Today’s Quote

Man or woman…”the song remains the same.”

Soul Gatherings

A musician must make music,
an artist must paint,
a poet must write,
if he is to be
at peace with himself.
What a man can be,
he must be.

~ Abraham Maslow ~
__________________

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Stardust!

Recently I have found myself re-blogging a number of posts that deserve to be shared. Thank-you Kreng Jai for sharing this with us.

He Calls me Goddess, I call him My Pet, Pt. IV: Sometimes things are Not What They Appear to Be

(Well, for what it is worth, this is the final chapter…I kind of hate to see it end, but it’s been fun.)

Sometimes Things are not Always What they Seem to be.

My name is Randy and well, so far you’ve heard Sonia’s side of the story, so now it’s my turn to give you a bit of perspective.

Everything Sonja has told you so far is the absolute unvarnished truth, but I’ve got just a few things to add that may lend a more accurate portrayal of what it is like from my point of view.

Yes, it’s true that I am a bisexual and that I love to wear women’s clothes…especially silky or frilly lingerie and leather corsets who also tends to be more than a little aggressive in my transactions with most other men and women I know in my place of business and almost all other aspects of my social life. In fact, if anything, I am a bit of a control freak.

So just stop and ponder this for a second…all day long, I direct those whom I manage at work. I pay the bills, although I leave the accounting and management of our household to my beautiful and talented trophy wife who came into my life well after I had already made my career and a name for myself in my field.

I was also wise enough to know when I was past my sexual prime, which was about the time that my wife was beginning to reach the peak of her already considerable appetite.

I am at least ten years away from my financial retirement, but I came to recognize that it was time to begin to direct, rather than be the prime mover or actor in the bedroom.

I find it very satisfying to know that my wife’s sexual needs are met far beyond her wildest dreams although without my encouragement and direction it would never have been realized, and probably would have resulted in unconscious resentments on her part and insecurities and paranoia on mine.

I also am secure enough in my own identity, or more accurately, my sense of Self that I decided to undertake a journey of discovery about the farthest reaches of my own sexual nature fearlessly, albeit discretely.

My wife Sonja had to be lovingly encouraged to act out those fantasies of hers, as well as mine, but I had finally learned to exercise better judgement than in the past and recognized her potential to enable us both to exploit our sexual psyches the way an explorer might discover a new frontier.

Because she is such a loving and devoted wife she was afraid that her actions would either hurt or disrespect me, although I have come to know that is something she is incapable of doing.

It was not until she came to realize that in respecting my desires, she was celebrating my entire range of sexuality while at the same time empowering her in ways she had never before dreamed.

Within this story, I am cast as a submissive cuckold, despite the fact that everything that happened was orchestrated by me, although it could never have been realized without her love and support.

My spouse played the part of a Dominatrix at my direction, although I have to give her credit where it is due, as she took to the role so well that she surpassed all my expectations, hopes or fantasies.

That is however, because I cast her in the right role, and developed the directions that enabled her to take to that role and make it her own.

She was the only one to be able to effect the circumstances that lead to her discovery of Jake, who was determined to make her his submissive sex-slave, only to eventually be turned by her to do what amounted to both our bidding, even though he imagined that he was dominating both of us at his own will.

Perhaps most importantly, eventually everyone got exactly what they wanted, even if they had to learn what that really was.

I love our life together.

 

 

 

 

 

He calls me Goddess, I call him My Pet, Pt. III

(This is new ground, even for me…as part III of IV unfolds…this is not for the squeamish, but I find myself fascinated by the opportunity to explore something that for once, is not autobiographical. As a writer, the challenge is exhilarating. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.)

He calls me Goddess, I call him My Pet, Pt. III

The next time Jake and I got together, I insisted that he allow Randy to watch in person. I told him that Randy would be dressed in his favorite outfit, a very frilly French Maid’s costume with fishnet stockings, a garter belt and panties. He also would be wearing make-up and a wig.

Jake was not especially thrilled about the prospect, but I insisted. I was starting to sense a battle of wills between Jake and me, and we both were still testing each other’ boundaries.

When we got to the motel, I produced a portable vaporizer and some of our best Kush (Fruity Pebbles and AK-47 mixed with the last of our Blueberry) that Randy and I had been saving for a long time. Jake was not a regular marijuana user, but he was willing to give it a try again. He said it really didn’t do much for him, but admitted he rarely had smoked it since his college days.

High-potency grass has evolved a great deal since then, as he was soon to learn, and vaporizing seems to really intensify its effects to the point where most people are about thirty seconds away from being wrecked out of their minds before they even realize it, and then it continues to get even more intense for about the next twenty minutes…maybe I should have warned him, but I knew I would have the upper hand once he was baked, and we were still caught up in a battle of wills.

I am not a woman to be taken dismissively.

Randy was then banished to a chair in the corner of the room. Jake insisted that there would be no contact between them and re-affirmed his straight (but hardly plain-vanilla) lifestyle.

Randy was also admonished not to masturbate or touch himself as he watched Jake and me perform like circus animals right in front of him only a few feet away.

When I noticed that my little subby-hubby sissy-gurl was sporting a very noticeable erection that was straining against his lacey silk panties, I instructed him to go to the ice bucket and “cool down”.

I knew that would not only stifle his erection, but would also cause it to shrink up until it looked more like a very large, oversized clit, only a little larger than my own.

He already knew the drill, and in fact got that much more excited to witness such a monumental difference in size between himself and my lover Jake.

As for the size of my clitoris, several years of low-level testosterone therapy and almost daily “pumping” by way of a suction device Randy had bought me yielded an over three-inch clit that would stand up and refuse to be ignored when I got aroused.

Although I was quite proud of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the increased sensitivity, Jake did not appreciate it as much as my other lovers had, and after our first “interview” preferred to finger me while I sucked his cock.

