—the only thing underneath it was her. I could see through its gauzy material, and I could see into it when she bent over. Her nipples were very pale. Watching her made me harder than I’d been in a long time, and filled me with longing.

Two weeks later, Amy’s boyfriend showed up. He looked to be about six-two, two-eighty. Right off I didn’t like him, but it wasn’t his size. It was my jealousy. After their being apart for so long, I knew what they’d be doing. I couldn’t stop thinking of him fucking her. I had to admit I’d taken a proprietary fancy to my neighbor. As I was going to bed that night, I looked over and saw their lights out. I envisioned a cock that matched his girth fucking her to multiple orgasms. I couldn’t sleep. I thought about jerking off to calm and distract myself, but jealousy dampened my enthusiasm for it. I did it anyway. It wasn’t satisfying, and it didn’t help.

Two days later, their honeymoon, so to speak, was over. It was morning. I heard them arguing and then screaming at each other. I couldn’t make out their words, but I didn’t need to. I felt good about his troubles but bad for Amy. Then I heard a scream that sounded like pain. After that, it was quiet. It was a bad combination. I saw him storm out of the house, get in his car, and drive away.

I didn’t see or hear any activity from my uncle’s house. This wasn’t unusual, but the fight and that final scream concerned me. I got my binoculars, but still couldn’t see her.

I walked over to her place and knocked. There was no answer. I opened the door a crack and called her name.

“Go away,” she said. It sounded as if she was in the bedroom; her nose was stuffed up as if she’d been crying.

“Are you okay?”

There was a long pause before she said, “No. I’m not okay. But I don’t want to see anyone. Go away.”

“Okay. If you need anything, I’ll be home. Call and I’ll come right over.”

She didn’t answer. I wanted to respect her wishes, but I wasn’t comfortable with how she sounded. “Okay?” I said more forcefully.

“Okay,” she said angrily.

“Did he hit you?”

“Yes,” she said, now starting to cry openly. “Go away.”

“If he comes back I won’t let him in. Okay?”

I waited for an answer. Amy came out. Her face was bright red on both sides, and the flesh around one eye was turning purple. I came in, took her hand, and led her to the couch. I filled a doubled-up plastic bag with ice, wrapped it in a dish towel, and told her to keep the compress on her eye—ten minutes on and a couple of minutes off, for the next three or four hours, and she’d be glad she did. She didn’t want to, but I insisted, and she gave in.

“Has he done it before?” I asked.

“Once,” she said disgustedly.

I wondered with whom she was disgusted. For her sake, I hoped it was herself.

“It’s over,” she said. “For good. That’s what I told him, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

I shook my head in sympathy. I was glad, for her, that she had made the decision to drop the prick who was abusing her, but I knew these situations didn’t usually end gracefully. It was ungraceful already. To my credit, I thought of myself only fleetingly. It wasn’t the time for that.

“He’ll come back,” she said.

That worried me. We were becoming friends, but she hadn’t risen to the status of Friend—I wasn’t ready to die for her. I didn’t want to get caught between them. Neither could I let him beat her.

I also thought that she should learn to take care of herself—by calling the cops, running away, buying a gun, or any of a number of other options. Clearly, taking care of herself wasn’t something she’d come to grips with yet.

The reason I’d get involved, if I had to, was that I wasn’t going to allow violence to go on unchecked in my house. That would be a violation of me.

I had another reason too: she was sexy and pretty and kind. I was going to beat the living shit out of him if he so much as laid a finger on her, for the pleasure I’d get out of protecting her. I wanted her to love me. I wanted her to fuck me too. I wasn’t sure which I wanted more.

“Will he be back soon?” I asked her.

“Could be any time. Could be now, could be in a month.”

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

She laughed at me. “How are you going to stop him?”

That, I wouldn’t answer. She didn’t have a right to know. Not yet. Probably never.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “But I’d like you to sleep in my house tonight. You can sleep downstairs. I sleep upstairs. I’ll take my tractor out of the garage, and you can put your car in there. If he comes back, he’ll think you’re gone.”

She looked at me in a way she hadn’t before—at my face, but not into my eyes. Her expression had relaxed, and she wasn’t focusing. I got the sense she knew how to read people in some way I didn’t understand. It made me uncomfortable.

