Friday, December 7, 2018

The Male Orgasm



Ahhh, the male orgasm.

Simple enough, isn't it? A series of steps - arousal, plateau, orgasm, and refraction - resulting in the ejaculation of fluid and sperm and a cooling off period.

For a man, especially an alpha man, it is simple, a primary biological drive to spread his seed far and wide. A woman with such a man in her life may try to tame the beast, but rarely will, for if he isn't fucking her, he'll be fucking someone else. A man's orgasm will be frequent, powerful, plentiful, enjoyable.

For other males, though, taming is not only realistic, but desired, even required. Weak males, beta males, sissy males, cuckolded males - their orgasms should be few and far between and happen not when the male wants it, but when his owner desires it.

It's a fundamental dividing line - real men cum when they want, all other males cum when permitted. If at all.

It sounds cruel at first, harnessing and controlling the male's primary sexual drive, but in reality, weak males are happiest, are most content, when that drive is at the mercy of someone else.

It matters not if it is mother, girlfriend, wife, mother-in-law. It not even need be a woman, it can be a daddy figure, the boyfriend or bull of a wife or girlfriend, whatever.

What matters is that someone, anyone, take control of a weak male's urges.




Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Everything



"Wait...wait...are you serious? You want to have this conversation again? Now?" she asked glaring at her husband.

"Just...just hear me out," he said, mouth suddenly dry.

"Here you out? Now? God, what's the matter with you, he's going to be here any minute, we are so not doing this now."

"But...but Amy," he begged, "please, I...it's been months."

"What is your sudden preoccupation with sticking your penis inside me?" she asked, her frustration evident in her tone.

"You...you're my wife!"

"And?" she asked.

"That...that's what married couples do," he blurted out.

"That's what some married couples do," she corrected him, "but that's got nothing to do what we do."

"I just...I mean..."

"How many times?"

"How many times what?" he asked.

"How many times have you told me you get pleasure just from my pleasure? Dozens? Hundreds?"

"Amy..."

"How many times did you tell me we didn't have to worry about you? How many times did you tell me you just wanted to make me happy? How many times wasn't I in the mood and you begged just to be allowed to lick me? That's all you wanted?"

"But..."

"Were you lying?"

"Amy..."

"No, I want to know, were you lying when you said intimacy wasn't just about that...sticking that in me."

"Amy, please..."

"Were you lying when you said you didn't have to cum to feel intimate with me?"

"Amy, I...I only meant..."

"Were you lying?"

"Amy, I..."

"I just want to make you happy, Amy," she said mimicking him.

"Amy..." he said, shaking.

"Were. You. Lying?"

"No!"

"Were you lying trying to get me to touch you?"

"No, you know I wasn't."

"Were you lying when you licked me and after just cuddled me, letting me hold your erection without you cumming?"

"No, dammit, that's not what..."

"Were you lying when you said you got excited...when you said you got sexual satisfaction...from making me happy? From my pleasure?"

"N...no...I...I wasn't."

"So intimacy doesn't have to mean you sticking your penis in me, right?"

"N...no," he swallowed.

"And intimacy doesn't even mean you cumming, right?"

"Not...not always."

"So why are you so fucking fixated on sticking that thing in me? You know that's not what gives me pleasure."

"Be...because he...he gets to."

She crossed her legs, exposing the top of one of her stockings, her bare thigh, twirled her hair. "Oh, so that's what this is about, isn't it. You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Amy, you...you're my wife!"

"And that means you get to stick your little penis inside me? That's it, is it? I have to be honest, that's the most selfish thing I've ever heard."

"Amy!"

"You know I don't like that. You know it does nothing for me."

"But he..."

"He's a man, for god's sake, I like it when a man fucks me, that's different."

"I...a...a husband is supposed to pleasure his wife," he said weakly.

"You do pleasure me, you know that, in your own way."

"But...but not like..."

"Is this about you or me?"

"Y...you," he whispered.

"If you mean that," she said, "you're giving me everything I want. Everything. Everything you can give."

"But he..."

"Has his place. And you have yours."

Thursday, November 29, 2018

Dinner


"Jesus, that...that's what you're wearing to your work dinner?" Sean asked his wife with a stunned look when he walked into their bedroom.

"Well it's like half work," she said, "he's taking me to dinner more for a 'congrats for the promotion' dinner. He's nice that way."

"Wait, I...I thought it was a bunch of people," Sean said quietly.

"No, no, just Michael," she said, "I mean, just the two of us."

