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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.

A Girl Alone

May 16, 2011 3 comments
If you want a cute little story about fucking and sucking go elsewhere—this ain’t it. This is a real story about a real woman, trading what she had for what she needed to survive.

A Girl Alone

A Girl Alone

By Matthew Dyne

Last night I read a story that got me thinking. It was about a girl like me who helped her neighbor fix his house. He was a nice guy, and even though he was older, in his mid-forties, she was attracted. It was obvious he was attracted, too. He tried not to show it, but he couldn’t keep from looking at her and especially down her shirt as she bent over, helping to put flashing around his foundation. He paid her well, but what the girl liked most was that the man recognized she was doing a good job, and he praised her for it. The girl never had a father.

In the evening the girl came back to the man’s house and told him she was a virgin and didn’t want to be, anymore. She wasn’t a virgin, though she’d only been with two other guys. She told the man she was a virgin, because she didn’t know if he would go to bed with her, because of their ages, unless she gave him an excuse to do something extra nice for her. That was the kind of guy he was.

The man gave the girl a bath, and then he made love to her. My first time wasn’t nearly that wonderful.

**

Now, I work as a nurse’s aide at a hospital, whenever I can get the hours. I’m in a prenursing course, at school, and yesterday I had four hours of classes, and at night I worked a twelve hour shift. I got home an hour ago and had a bite to eat and showered. I’ve got a two o’clock this afternoon. That’s what my days are like. I’ve got to get some sleep.

**

I ran away from home when I was fifteen. For a year I lived wherever I could. I begged for money and slept on the ground in parks, in an abandoned car for a month, places like that—nice accommodations. Then, while I was begging, I met a woman who took an interest in me. She took me home, fed me, cleaned me up, and had sex with me. When I was reading the story about the guy giving the girl a bath I remembered Carrie, because she started her love making while I was in the tub. We had a great afternoon, and then her husband came home, and we had a threesome.

I lived with them until I decided to go back to school. They weren’t interested in having a daughter, so I went to Child Services and was placed in a foster home. After I had been there a couple of months I started writing stories. I would write them and throw them away, but then I discovered Nifty. Nifty will publish anything. It was exciting to see something I wrote, actually in print. I put my first story in the Lesbian-Incest section. It was about having sex with my younger sister. I don’t have a younger sister or any sister or brother.

I got a lot of feedback on my stories, some from good people some from assholes. I also wrote a couple of stories as Carrie, same idea only from an older point of view—an older woman with a young woman.

**

I ran away two months before my sixteenth birthday. I left home with a small backpack full of stuff, mainly clothes. I was terrified—afraid during the day and afraid to go to sleep at night. For five or six months, I don’t know exactly how long, I didn’t stay with anyone. I slept in old cars, under bushes, wherever.

The night I left home I was picked up by a trucker. I lied and said I had an aunt in the direction he was heading. He let me off when we got where I said I was going. He was understanding and nice and didn’t hit me up for sex. And I didn’t have experience with sex, just kissy-feely stuff with a couple of boys and a girlfriend.

**

My mother was an addict. If she was at the breakfast table, at all, she had a beer in her hand. She used whatever drugs she could get.

My mother supported us by getting some welfare and working a little. She mopped floors in a school, stocked shelves in a grocery, and was a maid in a motel until they found out she was fucking guests for money. But what qualifications does a woman with no education, little experience, and on booze and drugs have to offer?

Mom loved to fuck. I inherited that from her. She quit the little work she got, because it interfered with her night life, but I doubt that any amount of money was ever agreed to before the act. She got whatever the fucker wanted to give her, if anything.

I saw what my mother’s addiction did to her. I remember it well, so there is no way I will ever be an addict to anything. There is one exception. I’m an addict to sex, just like her. I was a prostitute, and to some degree still am, but I always made sure how much my partner was going to pay for the blow job or fuck or cunt lick. Now I’m more of a kept woman, so to speak. I use kept woman as a way to distinguish from a prostitute. What I mean is, I have a few friends that I enjoy sex with who help me when money is short, but I don’t ask for money every time. As a result of friendship and sex I occasionally ask them for help.

