Watch.

 

pull (a true story)

I jerked a handfull of hair backward.  Her eyes opened wide then rolled back in her head as I took the picture.

“Look at me,” I ordered her softly.  She opened her eyes and I took another picture.

“Good girl.”

This was definitely not the way I’d planned for the shoot to go.  In fact, I really had no plan for the shoot.  We’d only agreed to do it at all the day before.  We were shopping at the local fetish/porn store — me for a flogger and wartenberg wheel, she for lingere and shoes for her SO’s birthday.

“If I were shooting you, I’d have you wear those,”  I remarked, pointed to a pair of heels on display.  They were just this side of ballet toes, which turn me on in spite of myself.

“I’ve been thinking about us shooting,”  she replied.  “When are you free?”

So i made the trip out to her house the next day and we started shooting.  She was apprehensive at first — unsure of how to pose and very self-concsious of her body…Not something I’m used to dealing with of late.  The images turned out well enough, but I could tell she wasn’t into it.  We moved to the bedroom to try another idea.  I figured rope might help, as she was very into being bound.

I was struggling with a strappado tie (my ropework sucks) when I noticed her breaths coming heavier as the rope rubbed against her skin.  I tightened the makeshift tie and she sighed out loud.

“Mmm,” she murmured.  My curiosity piqued, I leaned around to she her face — the blissed out, subby expression inspired me.  I pulled the ropes tight and she gasped.

“Ah, you like?”  I asked rhetorically.  She just signed and tilted her head forward, her shiny straight hair making an invitation I couldn’t pass up.  I took a handful of it in my free hand and pulled it hard.  She gasped again and I felt her knees buckle.

“Bed?”  I whispered into her ear.  She nodded and I guided her to the mattress and our play begain in earnest.

It was surprising and a bit daunting at first, the feeling of control, the power to give pleasure, the very idea someone would want to feel this at my hands.  The hardest part was remembering to be more than just an observer/voyeur — this time I was actually the driving force of the scene.  I pulled hard on the rope and marveled at the way her face opened up, her eyes flashing, mouth agape and breathing heaving and harsh.

As we carried on, I remembered her telling me how pretty she felt the last time a partner bound and flogged her.  Looking into her face as waves of pleasure and pain spread across it, I was inspired again.  Taking both the rope and her hair in one hand, I reached over to the night table and picked up the camera.  I set the exposure and focus to automatic and took a photo.  It took a few moments to find a balance between my topping hand and my shooting hand, but once I did, I relished  this sudden new split in my personality.

I pulled.  She twitched and gasped, eyes rolling back, as I took a picture.  “Good girl,”  I whispered.  “You’re so pretty.  Not just pretty — beautiful.”  Her brow knitted and her dark pink lips turned up in a rueful smile.  I pulled suddenly and her face spread open in surprise and sensation.

“Aren’t you beautiful?”  I demanded with another sharp tug.  “Yes,”  she said, her voiced strained.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes.  I’m beautiful.”

“Good girl.”

I got a better grip on her hair and twisted her face towards me.  “Look at me,”  I said.  “Look at me.”  Her eyes opened and her cheeks flushed as I took another picture.  I pulled again and her back arched.

“Are you going to come for me?”  I asked.  “Are you?”  She said nothing with words, her eyes and breathing spoke for her.

“Come for me.  Come for my camera.”

It came from deep inside her, shaking her body from the spine outward.  Her eyes narrowed and her lips trembled with the halting, ragged breaths that announced her pleasure.  I kept taking photos until she sank back into the mattress.  Putting my camera down, I caressed her face as she opened her eyes.

“Good girl,”  I said, smiling.

She started to smile back at me…and I pulled the ropes tight all over again.

 

any resembles with persons living or dead…

I did not write this.  Amazingly, it was written about me.  If you think I wasn’t going to show it off, think again…

He knocked, heart pounding, and palms damp. Hearing her move beyond the door, he struggled not to look down; he knew she was watching him through the peep hole. And then the chain slid, and the door opened.

She stood with her eyes on his, and there was a small smile on her lips. She took his hand, brought him into the room, and let the door shut behind them.  Gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders and guided him to the wall of the tiny hallway. She still hadn’t spoken, and he had forgotten to try.