"Just the two of you...isn't that...that kind of...revealing?"

"Well I don't want to send the wrong message, honey," she said coyly.

"What...what message?"

"I don't want him to think just because I'm married I'm unavailable."

"J...Jenny! He's your new boss!"

"And maybe he'll be our new stud, too," she smiled. "I wouldn't mind mixing business and pleasure with him."

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

His



It was a Sunday morning, late, my wife Erin and I were finishing coffee and the paper. We had no plans that day and as I poured a second cup of coffee, she glanced at her phone, excused herself, and went to shower. I thought nothing of it, read the Art section for the next hour.

Erin finally came out of the bedroom and it was the click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor that caused me to look up, surprised.

"Erin?" I said, half statement, half question. She was wearing a dress I'd never seen before, a short, green nylon slip dress with embroidered mesh detail around her bust and ankle strap heels. The dress was short, true to its name, barely a dress, almost simply a slip, giving truth to the name.

"I...," she hesitated.

"What is it?" I asked, "I...I thought we were staying home...I mean...wow..."

She looked amazing, though self conscious as she was showing way more skin that she ever showed; I couldn't imagine where she'd gotten that dress or where she we were going.

"Paul..."

"Am I supposed to get dressed, too?" I asked; I was just wearing slacks and a simple shirt. "It seems kind of early to go out."

She looked down, didn't say anything, finally unlocked her phone, handed it to me. On the screen was a text message exchange. I looked at the top, saw the name. Ben. My blood seemed to freeze.

Ben.

Ben.

We'd discussed the fantasy for months and months, more than a year, actually. We'd stumbled on some soft porn station on cable late one night, the movie was about a wife who flirted then cheated on her plain, beta husband with very masculine lover. No, that's not quite right, not really cheating, as her husband knew she was flirting, encouraged her. Watching the movie, watching the woman's husband encourage her to take a lover, watching it we had the hottest sex we'd had in years.

We talked about it again and again. The roles in that movie. The pretty wife, whom my wife resembled; the timid husband, who I fit exactly; and a mystery lover.

We met Ben first online then in real life. What made us take the step from fantasy to actually talking to a guy I'll never know, but there we were one day, having drinks with a man, admitting to him our darkest, deepest fantasies.

That was a month ago and the drinks was followed by a dinner, some talk, but nothing more; we hadn't heard from him for a couple of weeks and were on the verge of forgetting about him, maybe forgetting about it.

Then he texted her.

"Erin," his text said, "I'm coming over sometime around one. You, Paul, and I need to talk about a few things."

"Today?" Erin responded.

"Today," he said. "Around one."

"I should ask Paul if that's okay," she said.

"No," was his response.

"No?" Erin asked.

"No," he said again.

"I don't understand," she said.

"No as in no, you may not ASK Paul. You may, however, shower and get dressed in the sexiest dress you have, then TELL Paul I'll be over to chat with you two around one."

"Tell? I don't understand," she'd said.

"Tell, Erin. I don't ASK husbands if I can come over and see their wives, I TELL them I'm coming over to see their wives. These are not choices cuckold husbands get to make."

"Tell," I said, looked up at Erin, mouth open. "Jesus," I mumbled.

"I...I didn't know what to say," she blushed.

"Jesus," I said again.

"I...this is stupid," she said, the nervousness obvious in her voice.

"No," I quickly stopped her, "he...it's fine."

"Paul," she said.

"You don't want him to come over and talk?" I asked, assuming it was just that. "There's nothing wrong with talking..."

"He'll know where we live," she said.

"It...we don't have to do anything, Erin," I said, "it's just...you don't want to?"

"No, I...I do," she said, "I..."

"I'm nervous, too, but...it's a Sunday afternoon, it's just talking...we can say no later," I rationalized, "we don't have to do anything."

"He...he's acting like he's in charge," she said.

"He is, isn't he? In charge?"

I saw her quiver, not from fear, but from excitement.

**********

It was two and then we started to wonder what was going on. Was he lost? Should she call or text? Was it all some test? Were we going fucking crazy.

At ten after two we heard a loud noise, a motorcycle, actually, roar down the street and pull into our drive. We went to the window, sure enough it was Ben ridding a Harley, wearing jeans, a white tee, sunglasses, and a brown leather jacket. He parked the bike, got off, strode confidently up to our door.

"You...you said one," Erin said opening the door to let him in.

He walked in looking confident, a 'no fucks given' look. He took off his jacket, handed it to me. We both looked at him in his shirt, tight against the muscles of his arms, chest, and shoulders. He looked at his watch, shrugged. "Got caught up," he said without apology. "I need a shower."

