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Category Archives: Kelly

If you’ve been reading this memory series in its entirety, you might think this was a very short encounter. Let me assure you, it wasn’t. But words can’t adequately relay the passage of time. Oh sure, I could say, “And we did that for about 20 minutes,” but where’s the joy in writing something like that?  (Though Hank is definitely a short-game lover.)

All things considered, from the moment Kelly gave me the toy to the time Hank left the room, it was about an hour and a half of non-stop shenanigans. There were more positions and activities than I describe here, and Kelly and I continued alone for several hours thereafter. But that’s not the point of the story, and it’s not what I took away from the experience. It was the first threesome I really remember having (the second in reality, but I don’t recall many details of the first), and that’s what I want the writing to stress. So I am cutting off the story early because the rest was just more of the same. Exciting at the time, and in memory, but not necessarily fun to write.

And now, the thrilling conclusion. (Thrilling might be a strong word, but if you say it in that 30s pulp radio tone, it’s catchy.)

—————————————————————————————————————-

The tone of Kelly’s voice, equal parts demanding and beseeching, sends a shiver up my spine. But I maintain my composure as best I can. I approach the bed, and as I do, she shifts her body, rotating on her lower back, her legs locked around Hank’s waist to force him to move with her without removing himself from her. He doesn’t make the shuffle easy, as he insists on continuing to thrust into her, but she gradually completes the movement. Her head hangs over the edge of the bed, and she tilts it back, exposing her throat and smiling at me, upside-down.

I step forward, still lightly stroking myself, and Kelly grasps my hips and guides me where she wants me to stand. I can’t see her face through my hand and shaft, save for her chin, but I feel the warmth of her tongue and breath on my sack. I can’t suppress the gasp. This isn’t something she normally does, and I wholeheartedly approve. The slightly rough, wet sensation glides across my flesh only for a moment before Kelly reaches up, moves my hand aside, and grasps me by the base of my shaft. She pushes my hips back and guides me down, into her open, inviting mouth. We groan simultaneously, me because she has a truly gifted tongue, and her because she enjoys fellatio as much as sex. I feel her tongue against the head of my cock. She alternates between circles and gentle flicks against the tip, and the underside of her tongue is remarkably smooth. It’s an entirely new sensation to me.

But I relish it only for a moment before Hank resumes his jack rabbit routine. This time he falls to lie atop her, ruining my view of their penetration. He takes her nipple in his mouth, and sucks on it noisily, almost hungrily. I find it utterly distasteful, again, and lacking in any kind of civility, and despite the pleasurable sensations I can’t help but be put off by his style. (Sure, there is a time and place for that kind of vigorous fucking, but when it’s the only tool in your belt, it makes you kind of a boring partner.) On the plus side, with each thrust Kelly’s body rocks toward me, effectively causing her to bob her head and run her mouth along my shaft. She treats it as such, sucking me as if she wanted nothing more than that. She moans each time he pushes into her, the sound muted by my cock, and I run my thumb along her jawline. She grasps my hand suddenly, squeezing tightly and turning her head to remove me from her mouth.

“Jesus I’m gonna cum again!” she cries out loudly into the room, eliciting a groan from Hank. I squeeze her hand back and say, “Do it, honey. Come on his cock for me.”

That does it for her. She gasps at the words, and as I finish the words she bucks and tightens her abs, pulling her torso up and off the bed. She cries out again, and she doesn’t need to say it for me to know this orgasm is harder than the first was. Hank cries out as well, and I know how hard the contractions must be around him, because I experience it regularly. But he can’t cope. He suddenly pulls back and away from her. I watch him grab his shaft and stroke frantically, releasing several long ropes of cum across her stomach, her breasts, her cheek…

…and my thigh, and my groin, just above the base of my shaft. I jump a little, but not far. It was unexpected, but… not entirely unpleasant. I suppress the urge to taste it, but only just.

Hank laughs and points at my leg. “Oh man… I don’t normally shoot that far. My bad, bro.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. I know someone who will help.” Kelly released my hand as her orgasm subsided, and I stroke her cheek again. She breathes heavily, almost panting, but she rolls onto her side and look at my groin. She stifles a laugh, but snorts through her nose. “I can definitely help with that,” she says sweetly, and runs her tongue heavily up my leg, cleaning Hank’s cum off my thigh. The second rope has begun to run down my groin, across my shaft, and she cleans there as well, diligently licking every trace of him off of me.

