Monthly Archives: November 2012

Vampire girl #18

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The previous episode is here.

 

I said, leaning forward against Diane’s ass, “That’s better.” 

 “Yeah, much better. You going to fuck me?”

“Pretty soon. But I promised you a whipping.”

“Well, you don’t have – “

“And you’re going to get whipped. You’ll be more fuckable afterwards. I promise. Now lift up your leg.”

“Huhn ?”

“Left leg. Get your knee up. Keep it wide.”

“Oh fuck.” But Diane obeyed. She raised and bent her knee, resting her foot on her right knee and leaning back against me for support.

I slipped the fingers of my right hand round and under her cunt, holding her tight. Then I gripped her, hard, until she grunted, not really in pain. 

“Good girl. This is meant to hurt. You ready?”

“Jesus. Jesus fucking…” The voice in which she said, “yes” was half whisper and half squeak.

“Good. Now, I’m going to need you to keep still.”

I raised the switch. 

 

The next episode is here.

Vampire girl #17

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The previous episode is here.

 

“So you’d like me to say, ‘I’ve been a bad girl. Please punish me, master.’ Would that turn you on?” 

Actually, it jolted my cock just hearing her quote that, even though she wasn’t exactly saying it. Not saying it on her own behalf. But I wasn’t going to admit that she had any sort of power.

“No, Diane, we’re past that. You don’t have to say anything. Not that anything you say would make any difference. I’m about to hurt you. Because you disobeyed me so you deserve it. Um, have you ever had any sort of punishment before? I mean, from a lover?”

“God no. I’ve never let – Well, never mind. No.” 

“Then you’re about to lose a virginity, of sorts. It’s an honour.” She laughed. “No, seriously, Diane. It really is an honour. For me.. And I’ll kiss it good bye. That virginity, I mean. And kiss you better. But turn around now.”

“Turn? My back? To you?” Each element, she managed to convey, was questionable, and unwise. 

I picked up one of the switches at my feet. It looked thin, leafy, but capable of delivering real pain. “Now.”

Diane turned her back, then took a step backwards, so her ass was just a few centimetres from my crotch.

I put put my hands on her hips and drew her back, making that contact. My cock pushed against her bottom, and I couldn’t help making a slight pumping, pleasuring motion. She was firmly, lusciously curved. I wanted her. She made a sound that I took as meaning she’d felt my cock and she approved. I sighed. 

 

The next episode is here.

Vampire girl #16

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The previous episode is here.

 

Diane had set me a challenge. But there’s a limit to how alarming a naked girl can look in a park, even with blood-red lippy and lots of mascara. So I smiled. “So, is there a bad girl in this park?” 

“What would you do about it, if there was?” 

“You’ll have to come here to find out.”

So this was ritual. Even she knew this game. “Um … I’m not sure I should.” 

“Diane.” Now I used the command voice. “Come here. Now.” 

And she took two steps forward before she thought and stopped. She frowned, hesitated. 

“Come here. Girl. Now.” And then she was in front of me, hands at her sides, waiting. I put my hand on her cheek, and pushed my thumb into her mouth. She sucked, warmly. She was breathing hard. And holding her tummy in. She hoped she looked sexy. Of course she did. 

“Little vampire girl, you like doing as you’re told. So you should do as you’re told. Shouldn’t you?”

Diane was still sucking, licking up and down the soft skin between my thumb and the palm of my hand. “Mmmm?” 

“So you have to learn not to disobey me. It wastes my time. And yours.”

Diane bit very gently on my thumb, and then licked it better. “Mmmmm.”

“That’s why I’m going to punish you.”

 

The next episode is here.

Vampire girl #15

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The previous episode is here.

 

I wrote the last episode of this story (Vampire girl #14, obviously) so long ago that it’s on the previous page.

I took a break mainly because I’ve been working hard on other projects and this story is hard to write. The reason it’s hard to write is mainly that its essentially a true story. So that means admitting that I was irresponsible enough to take  a woman to a park wearing just a shirt, and then get her to take the shirt off. Spoilers: I’m about to do worse.

But there’s also Diane, she whose name is not really Diane. I haven’t seen her in ages, and I don’t know where she is in the world, but she might one day read this blog. If she does, I hope she’ll feel that I’ve done her some kind of justice, that I haven’t just turned her into a bdsm wank figure, or made her seem silly. She’d read other things I’ve written, and she complained that I never wrote about her. I said I probably would, but only years later. Anyway, here it is, with respectful lust, plenty of misdirection to protect her identity, and I hope some truth where it counts.