"A...a shower?" I asked, surprised.

"The thing you take when you're hot and sweaty," he said without further explanation.

"I...I thought you wanted to talk," Erin asked, voice almost cracking as she started at him.

"I do. After a shower; I assume you don't mind?"

"N...no," she said, "you...you can use the guest room." She pointed to that wing of the house. "On...on the right."

"Towels?"

"I...I don't think..."

"Paul, grab me a couple of towels, will you," he said, a statement, almost an order, certainly not a questions.

"O...okay," I said, not sure what to make of him, not sure what else to say.

"You look great, Erin," he said, acknowledging finally how she was dressed, "we'll talk after I shower, okay?"

"S...sure," she said.

He walked towards the bathroom like he owned the place; Erin and I just looked at one another with a 'what the fuck' look on our faces. "Erin," I said.

"He just wants to talk," she said.

I swallowed, went and got a couple of towels, brought them to the guest bath, knocked. "Come," he said.

He was standing in the bath, waiting, thank god still dressed. "You...your towels," I said with a dry mouth.

"We're just talking, Paul," he said chuckling, "I promise."

"I...we...I mean..."

"Haven't decided to go forward...I know...that's the point of talking. So we can all decide. Listen, there's a bag of clothes in the right saddle bag of my bike, grab them for me. Can't put these back on."

I visibly exhaled, almost relieved, he noticed. "We're talking," he emphasized again.

"I thought...you asked her to..."

"Wear something sexy? Yea, of course. A woman like Erin should display her body when men are around, it establishes the proper mindset for her. And for you. I know she's got this prudish streak, she needs to be pushed to dress properly for a man."

"Properly?" I asked.

"She needs her boundaries pushed, Paul, when women get married, they get lazy and I won't tolerate a lazy woman."

"We're just talking," I said.

"Yes we are, and I want to see if you two fit with me as much as you want to see if I fit with you. I told you when we went to dinner, if I get involved with a couple it's as the alpha male...I don't intend to fight a husband for dominance."

I looked at him, held his eyes for about five seconds, looked away first. I remember telling him that, we'd had a couple of drinks each, telling him how I'd most often fantasized about Erin not just with a man, but with a specific kind of man, a strong man. Even a dominant man. "I...I wouldn't," I said.

"We'll see, Paul," he said, heading for the shower.

Twenty minutes later he emerged from the bathroom drying his hair with one of the towels. We were both sitting in the living room, next to one another on the couch, he came out drying his hair, wearing jeans, but otherwise barefoot and shirtless. I heard Erin suck in a small breath seeing him, seeing his muscles, his smooth, bare chest.

"That feels much better," he said sitting on a club chair across the coffee table from us. "Erin, why don't you grab us something to drink.

"Beer?" she asked.

"No, not when I'm on the bike. Just waters."

Erin uncrossed her legs, stood, went to the kitchen leaving me sitting across from a man who was so much more masculine than I'd ever been. I felt it, the difference between us, his natural confidence, charisma, charm, dominance.

"Your wife is beautiful, Paul," he said looking towards the kitchen.

"T...thank you," I said unable to meet his eyes.

He said nothing else until she returned though he briefly stood, put on a clean tee.

Erin came back with three glasses and a pitcher of water on a tray, set it on the table. "Pour," Ben said. She handed him a glass and I expected him to grab her, pull her on his lap, but he just watched her until she was about to sit back down beside me.

"Wait," he said and she froze, face towards me. "Look at her Paul, see the disappointment on her face? The same that's on yours. Both of you thought I was going to pull her onto my lap, but I told you, we were talking. Erin, go ahead, you may sit."

"B...Ben," I croaked when she sat next to me.

"This isn't something that's just physical for me," he looked directly at me, "you get that, I'm sure you do. It might be for some people, but not for me. This isn't just about sex, I won't just fuck her, Paul, this is about you asking a man into your relationship."

"I...I know," I whispered.

"Do you?" he asked. "Tell me, how many men can there be in a relationship?"

"O...one?"

"We're pack animals, deep inside, there are leaders and followers. I'm a leader. Always."

"I...I know," I said looking at his eyes, briefly, looking away.

"I'll make the rules. You can have boundaries, of course, but I'll make the rules, I'm the man, I'm the alpha. We're clear on that, right? That's what this is."

"I...I know," I said.

"The movie you told me about, I watched it, that's fantasy, a good fantasy, but this is reality."