Her fingers moved over his neck, caressing his skin, and his eyes closed at her touch. He could feel the breath on his chest as she brought her face close, kissing him on the neck, her arms holding him now. The kisses were light, and landed randomly, and as she pulled back to look into his eyes, she smiled.

The air he had been holding was released in a long sigh and she reached up, pulling his face to hers, running her thumb across his lips. Her mouth replaced the finger, and she tasted him. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, the hold on him grew stronger, and she leaned into him. Enjoying herself, she let loose a small moan, and she felt his hand in her hair, clenched tightly.

Pulling back, she placed a finger on his lips, and instruction to be quiet, and removed his shirt, running her hands over his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, testing how ticklish he was, and where. Her hand was so pale against his dark skin, and it was beautiful. His pants followed, and he stood there bare in front of her.

She leaned into him, her mouth at his ear, and she whispered, “On your knees.”

He swallowed, and knelt before her in the middle of the room. Before he had time to settle, she brought her hand back and slapped him across the face. He rocked to the side, his cheek on fire, and warmth in his belly. His cock was hard, his nipples tight, and goose bumps rose on his arms as she walked around him to the dresser and took out a pair of cuffs and a set of nipple clamps attached on a chain. Raising his arms above his head, she clasped the metal around first one wrist, then the other.  Then, chuckling as he gasped at the pain, she affixed the clamps.

Bringing a chair to rest facing him, she sat and crossed her leg in front of him.

“Kiss my toes, my beautiful boy.”

His mouth was on them before she finished the sentence. Bending slightly, he kissed her toes, running his tongue over the tops of her feet, and in between her toes. It was difficult; because of the handcuffs, he had lost some of his balance, and he struggled to please her and not fall over.  Slowly she withdrew her foot, tangled her toes in the chain of the clamps, and tugged gently. He exhaled sharply through his teeth, and moaned a little as the pain increased.

Abruptly she withdrew her foot, and repeated the process with the other foot. She was delighted at how attentive he was, how well he responded to her caresses, and to the pain she gave him.

Leaning forward in the chair, she brought her face close to his, and laid her teeth on his lips, biting softly at first, and then harder, slipping a kiss in. He was so focused on this that he was startled by her hand on his cock. She stroked him gently, almost absently, and pulled again on the chain. His body shuddered at the overload of sensations.

Standing, she told him to get to his feet, and as he stood there in the middle of the room, she returned to the dresser to select a flogger and to retrieve the key for the cuffs. Removing the metal from his wrists, she massaged the creases they had left in his skin, and rubbed his shoulders as he brought his arms down to his sides.

“Face the wall, with your arms up.”

“Yes, miss.”

She ran her hands down his back, over his hips, gently kissing his shoulders, and then slipped a finger in between the chain again to tug wickedly. She smiled at his whimper of pain, and slapped his ass playfully as she moved to take her position behind him.

She swung rapidly, right and left, making sure to hit everywhere from his shoulders to his upper thighs. The strands would wrap around his side, between the cheeks of the butt that he had clenched tightly, and he would moan in pain. Her breath became heavy, a light sweat on her face appeared, and she continued on until she was satisfied.

“Stay there.”

“Yes, miss.”

The riding crop was like fire on his already warmed skin. Stripes appeared on his back, diagonal and horizontal, all the way to the tops of his buttocks. She would stop and caress his hot skin, and his body would sag against the wall.

When she had discarded the crop, she disrobed behind him. Gently, she pressed her body to his back, and removed the clamps. As the blood began to flow again in those sensitive peaks, she rubbed and caressed them, and turning him to her, lowered her mouth to them.

Taking his hands again, she pulled him towards the bed.

 

succubus (true story)

I found a second pillow and laid it on top of the one in the center of the bed.  I really wanted it to feel like Her body —  Her curves, Her warmth, the pale skin that was so inviting in the photos i’d seen of Her.  i’d spent most of the day before talking about Her to everyone i’d met, telling them how suddenly things had started between She and i and how easily we’d made plans to meet…and how excited and amazed i was to feel so desired by Her.  i’m sure i sounded like i was just bragging, but i couldn’t help it — She almost never leaves my mind anymore…we haven’t met and She’s already possessed me in a way.