Not that I needed a great deal of foreplay when I was with him, as I get hotter than five miles of Georgia asphalt in July whenever I even think about sex with Jake, and I didn’t want to spoil his unbridled passions by making him uncomfortable…at least for now.

Jake was a very patient and sensitive lover, and thoroughly enjoyed teasing me with his cock. He would lightly press the head into the vestibule of my waiting blossom as he began to part the lips as I felt the foreskin (which he always made a point to pull forward before he entered me) would start to slide backwards as it piled up around the rim of his prodigious corona, which was a bit larger than even Randy’s, although Randy’s shaft was slightly thicker.

Then he would withdraw it just enough to tease me even more, before he slowly stuffed the head into me as I felt the foreskin suddenly pop backwards and pile up again, about a half-inch past the head, producing two distinct ridges as he slowly slid back and forth into my greedy snatch.

This produced a great deal of stimulation on my g-spot as he would stand at the edge of the bed with his hands cupping my buttocks as he lifted me up well over a foot higher than Randy could, owing to his lanky height. That really did it for me, and I frequently would cum long before he had gotten the entire length of his shaft inside me, which usually took one or two orgasms before I could accommodate what I had come to visualize as the never-ending cock.

Jake was thoroughly enjoying putting on a show for Randy, despite the fact that he scrupulously avoided looking anywhere in his direction or acknowledging his presence in the room.

Jake played me like a violin as an occasional high note would escape my lips as he made me cum so hard and repeatedly that I lost count and may have even lost consciousness several times.

I eventually felt like I had left my body and was in a corner of the room near the ceiling watching myself being fucked into submission, a prisoner of lust and passion in our battle for dominance while my spouse sat in a chair in the corner.

I would be a liar if I tried to deny it, despite the fact that I was unfamiliar with this kind of submission to any man ever. Jake had become the physical manifestation of every erotic fantasy I had ever entertained.

I was only slightly uncomfortable with my infatuation with him, even as much as Randy encouraged me to wallow in my crush, but fortunately Jake was just slightly arrogant enough to prevent me from feeling like I was falling in love with him, although Randy’s espousal of Polyamory was beginning to make more and more sense as time passed, all things taken on balance.

Especially this evening.

Jake’s thrusting increased in frequency and depth as he pummeled my now totally flaccid and swollen cunt until he suddenly turned his attention to Randy and made a point to make eye contact as he said:

“Is this what you both really want?…to watch me fuck and violate your wife in ways you both have only been able to fantasize about until now?”

“She will never be the same after this, you know…I own this cunt now…before I am done you may never be able to feel the sides of her formerly deliciously tight pussy…especially with that tiny little short clit of a cock you have.”

“She was right though,” he added…”you do really belong in panties dressed up like a little sissy-gurl cocksucker…too bad for you you’ll never get a chance to even get a taste of it, except second-hand after I get down filling her with more jizz than a sperm-bank.”

“I think I will enjoy watching her straddle you face as it gushes out of her while you lick her sloppy pussy clean.”

Most men would have felt humiliated to experience anything like this, but my Randy is nothing like most men. It did not threaten him, because he knew in his heart of hearts that I will adore and worship him for as long as I live.

I wake up in the morning, and I say to myself that I must be the luckiest woman in the world, and every day, he does everything he can to prove me right…and I do exactly the same for him.

This is what we have learned to live for…this is how we roll.

With that, he increased the tempo and force of his thrusts even more as we both reached a frenzied crescendo of lust and passion. My eyes rolled back in my head as we both began to make guttural animal noises I had never heard before as he grunted like a bull elk in rut while his throbbing cock grew even larger and he spewed what seemed like an endless flood of hot, thick jizz deep inside me.

Until that moment, Randy was still inside my head, or perhaps more like he was sitting beside my shoulder, and as I continued to watch Jake watching me I was aware of the fact that Randy was aware that I could feel myself slipping away…swept away, more accurately as I became completely lost in the moment, where nothing existed except myself, my body, and Jake, and I was at the mercy of his unrelenting cock.

As he continued to piston his still-throbbing penis unmercifully, I could feel and hear our juices squish past him, flooding my ass and the sheets as his balls continued to slap against me.

As he rolled off of me I was still shuddering and trembling as he rolled onto his back as he told me to lick him clean while Randy cleaned the sheets with his tongue.

He never really got soft and was soon back at full attention, which was quite remarkable because when he did, unlike most well-hung men, it did not hang, but stood out until it reached up to about two o’clock position, only a few inches from grazing his belly.

Jake was in rare form and was obviously enjoying his domination of both of us as much as we were.

With that, he picked me up and told Randy to lay on his back as the cum poured out of me as I straddled his face and Jake kneeled in front of me and I continued to suck his magnificent pleasure-pole.

Suddenly, he went around behind me and shoved himself deeply into me again, forcing even more of his semen out of my pussy as it gushed out into Randy’s grateful face.

I couldn’t help noticing that he was making a point of dragging the shaft across Randy’s mouth as his wet, dripping balls slapped Randy’s forehead. I knew that Randy must be enjoying the hell out of it, but couldn’t help wondering what had provoked Jake to cross several lines I was thoroughly convinced he would never breach.

Maybe it was the grass, but the three of us embraced our good spirits with renewed vigor, and I began to suck Randy’s cock just enough to keep him on the edge without allowing him to cum.

I can keep Randy ten seconds from orgasm for hours whenever I want. I can feel it when he is right on the brink, and he loves me to torture him like that.

Suddenly, Jake took his wet, dripping tool completely out of my ruined cunt and began to prod my asshole in much the same fashion that he had entered my pussy earlier that night. Not at all roughly, at least at first, and I could feel myself trying to push myself back against him to encourage him to force it into my increasingly dilated anus, but he was back to his technique of teasing me.

