Une prostituée pour le Grand Marnier

I’ve been on a few dates with The Romancer, who is quite taken with me.  He’s funny, smart, incredibly romantic, terribly good to talk to, but (and I know this is shallow) his looks just don’t do it for me.  And he’s a bad kisser.  But last night marked our third date, which just happened to coincide with my inclination to cut BC loose, so I resolved to take action.  I resolved to go on the date and drink enough champagne that I didn’t give a rats ass about looks.  I decided to take advantage of a perfectly legitimate opportunity to get fucked.  After all, BC really isn’t that attractive to me, but I still found myself begging him for more and more…maybe the Romancer would provide me with an equally pleasant surprise.

On the date I found The Romancer’s kissing technique had vastly improved since the last time I’d seen him which, along with several glasses of Brut, further convinced me that fucking him was an excellent idea.  My plan went off without a hitch until we vacated the quiet, romantic restaurant and went back to his apartment only to find he had nothing in his liquor cabinet but some Grand Marnier.  We were tipsy enough from dinner that it was actually quite funny, so we giggled about it and poured the orangey syrup over ice.  He whispered in my ear that he thought it would taste better if he were licking it off me and with a grin I bent over, stuck my ass out and told him he should try it and see.  He got on his knees behind me, slid his hands up my bare legs and under my skirt, then discovered ma garantie de la victoire.  Along with a pair of killer five-inch silver stilettos I was wearing black lace hipster panties, the kind that let the cheeks of one’s derrière hang out of the bottom, comme ça:

(Ce n'est pas moi, mais c'est très belle, non?)

“Oh my God,” he said.  “Well?” I answered in my most velvety come-fuck-me voice, “what about the Grand Marnier?”

He yanked my skirt down and I stepped out of it, then slid my hands down my legs to grip my ankles, ass in the air, lace-covered pussy in his face.  He licked it through the fabric, breathing in its scent and telling me it tasted deliciously sweet.  With a quiver in his voice he asked if I could leave my panties on.  “Of course, darling.  They stretch though…want to see?”  I pulled them to the side, baring myself to him.  He forgot about the Grand Marnier and dove in eagerly, making me come doubled over in the kitchen.

I hustled him back to the bedroom and demanded that he fill me with his cock, giving him just the tiniest taste of a blow job.  He eagerly bent me over again at the side of the bed and tore off the panties, then pushed me down, marveling over the sight of my feet still encased in the glittering peep-toe heels.  I arched my back and wiggled my ass in invitation.  In a moment I was overtaken by his body and he was pumping me from behind harder and harder until my shoes flew off.  Just before he shot a load into the condom he whispered in my ear “I usually have two or three in me…”

And wow, he did.  He kept me at it for three hours, got my pussy so wet I that my cum soaked his nice clean sheets and by the end of it had my whole body shaking uncontrollably.  Ce n’est pas mal.  Pas de tout.

L’inevitable.

I knew it would happen sooner or later.  My one good, solid go-to guy and I had to have the conversation.  You know.  The one where we define what we are.

What a fucking buzz kill!  I loathe this stuff.

So I’ve been doing Barrel Chest (not regularly enough for me to not be seeking it elsewhere, of course) for a month now and, despite a moment where my distaste for thick body hair got the better of me I’ve been having a good time.  He’s really good at the psychology part of domination, he fucks like a rock star, and he’s a great kisser to boot, so I’ve been overlooking a thing or two.

He likes the dirty text message as a vehicle to entice me to him.  After praising me for a vocal performance while masturbating over the phone I was feeling good and enticed, dripping wet and about ready to jump in a car and hightail it over there as soon as possible.  Then he started talking about how he owns me.  I’m his.  That’s fine, that’s all part of our normal dom/sub routine.  Then he says “You’re not allowed to give anyone else so much as a glance.”  Record scratch.  What?