I also share an apartment with another girl, but her schedule is almost the opposite of mine, so we only see each other a couple times a week. She loves me to bury my face in her pussy. I help her, with my tongue, but she doesn’t help me out financially. We just share sex and expenses.

**

When the trucker left me off the only things on my mind were staying away from home and what happened that made me leave. I didn’t know where I was going or how I was going to get there. I thought about a couple of friends, but it was late, and I knew their parents would just being me back to my mother. Whatever I saw was scary and bleak.

I was hungry as hell, and the truck stop, where I was let off, had an all night diner. I went through their garbage and found something to eat and slept on the ground next to the building.

The next morning was like the beginning of a lot of mornings. My first urgency was food. One of the gals that worked in the kitchen found me going through the cans and brought me some cereal and toast. She didn’t offer anything else, but that was wonderful. I got to thinking about where I was going to stay, but I didn’t know where to turn. I didn’t want to go to the police for fear they would send me home, so I wandered around, looking, for what I didn’t know, just looking.

I spent several days like that, maybe a week, maybe longer, always going back to the truck stop. Every morning the gal would bring me breakfast. One morning it was a different person, an older guy the woman had called. He was a counselor from Children’s Services. He was nice, and he told me he would help me, but he said I would have to go to the facility.

I was still afraid. I told him, “No.”

He said I could leave anytime I wanted. Then the gal came out and chatted with him, and she told me he was okay and helped a bunch of kids get things straight, so I went.

I had my first shower in I don’t know how long, a real meal, and I sleep in a real bed. There were two other girls there, and we sort of bonded. I still see one of them, once in awhile. The other one died of an OD after she went back home.

The system was and probably still is fucked up. I was put in a foster home that was abusive. How they got to be a foster family is beyond me. Mom, dad, daughter, and son treated me like shit, like I was there to be their slave. The son was eight or nine, but he had been trained to be like the others. His sister was my age but a pig. I’ve thought about going back and seeing if they are still with the program. I sure hope not.

**

I’m comfortable with myself. I’m proud of things, such as I’m not addicted to booze or drugs, I’m working hard to make a place for myself, I haven’t caused anyone any problems, and I don’t take shit, though I try to do that in a good way.

When I first went to work at the hospital the head nurse was a bitch. She gave everyone a hard time, and all the girls said to watch out for her. I was only there a couple of days when she got on my case, because I hadn’t done something right, some little thing, like maybe I didn’t get a bed pan dry after I washed it.

I asked her if I could chat with her for a minute, and she said okay, and we went into her office. I told her that I appreciated her concern, but that I didn’t like working in an environment that was like a bed of nails, that I was there to learn and was eager to do so, and that I’d had enough shit in my life and didn’t need any more. “So, please,” I said, “if I’ve done something wrong correct me, but make it a learning experience, not discipline.”

She looked at me for a minute or two with no expression on her face. I figured I was out of there. Then she smiled and said, “I think we are going to get along just fine.” And we have. She’s getting along better with everyone.

**

When I wrote that I had no experience with sex other than kissy-feely stuff with a couple of boys and a girlfriend, I wasn’t completely honest. I don’t want to talk about that, yet, but sometimes I wonder how much of my sex addiction is my nature and how much comes from experiences? Everyone is into sex, more or less, but experiences confirm and magnify nature.

The woman who took me home when I was begging, I’m sure she intended to have sex with me, and I’m sure sharing me with her husband was part of her plan, too. She told me about other girls and boys, even younger than I, that she and her husband had shared. Why they didn’t get caught I have no idea, but remembering being with boys and girls and playing around, I’m sure it was only a matter of time before I had willing sex, anyway.

**

In my book, anything I do that doesn’t hurt me or someone else is okay. If a girl having sex with a dog bothers you, don’t read this next part. I have a close relationship with my dog Dude.

Imagine, you’re a single girl. You come home form school or work, and it’s been a really shitty day, real bad. You’re tired, pissed off, and horny, and this big black buffun greets you and wants to be petted and wants to cheer you up.