I lean down and kiss her, and I taste him on her. Salty, much more so than I expected, and aromatic. Definitely different from my own flavor. It might be distasteful if I weren’t so turned on. Instead I groan against her lips and slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting more of the salty flavor, and strangely, unexpectedly, loving it.

Hank laughs again and falls onto the bed beside Kelly. “Man, you two are fucking freaky.”

Kelly breaks away and scoops some of his deposit from her stomach with two fingers. She rubs it gently on the head of my cock, and just as gently removes it with her tongue. I shiver.

“No we’re not,” she answers. “We just don’t limit ourselves.”

“Never,” I almost whisper. She smiles at me again, and delicately kisses the tip of my cock.

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Taking a few minutes out of my day to continue the story from yesterday. Sure, I could be working up a manuscript or cranking on a new analysis, but this is more exciting right now.

You may gather from reading this that I was rather unimpressed by Hank’s fucking, and you would be right. He really takes the jack rabbit approach to fucking–get in, hump fast and hard, and get out. I find that terribly boring. But, he had great abs, a tight butt, and a not unimpressive package, so I can’t really complain.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Hanks climbs onto the bed and shuffles toward us on his knees. Kelly watches him eagerly, her body quivering and jerking in rhythm with each slow thrust of the toy. I lean back a bit, opening Kelly’s body to him. He lies beside her, cozying up against her comfortably, grinding his semi-erect cock into her hip. I hear her whimper, and watch as she turns her head, kissing Hank with parted lips.

It’s an interesting thing, watching two people kiss with the passion of new lovers. There is an awkwardness there, as she is obviously unsure how best to kiss someone other than me, but Hank is oblivious to it. He places his hand on the back of her head and kisses her deeply and fully, but with a degree of… ineptitude, maybe? Clumsiness? I can’t place it. But it seems very forceful, lacking in tact. I can see his tongue in her mouth, and she clearly enjoys it, but I don’t see how, given the sloppy, slobbery noises he produces. I would be turned off by it, but Kelly reaches for his groin and grasps his cock firmly, coaxing it to full attention.

That certainly does it for me. Whatever Hank may lack in kissing ability, at least he has a nice package.

I lean in and kiss, then bite at, Kelly’s collarbone. “How about I get out of the way for a minute?”

Hank breaks away from Kelly’s lips and grins. Kelly, eyes half-lidded, her jaw slack, nods and whispers, “Yeah…”

I pull the toy back, careful not to move too quickly. There is a feint *pop* as it withdraws from her, and her hips buck slightly. I  roll off the bed and stand, turning to face them and deftly removing my shirt. I tug at my belt and watch Hank rise to his knees again and grab Kelly under her knees, easily maneuvering her into position. She squeals and laughs at the sudden movement, and says something I can’t distinguish, as I’m already splitting my focus between the show at hand, and getting my pants off (this goddamned belt….). I manage to open my jeans and give them a push down and off my hips just as Kelly grabs Hank’s length again, guiding him toward her. My body tingles with excitement as Hank, still on his knees, pulls her toward him.

I think we both gasp as he enters her.

I am suddenly keenly aware of a number of things, watching Hank begin to fuck my beloved Kelly. I find myself comparing his fucking to his kissing; he drives into her with abandon, like most porn stars I’ve ever seen, slapping his groin into hers at a fast and steady pace. As before, it seems to lack tact, or any consideration for his partner. It’s a decidedly different style from mine–whereas I try to be simultaneously gentle and intense, rarely ever banging away at my partner in favor of taking my time, Hank fucks Kelly as though his only goal is to get off as fast as possible.

Kelly doesn’t seem to mind, though. Her head is pressed back into the pillow, her back arched, her eyes tightly closed. She is pulling at the sheets, her knuckles white, her skin flushed. She makes no sound but for the occasional gasp, and I can tell she is having a fairly intense orgasm.

There is a slight pang of jealousy, perhaps, but it is overwhelmed by the incredibly licentious nature of the entire affair. And I admit, I thoroughly enjoy watching his cock slide in and out of her.

Kelly finally catches her breath, and her eyes snap open. She puts her hands on Hank’s chest and pushes, laughing drunkenly, and says, “Oooookay, okay, slow down there. I need you to last.” Hank looks at her rather stupidly, I think, but he shrugs and slows his pace accordingly. She turns her head to me and smiles broadly.

“I love you,” she says to me.

I smile back. “I love you too.”

Hank laughs. “What, no love for me?”