That totally pulled me out of the mood.  I fumbled along for a bit, said some idiotic, snarky drivel about putting some candles out next time I come over (because dammit he just doesn’t get setting the mood), then just stopped talking to him.  Then I get a message the next day saying we should have a talk.  I was at work, so I told him to call me later on.

He called me two hours after I asked him to (as if he has his very own copy of The Rules under his pillow) and started asking me questions about how I feel and who I’m seeing and what I want.  Once it was firmly established that I am not interested in a romantic relationship with him in any way he played an act of benevolence.  He just wanted to make sure I was okay and that I wasn’t looking for more than just a casual physical relationship.  Okay, buddy.  Whatever.  At the end of the conversation he said something like, “Well give me a call this weekend and let me know what’s going on with you.”  I told him I was kind of busy this weekend but I’d call him if any time opened up.  “Oh, so I’m just what you do when you have nothing else to do?” he said, half teasing, half really hurt.

Oh god.

I haven’t heard from him in almost a week.  Then out of nowhere, at 1:00 am on a Friday night I get “Hey there, hope your week went well. I just wanted to let you know that I will be overseas.  Heading out at the end of next week.  So if I don’t get back to you that is why.”

Oh god.  So I have to cut him off now, right?  Right?

Encore une fois…it’s starting to grow on me.

I went on a date last night with a guy I’m just not attracted to. On dating I take the position that it isn’t always easy to ask someone out (hey, I’ve never done it), so generally I’ll give anyone a chance if he has the stones to ask. Besides, you just never know how it will go; people can surprise you.

This one didn’t, unfortunately. He was sweet, but he very obviously didn’t have an awful lot in common with me. He talked in absolutes, which always rubs me the wrong way…if I feel like I have to teach you to think objectively about the world I’m just not going to be that impressed.  He said and did nothing during the evening to lead me to think I could ever fuck him. Then, as we were winding down from dinner (which he didn’t even offer to get–I don’t necessarily want or need to be paid for, but I think it shows good manners to offer), we were walking through the park and bzzzt! I got a text message. From Barrel Chest. “Hey, sexy. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Thinking about your tight little pussy all week.”

My tight little pussy got excited at the idea of getting fucked as a cap to a bad date, and hairy though he may be, Barrel is damn good at what he does to me. I texted back and forth with him a little, telling my date I had a gay friend who was in the midst of boyfriend drama.  Barrel said he was tired and he’d see me later in the week, which I think was unnecessary psychology to get me to come over. After no small amount of negotiation (I played into his little ownership fetish and called myself his pet. I promised to be a good girl and go right to sleep. Yeah right.) I got my way and showed up at his door in short order.

We laid in bed watching The Office for all of ten minutes before his hands were roaming my naked body. I took the cue and began kissing his belly…he still hadn’t been exposed to one of my trademark blowjobs–long and slow and full of those almost-but-not-quite moments–that have never failed to make a man shudder and moan and beg for more. I could tell he was more than impressed, he was wowed. I love being able to do that to a man, especially a man who likes to dominate me. After fifteen minutes of torturously perfect licking and caressing and breathing I straddled him. His fingers wandered between my legs while I was slipping a condom onto him and his cock gave a little jump when he discovered how hot and wet I’d gotten from blowing him. I smiled and pushed him into me. I didn’t need him to go down on me, I didn’t need to come first. I just wanted to get fucked.

I got close to coming though, and I begged him to get behind me so he’d hit my g spot. He gladly did, loving that I instantly was on elbows and knees with my ass in the air. I squeaked with delight when he grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my face into the pillow.  He fucked me until I was ready to burst, playing with my ass and telling me how he liked it, how beautiful it was, how he loved touching it.  I knew how bad he wanted to fuck it, and I was close; I wanted to feel his body getting off so it would push me over the edge.  After a little hard-to-get (to get him harder) I acquiesced. He gave a gutteral groan of excitement and grabbed my hair again. “Don’t fucking move, little girl,” he growled into my ear and pushed me down.  I was quivering…I love it when they say crazy things like that…things that sound almost violent.  Down I stayed while he dug in a drawer to find a tube of lube.