Most of all i thought about what She wanted to with me — Her plans to take Her pleasure from me, to drink it from my lips, draw it out of my breath, to soak it up from my very skin.  The more She told me the more it seemed She was way past just playing or even topping me.  It was like She meant to possess me, experience me, to seep into my blood and become part of me…and make me part of Her.  She had become the Queen Sorceress and i was the raw materials for Her masterpiece incantation.

I put out the light and went over to the bed.  As i undressed, i imagined Her eyes on me, admiring, treasuring, wanting.  Even thought the room was dark, i closed my eyes to see Her better, to hear only Her voice, to be there with Her.

“You are beautiful.  Trust me on that,” She said, Her voice soft in tone but certain and strong underneath.

“Thank You, Miss,”  I whispered back.

Her voice lowered.  “Finish undressing, then stand still before me.  Let me see you.”

“Yes, Miss.”  i did as i was told.

“Do you feel my eyes on you?  Do you feel my gaze?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’ve read all about you,”  She said.  “I know everything you want and all that you need.  And i know that you’ll please me because you haven’t a choice.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Miss.”

i felt Her smile in the darkness.  “Come to bed then,”  she said, a husky edge in Her voice.  “I’ve waited long enough.”

i climbed into the bed.  the sheets were warm and soft against me and Her curves pressed into me.  i sighed gently, eager to sink, to find bottom, to find Sanctuary.

“Come lay in My arms, my pet,”  She said.  “I want to touch you.”

The curves of Her body pressed into my back and i let my head rest on Her shoulder.  Her breathing was slow and deep, identical to my own.

“Yes,”  She gently hissed into my ear.  “Now you are Mine.”  Her hands were cool as She began to touch me in the warm cocoon of blankets and skin.  i shivvered at first, but unclenched my body and let Her fingertips, palms. nails find me over and over.  She ran her nails over the scars on my chest, long a part of me, but still tender to the touch.  i gasped and bit my lip.  “Beautiful marks,”  She said lovingly.  “I shall add my own to your skin before i release you.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Her hands explored my torso as i fought not to arch my body out of Her grasp.  Her search felt perfunctory, as She seemed to know where i was most vulnerable, most sensitive, most open to Her magics.  My nipples, small but filled with blood, my sides, sensitive just short of being ticklish, the soft skin around my navel (“An outie!  Delightful” She exclaimed), the soft skin, just above my pubic hair, inexplicably sensitive — so she touched me there often. my cock, erect of course — She caressed it with a moistened hand while i gasped and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Mine…Mine…all Mine,”  She murmured over and over…a Witch-Queen casting Her spell.  i couldn’t think of anything else i would rather be.

Suddenly she stopped Her touching.  “Turn over,” She ordered.  Of course i did as commanded.  “Look into My eyes,”  She said sternly.

“Look at Me.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Look at Me,” now a whisper.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Don’t stop looking at Me.”

“Yes, Miss.

The first bite was to my lower lip, soft at first, but then harder and still harder, nearly drawing blood.  i kept looking into Her eyes, flashing with lust and joy.  She ran her tongue over the marks She made, letting a drop of saliva trickle off the bottom of my lip.  i kept looking into Her eyes.  She fixed her mouth to my neck, sucking slowly i imagined the bruise it would leave and how proudly i’d wear it.  i cheated and closed my eyes as She dipped to taste my neck, my chest, Her tongue leaving warm, wet trails on my skin that cooled and burned at the same time.  i couldn’t control my breathing:  one breath deep and full, the next short and ragged, the next just an empty gasp as She found some new spot, some new chink in my everyday armor, some new portal to access my heart and my soul.  i couldn’t control anything…all i could do was fall…fall…fall…

Bragging again?

“Look at me.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“What is this?”  She asked, smiling slyly.

“It’s my cock, Miss,” i said haltingly, gasps falling between the words.

“No.”

“Miss?”