You head for a shower, but while undressing you feel this cold nose on your butt, and you turn around, and you feel this cold nose near your pussy.

The nose is insistent and pushes, so you back up until you flop backward onto the bed. Then the nose pushes its way between your thighs, and a rough tongue comes out and starts licking.

At first it feels uncomfortable, because it is like sandpaper, but pretty soon the sandpaper feels soooo goooood you spread wider.

The tongue keeps lapping. Then you notice an angry red cock hanging from the underside of said buffun, and soon his front legs are up beside you, and his drooling mouth and rough tongue are only inches away from your face. His angry red cock is stabbing, trying to find your love nest. And when he does, in about three humps the whole thing is ramming in and out of your cunt, today doing the missionary.

Your friend is a great, if brief, lover and pounds your pussy for only a few minutes before you feel a big baseball being stuffed into your cunt, and then you feel hot, hot juice filling your channel.

You stay tied together for about ten minutes, and what started out feeling uncomfortable begins to feel pretty damn good before it starts loosing size. Then he pulls out, and his cum oozes out of you.

The one thing I have taught him, yet, I’m working on it, is to clean me up before he cleans himself.

**

I’ve had Dude since he was a puppy. He was about a year and a half before he gave any indication he was interested. If I call him puppy he knows I’m interested. If I call him Dude he knows I’m not. He only expresses interest if I initiate it.

I was on a Yahoo chat site talking with other girls about dogs, and several said they can’t get their dogs interested, at all, even if they play with their dogs’ cocks first, or anything.

My thought is that dogs are a lot like men—some like doing it and some don’t.

I’m glad that Adam and Eve got it on. I don’t think they got thrown out over a fucking apple. Sex is entertaining, but I’ve discovered not all men are as horny as they’re made out to be. It’s difficult to gauge that, in most men. That’s the main reason I’ll probably never marry. Some men would be willing to have all kinds of sex before they’re committed but not afterward.

There are two kinds of sex—recreational and business. I can’t pinpoint when I realized that sex had monetary value. I don’t think I ever thought: tonight I’m going out to make some money fucking guys in the ally behind the bar. I never looked at sex as income, just a way to survive, trading what I had for what I needed.

**

I couldn’t register for school without a transcript from my old school, and I didn’t want my old school to know where I was, because I was afraid they would tell my mom. I probably would have needed her signature, too, but Children’s Services helped me with all that. I don’t know if my mom ever found out where I was, but if she did she didn’t give a damn. I never heard from her.

I got friendly with a girl in school, and for awhile I stayed with her and her mom. They were great, but the girl and I were very different. We lived in the same room, and she was a slob. Not that I’m perfect, but when she took off her clothes she couldn’t be bothered putting them in the hamper and stuff like that. But the biggest problem was me. I was used to being by myself, so, eventually, I moved on.

If I was going to get through school I had no choice other than to go back to Children’s Services.  No landlord would even talk to someone my age about renting a room. How would I pay for it, anyway?

I got a new counselor, and she agreed, after reading my history, that I could visit a home, for a few days, before I was assigned to it. That worked.

The new home was special. The husband was an electrician, and the wife worked part time selling advertising. They had no kids, so all their attention was focused on me, and there were never any sexual under or overtones. I was never touched, by either of them, except for a hug or a kiss.

**

I went to a fun party, last night. I was a naughty girl.

There were three other girls, at the party, but they all had boyfriends. I knew one of the couples, from school, but I didn’t know anyone else. Before we went, my friends told me that it might turn into a sex party, and they asked if I was willing. “Sure,” I said, thinking I would be with one guy or girl. I didn’t realize I would be the only unattached girl with eight or ten unattached guys.

When we got there I realized I was going to be a gang-bangee. I was reluctant to have to give attention to all the unattached guys, but I was only reluctant for about thirty seconds. Then I sucked every cock and was fucked by most of them. The guys liked that I wanted their cum in my mouth, not all over me. The party happened in the apartment of one of the guys. He said he should have sold tickets.