He then began to ask me how much I wanted him to fuck me up the ass, saying:

“Really?…I thought you didn’t even like anal…at least not with anyone else…are you saying I’ve turned you?…my, my, my…what a nasty, dirty little slut you’ve become!”

As he continued to open my rectum a little further with each push, he said:

“I don’t know…are you really sure you want your husband to be forced to watch me cornhole you with his face only a few inches away? I would think that would be too degrading for even a sissy cuckold to endure…I don’t know if I could be that cruel.”

“Please…PLEASE!” we both cried out almost simultaneously as Jake laughed wickedly.

Although I didn’t really mean it, I begged him even more, saying:

“Right this second, I don’t really care what he wants! This is for me! He knows his place and he will do what I tell him and love every minute of it! Pleeeeeaaaase! Fuck me hard and deep!!! I’m your slut…your whore…take my ass now.!!!” as I reached behind myself to spread my buttocks even farther apart.

I really was ready for it, on all fours like a bitch in heat as he pushed my shoulders down onto Randy’s thighs as I felt him spit on my ass before he began to shove it in further and further until it felt like he was right behind my belly button, only to pull it completely out to watch my gaping asshole wink at him just long enough to spit again before he shoved it back in again and again.

The pistoning of his cock began to force air in and out of me, making the most embarrassing farting noises which made him laugh sadistically at my embarrassment, taunting me:

“I hope your face turns as red as your ass” as he repeatedly slapped by buttocks. “…I do not give a fuck about your shame…besides it feels really good to have your tight asshole vibrate around my cock as I stretch it out even further.”

I was really grateful that I had decided to give myself a very thorough enema before we went out that night. It was probably clean enough to eat your lunch out of it, but I felt humiliated enough as it was.

I lost track of all time as he seemed to take forever to cum. Now I knew what Randy meant about his deep, bowel-wrenching orgasms from anal sex. This was new ground for me and I was cumming uncontrollably as I felt Jake start to swell even more…I knew he was about to cum again…I could feel the electricity pass between us and I began to squirt as if I was ejaculating.

Randy loved it when I did it in his face, and with Jake’s enormous member pounding my ass and my poor ruined cunt gaping in front of his open mouth as he slathered my pussy and Jake’s shaft and balls with his tongue while Jake’s cum poured out of me I was afraid for a moment that I might drown Randy, but I had no control of myself or Jake as I soaked his face.

As I felt Jake cum once more, I finished Randy with my mouth, sucking him until he whimpered like a puppy while the flood of cum poured out of me onto Randy’s chest as Jake, quite surprisingly pulled out and stuffed his still-throbbing prick into Randy’s mouth and told him to lick it clean, slowly pushing it further down his throat as it continued to gradually get a little smaller and softer as Randy gagged with each thrust.

“Wow! That feels really good when you choke on my cock like that! I may have to re-think my attitudes about sissy cocksuckers after all…but for now I just thought I’d throw you a bone just for being so pathetic…as long as I close my eyes and don’t have to look at you, I’ll just pretend that it’s my little fuck-toy Sonja, now that I’ve completely ruined her for you.”

We all collapsed into a pile for several minutes before Jake spoke first. “…Now how about if we all get into the shower together before we come back out for another smoke and maybe a drink while I get my second wind…maybe I’ll even fuck the both of you into submission just to put you in your proper places.”

True to form, he lived up to his promises…several times, well past dawn before we slept until almost three o’clock in the afternoon with me in the middle.

I love my new life.

He calls me Goddess, I call him My Pet Pt. II: The Rule of Opposites

(After many editorial revisions, my muses are finally satisfied with the end result. I very much wanted both of them to be in agreement with the final story, as it was largely their brainchild. I find it fascinating to have had the opportunity to be privy to their collective creative processes, although I am not sure they are completely aligned with the mindset of most women…lucky me.)

The Rule of Opposites

Randy sat watching his computer screen, mesmerized by what he saw on the OoVoo transmission he was receiving from his wife’s computer at the motel where she was meeting her bull.

This was a regular feature of their relationship for the last year now.

After more than two years of doldrums and apathy, their marriage had turned a new corner that was leaving them both vibrant, alive and almost breathless with anticipation of what each new day might bring.

He had to sit up very straight because the leather corset he was wearing squeezed his midsection so hard he could barely breathe, but he loved the way it made his waist look as well as the obvious approval that Sonja showed when she gave it to him.

Already he was beginning to get a slight glimpse of the world of pain and discomfort that women embrace on a daily basis without even thinking.. just trying to type with artificial nails was something most men take for granted.

Randy was the last person you would ever guess to be a submissive sissy cuckold in private life.

He was completely masculine to look at him dressed as a man, and he couldn’t “pass” at a school for the blind, but wearing women’s clothes got him so very hot.

As much as he loved women, he also loved cock, and cross-dressing. Although he had considered himself to be bi-sexual he had never been in love with any man, nor did he desire to ever kiss one on the mouth. He was strictly a “bottom” and loved to swallow cum, but kissing was too personal and intimate.

Swinging had led him to discover how to embrace his jealousy and insecurities. Randy realized that Sonja was more than enough woman for any man and he felt privileged to be her husband. As long as her desires for strictly sexual indulgences with other men allowed him to explore his own curiosities of them as well, he was more than happy to encourage her.

After he recognized the difficulty she had in exploring her powers over men, he also became aware of his fantasies of playing the role of cuckold. She had been very encouraging of his desires for cross-dressing. No one else in his life had ever been privy to that secret side of his psyche.

And so it was that he was led, step by step to his role as a sissy cuckold. He had never felt so liberated in his life. He gladly abandoned his desires for other women in order to be able to experience unconditional support from the love of his life to experience his wildest fantasies fulfilled at the direction of a wife too hot to be limited to one man.