“It’s Mine.  All Mine.  Isn’t it?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Do you think My cock would like to come, pet?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I think it would too, ”  She said,  grinning.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Such a smart boy,”  She said, biting into my neck again.

The orgasm seemed to come from the center of my spine, radiating outward, muscles cinching and cramping, then circling to my cock where the release  came.  i pressed my face into the pillow half-weeping, half-grunting as she whispered “Come for Me…come for Me…Are you coming?”  fainter and fainter.

i opened my eyes, the room was quiet…she had vanished.  But i knew she would return the next time i wished for her…maybe in the shower tomorrow.

 

Last Night (true Story)

“You promised to hit me if I got you photographs today.”

I was half-joking when I said it, but I’d be a liar to say part of me wasn’t serious.  It was my first official trip to the dungeon and the luxurious collection of tables, benches, cages, spinning wheels and racks was most inviting.  I’d been there the previous weekend for a private photo shoot with K.  but i’d had my professional/artistc brain i that day.  Now, at night, with lots of other people around, some starting to play, others just socializing, in various states of dress (and undress), my curious/hungry brain dictated, though i probably wouldn’t have been so forward with a stranger.

K was already talking to a beautiful, curvy woman with olive skin, slightly Asian features and gleaming straight black hair.  I got the feeling i was cutting in, but K seemed okay with it, so I let her lead me into the play space.  K chose a long bench with a center beam and two lower beams covered in textured vinyl.  She ordered me to strip and i obeyed quickly, feeling no trace of embarrassment or apprehension — a testament to the open, welcoming vibe i’d gotten since I’d arrived that evening.  K directed me to kneel face down on the center bench with my elbows and knees on the lower benches.  I did as I was told.  Looking to my left I saw the dark-haired woman seated on a chair, intently watching K and I.  To my right on the far side of the room was an older man whom I could swear wore ladies’ high-heeled shoes, also watching us silently.  For some reason, I didn’t mind being watched this way, being seen this way by total strangers.  Truth be told, it kind of excited me and also made me want to do well, behave properly and please K.  Maybe it’s a sub thing, I don’t know.

I felt K’s hands on my back, running along my spine, cool and soft and i couldn’t help smiling.  My dark skin seems to fascinate people when we play.  I have practically no body hair, so i guess that’s inviting too.  K came around to kneel and face me, smiling as she bound my wrists together and tethered them to a ring on the bench.  “Okay?” she asked softly.  “Yes, Mistress K,” i said looking her in the eyes.  After tying my hands, K briefly held them in hers, checking for warmth/curculation.  As she rose and went to tie my feet, i looked up to see two more players near us in a hot foot-worship scene:  He, shirtless and kneeling on the floor while she reclined in a sofa chair as he kissed, caressed, massaged and fully embraced her feet with what was obviously loving devotion.  They were so caught up in their intimate and silent scene that i don’t think they even realized i was watching….I found myself wondering if someday they’d allow me to photograph their beautiful ritual.

The slap of K’s hand on my bare ass brought me back to myself and back under her command.  I loved how she kept a free hand on my back even as she struck me;  though i couldn’t see her i always knew she was “with” me through her touch.  I wondered if that was something she learned from Her Master…or if she was just wonderfully sensitive that way.  Maybe both?

She struck me with her open hand several times before returning to the skin of my back.  I use lots of moisturizer to avoid dry, ashy skin (especially in winter) so I imagine my skin is much softer than the average man’s.  K raked her nails down the length of my back as i shivered and sighed.  She tried to tickle me along my sides, but i was more aroused than tickled.  I don’t have a steady SO, and this sort of touching is very intoxicating to me, which in turn brings our more of my vulnerable, submissive side.  I had to resist the urge to beg for more as I didn’t want to get caught “topping from the bottom.”

K broke contact with me long enough to visit the toy rack and chose a riding crop.  K is very into pony play and actual equestrian activities as well, so the crop suited her…and it showed.  Her blows were sharp and precise, stinging  my hips, thighs and ass, warming the skin and i suspect making it jiggle just slightly.  I’ve been told I have a nicely shaped ass so it didn’t surprise (or bother) me that she gave it so much attention.  I have to admit I felt very sexy when she would grab my ass after a blow or two.