Would I do it again? Duh! As I said, I’m a sex addict. I need my fill of protein. Here’s how I look at it.

Some people are Steeler or Duke or NASCAR fans. I’m a sex fan. I love the feel of a cock in my mouth or hand or pussy. I love the feeling of giving pleasure to my partner and the excitement of pushing the limits, like by giving my date a hand job under the table in a restaurant.

Sometimes I do naughty things. Sometimes I’m more normal, like going out with an old friend or a new meet. But I don’t give a damn about being conventional. Life sure hasn’t been conventional with me. If I do something naughty, like getting gangbanged, I don’t care what guys think of me. I gave up worrying about that a long time ago, but that’s only part of who I am. There are other parts, like I work harder then anyone to get what I want.

Everyone has to do what they’re comfortable with. I’m a slut and a cum bucket and a whore. I like fucking, sucking, jerking, licking, swallowing…  Why? I just I like it. I like the taste of hard sweaty cock. I like getting nutrients when a man fills my mouth with cum. I like being loved as a sex object, and I like being loved as a friend. Can’t a person like being loved both ways? Does it have to be one or the other?

When I fucked those guys at the gangbang it was recreational. I was there of my own free will, and I enjoyed all those cocks, just for me. I wasn’t competing with other women. They compete with me. But I do it better.

When I give pleasure to a friend, that’s different. I enjoy giving my partner, man or woman, great sex. Sometimes, it’s the only way I have of thanking people.

**

My first time wasn’t like the girl getting the bath. It wasn’t wonderful like that. I was raped by my Mom’s drug dealer, because she didn’t have money to pay for her fix. It wouldn’t have done any good to report the rape—the dealer’s brother was a cop.

I was fifteen when the dealer did it. He wasn’t after anything. He knew we didn’t have anything, and if he hadn’t been drunk I’m not sure he would have done anything except wait for his money, like he had before. I don’t know, I just don’t know.

After he left my room, I had to shower to try to get his stink, or whatever, off me and, of course, out of me. While I was standing in the shower I decided I had to go. In half an hour I was out the door. That’s when I left home, but as far what caused me to leave, it wasn’t the rape. That was only the last straw.

That night, my Mom, drunk on her ass, begging for her drugs, offering her daughter in payment, thinking so little of me that I became a mere trading token—that’s why I left.

**

My mother didn’t care about me. I never knew my father, either. On my birth certificate, under Father, it says ‘Unknown.’ If my Mom knows who he is, and I don’t think she does, she hasn’t given me a clue. I talked with a couple of people who knew her back then, but all I find out is that she was much like she is today, except booze only—she hadn’t gotten into drugs yet. I don’t blame myself for not having a family, but I’m a bottle baby, for sure.

I have, really, I think, gotten over not having a father. Don’t get me wrong, my heart still twinges when I see a Dad being so obviously proud and happy with his kids. But, I guess, I’ve gotten over it, like getting over not being in a family with lots of money. Life goes on. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished and determined to live out my dreams.

I do admit that I am where I am because of sex. I’ve done whatever anyone wanted me to do, to get money for food or a place to stay or a grade, for that matter. A girl who goes out on her own as early as I did doesn’t have many employable skills, but she does have hands, lips, mouth, pussy, and ass, and if she learns how to use them well she can do okay.

**

I was thinking about times when I had sex with a guy, and he was kind of rough, and I kind of liked it that way. The night I was raped by my Mom’s dealer, he wasn’t mean, but I was scared and was fighting him, and he was rough. Now, I wonder, did I enjoy it? Is it possible that my mind won’t admit I liked it? The person being raped isn’t supposed to like it. I don’t know.

**

I wrote that not having a father is no big deal, but I just saw an AT&T ad for the first time, the one where Daddy goes on a business trip and finds his daughter’s teddy bear in his brief case. He sends his daughter pictures, via his cell phone to Mom’s computer, of the places he’s been. The last picture is from in front of their house when he gets home. I cried.