“That’s generous of you,” she said. “I don’t want to impose, and I’m sorry to have put you in this position.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m so scared. I don’t have anywhere to go. It’s hard for me to say ‘No.’”

“You won’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t want you to come on to me.”

“I just told you—you won’t owe me anything.”

“Okay then, but you’re putting yourself at risk, and I’m not sure why. And I can’t live with you forever.”

She hadn’t taken it the wrong way—she’d actually figured me out better than I had myself. Her words “live with you forever” rose in my cock despite the fact that she had preceded them with “I can’t.”

“Would you like to learn how to protect yourself?”

“Can I?”

“I think so.”

“What do I have to do?”

“I’ll teach you.”

“What do you know about it?”

There it was again. Another questions about stuff I didn’t want to go into.

“Look at me,” I said.

This time she looked directly in my eyes and didn’t flinch.

“I won’t come on to you, and you won’t ask me about that. But I know about it—all too well. I can teach you if you’re motivated.” Then I was the one to flinch. I’d said very little but had revealed more than I wanted to—or maybe I did want to, but my defenses were deep and long standing and not breached without trepidation.

***

Amy moved in with me. She tried to confine her belongings to the room I gave her, but her womanly presence was undeniable, especially in the bathroom. She still paid rent, but sometimes she cooked for me, and she kept the house in order. Don’t get me wrong: I like having a neat house too, but it’s easier for me to work at it if someone like her takes the lead. Sometimes I’d come upon a load of her clothing in the dryer, and I’d have to take it out and put it into her basket. I got a special thrill from handling her underwear, but the thrill wasn’t just about her sexiness. It was about intimacy too.

We started with self-defense. “In some ways this is going to be simpler than you thought,” I told her, “because there’s only one way for a smaller person, who’s inexperienced, to effectively attack a larger person. Do you have any idea what that is?”

“Kick him in the balls?”

“There are a couple of problems with that. To knee him in the balls you have to be way too close. If you miss, he can grab you. In defense, distance is everything. You’ve got to attack him but stay out of reach. If you try to kick him in the balls from a distance, all he has to do is close his legs or block you with his hand, and he’ll have a good chance of grabbing your ankle. Then he’ll reel you in and you’re dead.

“You can’t punch him, either. You don’t have enough power to hurt him, and again, you’d have to be too close. The same goes for stomping his instep. If he’s already grabbed you, you can try that, but you won’t be able to do enough damage to incapacitate him. Even if you broke his foot, he’d still have you, and he’d be angry.

“A small person against a big person must go for the knee. You get to keep your distance, and even if you don’t get a good shot on him, you’ll probably make him limp, and then you can outrun him. I’m going to teach you how to kneecap a man. You’re going to practice it five hundred times a day. First, we’ll have you practice on a dummy. Then I’ll pad my legs, and you can learn on me.”

“Five hundred?”

“A practice kick takes less than two seconds. There are thirty-six hundred seconds in an hour. Five hundred isn’t as many as it seems.”

I tried not to be obvious, but Amy wasn’t oblivious to the way I looked at her. I knew it was clear how attracted to her I was. She was considerate and tried not to do things that might stimulate me, and she tried not to intrude on my space. At night, she always waited for me to finish in the bathroom before she showered and got ready for bed. I was usually upstairs by the time she came out, but the few times I wasn’t, I saw her in her robe with her hair all wet. She looked wild and untamable.

She worked hard on her kicks, but she didn’t think she was getting anywhere until I let her kick me. We set up in the basement and fought. I came at her as if she were vulnerable. I taunted her, I pretended to dominate her, and I pretended not to expect a fight. She pretended to be afraid, she was good at faking it, and then she attacked. She had very good balance, and she adjusted quickly to the addition of my forward momentum to the equation of forces. Each time her heel penetrated into the foam of my protective gear, her grunts of effort gave me satisfaction. She became very excited. Eventually, I had to be the one to call it quits.

***

She was still excited after her shower. I could hear it in her voice when she called out, “Can I come up?”

She’d never been upstairs—I knew because I’d laid down a sprinkling of dust I always stepped over—and I’d certainly never invited her. “I’ll come down,” I said.

“No. I want to come up, or forget it.”

Forget what? I wondered, though my imagination provided plenty of possibilities. I didn’t want her in my domain, but I could hear in her voice that she was still excited. If she’s that kind of excited, and wants to go to bed with me… Don’t be stupid, I told myself.