I closed my eyes as K used the crop and tried to visualize her smile, her enjoyment as she took her pleasure of me.  Sensing me trying to “get ready” for her blows, she played “cat and mouse” with the crop, feinting, hesitating and finally striking once my guard was down.  I’m naturally attracted to smart/clever people, so this show of intelligence turned me on instantly.  Of course being turned on only added to my predicament;   belly-down is how i usually masturbate, so getting so excited in this position could have resulted in my coming quite easily…and i wasn’t sure if that was good form in this particular dungeon.  Fortunately K’s crop strokes reminded me to compose myself and behave in a proper, gentlemanly manner.

K alternated between the crop, a large flogger, a wicker paddle and a few different canes, stopping between each on to scratch, claw and massage my skin.  No matter where I’ve been, there’s never a great many people of color (especially submissive men) in any scene, so I’m usually the first black person most people play with.  I couldn’t help but smile as K relished my skin, like it was some delightful, exotic toy nobody else in the room could have.  I nearly laughed out loud as she wrote her name across my back.

I’m not sure if it was instinct or her own experience, by K always made sure to “come see me” smiling, letting me know she was please, making sure I was happy, even tweaking my nose a couple of times.  One thing I loved was her asking me to describe how each toy felt after she used it on me.  I’m pretty good with words (I hope) and my impressions definitely seemed to please her…Though for all the things she tried, that riding crop remained her favorite.

They say that time flies when something is fun, but in this case, time seemed to stand still, even stop as K and i gave and took.  Finally we had to stop:  K still had the dark-haired woman waiting patiently and I had to make the last bus for home.  She untied me and gently helped me sit up, giving me cool water to drink as she tidied up the play area.  As i began dressing, i shivered slightly, realizing i was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration.  I smiled, proud of the effort I’d given to K.  Once I was less spacey, K hugged me, telling me how please she was at how well I done and promising to tell my Sir just that.  She promised we’d play again and go even farther next time.

Obviously I’ll be holding her to that.

 

Why I Do What I Do…

“…so when i get the pictures, would it be totally narcissistic of me to masturbate to pictures of me masturbating?  i feel very funny masturbating to my own porn for some reason….it’s true…i totally masturbated to them saturday night and then ***** saw them and was so turned on we had phone sex…”

 

Still looks like porn to me.

So the debate continues regarding what my work is.  To me, it’s pornography, pure and simple – i make images of people being frankly sexual the objective being the arousal and release (if they so choose) of the viewer.  Simple.  Okay, I do like to think my approach to making my porn is more thoughtful and individualist than the mainstream, but I don’t think that separates what i do from Jenna Jameson and/or Ron Jeremy  in any respect (except  they actually make money with their porn).  Still, it’s always interesting hearing what other people call my work, though I rarely agree with what they tell me.  As I write this, I’m in a studio with two people each with a different take on my stuff.  One person identifies my work as “intimate erotica” while another describes it as “glamor photography” (definitely a first).  Both are interesting interpretations, but neither is accurate in my view.

For a long time, I’ve thought the issue people have with my work is they enjoy and respond to my work on a level they might not when confronted with mainstream porn; which is exactly what I aim for.  There’s no reason you can’t aesthetically and/or intellectually stimulate people while also getting them off.  The idea that the prurient and the aesthetic can’t co-exist is an idea I take no stock in.  Unfortunately, it’s an idea that’s firmly entrenched in most people’s minds…no matter what I say or do to dislodge it.