Yeah, it gets to me once in awhile. I don’t know anything about my father: who he is, what he did, nothing. I don’t think Mom does either. If I ever need to know, like for a medical reason, then I’ll be bothered, but I’ve got a lot of other things to worry about. He doesn’t know I exist.

When I was first taken in by Children’s Services a social worker told me that throughout life I would seek ways and people to replace what I thought a father and mother should have been. I haven’t spoken to my mother in four years, maybe more. I wonder if she loved me, even a little, back then. It’s a big question. Now, I don’t know if she’s even alive and if she is what her feelings are about me. If she continued doing meth, and stuff, like she was when I left, I’m sure she’s gone.

Categories: Abuse, Loneliness, Sex

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.

Making the Grade

April 4, 2011 6 comments

Making the Grade. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

Once I got stopped for speeding and showed my boobs to a cop to get out of a ticket. He didn’t ask. I just unbuttoned my shirt as he was looking at my license. He seemed torn between arresting me and letting me strip, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept on going and unclipped my bra and took it off my breasts. He glanced around to see if anyone could see, and then he helped himself to a feel. He felt both breasts. It made me wet. It wasn’t his touch—he was rough, but the whole situation that turned me on. It was risky, but after I got out of the speeding ticket I went home and masturbated thinking about him violating me.

He ordered me out of the car… made me assume the position while he frisked me… lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties to make sure I wasn’t concealing anything… fucked me with a metal rod he took off his belt then fucked me with his cock, right there, in broad daylight, bent over the hood of my car.

That’s not what happened, but that’s what I fantasized about while I worked myself over with my vibrator. I wonder what would have happened if he did do that and what would have happened if someone drove by while he was doing it. What if he had his way with me then stuck my head in my car window and cuffed me to the steering wheel, leaving me for passing motorists to enjoy, however they wished, and then came back at nightfall to release me with a slap on the wrist for the speeding. Or should that be a slap on the ass? If I were him I’d give me a major spanking.

I really did show my breasts to a cop, and he really did feel me up and let me get out of a speeding ticket, but this week I did something much worse. It’s something that goes on all the time, at my college, in a big university. I know other girls who did it, but I swore I never would.

It’s the end of summer school after my sophomore year, which is the hardest year, because the college busts the most people out, so it can weed out the duds before they let you start concentrating on your major.

I’m a good student, but my mind just isn’t capable of complicated math. It’s not that I don’t try, but I just can’t do it, and I was going to get another F on my second try at elementary calculus. I wouldn’t have been able to continue on, and my career, my whole life, would have been ruined. My father would have killed me.

You know what I’m talking about, but what other choice did I have? I was going to offer sex to my professor for a passing grade. It’s not like I was going to give anything away that I couldn’t keep—I mean my pussy wasn’t going to wear out or anything. I was just going to share what I had for what I needed.

The problem was, I don’t like the asshole. He’s an arrogant middle-aged horndog who’s always eyeing the girls and making suggestive remarks that make us uncomfortable. I also don’t like the way he smells, and I was deathly afraid he wouldn’t agree to use a condom. I was also afraid of what he would do to me if I went someplace alone with him and put myself in his hands. Despite my misgivings, I made an appointment to meet him after my final.

I wasn’t going to be subtle, so I dressed in a see-through nightgown. That was all I wore, except for sandals and a thigh-high jacket, so I could walk across campus without being raped. Before I left my dorm room I pulled my nightgown up, twisted the cloth into a roll, and tucked it into itself at the waist. That way the nightgown wouldn’t fall below the hem of my jacket, and no one would know that I was essentially naked, underneath.

My professor was aware that I was a failing student, and he leaned back with his feet on his desk and his hands clasped behind his neck, like he was king of the world and I was some kind of slug. He kept his guest chair across the room, so students can’t sit, and I was forced to stand in front of him while he looked me over, especially at my bare legs, wondering what I had on under my jacket.

I’ve got to do this, I thought for the thousandth time, and I said the magic words. “What do I have to do to get a passing grade?”