Tonight was going to be a rare treat. Randy’s wife Sonja had recently added a new, very special bull to her regular stable of three. Her ad had stated she required bisexual men with big cocks, preferably circumcised, who were willing and able to satisfy her insatiable desires, which included getting to watch them fuck and humiliate her husband at her command.

Sonja was an Alpha-Bitch to be sure…she called the shots and that was all there was to it. She was a lioness, proud and powerful. She was used to having her way with all the men in her life.

If they got too disobedient, she simply dumped them…just like that. She only allowed Randy into her heart, and even he was more like a pet than a husband, but she loved him dearly and wanted to worship him, but he was weak and passive when it came to her and she knew it. Also, he was now a little too old to really give her the pleasure she required.

Although he experienced powerful and satisfying orgasms, he rarely ejaculated more than a cc or two. Sonja loved to feel the flood of semen either down her throat, squirting inside he pussy or flooding her ass and she missed the sensation despite the fact that she never expressed her disappointment to Randy.

She started to feel guilty that she only allowed men into their circle, but Randy, seemed to be fine with it. She almost wished he hadn’t…that he would stand up for himself and be a real man, but he finally felt vindicated from having to compensate for all his perceived inadequacies or for letting Sonja down.

He no longer had to pretend to be anything other than exactly what he always knew himself to be. Sonja had a new vibrance to her demeanor and seemed like she couldn’t stop smiling because she had a secret that she shared only with the true love of her life.

Then she met Jake. He was hetero-only. No exceptions, and he didn’t take orders from anyone…not even Sonja.

He was best friends with one of her favorite bulls, Dustin, and it was he who had suggested they meet.

All of Sonja’s bulls were circumcised. She considered it to be a prerequisite to even do an interview. When she had lunch with Jake for his interview, he insisted he pay for both their meals. She was so charmed by his appearance and personality that she forgot to ask if he was cut, but an hour later at the motel (for which he also insisted that he pay) she realized her error.

For the briefest of moments, she thought about apologizing for her mistake and leaving, but once he was fully erect, she decided to give him a chance…just this once. After all, Randy was at work and did not even know she was interviewing that day.

He had encouraged her to have an occasional “fling” with whomever she pleased, sometimes not even telling him for weeks…just like an affair. It made him crazy with jealousy, which she had quickly learned just enhanced his devotion to her.

Randy adored the foreskin of uncut cocks, but that was not even a question for Sonja, and she did not intend to seem to vacillate on this issue…but she told herself, it was probably just going to be this one time only.

What fascinated Sonja was how otherwise perfect Jake’s tool was.

She advertised for “long, thick and meaty” and Randy’s penis was as thick as her wrist when erect. (Several of her interviewees who were even thicker had left her sore for days afterward.)

Randy loved the way her cunt would come back wet, swollen and distended, but what Sonja desired most was length.

As girthy as Randy was, he was only a little short of seven inches, and her best previous lovers were usually longer. Randy was a skilled and sensitive lover, but sometimes she longed for the extra length.

She even bought him a three-inch penis extender sleeve, which she sometimes told him to wear, but he was not especially tall and did not seem to be able to get exactly the right angle she preferred to hit that little pocket at the end of her pussy way past her g-spot above her uterus.

Jake was just slightly thinner than Randy, but about eleven inches long…soft. He did not get too much longer when he got hard, which took about two minutes as they stood there talking as he continued to undress both of them.

As his already large penis continued to get more erect, she watched the foreskin slide back until it almost completely disappeared, although it left a rather prominent ridge about a half-inch ridge behind his very pronounced corona. She decided she might have to rethink her original ideas, at least as far as Jake was concerned.

She decided to show off by demonstrating why Randy had nicknamed her “the sword swallower” by completely deep throating him without so much as a single gag.

She learned early on in her life that she had no gag reflex and loved the sensation of being throat-fucked just a little more than her enjoyment of seeing the amazement it invoked in all those privileged enough to witness or experience her remarkable talents.

Jake was also quite impressed.

Sonja had kept her affair with Jake a secret for over two months despite the fact that she couldn’t wait to tell her husband. The suspense was incredible and when Randy finally did learn of her newest discovery he was overcome with excitement, although he was also disappointed when he learned he was completely straight, but even that excited him just a little more….it was something that would be out of his reach, invoking the longing for something he could not have.

Jake was tall…over six-feet two inches, lanky and very strong, and ten years younger than Sonja. He loved to be the object of a cougar’s grateful obsessions, and in fact, preferred older women. They seemed to have a worldly and slightly used quality that he found attractive. The effects of gravity, time and even childbirth were very attractive to him.

He was also the handsomest man Sonja had ever had the pleasure to fuck. Randy was decidedly very “easy on the eyes”, but Jake could have been a model if only he had been a lot shallower and less bright. Besides he had inherited money and was very good with it, so he had no need to whore himself out just for his looks.

That first encounter had left her trembling, wet, and breathless. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so expertly fucked.

Although Randy had suspected there was something brewing just by the condition of her vagina on the days she had been with Jake before he got home from work, he trusted her to tell him all the dirtiest details of her naughty adventures in due time.

And when he cleaned her pussy as he dutifully did every night, she was still so full of cum that he knew something new was afoot. Even hours after their encounter it just flowed from her pussy like a flood as she straddled his face, and her panties were always soaked. It was also thicker and saltier than he had tasted before.

And there was no mistaking the taste of a recently well-fucked cunt and Randy was learning to be quite the connoisseur.

As so, Sonja’s first crush since she had married Randy began.

As Randy sat in full drag, he was wearing make-up and a wig in front of his computer with a very large butt plug up his ass that Sonja had just bought for him and she insisted on shoving it into Randy before she left.