Kelly practically purrs, and rocks her hips against him, taking his cock a bit deeper into her than before. “You’ll get plenty of love.” He grunts and grasps her hips, hoisting them slightly off the bed, presumably to improve his angle. Kelly looks back to me, and stares pointedly at my cock. I’m slowly jerking off, watching them.

…when did I start doing that?

“Would you like something?” I ask, intentionally coy.

Kelly nods and points to my groin. “That. In my mouth. Right now.”

I don’t feel old, but man, when I think about how long it’s been since this experience actually happened… woof. This was almost a decade ago, before Hank became a portly papa, and before my relationship with Kelly was obviously headed for the rocks. It was also one hell of an amazing experience. Totally a multi-parter. Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————————-

Kelly sits beside the pillows on the bed, her legs hugged to her chest, her chin on her knees. Her eyes are closed. She breathes slowly, methodically. I can sense her tension from my vantage point across the room, in a not entirely comfortable armchair.

“You don’t have to do this,” I remind her gently.

She looks up at me, and smiles nervously. “No,” she says quietly, “I don’t. But I really want to.”

I nod. “Okay then. What can I do to help make you comfortable?”

She purses her lips, thinking, then turns away from me, toward the bedside table. “Maybe use this on me?”

She turns back and holds up the silicon dong we had purchased earlier in the week. It’s a bit longer and wider than I am, but it’s modeled after some pornstar whose name I don’t know, so I’m not really surprised. The box had described it as ultra-realistic, and it hadn’t lied. I would have sworn it was the real deal. Veins run along the shaft, the cyber-skin coating has imperfections akin to a real cock, and the package (haha) is complete with a pair of fleshy balls. I can’t help but be impressed by the thing. The only unnatural thing about it, aside from it not being attached to a dude, is the black nub sticking out of the base.

I smile and approach her. I take the dong from her hand. “Strip. Now.” It’s a command, but I say it with as much patience and kindness as my rising libido can permit.

Kelly takes another nervous breath, then stands on the bed. One deft movement removes the shirt, exposing her lithe dancer’s frame and petite breasts. Her nipples are hard, presumably from anticipation. She hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her shorts and gives a little tug, and they drop to her ankles. Her pussy is at eye level where I stand. I look up at her, and I know she understands what I want without saying it. We connect at that level. She steps to the edge of the bed and brushes her shaven mound against my cheek. I turn my head a little and flick my tongue out, stroking her swollen labia, teasing them apart, exposing her clit. I hear her gasp, and I continue only for a moment, until her lips are spread wide, her wetness inviting.

I draw my head back. “Lay down.”

She drops to her knees in front of me and kisses me gently before lying back on the bed. She situates a pillow under her head, and I climb onto the bed beside her. She watches as I place the dong in my mouth, lubricating it (and, honestly, getting a bit of a thrill from the feel of a cock in my mouth–that’s unexpected). I smile down at her and lightly rub the head against her center. She bites her lip and nods ever so slightly. I maintain eye contact as I orient the toy, and push, just enough to slip the head inside of her. She gasps again. Her brow knits, and her mouth opens slightly, a quiet “Ooh” escaping. I pause a moment, then push again. My saliva and her wetness are a perfect lubrication, and despite its size, the fake cock practically glides forward, into her. Another “Ooh” from her, this one prolonged, lasting as long as it takes for the toy to be fully inside of her. It takes me a moment to determine her moans are from pleasure, though I imagine the stretching is a bit more than she’s used to. I carefully slide the toy back, and she jerks a bit, grasping the sheets and arching her back slightly.

I pause. “Too much?”

She shakes her head. “No… it’s tight, but I like it…” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “Fuck me with it.”

I grin, and take a firm grip under the base of the toy. I begin pumping it slowly, to and fro. I am quietly amazed by how smoothly the thing glides within her–she must be incredibly turned on to be this wet. Kelly grips the sheets tighter and begins rocking against the toy. She breathes quickly, each inhalation short, and each exhalation a quiet “hah” into the silence of the room. I duck my head down, taking one nipple into my mouth. She thrusts her chest up toward me, and as I bite down with my incisors on the perky flesh, my middle finger presses the black nub on the toy. I hear the deep “thrummmmmm” of the motor as it activates, and feel the vibration through my arm, and even through my teeth as it travels up her body. Kelly instantly bucks against my hand, and she wraps her arm around me, clinging to me, her bare flesh warm and clammy. She moans properly, and says what sound to me like, “Oh holy God,” but it’s hard to tell through the groaning.