As I write this, not 10 feet away, a photo-shoot is going on where a bound and gagged model is having multiple forced orgasms for the camera.  The concept is “Damsel in Distress” for a pay site.  Not my thing, but I understand a lot of people dig it and it’s a huge commercial dollar.  I’ve never tried to shoot that style, but i totally respect the skill-set involved on both sides of the camera.  The audience skew for this sort of thing is definitely coming to it with prurient intent (a heightened sense of aesthetic or concept would probably put them off it).  DID imagery is built (sometimes even custom-built) to arouse the viewers:  get them up, get them off, which makes it porn by definition.  The work I do is equally intended to trigger arousal, to get people off — I know because it often does that for me personally when I look at my more intense images.  Nonetheless, I’m constantly told that what I do isn’t porn — can’t be porn simply because of the approach i take to creating it; because of my process…because there is a process to begin with.  Ironically, the process that some viewers use to separate my work from the mainstream of porn is totally connected to the reasons why I want my work classified as pornography:  Once it’s established that porn can come from someplace other than the mainstream,  from someplace equally creative, and prurient, then people with different desires can openly seek it out, ask for it, support it, demand it, create it themselves if need be.  As things stand socially, it’s pretty much impossible to insist on quality (or even customer satisfaction) from a product nobody will admit to using in the first place (but lots of people do).

It just occurred to me that even people in the mainstream of the mainstream porn industry, the people making some serious coin at it, tend to avoid calling their work pornography.  The last time I heard anyone from the mainstream discussing what they do, the term “adult industry” seemed to be the euphemism of choice.  I find myself wondering what their definition of porn is…And what they’d make of what I’m doing, as well as what they would call my work.  Anybody know any “adult performers” I can ask?

 

Slapped. (a true Story)

She slapped me again and Her eyes widened, staring into mine.  All i could do was sigh and thank Her…like i’d done after the last three slaps.  She smiled and we kissed.

“Mmm,”  She murmured.  “You’re a really good kisser.”

“i am. Miss?”

“Yes,”  she said.  “You are.”  She slapped me again,   then caressed the same spot with her cool open palm.  I shuddered and closed my eyes.

“Thank You, Miss.”  i said with a bashful smile.  “I hope i’m pleasing You.”

“Yes, you are.”  She slapped me again, smiling.  She shifted her position on my lap and instinctively I put my arms around her.  I regretted not asking permission first.  “Is it permitted for me to touch You this way?”  i asked.

“Of course,”  She told me.  “It’s fine.”

“May i kiss You again, Miss?”

“You may.”

I made a game of our kisses, gentle pecks on Her closed lips followed by pulling Her lower lip between mine, running tongues inside of each other’s mouths and then full, deep kisses…And then pulling away just far enough that i could rub noses with Her, which made her smile wider.

“I like that,”  she said each time i did it.  The last time, she slapped me for good measure.  I can’t even describe what it felt like to be slapped then caressed then kissed over and over by her…by this petite, naked angel who had fallen into my lap.  It was totally unreal.  “this must be what people feel like when they take drugs,”  i remember thinking to myself.  Her golden skin was soft to the touch.  I couldn’t help but be close to her, touch my stinging cheeks to her shoulders, greedily breathing in her scent, softly kissing her along her shoulders and collarbone.

“Am I pleasing You, Miss?”  i asked again…a habit with me.  I think that subbing for me gives me an unconscious right to be “needy” — repeatedly asking for approval.  I kept wondering what I looked like to her.

“Your nose is so tiny,”  she said playfully.  “It’s cute.”

“Thank You, Miss.  Do You like anything else about me?”  I probably wouldn’t ask such a bold question if we’d been formally playing, but…well You know how it is.

She gave me a wry smile.  “Well…Hmm…”  I gave her a playful squeeze and a wry look of my own.

“Okay,”  she admitted…”Your eyes are really nice….And I like these cheeks.  Chubby.”  She rubbed them gently before the next slap.  My head lolled forward against my will.  I had to focus hard to keep my arms around Her.  She shifted her weight towards me and pushed me back onto the bed.  The people on the other side of the room getting ready for the photo shoot paid little attention.  She pushed Her weight into me, cupping my chest in Her hands and squeezing as She pushed a knee between my legs.

“How does that make you feel?”  She demanded.

I have no idea what I told Her, but i remember it making her smile.  I started to wish I didn’t have to take pictures so soon.  Next time I visit that won’t be the case.

 

Room 205 (A True Story)

I set my camera on the hotel room sofa and turned back to face Her.

“May I suck your cock, Miss?”  I asked hopefully.

“You may,” She replied with a tiny smile and a gleam in he eye.  I set my hands on the Divan She reclined on, legs parted casually, openly brandishing the long black cock She’d been wearing for a while now.  I looked down at it, smooth and tusk-like, took a deep breath, licked my lips.  I felt hungry.