So we were in a little clump of trees, the dark part of a park. Diane had taken her shirt off, which was all she was wearing apart from her Cons All-Stars. When I told her to bring her shirt to me she’d balled it up and threw it behind her. So she was a naked girl in a park, discovering that doing as she was told was sexy, and testing to see what I’d do about disobedience. 

 

The next episode is here.

Reasons not to have sex, Part 4

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I once fell into bed with my sister’s husband’s sister after a family wedding. We weren’t related at all, in the consanguinity (blood) sense. But we thought it was amusing that we might be brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and committing some sort of sex crime.

We looked it up later and discovered that we weren’t. We were mildly disappointed about that.

But real incest strikes me as worth avoiding. I fancied my aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, for a while when I was about nine or so, and she must have been in her mid-twenties. I remember I planted a more than family kiss on her that Christmas. She pretended to be impressed, which was nice of her. 

But though there’s an huge literature involving erotic scenarios between naughty nieces and their devilishly handsome, though wicked, uncles, the scenario seems likely to be disastrous in practice. And I’ve never fancied my sisters. No offence, if they ever find this blog; they just aren’t my type. 

Anyway, incest is the last of the reasons I can think of for not having sex. 

Reasons not to have sex, Part 3

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She was deeply cute, blonde, petite, and dressed too neatly for the bar she was in. She’d been dumped by her boyfriend a week ago. She’d spent a lot of time that night attaching herself to a guy who’d come to the bar with his own group of workmates.

At one in the morning, he’d lost his courage and gone back to his friends. He left with them. He was an idiot and a coward, and I saw that his running away had hurt her. So I told her, with some sincerity, that he was the stupidest man I’d ever seen, and she’d suddenly become my armful, with one hand on my arse.

But I used my magic dom voice to order her to go home, and I packed her into a taxi. That was weird behaviour, for me.

But I’d had to give her her wallet, and her phone, which she’d left on the dance floor.

But she was on a girl’s night out, with women I worked with. And if she wasn’t happy to wake up with me, I’d have done my career serious damage.

But I was senior to her at work, though she wasn’t in my section.

But she wasn’t terribly old, or terribly experienced.

So when I packed her into that taxi, and took the cab number and driver’s ID and told him she’d get home safe or else (cab drivers raping drunk girls is an issue in my city), it was a no-brainer.

It was cool, statistically. I’d never met another woman who came with so many reasons for not having sex with her.

Pre-fab Frottage: A Suburban Horror Song

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His brain was quite low wattage,

That man in the pre-fab cottage

Who took the evangelist hostage

And rubbed her with his sausage.

They arrested him for frottage. 

 

The sad thing was, it really was a sausage. But “frottage”, or non-penetrative sexual rubbing, is a real problem on Japanese public transport, where commuters with erections don’t ask for consent.

Reasons not to have sex part 2

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From ‘The Philadelphia Story”

Mike: Mr Kittredge, it may interest you to know that our so-called affair consisted of exactly two kisses and one rather late swim both of which I thoroughly enjoyed and the memory of which I wouldn’t part with for anything. After which I returned here, carried her to her room, deposited her on her bed and promptly returned here which you will no doubt remember.
Kittredge: That’s all?
Mike: That’s all.
Tracy: (indignant) Why? Was I so cold? So forbidding?
Mike: Not at all. On the contrary but you were somewhat the worse or the better for the wine and there are rules about such things.

Halloween salute to hurricane girl

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I grew up in one of those places where you take your shirt off and go to the beach if the temperature gets up to 18 degrees. And where you’re a piker if you don’t go for a swim, in the ocean, on mid-winter’s day. 

So I know that people died in Hurricane Sandy, and I’m not underestimating that, but still, the human truth is that when I saw pictures of the winds and the huge waves, and the lights going out, I thought, “That looks like fun! I’d love to be out in that!” 

I was watching tv coverage of the aftermath, and in the background of one of the shots there was a girl at the stormy seaside, in a bikini, with a busted umbrella. The camera operator didn’t notice her and they just panned on. She was only on-screen for a couple of seconds.

But if ever there was a right response to something as solemn as a natural disaster, that was it. I’m really surprised that she doesn’t seem to have become more of an internet thing, because I’d love to know the rest of the story. 

Anyway, whoever the hell you are, bikini in the storm girl, salute to you.