She didn’t wait. She climbed the stairs. I had my boxers on and met her halfway. Her hair was wet, the way I loved to see it. She had a towel around her. I couldn’t stop glancing at her breasts swelling above its edge.

“I’ve been trusting you,” she said. “I want you to trust me.”

I wanted to say ‘Yes,’ but my head was shaking ‘No.’

“You’re helping me,” she said. “I want to help you. Please. Let me.”

“What do you want?”

“Let me upstairs. And tell me why you are the way you are.”

“I can’t do that,” I said, averting my eyes. “You agreed not to ask.”

She started to turn around, but I touched her arm. “Wait… This isn’t easy for me… Give me a minute, and I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait here until you give me an answer.” She turned and sat on the steps and rested her head on her hands as if she would wait forever. It was hard to think while looking at the towel riding up her legs. She knew what she was doing.

I went up and lay on my bed. Let her wait, I thought. This is hard—she can suffer with me. I kept seeing her legs in my mind. They were hard to ignore. I wondered where the towel might have risen to by now. After a while I made a decision. I hoped it would satisfy her. I went back to the stairway. She stood and faced me once more. “You can come up, but I’m not ready to talk about it. If you come up, you might understand why.”

She shook her head in agreement, and I allowed her into to my room. She stopped at the doorway. I could tell she was uncomfortable. She seemed not to want to enter, but she got up her courage and took a few steps in and looked around. Instruments of death were everywhere: pistols, rifles, shotguns, knives, ammunition, reloading equipment, gun-cleaning supplies, a compound bow, tools of obscure usage, military and outdoor clothing, survivalist catalogs. Some of it was my grandfather’s, some of it was my father’s, and some my uncle’s. Most of it was mine. I wasn’t proud of it, and I wasn’t ashamed of it, either; it was just who I was when I wasn’t that other person she thought she knew.

Her gaze turned to my bed. It was the only thing that was soft and inviting.

“Can we go downstairs now?” I asked.

“No. I’ll stay.” So saying, she faced me and took off my underwear, being careful to pull them over my penis, which, with her standing so close to me and being nearly naked, had risen beyond my control. Then she dropped her towel to the floor, took my hand, and pulled me into my bed with her. She wrapped me in a hug and firmly wedged my leg all the way up between hers, and hers between mine. “I like you,” she said. “There are things about you that I like very much. Take all the time you need, but if you want me, if you’re motivated, and if you’re willing to tell me who you are, then you can have me.”

“Have you?”

“You can have me now—this once. But if you want to have me again, you’ll have to give.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I won’t get pregnant. Is there anything you can hurt me with?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m trusting you. With my life. Do you understand?”

“I understand… I was… in the war.”

Amy spread her legs and pulled me on top of her. My eyes filled with tears. She stroked my back and rubbed my cheek with hers as my erection came to full hardness. I dipped my penis into her vagina. Then I took it out and slid it up and down between her labia. I did it again, spreading her wetness over us both. I kissed her mouth and spread her saliva over our lips. I kissed her breasts. Her fingers caressed my ears as I tasted her lovely pink nipples. And then, with a deep sigh of release from the prison of my obsessions, at least for the moment, I pushed on into her. Then I pushed all the way in. And then all the way in and a little more.

Her hands caressed me as I rested in her embrace until I could rest no more, and I began to stroke to her moans of delight. Each time I entered, she pushed gently on my buttocks. I give you me, she said wordlessly. I risk, but I allow. I could be hurt, but I trust. What I promise, I fulfill. I am loyal. Over and over and over again she delivered her message as I reveled in the pleasure she had initiated and now shared with me.

Then she sprinted into animalistic thrashing and a series of undulating moans that grew and grew until they culminated in the violent spasms of her orgasm. For a moment she threw me off pace, but I regrouped and rose to her needs and to my own, and I met her halfway, or so I hoped. My orgasm was violent too. I hoped I hadn’t hurt her, though I’m sure, right then, she was beyond caring. I was hardly in control. Her offer of her self was too generous, too poignant, and too promising. My future was no longer only in my hands; by giving, she had taken it into hers too.

We spent the night together in my bed. It was a long time before we fell asleep, but before we did, I gave up the second of my secrets. “It wasn’t just war,” I said. “It was combat.”