He was forbidden to take it out until she returned from the impending fuck-fest. He was also forbidden to cum, and had no desire to violate her command…he loved the edgy tension it created, and the longer he was cuckolded, the more he craved release.

Sometimes because of his cuckolding, he would just ooze a few cc’s of semen (which was more than he usually produced in a normal ejaculation without prostate stimulation) and when Sonja had forcefully jammed the new even larger butt-plug up into his grateful asshole, a small stream of cum flowed from his cock, which Sonja immediately made him lick from her feet.

Randy was as exhilarated by Sonja’s infatuation with Jake as she was, but she seemed more conflicted about the luxury of allowing herself to acknowledge it.

What Randy saw was a woman revitalized and renewed; a woman who still needed validation and recognition from someone outside her marriage. She loved Randy dearly and was devoted and loyal within the considerably wide boundaries that they had already set.

It had been Randy who had initiated the new adventures that they had been pursuing and although she had initially indulged him in this as a pursuit of his fantasies he was excited to see the fruition of what he had hoped for all along, that she should experience her current situation guiltlessly and enthusiastically.

This would be the first time he would get the privilege of even seeing Jake and he could hardly wait. He was dying to know what was the source of her new-found infatuation…the first he had ever witnessed since they had met, so many years before.

Suddenly, Jake burst into the room. He walked up to her and picked her up as he kissed her deeply and passionately. Randy was slightly shocked to witness her passionate reciprocation. Usually it was never more than a quick tongue-kiss, but he liked what he saw almost as much as she obviously did.

He loved and trusted her enough to allow her this. He always seemed to enjoy her pleasures even more than she would allow herself to admit, but this was something new and he sensed her excitement and passion.

Jake had forbidden her to even allow Randy to watch them on camera until today, and Randy was as aflutter as a sixteen-year old schoolgirl as he witnessed the event.

Sonja then very deferentially unzipped Jake’s pants and pulled out his enormous cock before he could get hard just so Randy could see that he was in fact uncut, with a full coverage of his very large head.

She then announced that he should go into the bathroom and wash up, as she had no intention of knowing what his smegma tasted or smelled like as she winked to the camera.

Jake came back naked shortly afterward and announced (also obviously for Randy’s benefit) that he had pissed, but that she would have to skin it back and taste him just as he was…several hours since his last shower.

With that he pushed her to down to her knees and forced his still-flaccid member into her mouth. Randy could not believe what he was seeing. As he watched her greedily take his cock into her mouth he thought just how uncharacteristically submissive she now was…how she seemed to welcome this domination of his femdom wife.

He felt more jealous of Jake’s beautiful glistening tool than of her change of character. It was definitely longer than anything he had witnessed her to experience, and only once before, when he was in his twenties had he seen such a long cock in person.

That was long before he had even allowed himself to acknowledge his homosexual desires, which he had rationalized as being the result of drugs, despite the fact that he kept coming back for more.

It was with a friend he had known for several years who was a coke dealer for the Medellin Cartel in Miami…he tried to tell himself it was for the coke that he kept returning, and he never acknowledged any of the occurrences and neither did Miguel. Both were professed heterosexuals, but it was always Miguel who initiated Randy’s willing surrender.

It was then that Randy realized, but never acknowledged to himself, that he was a submissive bottom. Miguel however, was much thicker than even Randy, who could barely walk for days afterwards. And yet he kept returning any chance he could, and Miguel became bolder and more aggressive each time they met.

Neither of the men ever acknowledged their sexual explorations with each other either before or after they happened. It was as if it had never occurred.

Today would seem to last forever. This was the first Saturday that they had gotten together, and he sensed that Jake was intent on putting both Randy and Sonja in their respective places as far as Jake’s position of power over both of them.

Randy counted five successively longer orgasms from Jake, but he lost track of how many times Sonja came. It was obvious that she was completely at his mercy and she clearly loved every cum-drenched minute of it.

It was also the first time he had ever seen her receive anal, other than a few somewhat awkward attempts he and Sonja had tried over the years. She clearly did not enjoy receiving as much as Randy did and whenever he pressed her for it she immediately would peg him until he begged her to stop, only to continue until she was satisfied that her dominance was once again clearly established.

It wasn’t until then that he felt a twinge of jealousy within himself, but he gratefully accepted how it made him feel…gratefully alive and more in love than ever.

There was nothing he would not accept about Sonja. The more she pushed him, the more he embraced it.

She did not return until after dawn. She was clearly apprehensive about Randy’s reaction, but she bore a look of radiance he could not begrudge her. After all, it only made him more grateful to witness her unbridled joy and ecstasy, and she clearly felt even more in love with her new sissy submissive cuckold husband.

Although she was too swollen and exhausted to make love to Randy, she gladly agreed to straddle his face long enough to greedily lick, suck and swallow the seemingly endless flood of cum from her now flaccid, ruined cunt.

He tried to be gentle. He knew she was only doing this for his benefit, at least for now, until she had about ten hours of sleep. Before she showered, she reeked of semen, even her hair…it seemed to ooze from her pores,

And Randy loved every drop of it, as well as the smell of sex that permeated her being everywhere as much as the grateful look of satisfaction that she tried so hard to disguise.

No matter what she did from this point on, things would only get better for them.

Written in the Stars

Beautiful.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

He Calls Me Goddess I, Call Him My Pet

Our dear friend Anastasia (astraltraltravler.WordPress.com) and my wife Suki (Yen4Suki.WordPress.com) dreamed up quite an amazing story upon which we decided to collaborate.

I was beginning to think I had become jaded, and that almost nothing surprised me any more, but I was wrong. Leave it to two women to push the envelope one step beyond….

This is the first installment of a four-part story.

So without further ado, I give you all something new to chew on.