Then I hear a click from the corner, and the sound of old hinges squealing against each other. Kelly and I both turn to look at the door. Hank steps into the room, freshly showered and holding a towel in his left hand. He is nude, and his cock stands at half-mast, solid but not entirely at attention. I can’t explain the little thrill I get at seeing him there, and I make no attempt to hide the fact that I’m watching his member pulse, slowly growing more firm.

“You guys couldn’t wait, huh?” He towels at his hair a little.

I shake my head. “Nope. We’re way too excited to be patient.”

Hank tosses the towel aside, and grabs his cock, giving it a couple of quick, practiced tugs. I hear Kelly moan again, and I glance down to see her staring eagerly at him, wide eyes locked on his manhood. She stretches out her left hand toward him and makes a grasping motion. “I want that….”

The look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, Hanks’s presence in the room… it all feels so surreal, but my body practically tingles in anticipation, and my cock throbs eagerly against my boxers as Hank approaches the bed.

Kelly’s lips are pressed firmly against my own.  She’s a surprisingly talented kisser, occasionally darting her tongue teasingly across my lips, nipping at them, varying the pressure of her kiss and turning her head slightly to keep things interesting.  Her hands grip my shoulders, and mine rest comfortably on her round, well-muscled ass.  I’ve never kissed anyone this good, or with a body this fantastically toned, and the sensation of her lean, petite frame pressed against mine is maddening.

She suddenly breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath, her eyes wide, and she whispers through panting breaths, “Do you have any condoms?”

I blink in confusion.  She and I had made out once before, but she had been slightly drunk and was in a relationship with a guy back home, so I wasn’t expecting such an abrupt question, or even the opportunity to actually pursue something physical with her.  So all I can manage to say is, “Umm… no?”

“That’s a shame,” she says.  Her fingertips trace circles on my stomach–wait, when did she unbutton my shirt?

“A shame?” I repeat blankly.  “Why?”  Master of witty rapport, that’s me.

“Because if you did,” she answers calmly, “I’d fuck you right now.”

Consider my mind fully blown.

“Do you want me to–”

Kelly cuts me off by grabbing my crotch.  She bites her lower lip as she gives my hard length a tentative squeeze between forefinger and thumb, gasping in what I think is surprise.  “Holy… yeah, that will do.”  She steps away and sits on my bed.  “I’ll wait here.”

I bolt out of my dorm room faster than any man in history has moved before.  In a heartbeat, I’m knocking insistently on my neighbor’s door.  He opens it and immediately starts laughing at me, standing in the hall with my half-buttoned shirt hanging open, my hair unkempt from the aggressively physical make-out session.  “Dude, nice outfit.  She fuck you or what?”

“Not yet!”  I say, a little louder than I had intended.  “You owe me a condom.  Pay up.”

He laughs again as he retrieves a wooden cigar box, which he holds open to me.  “Take your pick.  Lubed or unlubed, colored, ribbed?  I even have some glow-in-the-dark ones that are usually good for a laugh.”

“Don’t care,” I reply.  I take a mixed handful of the small square packages and quickly about-face.  I hear him say something to the effect of, “Optimistic, aren’t we?” as I close the door to my dorm room behind me.

Kelly is still sitting on my bed, leaning back casually on her elbows.  “Did you get one?”

“More than one,” I answer, tossing the fistful of condoms on the bed beside her.  “I took the potluck approach.”

“I bet we can use them all tonight,” Kelly says, her voice suddenly more husky, almost raspy.  The sound makes my heart race in anticipation, and she beckons–literally, with one crooked finger.

I step forward, and she quickly, and a little too expertly, hooks her thumbs through my belt loops, pulling my hips toward her face.  I watch in astonishment as she leans her face toward me, biting at the button of my jeans and tugging, pulling it through the slot with a deft turn of her head.  She grips the zipper with her lips and draws that down as well.

Without thinking, I mutter, “Hope you’re not planning on gnawing your way through my boxers.  This is my favorite pair.”  I immediately remind myself to shut the fuck up.

Kelly looks up at me, eyes gleaming wickedly, and simply says, “Nah.”  Her thumbs hook under the waistline, and she pulls down, freeing me from my jeans and boxers in one easy pull.  She looks away from me, to my fully erect member, and I hear her gasp again.  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?!”  She wraps her hand around my shaft and moves me around as if inspecting me.  The scrutiny makes me slightly uncomfortable, but the feeling disappears as she draws me into her mouth.  I can’t stop myself from groaning as I feel her throat muscles contract, pulling me down her throat.  She makes a small, unpleasant choking sound as she pulls her head back, and she gasps, this time for air.

