2. Favorite moment in the last 3 months?
4. Perfect day out: what, where, with whom?
5. Your most unexpected achievement?
Bonus: The kindest thing you ever did for a stranger?
This is a complete work of fiction. It stands alone but it really would be better if you read Part 1 first. This sequel was intended for Wicked Wednesday but I was late, so here we are on Masturbation Monday...!
|This is not me, but is the closest match I could find on 4chan|
|If you're reading captions you should probably know that|
my dick probably isn't as big as in that other pic. It's hard to tell.
|This is the image Mrs Fever used to illustrate her blog post (see that link below)|
It's a self portrait by Molly Moore © and you can find more of her photos here.
When I think of pornography, what comes to mind is explicit visual depictions of penetrative sex acts: disembodied genitals, objectification of the individual, baseness/crassness… Basically, graphic displays of sexual aggression.
And while I know it can be argued that porn comes in multiple forms, the word is associative for me, and is specific to images. Pictures. Moving pictures, especially. Watching a pornographic film is, to me, about as uplifting an experience as watching a slug crawl through the freshly turned dirt in my rose garden.
Images of my lover, often sent without seductive intent, will sometimes spark a low flame that accelerates a heat in me. A picture of his smooth-shaven skin will call to mind one of our rituals. His lips, bowed into a kiss....
I am incredibly lucky that I orgasm easily, it lends itself to how greedy, how needy I can be. The first orgasm is the longest work and hardest to maintain – it is also often the weakest. All it does is feed my craving for another. My body is tenser, tighter, wanting and willing to work towards the second orgasm – which is always just on the horizon, easy to view and not hard to slide into.
The catch, of course, is that the second orgasm makes it easier to come harder and faster. And the third makes me far more greedy than the first. On and on my body goes, wanting the next – it’s not always that the subsequent ones are harder nor even better, fireworks do not suddenly explode in orgasm splendor; but the more that I orgasm, the easier it is for me to reach another one. When every nerve is sensitive and feels pleasurable, it’s a challenge to not pursue that pleasure... [continued]
Pulling weeds in the heat of the sun, my cunt still sore from being used roughly earlier that warm Sunday morning, I crawled across the sandy soil, careful over the spiny pumpkin vines, plucking out the long grasses from among them. Master worked several feet away from me in his own patch of weedy vines.
"Pull up your shirt while you work so I can see your tits" he ordered. I lifted my shirt, freeing them, since I hadn't put on a bra that day. I attempted to tuck the shirt around in a knot so it would stay up even when I went back to crawling, but it would only stay for a short time and then I'd have to re-tuck it to give Master the view he wanted.
He came up to me, stood in front of me, and asked if I wanted a taste. Of course I did.
He unzipped his shorts and took out his cock. I eagerly took him in my mouth. That didn't last long before he turned me around, told me to get on all fours and jerked at my shorts. I helped slide them down in front. His cock slid into my aching wet hole. Soon he pulled me to stand up and ordered me to grab the corner post of the garden fence. I gripped rough wood in both hands as he entered me again...
There are two footnotes to the story I published yesterday (here). You should probably read it first before you read this part, if you haven't already. Although I've called this 'Part 2' I've also added NOT to the title, for obvious reasons....