He Calls Me Goddess I, Call Him My Pet

My name is Sonja. My husband confessed to me that he was bisexual long before we were married, but it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that he revealed how much he liked cross-dressing. Both were incredible turn-ons for me and I eagerly indulged him with lots of M-F-M threesomes whenever we had the chance.

I am an Alpha-Bitch by nature. It was about a year ago when he first told me he wanted to be a cuckold “subby-hubby”. It took him a while to convince me that was what he really wanted, but once he did, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The men who swept me off my feet (and onto my back or knees) tended to use me like some kind of fuck-toy and would inevitably cheat on me, which just increased my insecurities.

Until Randy came along. He was older and wiser. To this day swears he fell in love with me at first sight.

Randy is an Alpha Male to the outside world, but he told me that from his earliest memories he felt plagued with homosexual fantasies even before he knew what one was, or how the world would judge and demean him for it.

As much as I wanted for him to be my everything, I see now how much more pressure that put on him. He already sensed that he was not the biggest cock or even the best lay I’d ever had, despite the fact that when he would ask me, I would try to change the subject, or try to placate his insecurities, which only convinced him even more that it was the case.

Randy is a sensitive and skillful lover, but truth be told, there have been several men who could leave me breathless and panting in a way Randy never did. His size was only a little above the average…just not my average. I’m lucky like that, I guess.

I loved his mind, his unbridled devotion and loyalty, but the men who really made my toes curl and my eyes roll back were egotistical bastards, and although a few broke my heart, I can safely say I never really fell in love with any of them before Randy.

That just further reinforced my Alpha-Bitch tendencies.

When Randy first confessed his desire to be a sissy cuckold, it suddenly all made sense. For once in his life he had the chance to let go of all the overcompensating he felt that he had to do in his public life for fear of the derision and rejection he faced if only they knew of his deepest hidden desires.

Randy loves women, to be sure, but he clearly considers me to be the one great love of his life. And that is plenty for him. He believes that I am more than enough woman for any man, and feels proud that I love him enough to give all my heart to him, but he also understands that I give my mouth, my ass, and my cunt to several men of my choice.

I am also a cougar…it takes young men who have the stamina and endurance I require before I decide to fuck them more than once, and it also takes a special kind of man who knows his place and who appreciates an older woman.

Right now, I have a stable of three regular bulls who never cease to amaze me with how well-fucked they keep me and how much cum they provide my pet to eat out of my greedy snatch.

I never wear panties and love to flash men any chance I get, but I keep a pair in my purse to give him something to lick clean when I get home in case some of it gushes out of me before I get home.

Then he gets down to seriously cleaning me as I straddle his face and I push it all out into his greedy mouth.

He got me an ankle bracelet for our anniversary that has a queen of hearts on it. I am surprised by how many men know exactly what that means, and a few have approached me as soon as they noticed it.

I used to have a very tight pussy, and prided myself on it, but nothing gives my Randy more pleasure than knowing that when one of my bulls is finished having his way with me I will barely be able to even feel him inside me, although two of my biggest bulls prefer for him to fuck me first so that I am wet enough to even get them in, although it still takes plenty of lube.

Then they make him fluff them before they fuck him up the ass until his dick looks like it’s going to shrink back into his body and looks more like an oversized clit. I asked him why that is but he says he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care why…because it just feels so good.

Once he cums, he goes into the corner to watch. After they get rid of the “quick one” in him he knows that they will really take their time with me.

Sometimes he ejaculates, but if they fuck him long enough and hard enough (and believe me they can) he says he feels what he describes as an “internal orgasm” as if his ejaculations are more like a clitoral orgasm and the gut-wrenching spasms he feels are more like a g-spot orgasm, which I read somewhere is related to stimulation of the prostate.

That makes perfect sense to me. He said if he had his choice, he would be perfectly happy with just what he calls his “Hiroshima Orgasms”.

My Randy loves “edging” and the longer he goes without ejaculation the better he likes it. He says he loves staying in a perpetual state of anticipation which often makes him cum before he can get hard if I tell him to fuck me. It is not unusual for him to ooze pre-cum several times a day, and he often squirts a little as soon as something goes up his ass.

Sometimes he produces almost no semen at all, even though he cums very hard…unless he gets his prostate massaged first, in which case he seems to completely empty his balls in one load, which is pretty much all he is ever good for most nights anyway, except for that one night last summer when I had two of my bulls “spit-roast” him twice in one night.

Each one took turns on which end they stuck their huge cocks into him.

Hey…it was his birthday, and I wanted to give him a present he would remember. Besides, I also had one of my other bulls do me while he watched as they did him. It was a great night for both of us as we stared into each other’s eyes watching both of us getting fucked at the same time.

He couldn’t ejaculate for a week after that night, even though I tried my best to milk him so he I could watch him eat it.

I try to milk him whenever I feel like it, despite his desires to stay chaste as long as possible. It is not a matter of his choice…it is mine alone, according to my whims, and he loves whatever pleases me.

He says he lives to serve at my pleasure.

I much as I love the taste of cum, and although I have never missed a chance to swallow if it is a solitary blow-job before Randy comes home from work, if he is around I always “snowball” it back to him…what the fuck, it’s the least I can do to make him happy.

Got to keep my pet well-fed.

I never pegged a man before Randy asked me, but I was amazed at how much I now love to do it whenever I can. I have an enormous dildo with lots of very exaggerated ridges and veins all over it and my favorite harness puts the base of the dildo onto my clit and I could swear I know what it feels like to have a cock.

Sometimes he pretends to be too tired or sore and whines like a little bitch until get rough and throat-fuck him with one of my smaller, softer cocks I keep on a separate harness for just that purpose.