“Nope, can’t deepthroat you,” she says as she wipes her mouth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to choke you,” I mutter.

Kelly laughs brightly.  “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.  Besides, there are plenty of other things I can do with this.”  She stresses “this” by grabbing my shaft again and squeezing gently.  I can barely breathe, I’m so…  Aroused?  Horny?  No, I think the only appropriate word is maddened, driven to the brink of insanity by the anticipation of what’s to come.  Every nerve in my body is tingling, and I am hyperaware of every touch of her skin against mine as she removes my shirt… the sight of her standing and disrobing, exposing pale flesh, tiny yet perky breasts, a well-groomed landing strip… the sound of rumbling bass and high guitar chords…

…wait, what?

Through the walls, I hear, “I’ve been really tryyyyyyyyyyin’, baaaaaaby…”

Oh no.

The music continues, and Marvin Gaye croons to us.  “Tryin’ tah hooold back this feelin’, for soooooo looooooooooooooooooong…”

Kelly and I both look to the wall, eyes wide.  “And if you feel like I feel baby… come on, whoa, come on…”

Kelly quickly presses her fully nude body against mine, dancing against me, and sings along, “Let’s get it ooooooooooooon…………”  She nails the falsetto squeal and laughs again as she rests her head on my shoulder.  “Your neighbors have a fucked up sense of humor.”

“Yeah,” I say numbly, “sorry about that.  I got the condoms from him, so I guess he thought this would be funny.”

“Well…”  She looks up at me, and the wicked gleam in her eyes returns.  “If they want to be spectators, we may as well give them a good show…”

Within minutes, and for the next several hours, the music is drowned out by Kelly’s high-pitched, pleading cries, and I can’t help but think that this is what Marvin had in mind.

The next morning, I walk bleary-eyed into the communal kitchen of my hall, and am immediately greeted by thunderous applause and cheers from my hallmates.  My neighbor gives me a firm thumbs up.

All I can do is bow.

If you’ve ever read my pages “Players on my Stage” or “What the Categories Mean”, you’ll have noticed that I talk a lot about Kelly as being a major contributor to who and what I am today.  The following memory is an example of why I think so.

—————————————————————

My cell phone vibrates beside me, the sound of plastic rattling against my wood desk drawing my attention from my writing.  I pick it up and look at the screen.  My heart skips a beat.  Slowly, almost cautiously, I flip the screen up and hold the thing to my ear.  I try to sound natural.  “Hello?”

“Hey!”  Kelly sounds happy, an uncommon occurrence since our break-up months ago.  “What are you doing?”

“Oh, writing a paper on insulin-like proteins as growth factors in fruit flies,” I respond.  It’s hard to sound nonchalant when you talk about neurobiology, but I think I pull it off nicely.  “What are you up to tonight?”

“Cleaning my house,” she answers.  “I’m trying to move my furniture around too, but my piano is too heavy.  Can you maybe come over and help me out a bit?”

She needs my help.  Figures.  “Oh, well… I’m kind of busy right now.  I have to get this paper finished before Friday so I can work on my capstone reading over the weekend, so I don’t think–”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”  Kelly’s voice takes on that tone.  Husky, almost raspy, but full of promise.  It sets my stomach turning in eager anticipation, and my breath catches.  She knows that got my attention, and I detect a hint of victorious smugness when she says, “The sooner you get here, the better.”

I swallow and find my voice again.  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Kelly still lives in our old apartment.  I moved out when she broke up with me, but she decided to stay and “make new memories”.  I pause at the door and consider the nature of those memories.  After we parted ways, Kelly gave herself over completely to her baser instincts, not because she wanted to explore them, but, I suspected, because she wanted to hurt me.  And she did.  Often.  Calling me while she was being fucked by a stranger, just so I could hear her moaning.  Sending me pictures of her sucking another guy’s dick.  Bragging about her raunchy encounters with multiple partners when I show up at the bar, then laughing when she sees the pain on my face.  Even her best friends apologize to me for her behavior, assuring me she’s only doing it to make me suffer, and she doesn’t talk about it when I’m not around.  I know Kelly is only concerned about making me as miserable as she’s become over the past year, and I know that doing what I know will inevitably happen tonight will only drive me deeper into the ground.  Yet there I stand at the door, knocking lightly, waiting for her to appear at the door.