He lubed up and gently slid in, caressing my shoulders and coaching me to breathe. Earlier I had told him it had been a long time since I’d been fucked in the ass–I knew I liked it, but I needed him to be gentle at first.  He said nothing about it, but very clearly was keeping my needs in mind.  After the initial split second of pain I remembered why I used to beg the Sailor for this. It felt delicious. As I relaxed into it he started fucking me gently, attentively checking in every time I whimpered (“Baby I’m fine, you just feel so good inside me…”). He gripped the back of my neck, kissing my ear and my shoulders and ordered me to touch myself while he fucked me. My brain was melting with the pleasure, but I managed to comply and very shortly came to an orgasm. He pulled out and did that thing again….jerked off watching me come. Half for effect and half because I could I brought myself to a second orgasm and he came all over my ass at my breathy invitation.

I want to see him again now…  I want to see if he’ll take the power play to the next level…like to the point where we need safety words and stuff.  I really liked some of the more intense, rough things he said and did this time and I think he could really take me to a new high with it.  I predict that the excitement would only be enhanced by his burly, strong physique and my uncertain, train-wreck-like fascination with him (I can’t really call it an attraction).  And I’m almost positive he’ll be into it–despite the game, he’s very eager to please me in any way he can.  So far he’s given me anything and everything I’ve asked of him.

I didn’t skip out unannounced this time, mostly because I felt a little guilty for skipping out on him the last two times. During our post-coital shower I told him I had to go early, I explained that I had brunch plans (true).  I explained that I always have a lot going on, even on weekends (also true), which seemed to make him feel better about my having run off on him twice.  He set the alarm for me and I fell asleep in his furry arms while he peppered my neck with kisses.  I’m still not sure how I feel about that part.

Quest-e que c’est, “my type?”

I worked an extra long, tough day on Friday.  Barrel Chest kept texting yesterday so I wandered over to his place for a shower and a rubdown. We drank wine out of coffee mugs in his empty living room (he just never bought wineglasses or furniture), and then he fingered me to a glorious soapy orgasm in the shower, slipping his cock into me when I “dropped the soap.” I scolded him for doing it with no condom, but I couldn’t resist moaning and squeezing my kegels to grip him. He apologized for being a bad boy and then hurriedly rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, urging me out of the tub.

He kissed my body at every opportunity while I toweled off (which here means I pranced naked around him and used my towel as an excuse to pose in various pin-up positions). We had a lengthy conversation about our religious and anthropological beliefs during which I teased him incessantly, licking wine off my fingers and readjusting my towel to give him glimpses of skin. When he’d been teased enough he ordered me into the bedroom where he dove between my thighs and ravished my pussy for two full hours, restraining me from any real reciprocation. I was having a little trouble relaxing enough to come, and when I closed my eyes the Consultant popped into my head. A tear came to my eye as I realized I missed his body. I missed the way he touched me and his incredible, perfect cock.  I felt such pressure to come for Barrel Chest that I let myself sink into the fantasy… And once I had lost myself in it I almost immediately felt my muscles flex and contract.  I had to restrain myself from screaming the Consultant’s name.  Barrel jerked off onto my belly during my post-orgasmic squirming again. I felt a little funny about not doing any of the work, but he assured me that he liked it this way.  Mmm, fetishy.

I woke at 7:30 am and, weirdly, suddenly felt disgusted by all his body hair. I scurried to the bathroom, feeling nauseous, but I was fine once I wasn’t touching him anymore. I got dressed, then tiptoed to the bedroom, whispering that I had stuff to do.  Despite his protests I blew him a kiss, waved goodbye and hurried out the door toute de suite.