"I...I know," I said, "we know."

"It's one thing to fantasize about a man being with your wife, it's one thing to fantasize about a man having a role in your marriage, it's quite another to experience it. Fantasizing about it means you watch silly movies and go to your bedroom and make love. Experiencing it means you surrender control of part of your relationship to someone else. Emotionally she's yours now and forever, but sexually..."

I heard a small gasp escape from Erin's mouth, turned to her.

He turned to Erin. "Are you wearing panties?" he asked.

"Y...yes," she said softly.

"Stand up, take them off," he said, his tone a command. "Slowly, watching Paul while you do."

Erin hesitated for a moment and for a moment I thought he'd gone too far, that this was crossing the line of just 'talking' about things. But she did as told, stood in front of me, facing me, and reached under the hem of her dress, started to pull and bend.

"No," Ben stopped her, "no crouching, no dropping them down, peel them down, bending over.

Erin swallowed, I stared, we both realized what he wanted, but she did it, slowly seductively, peeled off her thong panties all the while giving him a show of her ass.

"Hand them to Paul," Ben said eyes glued on her rear; Erin, hand shaking, handed me her panties. "Well?" he asked me, eyes shifting to mine.

"W...well?"

"Are they wet?" he asked.

"Y...yes," I swallowed.

He smiled at me. "That's what a man does to your wife, Paul. How wet is she?"

"How wet?"

"Reach up, Paul, feel her, tell me how wet she is."

"But..."

"Feel her," he said, this time his voice a command. I was shaking but did as he said, reached up, touched Erin between the legs from behind. She gasped the second my fingers touched her lips, almost slipped in she was so wet. "How wet, Paul?"

"She...she's soaked," I blurted out.

"I told you experiencing this means surrendering her sexually, Paul, giving up control of her sexuality to me. You get that, don't you? This isn't a Cinemax movie, this is reality where her sexual pleasure will be my responsibility, not yours. That's how this works for me."

Erin moaned; I realized she was moving her hips, rubbing herself against my fingers, humping them, basically masturbating herself.

"But I...we..."

"My responsibility, Paul, not yours."

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Following Up

It's interesting, she misses 'it' not 'him'.

I asked her about that, why the 'it' and not the 'him'.

"I don't know," Emily said, "I guess...I mean...I liked him...I liked him a lot, don't get me wrong, I just...I miss the other stuff, too. The flirting with different guys. Teasing you with different guys. Different guys. I don't know."

"So what are you doing...after..."

"After after? Losing the baby weight," she said touching her growing stomach, "fitting into a tight black dress again."


I pictured her, smiled. "I mean, are you seeing him again?"

"Maybe once for 'old time sake' or whatever, but I don't think...I don't know if I want to date him again."

"You just want to fuck him," I said. The words sound harsh, but my tone was anything but.

"Maybe," she smiled. "He's good. Really good. And I miss it, I do. I miss his...I don't know..."

"His masculinity," I suggested.

"Yea," she said. "He's got a way. His dominance. His...everything..."

"But..."

"I don't know," she said, "maybe I'm being silly."

"You...you don't have to," I said.

"Is that code for you don't want me to?" she asked.

"No. I mean...I don't want to suggest whatever you want is okay, but...I guess I feel like I want to give you some deference, too."

She reached over, touched me leg, smiled. "You're such a doll," she said. "I know you worry, maybe that's part of it."

"I trust you," I quickly said.

"I know, but you worry just the same, don't you? It's natural."

"I trust you," I said again.

"Do you trust him?"

I thought about it. "Oddly, I do."

"Why?"

"He doesn't seem like the type of guy to settle down."

"No," she laughed. "He's not. He's not that at all. I know he liked what we had but I really never got the sense he wanted more. That he wanted all this...the emotional intimacy. Heck, he's said it, hasn't he? He has emotional detachment issues. I'm not sure he's capable of love."

"I get that sense, too, Em, I suppose that's why I trust him."

"And here I thought I was giving you an out," she said.

"I thought the same," I said softly.

"God, here I am thinking you're worried about me falling for him, do I have to be worried about the opposite?"

"What's that mean?" I asked.

"Maybe you're the one I need to worry about!"

"Emily!"

"I'm just saying..."

"You're mean," I pouted.

"I'm teasing, Sara, I'm teasing. I get it it, I do. It seemed natural, didn't it, having a dominant man around."

"He just...I don't know..."

"Got us?" she asked.

"I suppose," I said.

"Well, we have awhile, don't we. To think about it."