And when it finally opens… holy shit.

Kelly swings the door wide.  Her dark hair is pulled back into a working bun, and she has her librarian-styled reading glasses on.  And that’s it.  From head to toe, she is completely nude, and she leans against the door in such a way that every muscle in her dancer’s figure flexes tantalizingly.  She must have just shaved every inch of her body in preparation for my arrival, because her skin looks even more smooth than usual.  I can plainly see how moist and swollen she is, even from here.

“Hey there handsome,” she greets me cheerfully.  “Come on in.”

I just stand there and gawk.

Kelly quirks an eyebrow and smirks at me.  She steps out of the apartment and stands no more than an inch away from me, in clear view of anyone that might happen to walk by.  “You gonna make me stand out here naked?  Because you know I’ll do it.”

Wordlessly, I let her lead me inside.  She walks away from me, swaying her hips more than her stride would dictate.  Her ass is truly heart-shaped, toned from years of dance training, and she continues to smirk as she watches me stare at it.  “When you’re done ogling my ass, I’d appreciate it if you would move the piano so I can vacuum under it.”

I move the piano as instructed.  And the dining room table.  And the entertainment center.  And the couch.  It’s hard work by yourself, but every time I move another piece of furniture, Kelly rewards me by cleaning in the most erotic manner possible.  She pushes the vacuum farther than necessary, stretching her legs and torso, bending at the waist to give me a clear view of her pussy.  She stands almost on point to remove the cobwebs at the corners of the ceiling, her calves flexing, ass tightening, chest jutting forward.  She purposely spills water on her breasts and stomach as she washes the windows, again exposing herself to the outside world.  All the while, I watch, and work.  I feel almost drunk, my mind is so foggy, not thinking, just absorbing her every movement, her every command.

Several hours pass, and the apartment is spotless.  Kelly sighs and stretches languidly as she admires the room.  “Much better.”  Then she looks catlike toward me.  “I guess you want your reward.”

I’m so lightheaded I can’t find any words.  Kelly walks to the piano, pulls the small bench out, and straddles it.  As she spreads her legs open, her lips part, and she’s so aroused that, when she sits on the bench, she leaves behind a faint line of moisture.  She notices the line and smiles wickedly, then leans back against the piano and says, simply, “Clean that up.”

I move toward her and obediently fall to my knees before the bench.  I reach toward the moisture with my hand, but she grabs it and pushes it away.  “I didn’t say you could use your hands.”

I consider this as deeply as my befuddled brain will permit, which is to say, I don’t.  Instead, I lean my face toward the bench, no more than a breath away from her center.  I can smell her wetness, and feel the heat radiating off her.  I run my tongue across the bench, tasting first the sharp, acrid tang of polished wood, then the salty sweetness of her, the residue she left behind when she sat.  I do so slowly, not because I want to be sexy, but because my body will simply not work any faster.

I hear her say, breathlessly, “Very good.  Now clean me up.”

My face lifts, and I run my tongue across her.  I keep my hands on my knees as instructed, using only my mouth to pleasure her.  I trace the shape of her with the tip of my tongue, then lick heavily from anus to clit.  I lap up every drop of moisture she has.  And I keep going.  Heavy strokes of my tongue from bottom to top, slowly, methodically.  No variety, no deviations, I just do precisely as I’m told.  She makes no sound, no movement, nothing to suggest that she enjoys any of it.  So I am caught off guard when I feel her spasm beneath my tongue.  I look up toward her and see her eyes half-lidded, her mouth open in a wordless moan, as she cums harder than I’ve ever seen her before.  So hard she bends at the waist, curling in on herself.  So hard she even squirts a little, filling my mouth and covering my chin and shirt.  And I keep going, swallowing what she gives me as she cums again, licking her deliberately, until she finally gives in and pushes my head away from her.

Kelly breathes heavily, still leaning against the piano.  “Fuck you’re so good at that.”  I smile a little and start to remove my shirt, but she grabs my hand.

“Sorry honey, but no sex for you.  I’ve got Tony coming over in a while.  But thanks for getting me ready.”

Wait… what?

“I’ve got to take a shower.  Run along now, little doggy.”  Kelly climbs off of the bench and walks to the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the floor, covered in her juices.  I hear the shower activate and realize she’s serious.

I was right.  She just wanted to hurt me.  And she knew exactly how to do it.

I should be angry.  Fuck, I am angry.  But instead of confronting her, I simply stand up, put on my jacket, and leave the apartment.  It’s an all too familiar sensation, walking out of that place, knowing what she will be doing in a few hours, and being completely powerless to prevent myself from feeling betrayed, and used, and hurt.