***

I hoped we were rid of him, but I knew better. He came back six weeks later. It was evening, after Amy got home from work. We heard him banging on the door of my uncle’s house and yelling for Amy to come out. I told her to stay inside, and I went to meet him.

“You’re banging on my house. Amy doesn’t live there any more. Get off my property.”

He looked up the road. So did I. Amy was coming toward us.

He towered over me. A sadistic grin covered his face. “You’re fucking my girlfriend. You must want to die young.”

I thought of my friends who had died young, succumbing to the same mindless brutality as his. He was starting to piss me off. He pushed me. I let him.

“I don’t think you ought to do that,” Amy warned.

He laughed. “What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

He pushed me again. I took two steps back, but other than that, I didn’t react. If it came to violence, I wanted him to hit me first. I wanted him to give up his civil rights, because I knew that if we had to call the cops we’d be calling an ambulance too.

It all happened very fast—it always does. He came at me. I turned to the side, placing one foot behind me for balance. I’d been here countless times before, and even more often than that in sweat-soaked nightmares. I could see he was untrained. I was relaxed and ready. He was one step away from being dead meat. And then, in that instant between rest and explosion, I saw that I wouldn’t need to touch him. Amy was moving forward. I stepped out of her way. She turned sideways, and with twenty thousand practice kicks behind her, she drove her foot like a pile driver into his knee, following through just as I had taught her. It was a sideways blow, but it wouldn’t matter. I heard a satisfying crack, followed by a scream and a thud as he fell to the ground, holding his knee and writhing in pain. He turned white. After about thirty seconds, he passed out.

I looked at Amy and saw that she didn’t share my glee. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were horrified as she stared at her ex-boyfriend lying unconscious on the ground. She was trembling. I knew the reaction. I took her home, laid her down, and covered her with a blanket before I called the police and gave them a brief rundown on what had happened. I held her and tried my best to comfort her. The cops came. One of them was a woman. She interviewed Amy, and a policeman interviewed me. I was glad I could honestly say I never touched him. I didn’t think he’d ever walk right again, and who knew what charges the cops might have leveled against me.

***

It was a long time before Amy came to my bed again, though I tried my best to deserve her. Compared to what happened to me, her brush with violence was minimal, but it gave us something to share that went deep. That helped me open up a bit more.

On her birthday, I gave her a party. I invited two vet buddies, and she invited two women co-workers. They made unlikely couples, but there was enough harmless flirting for everyone to have a good time, and no one expected more. After they left, I gave Amy her present. I had embroidered a campaign ribbon for her. It didn’t look like one—I didn’t want it to, but that’s what I told her it represented. I explained it was what soldiers wore on their uniforms to show where they had fought. It was the only time I ever embroidered, but I’d sewn plenty of ripped clothing. I took my time, and I picked thread to match her eyes. It came out pretty.

After her shower, she called me to her room. She’d lived with me long enough that it was warm and feminine. She stripped me naked and laid me on her bed, and then she took out clothing she thought I’d like best: a knit dress that clung to every curve; a bra that hid everything, but barely; a string bikini that came to just above the trim of her hair; and stockings and a garter belt that showed beneath the knit dress, but who cared? We weren’t going out in public.

She dropped her towel and watched me as she dressed. I gently stroked my hard-on, but not enough that I’d waste anything I had for her. After she dressed, she dried and brushed her hair and tied it in a bun. She put on makeup and a dab of perfume and topped all of it off by pinning on her campaign ribbon. She gave me her camera and had me take a picture of her.

Then she took it all off—in reverse—one slow step at a time.

I was so hard I felt as if I would burst my skin. “I see you’ve got another present for me,” she said.

“Ohhhh,” I groaned. “Please. Let me give it to you.”

“I don’t know. One present a day seems quite enough.”

I flashed on a whore I met on R and R, back when I was a kid. She pretended to love me, she got me excited, and then she asked for money. I walked out. But with Amy, it was different. It wasn’t about money, and I wasn’t walking out. I knew what she wanted; I knew I was going to give it to her.

I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. I couldn’t do what I had to do and look at her naked, standing in front of me, waiting, but I tried not to see too much of what I didn’t want to remember. “I killed men… with my bare hands… more than once. I had to.”

She came and put me inside her without delay. She knew I needed it quickly: not to forget, but to honor those I killed but never hated. I could just as easily have been them. They could just as easily have been me.