"Yea," I said, "I suppose we do."


Thursday, October 25, 2018


We were in bed the other night; she was sitting on the edge and I was behind her, rubbing lotion onto her as I did most nights. I was gentle on her sore breasts, tender on her swollen belly, felt our growing child.

Emily was naked, I was feminized, of course, my clit safely under lock and key where it had been since we found out.

"You're such a doll," she said as I massaged her breasts and I could hear her breathing quicken, a sign I should massage lower at some point, a sign I received with increasing frequency lately. It was my fingers she seemed to desire, oiled fingers between her legs.

"I miss it," she said.

"It?" I asked.

"You know," she said.

"You...you're not..."

"God no," she looked back at me. "Not like this, never."

"You miss him?" I asked.

"No," she said, "that's the thing. I mean, yes, but it, really, all of it. Less him than it. I mean him, some, but more it. The way it makes me feel, the way you respond to it. I don't know if after he and I will..."

"S...someone else?"

"Perhaps, love, perhaps. I just miss...the newness...the flirting...the teasing. I miss you wondering, fantasizing, playing. Don't you?"

"I...I do," I said.

"It will be awhile, I know...but I miss it."

Play Time



Your wife has always been willing in the bedroom...so long as it was lights out, missionary position, plain, vanilla sex. A sort of "close her eyes and thing of England" view of intimate relations.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't like sex. To the contrary, she loves it.

With a man.

Ask him. Her man.

Ask him what she does for him.

The answer? Whatever she thinks he wants, whatever she thinks will turn him on, whatever he orders her to do.

With him, sex isn't an obligation, it's the raison d'ĂȘtre.

So there she is, in his bedroom on a Saturday night while you're home waiting.

There she is, in lingerie, on her hands and knees, legs spread, presenting herself to him.

Wet. Soaked. Begging. First with her eyes, then with her words.

"Fuck me, I'm yours," she says, over and over, until he does.



That awkward moment when you get home early, surprising your wife.


Friday, October 19, 2018

The Talk

"So, mom and I talked and I decided-she's right, it's best if she holds the key after the wedding."

"But Jessica," he exclaimed, "that...that's not fair!" He looked at his mother-in-law to be, knew she was harsher, much harsher than his fiancee. It had been her suggestion to try the chastity cage after she caught the two of them naked and on the verge.

"What's not fair?" the older woman asked.

"You...you don't understand a young man's urges."

"Oh, I understand them all too well, Daniel," she narrowed her eyes. "Urges we'll see are tamed one way or another."

"Jessica," he looked at his fiancee, "please, I...can't we talk about this...alone?"

"We can talk, Daniel," Jessica said, "but...but I already gave it to her."

"W...where is it?" Daniel asked, suddenly panicking.

The older women smiled. "In a box. In a package. On its way back to the West Coast. Where it will remain for the foreseeable future."

"But...but our honeymoon."

"Will be chaste...for one of you."


Sweetie, I know you like girls, but it's not really gay if we do it together.

Just think of it as you and I making love and inviting someone else to join us.


Sure, sucking cock sounds gay, but if you're doing it with me, how can that be?


After all, we're just sharing him, serving him, pleasing him together.


Well of course it will be messy, but I'll be there to help, trust me.

Monday, September 10, 2018

Convinced


Seeing your erection, your response to wearing sexy lingerie, your wife was convinced of two things. First, your protests that you didn't like dressing like a girl were total and utterly false. And second, she was installing you in a chastity cage, immediately, as you were never again going to be permitted to have an erection.

Monday, September 3, 2018

Just an update

So, we're thirteen weeks in, first trimester, officially, and everything is going great.



:)

Well, accept for morning sickness and tiredness. Which is waning.

Luckily, Emily has a very helpful live-in maid (smile) to take care of things around the house.



Of course, one (who did what was needed, wanted, and desired), is now safely back how she belongs. Reluctantly, at first, freedom is great, but understandably so, given my utter and total lack of self control.


(Not me). It's ironic how comforting a chastity cage can be.



Friday, August 3, 2018

New Bed


"Hon, where are you?" I called out to my wife, unable to find her.

"Up here, in the guest room," I heard her voice, followed it, found her standing in front of a bed I'd never seen dressed as sexy as she'd ever been dressed.

"He...he's in town?" I asked, the only reasonable explanation for her to be dressed like that on a Saturday night.

"He called a couple of hours ago," she said.

"What...what's that?" I asked my wife, looking at the bed I'd never seen before.