“Serves you right,” I say to myself.  There is no bitterness in the words.  Only objectivity, as if I truly deserve to feel this way.  And on some level, I think I do.

Wow, what a hectic week this has been.  Sorry I’ve been away for a few days, but I had to play catch-up with the backlog of work and research while keeping up with Ashley’s newfound sexual appetite.  (I swear, it’s like being married to a whole new person.)  But I’ve finally caught up, so regular posts should resume this coming week!

By request, the following is a retelling of my one failed experience with anything resembling BDSM.  Not my best ending, but this is just the way it happened.

——————————————————————————————–

I walk through the door to my apartment and hang my backpack on the coatrack.  The apartment is dark and quiet, but as I begin removing my outer layers, I notice the pungent aroma of sandalwood and catch the distinct flickering of candlelight from the slightly cracked door to my and Kelly’s bedroom.  It’s a clear indicator that she has something special planned for us this evening.  I grin and lock the door behind me.

“Kelly?”  I move across the living room to the hall.

“In here…”  Her tone is deep, sultry, and possessed of a certain quality that I can neither describe nor replicate.  It’s an inviting sound mingled with her own arousal and anticipation, something she’s perfected over the years we’ve been together, and she knows its effect on me.  My breath immediately quickens as my body responds exactly how she’s conditioned it to.  I push the door open and step into the bedroom, eager to see what she has planned for us.

I am immediately struck by the sight of Kelly sitting up on the bed, completely nude, her back against the headboard, her legs spread wide open, her knees up and feet planted on the bed.  The candlelight makes her already pale flesh seem almost porceline.  Her left hand slides up her bare thigh, across her stomach, to her small breasts, which are barely half of a handful, but lovely and soft to the touch.  The fingers of her right glide lovingly across her clit, and I can clearly tell how aroused she is by the glistening moisture around her open lips.  She has clearly been doing this for a while, waiting for me to come home and find her like this.  She gives me the slightest of smiles and nods to the rest of the room.  “You like what I’ve done with the place?”

I have been so caught up in Kelly’s inviting posture that all I have noticed about the room is the candlelight and thin wisps of incense hovering in the air.  Now I take in my surroundings fully.  And I am more than mildly surprised.  The candles and incense rest on several tables that have been set up around the room.  They seem out of place surrounded by more sexual accessories than I’ve ever seen outside of an adult toy store.  One table holds a selection of restraining devices–handcuffs, iron shackles with soft felt padding, a cloth gag, various clamps, and two braids of rope of different thickness and consistency.  Another holds a set of dildos ranging from large to monstrous, anal beads, and a plug.  Still another displays a collection of riding crops, paddles, and even a cat o’ nine tails.

Holy hell.  I’ve always known Kelly had a kinky streak, but I am overwhelmed by the vast array of bondage-and-discipline equipment littering the room.  I laugh nervously.  “Wow, this is quite the setup you have here.”

“I borrowed it from Megan,” Kelly says softly.

“I didn’t know Megan was into this kind of thing.”  I examine the padded shackles absently, but Kelly steals my focus as she slides off the bed and walks toward me, her steps slow and measured and possessed of a dancer’s grace.  She stops in front of me and lifts the shackles with her left hand, smiling down at them briefly before looking back up at me.  Her eyes shine, whether from the candlelight or sheer desire, I can’t tell.  When she speaks again, her voice is little more than a whisper.

“I want you to abuse me.”

I know I look absolutely shocked.  “Uh… what?”

“I want you to abuse me,” she repeats.  “I am giving you the authority to do whatever you want to my body.  Put whatever you want inside me, wherever you want.  Tie me up.  Hit me.  I don’t care.”  Kelly steps back and picks up a riding crop.  She puts it in my hand, and I’m surprised by how light it is.  She guides my hand, making the short stick draw circles around her nipple.  “I want to be your victim.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

She turns and walks back to the bed.  She lies face down, her lower torso hanging off the bed, and reaches behind her to spread herself open.  “This is yours to do whatever you want.”

I stare stupidly at her for a moment before my brain finally catches up with the situation.  She has given me permission to do anything I want.  To use her body in whatever manner is most pleasing to me.  But I know this isn’t just about me.  She wants to derive pleasure from her total submission to me.  She wants me to control her, to dominate her.  To hurt her.  The thought makes me feel queasy, and dizzy.  But I don’t want to disappoint her.