“Do it properly,” She said quietly but sternly.  Her eyes shone like frozen steel, joining with Her words to bind me without her having to lift a finger.

“Yes, Miss.  I try my best to please You,”  I told Her softly, sinking deeper into my serving place.

“I Know you do.”  She said tenderly.  “Start slowly, at the tip.  Carefully.”

Gratefully I did as I was told, taking the fluted head of her cock between my lips.  Running my tongue around the ridge, I savored the sharp black taste of the rubber as She shifted Her hips to push it closer to me.  I let my lips go soft around the head as the wetness of my mouth made the tip slick and shiny.  I sighed with the pleasure of pleasing Her as She took a deep breath at the same time — me giving, She taking, our harmony perfect and natural.

I glanced upward, into Her eyes.  Her face was taken over with an absent, almost beatific expression, faintly smiling and in obvious bliss.  “How far can you take it?”  She asked me.

“I don’t know, Miss,” I replied, “but I’ll do my best to please You.”

“I know you will,” She said softly, pushing Her hips towards me again.  I plunged my head down,  covering most of Her cock with my mouth, breathing deeply through my nose to take in the scent of Her body, the trace of Her sex.  “Mmmmm,”  was all She could say, as I savored her pleasure, relishing being the reason for it.

I could feel the energy starting to glow in me — almost from under my skin:  The hot thril that comes from submitting totally and serving well.  I could feel a different charge radiating from Her — the excitement at this newfound power to Take, to Command, to be Served and Submitted to.  The ability to hold another person still and obedient…without ever touching them, much less tieing them in any physical way.  I could feel our twin energies, our twin selves staring to mix — to collapse into one bright glow, the light beginning to creep into the corner of my eyes….flashing…glowing…flying….

…And suddenly I was back at the beginning.  On my knees before Her.  Her small, think hand gently pulling the cock from my mouth, a think strand of saliva hanging between the head and my lower lip.  I gasped a tiny bit, lunged to catch it as it broke, my head still fuzzy.

“That’s enough for now,”  She said softly through that same smile.  “We shouldn’t go too far the first time.”

“Yes, Miss,”  I said, unable to conceal my disappointment.

“We will do this again,”  She promised.  “And I know you’ll do better next time.”

“Yes, Miss,” I nodded.

 

too dirty for the internet?

…or at least a part of it.

came home yesterday to find that not one, but two of my recent images were deleted from ModelMayhem.com.

Don’t get me wrong, it certainly doesn’t bother me to know I make images that push buttons…I consider that one of the more interesting parts of my job, and I wish I could manage it more often. What annoys me is how utterly stupid sites like MM (and DA too) tend to act when they’re censoring people’s work. This is what ModelMayhem posts in one’s mailbox when they censor an image:
“You had too much (or too little) of sump’n sump’n in the following photo. It has been removed from your portfolio.

Thanks for your cooperation.”

Seriously now, what the fuck is that? You can’t tell me straight up what about the image caused it to be censored? If you’re going to censor people’s work out of hand, at least act like you believe in what you’re doing. But that’s just the point: moderated sites don’t believe in what they’re doing, or else they’d do it openly or at least be able to explain/defend what they do; maybe even communicate with the individual being censored on some intelligent level. Instead they opt for the vaugest terms, offered after the fact and signed by “the helpdesk” or “the moderator.” I don’t know about you, but when I think I’m doing the right thing, I cheerfully put my name on it, nice and big for people to see…Aren’t you moderators proud of the job you do?

But we already know the answer, the moderators don’t even believe in what they’re doing; If they did, people like me wouldn’t even be allowed on their sites in the first place. The fact is that sites like MM and DA don’t just want me to post my porn early and often, they need me to do so…Because people like me drive these sites. Without perverts like me, MM would be nothing but 5′ 3″ wanabe models suffering from “Tyra Poisoning” and DA would be nothing but bad anime sketches and flowers. I guess the reason I still hang out here (and on MM) is that one of these days, the moderators will slip and admit it, and I can’t miss that.