"It's for you," she said touching the footboard. "I thought it would this would do the trick."

"For...for me? What trick?" Then I saw the pink leather cuffs we sometimes played with. "You...you can't do that," I protested, "that...that's not safe."

"Not if we're here."

"We?" I asked, understanding her meaning at once.

"He didn't get a hotel, it was last minute," she said.

"But...here? He's coming here?"

"He won't want to be interrupted," she explained, "hence the bed and the cuffs."

Monday, July 23, 2018



I walked into the dining room, my heels clicking on the wood floor. My wife looked up at the sound and I saw her eyes glance over me, up and down, silently inspecting my maid's uniform. Her face was neutral, as always, giving no hint at her thoughts. I waited for her to speak, for what seemed forever, she said nothing. Finally she crossed her left leg over her right, the sound of her nylons the only sound in the house. She nodded.

"The...the kitchen's cleaned up, Ma'am," I said, afraid to say what I wanted to say, so instead relying on ritual.

She nodded, moved to rise.

"Ma'am," I interjected, needing to ask now, before she left the room, now the only time I could. I steadied myself, prepared to ask, prepared to plead my case.

She froze, crossed her eyes. "No," she said before I could form the words.

"No?" I asked, stunned at her decision, not just the decision, but the decision before I could even ask.

"No," she said again.

"But...I...you said...you said you'd consider it...last month...you said after another month you'd consider it."

She shrugged, an acknowledgment I was correct. But her word was the same. "No."

"Ma'am," I said swallowing, collecting myself, knowing there was no reason to get upset, knowing arguing was the worst thing I could do. "Have I...have I misbehaved?"

She looked at me hard, cold, inviting my own self examination. No, I hadn't, not lately, anyway. For the last six weeks I'd been nothing but the perfect sissy...serving her without complaint, dressing without complaint. Sure, the first two weeks were not perfect, they never were, after I was released.

That was part of the problem, of course, the longer it was, the better behaved I was, the longer between releases, the more time she had with me the way she liked me. After a release, I knew I was less than perfect, that the post-orgasmic chemicals messed with my brain. She knew it too, knew it took me about two weeks to become like I was now. And that the longer it was, the more time she got with me like this.

"You...you said you'd consider," I finally said, arguing as much as I dared.

"I did. Say I'd consider. And I did. Consider it. And the answer's no."

I felt my penis in the cage, felt it twitch. It was a weird thing, the longer I went, the less I seemed to spontaneously swell. But the soreness increased, seemingly exponentially. "I...I'm sore," I said, chastising myself for saying the words and obtaining nothing in return.

She shrugged. "I assumed," she said, uncrossing her legs, moving to stand. "I'm going out on Saturday night, behave and I'll milk it after."

As much as I told myself I hated it, that made me immediately swell. That thing she did, connecting certain things to other things. Behave when she was out on a date, behave when she got home, behave when I worshiped her after.

Behave and I'd get something. Not what I wanted, to be released and allowed to cum, instead I'd get what I needed, milked, while still in chastity, milked until I had the frustrating release of built up cum but without the orgasm associated with it.

No 'Mom' cut

For two reasons, I asked Emily to never get a 'Mom' haircut.

1. I love, love, love, long, feminine hair on a woman, especially her.

2. I hope, someday, to see someone, Matthew or someone else, do this to her again.




Wednesday, July 18, 2018

The Ex

So you're sure you want me to tell you about my ex-boyfriend again?


Well, I guess you could say it was the best sex I ever had.


I mean, that cock...fuck...that cock.


Plus, well, he had this one friend who, well...he was something.








Secured for Travel


Wednesday, June 13, 2018

This isn't what it looks like


"Oh god, honey, you...you're home early...I...this isn't what it looks like," your wife says.

"You...you mean it isn't three guys about to fuck you?" you ask, stunned.

"No, I mean...not three guys...they...two of the guys are running late and...well it's supposed to be five guys fucking me...which it will...when they get here."

"F...five?" you said stunned, "but..."

"Listen, why don't you go down and wait for the other two guys and be a dear and show them the way up when they get here."


Monday, June 11, 2018

New Book

So I wrote a new book. This one is a bit different as the protagonists are both males.

A strong, dominant older man.

A weak, submissive, reluctant sissy.

The premise is that a college student gets an internship over the summer and, having little money, his professor arranges for him to live with an older man who agrees to put him up for the summer.

Well, his luggage gets lost, the older man suggest he 'borrow' some female clothes and, well, things go from there.

I'll post some links when it's live.