Then if he still resists (and I love when he does) I make him lay there while I change into my “big dick” rig and roll him over forcefully and fuck him until he begs me to stop (I can tell when he has one of his “gurly” orgasms), but of course I never do. I usually fuck him even harder and faster and pull his hair and call him a sissy cocksucker while I slap his ass until it is red.

When he is finally whimpering and sobbing I start to really feel sorry for him and I let him go…and I know exactly how he likes it. It was not easy to learn to be able to do that, but I am here to please him too.

And that is just the tip of the iceberg…or rather the edge of the volcano. Next time I’ll tell you about what happens when I make him jump in.

 

 

 

 

 

On Letting Go, Part VII: Your Glory Days and the Past in General

Nostalgia is a curious word. It was an invented compound word from the Greek Nostos, meaning to return home, and Algos, meaning Longing, and the modern medical Latin Algia, referring to the sensation of pain.
As the story goes, it was created to describe a form of malaise suffered by Swiss mercenaries during the seventeenth century during extended absences from their homes, and marked the birth of the expression Homesick.
In modern times it has been subject to many variations of its interpretation, ranging from the triggering of memories of better days or happier times, either as Restorative Nostalgia where one wishes for a return, vs. Reflective Nostalgia, which tends to dwell on the pain itself, or to the actual objects, situations, or stimuli ranging from music, tastes, smells, sounds, or images that trigger the memories.
Numerous researchers claim that Nostalgia may be a coping mechanism that may result in hopeful anticipation of the future or acceptance of the present situation, or even the encouragement of seeking extension of one’s social network and support mechanisms.
In general, I disagree.
The basis of my disagreement is based mostly on anecdotal experiences and observations, as well as some recent research, but it would appear that from sometime during a man or woman’s thirties on, the potential for the onset of angst over lost youth, optimism, or opportunities seems to loom in front of them so ominously that it would appear to obscure their view of virtually everything else…much like not seeing the forest for the trees.
My personal favorite modern interpretation of Nostalgia is the pain of remembering….
That is not to say that one cannot feel hope or joy in remembering, especially those peak moments in one’s life, as well as the more mundane but nonetheless memorable mile markers each of us experiences throughout our lives that are long gone and no longer accessible for any number of reasons.
They may help nurture and renew stale or tainted relationships by serving as a reminder of what once was (and what may be once again possible)…maybe.
They can also provide perspective. If they trigger introspection they may be therapeutic, so long as they do not result in excessive rumination, and remorseful lamentation.
The other danger comes from wallowing in an excessive preoccupation with one’s Glory Days as an escape mechanism that enables denial of one’s current situation as a substitute for living fearlessly, positively, and creatively in the present.
Too often, this type of nostalgia reflects a revisionist history of idealized memories for something that never existed in the first place.
I cannot deny that I have not suffered from my own share of all of those above-listed negative experiences of Nostalgia at one time or another. I do not judge and it is not my intention to ridicule…at least not most of the time…
I still reserve the option however, to use self-lampoon whenever necessary if I believe it will help illustrate a point without impugning anyone else’s character, with the exception of the rich, the famous, and anyone pompous enough to run for or hold political office.
I hope I don’t have to explain why.
As always, the real issue is one of A Question of Balance.
No one really knows if it is a good idea to look at photo albums of one’s childhood, a wedding album, or reminders of other sorts of past lives during a bout of depression for instance, at least not until after the fact, and just because it makes you sad initially doesn’t mean it won’t be good for you eventually.
That part is up to you. If it gives you perspective, hope, or encouragement (or maybe even an erection), then good.
But if it sends you into a flat spiral from which there is no recovery you will be pretty much fucked unless you either snap out of it, or seek the help of a competent mental health care professional.
Unfortunately, unless you already know one, or trust the advice of someone who does, you are probably not in any condition to know the difference between the competent and all the rest who are merely perpetrating a fraud via a degree and certification who can’t accomplish one of the first and most important admonishments which is to “heal thyself” as well as “do no further harm”.
You never know…any pen can write the poison thought that can unravel your sanity, and once you open the box it’s damn near impossible to get all the demons back in.
I’ve lost almost half a decade more than once as a result of bad decisions…I certainly can’t recommend any sort of roadmap to avoid catastrophe and heartache, or for that matter, any way out once you find yourself there.
That’s why I don’t pretend to give advice…only perspective.
I refuse to accept responsibility for anyone else’s bad decisions. I’ve made too many of them myself, and the whole point of it is that in the end, it’s all up to you to figure it out for yourself.
That’s about the closest I come to giving advice.
So what is the point of this diatribe then?
Just this: no matter how shitty your judgment is, or how far you fall, as the saying goes, “It’s not about how many times you fall, it’s about how many times you get back up again.”
And I am in fact living proof that it is possible to survive ridicule, ruin, bankruptcy, divorce, addiction, catastrophic emotional and physical injuries, a seemingly endless free-fall from a state of Grace that was once beyond my wildest dreams, any death other than your own, mind-numbing depression, an endless series of dead-end career decisions and even the realization of one’s own mortality and still find Peace, Love, the ability to harmonize apparent discord, and a sort of realization of Happiness without either a frontal lobotomy or a bottle in front of me.
Not that I deny my affection for various degrees of strong drink and any number of experimental and recreational drugs, but then again, it’s A Question of Balance…I regard them as a means, not an end unto themselves.
Love many and trust few, and always paddle your own canoe.
Koo Koo Katchu.
Sometimes you are the Walrus, sometimes the Carpenter, or maybe even the Lobster.
Whatever you did or did not do to get you wherever you are, especially if it was due to circumstances beyond your control, you will be the one who is responsible for the outcome…you either survive and thrive, or improvise, adapt and overcome…or else.
Or else what?
Or else you don’t.
The past is behind us. It is a dream of what we were. The future will arrive all by itself without our help or worry, and the non-existent ever-present-never-present present moment is gone as soon as it arrives.
We live in a dream of an illusion of a virtual space between what was and what will be.
Just don’t wallow in the past.
It will all be over far sooner than you expected.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
07/18/2015

Do People’s Feelings Matter? That Depends.