He knew what I was talking about, but he wasn’t going to say it first. “What are you willing to do?” he asked.

I kept my legs tightly closed, and I opened my jacket and lowered my nightgown before he had a chance to catch more than a glimpse of the strip of hair I kept above my slit. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the floor. My breasts were teasingly visible, and my nipples tingled, advertising my arousal. I hung my head in embarrassment and shame.

He licked his lips. “Put your jacket on, and we’ll go over to my house,” he said.

“Please,” I begged. Then, in a small voice I said, “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I shrugged apologetically. “But I really, really need to pass,” I implored.

He kept insisting, and I started crying. I hated myself.

Finally, he got up and came toward me. I shrank from him, but he walked past me and locked the door. “Take it off, and bend over the desk,” he said.

I kneeled and got a condom out of my jacket and held it up, pleadingly.

He sighed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he said disgustedly. He took off his trousers and shorts, cleared his desk, lay on it, and he fished my breasts out of my nightgown, so he could see and maul them. He lay down with his legs spread. “Suck me off!” he ordered. “And you’d better do a good job or you’ll be getting the F you deserve. And that’s for sure! And don’t take my cock out until I come in your mouth and let you go,” he added.

I bent over him and took his penis in my hand. It got firm, and then it got hard. I licked it. It didn’t taste that bad, so I put it in my mouth, surrounded it with my cheeks and tongue, and began sucking him.

He let me play with him until he couldn’t take it any more, and then he held my head and fucked my mouth, making me gag. It don’t think it took that long, though it seemed like forever, and he tightened up and gushed cum into my mouth. Some of it escaped out the corners of my lips and dribbled down my chin. His spurts died down, but he kept fucking my mouth until he got soft. Then he let me go.

I spit his come into my hand and shook what I could into his waste basket. I wiped the rest on my nightgown.

He laughed. Then he said, “A minus for the blow job, C for the course.”

With self-loathing I whimpered, “It’s more than I deserve.”

He kept his word and gave me a C. Now, every time I see him he touches his crotch. He tells me he’s sorry he let me off without a good fucking.

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.

Girls Sleeping–Perchance to Dream

March 1, 2011 6 comments

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep—
No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…


To Sleep Perchance to Dream

By Matthew Dyne

I come upon her, sleeping be,
Immersed in dreams of revelry
Her limbs are still, her eyelids twitch
She might be beggar, queen, or witch

I look high—look low—all around
Her raiment’s nowhere to be found
I did not seek to find her thus
My blessings, are they fate or luck?

Her breasts they rise as breaths she breathes
Her form’s as pretty as you please
Of all her gifts I would partake
Yet she’s too precious, for to wake

A Package

by Matthew Dyne

The postman knocked upon my door to say,
“I have a package, 8 stone plus it weighs.”
“But,” I said, “I did not order any.”
“Insured, fragile, worth a pretty penny.”

I frowned but helped him take it off his lorry
Wondering all the while, What’s the story?
I dragged it in to see what gifts I’d reaped
And found within a small girl fast asleep

Surely you can see me in a quandary
I double checked the package, it was for me
I did not to my common sense defer
Instead, shrug, I decided I would keep her

She would not wake but seemed to be at ease
Her cuddly form unclothed it sure did tease
I put her in my bedroom for safekeeping
In case she woke while I was deeply sleeping

I startled in the night and found her near
Her warmth upon me, breath against my ear
In time she did encourage me into her
And, made love as if I always knew her

When morning came she curled up in a chair
And slept again as if she’d ever be there
I washed and cared for her in every way
And through the years she did not age a day

Many girls I’d watched while deep in slumber

Alone…

In pairs…

In groups of many numbers

And though I’d watched them when perhaps I shouldn’t
I never touched a girl who said I couldn’t

The years have come and gone and I do fear
When I’m gone what happens to my dear?
I know a man he’s young, strong, and sweet hearted
And my love and I must soon be parted

I placed her in a new box, I was grim
And sadly I prepared to sneak her to him
But just before I was to see her never
She woke and whispered, “I love you forever.”