I walk toward her numbly, holding the riding crop in my hand.  Kelly moves her hands above her head, gripping the bars of the headboard in anticipation.  Tenderly I rub the tip of the riding crop across her bare bottom.  Her hips wiggle a little in response, so I let the tip trail down lower, across the backs of her thighs, then her moist center.  I hear her breath catch, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Maybe I can do this after all.

I give the crop a quick flick against her bottom.  But I underestimated the flexibility of the thing, and that one flick bends the crop deeply and sends it snapping back against her ass with a loud pop.  Kelly cries out in pain.

Holy fuck no I can’t.

I practically throw the thing across the room, distancing myself from it as much as possible, and fall down beside her.  “Are you okay??  Oh fuck, did I hurt you??”

Kelly looks at at me with wide eyes, her confusion obvious.  “What the fuck?  Why did you stop?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I had really hurt you!”

“No!  Well, yes, but that’s okay, it’s what I want!”

I sit on the floor beside the bed in total bewilderment.  I look around at the tables, then back at her.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this!”

She sighs in exasperation and stands up.  “Christ, don’t be such a pussy!”  She storms out of the bedroom, and I hear the bathroom door slam shut.  She continues to rant, though I can’t understand a bit of her tirade.  I’m too focused on the riding crop, which is propped up against the corner of the room, almost proudly.  I am again overwhelmed by the sheer number of bizarre and intimidating devices around me.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself.  I return to the living room and collect my coat and backpack.  I can still vaguely hear Kelly griping to no one in particular through the closed bathroom door as I exit the apartment.

Author’s Note: Foul language and adult material ahead.  You’ve been warned.

I first realized I might have a problem several years ago, when I was in a serious relationship in college with a girl I thought I was going to marry.  I’ll call her Kelly.  Kelly is an artist–not the painting or drawing type, but the physical type.  Dancing, singing, acting.  She is really quite talented.  She is also the third woman I ever slept with.

And oh man, was she ever good.  Her dance experience made her particularly strong and limber, and the things we did together were just amazing.  She was curious in bed, willing to experiment and try new things (many of which I’m sure I’ll write about at a later date).  She was eager to please, and she could perform fellatio better than anyone I’ve been with since.  Couple her natural sexual abilities, trim body, and desire to experiment to a generally kind and compassionate soul, and she was one hell of a catch.  Our adventures together are still a subject of consideration on my part.

One weekend, she went out of town to visit her family.  A girl I had met a few months prior showed up at the store where I worked and was following me around as I performed my retail duties, chatting with me about this or that and flirting quite heavily with me.  After work, we ended up at her place, where we fucked ourselves silly for a good four hours.

This sort of behavior wasn’t at all unusual for me.  By this time, I had cheated on Kelly multiple times with her best friend, my previous ex-girlfriend, an old friend from high school, my best friend’s girlfriend, and several random girls I’d met at parties.  It had never meant anything more than a bit of fun, being involved with someone and knowing them as well as anyone can.  But that night was different because I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in this girl.  She was simply unappealing in every sense of the word.  Kelly was beautiful, funny, smart, great in bed, and as crazy about me as I was about her.  This girl was pointedly unattractive, a sleazy cliché of a human being, something I realized halfway through our marathon sex session.  She was nothing more than a friend to me, and a poor one at that, yet there I was, having sex with her.  I felt true revulsion for myself and what I was doing, to myself and to Kelly.  But it sure didn’t stop me from doing it.

I left the girl’s house with a sick sensation in my gut, for the first time feeling truly guilty for what I had done.  It was an immediate guilt that passed quickly when Kelly came home, but I will always remember it as the first time I was ashamed of myself for what I had done to someone for whom I cared so deeply.  It was a sensation that I have experienced over and over again since then.  Sex with that girl is now part of an incredibly long list of examples of how weak I am, a list that I view with a mingled since of guilt and nostalgia, because no matter how ashamed I may be of myself, thinking about what I’ve done and with whom always turns me on.  The guilt is overshadowed by recalling the pleasure of feeling a warm body pressed against and around me, the smell of sweat and exertion, the moans and grunts and everything equally disgusting and exciting about giving your body to someone else for their pleasure.  And I desperately crave that feeling, in equal parts genuine contrition and blissful disregard for anything but that single moment of ecstasy.

……………man.  I’m still not sure if I’m truly a sexual addict, but having written all of this down, I can say one thing for certain.

I might be one sick puppy.