I don’t really know what came over me. I had been able to overlook it before; why was it that the morning brought a very physical reaction to it?  It’s perfectly normal anyway… So what was my problem?  That, combined with my brain substituting someone I’m desperately (inexplicably) attracted to just so I could come…well I think it just means I’m not attracted to this guy. It’s a shame, because he’s really on my leash.

Oh well; if he calls I’ll probably go to him regardless…he has this weird, completely unsexy appeal.   But if he doesn’t I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet. I met someone on a dating site (a mite bit more respectable than the CL ads) who is all about the non-monogamy.  He’s terribly interesting and cute, so I’m going to give it a shot. I also went on a first date with a woman last night (it was fun, but very friendly, so we’ll see how it goes) and have another two boys possibly on the line…possibly. Alors, I’m turning into a regular farmer, cultivating sex partners all over the place!

At least I’m trying…it’s a lot more work than I thought it would be.

Try, try again.

I’m convinced I’m a slut. I just am. I want sex all the time, I think about it all the time… My mouth salivates at the idea of a hard cock. I’ve been around the kink block here and there and I’m itching to try some new things. I don’t want a monogamous relationship or a partner… I’m just not there in my life.

Instead I want to fuck…and laugh and play and be friends with the people I fuck. I want it to be fun. I want to care about them. I want to cream my panties over text messages and drop what I’m doing for a quickie and then fix my hair and go right back to my day like nothing happened. I want to make people tremble when they think about my lips on them.

So. When I put out my chat ad (the one that resulted in the dead fish), I of course had other responses. I was sifting through them and found one that sounded just like this ad that I’d almost responded to. I sent a playful email back and soon we were chatting. No picture exchanges yet, just straight imagination.

Mon dieu! when I say I’ve never come this hard by myself I mean it! The things he said…the delicious way he talked to me simultaneously like an innocent little girl and a dirty used-up whore…  After the chatsex (yeah it’s corny but it’s so hot) we described ourselves to each other. He was totally turned on by me, I could tell he’s not the type I’m usually into. But I’m expanding my horizons, so I played along, telling him how I thought “barrel chested” was sexy and that I liked that he was a real man. He responded well to that.  The conversation heated up again and it wasn’t long before my fingers had strayed down south again. When I was coming he begged for my phone number so he could hear me. I gave it and could tell when I heard his voice that he was jerking off to me. I put on a good show while he alternately called me a dirty little girl and praised me for my sexy moans and whimpers.

The next day we met at a bar. I was right; he wasn’t my type…he’s big and burly and hairy and manly; I tend to like more of les nerds classiques.  But I wanted him to fuck me anyway. There was something appealing about the idea of going home with him just to spite my own preferences. Plus he said he wanted to eat my ass. I’ve never done that and I wanted to try it, so I made him bring me back to his place.

It was fucking gymnastic…the ass play was nice, but I could do without it. His cunnilingual skills were much more impressive to me. He brought me way up and kept me there for about an hour… Then finally I was lifting my hips off the bed and begging for his cock. He, on his knees, lifted my hips, pushed it in and fucked me slow and hard, rubbing my clit with his thumb and ordering me to say filthy things until I came again. I went out of my mind and collapsed in a heap of sweat and cum and tears while he got off on watching my body writhe and listening to me whimper. I rubbed his hot cum into my breasts and licked it off my fingers and then passed out.

In the middle of the night I woke to his hands exploring my body again. I grabbed his hard cock and told him to fuck my face like he was paying for it. He took to the idea eagerly. He brutally abused me like a whore who overcharged him, pulling my hair, forcing his cock into my mouth, spanking me, calling me names, then made me deep throat him over and over until he couldn’t take anymore and shot his cum straight into my mouth while I greedily gulped it down. Then he kissed me long and hard, and we both fell asleep with his fingers inside me. I woke at 5 am with his big, hairy, muscly arms around me, snuck out of bed, put my dress back on and slipped out the door quietly.

C’etait magnifique.  Parfait.