Matt,
First of all, I always follow your posts, and generally enjoy them even when I don’t always agree….
But this one was magnificent, and I felt compelled to re-blog it.
This post covered more ground in less time/(space?) than a jet taking off from the deck of an aircraft carrier, but I doubt you intended to write a book on the subject, and let’s face it, there already have been plenty of them written on the subject.
It is a very ambitious effort on that behalf…and besides, I like your style of writing.
I had very mixed emotions (feelings?) about a number of the opinions you voiced because I disagreed with some of them…and that’s the rub…we intellectualize our feelings and let emotions rule our decisions, and the problem is that we don’t identify or recognize what we are doing one way or the other a great deal of the time.
Sometimes a difference of opinion can generate emotions like Anger. There is no doubt that they are connected, no matter how much at odds they may seem to be.
Of course, research would seem to indicate that hormones and polypeptides rule all of our emotions despite the fact that our interpretations of our feelings are learned behaviors that are the result of our acculturation.
And sometimes when we make promises and/or decisions, they are just as likely to be based on sappy emotions that are ill-conceived, as they are when we have to face the consequences…and even those decisions may not be logical or rational…especially a first marriage.
Your blog reflects a great deal of courageous introspection on that behalf.
Absolutely. Love IS A CHOICE…Happiness is a choice. Tolerance, Loving-Kindness, and Acceptance are choices we make also. When we make those decisions, we are less likely to indulge ourselves in self-righteous indignation. I firmly believe that those choices are more responsible for what we judge to be the quality of our lives than circumstances or even outcomes.
I think that whenever a man or a woman uses their emotions to control another person, or to justify their actions instead of taking responsibility for their CHOICE of reactions, that this is nothing short of extortion…I know people often call it emotional blackmail, but I think extortion is more accurate.
There is an expression called Dharma Action that addresses what actions we take that come from a place before thoughts, words, or opinions. Those choices of action accept everything exactly as it is, because arguments about context, or attempts to interpret or paraphrase are still based on opinions and emotions that amount to mental masturbation.
This always leads to suffering.
Pure emotions (emotions devoid of bad programming that may have resulted from disastrous primal experiences) are still a matter of choice…but the rest is bullshit…I couldn’t agree more.
The problem comes when Ignorance precludes the opportunity to know that we have a choice.
We would all be better off if we encouraged boys to be more nurturant and less opinionated, and encouraged girls to see themselves as complete and self-empowered.
Few institutions within our cultures are more responsible for confused emotions and bad programming than most religions.
Jealousy is based on a combination of insecurity, fear, anxiety, and envy but it can be therapeutic if we are provided the opportunity to experience it in a different context than we may have even known was possible.
I refuse to accept responsibility for someone else’s choice of how they interpret my choices if they are just using it as an excuse to try to control me, although anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am quick to admit when I am wrong, (sometimes even in mid-argument) and even quicker to recognize, validate or empathize with the pain they may be feeling because I rarely ever intentionally try to hurt anyone anymore.
If they are sad, I am sad because I care about them as people, even when they are delusional.
If the world doesn’t understand me, then that is my fault for not communicating more effectively, but if they understand me and we still disagree, I can accept that, regardless of whether they can or not.
People are quick to blame or condemn others, but rarely take responsibility for their own actions.
We judge ourselves by our intentions, but we judge others by their actions.
Genuine feelings are important. People are important. Love is important. Selfless love does not change, so it cannot turn into hate. Selfless love does not need to be requited. I exists all by itself, and we can choose to own it in a way that no one can ever take from us, even those whom we love.
Bullshit Feelings are Bullshit.
You Matter.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

Must Be This Tall To Ride

I once wrote that feelings are bullshit.

Except I wrote it more dramatically: “Feelings. Are. Bullshit.”

That probably seems rich coming from a guy who frequently writes emotion-based stories and whose only success as a blogger has come from a series of posts validating emotionally damaged wives’ feelings and warning husbands to ignore them at their peril.

Because of a technical glitch, an 18-month-old post titled Love is a Choice was re-posted to my Twitter feed over the weekend after making a small edit to that post and hitting the Update button.

A reader saw the tweet, read the post which included my “Feelings are bullshit” claim, and asked a challenging, but fair question: “Matt. I just read your post on ‘Love is a Choice.’ Do you still feel this way about feelings?”

Human emotion is a fascinating and complex thing.

I don’t think I need to rattle off the…

View original post 1,314 more words

Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Although of late I have faced setbacks and disappointments sufficient to stifle my attempts at self-discovery by way of self-expression, an almost unsettling calm has passed over me in recognizing that for longer than I can remember I have suffered most by my own hands.

I am not so much of a blogger as I am a writer. My chief tormentor is also my principal muse…myself.

In my periods of mania I am most driven and inspired to do what I so love to do…to write. During those times I feel most alive and best able to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, hang the costs and carry on in my desire to live life completely and fearlessly. The desire to “take arms against a sea of troubles” is kept at bay, at least as long as I can still create…to be the director of my own private Theater of the Mind.

My desires to prepare my second novel for publication wanes as I continue to search for new directions, a new voice, a different message.

Although fantasy and a sense of the absurd have been some of my favorite vehicles, they were nonetheless inspired by autobiographical experiences. Then again, as rich as my life has been in story-book (but hardly fair-tale) experiences, I am rarely at a loss to describe plots and scenarios that most people would gladly eschew, but which I nonetheless felt compelled to embrace regardless of cost, danger, or rationality that have been the backs-stories of the screenplay of my life.

Early on, when I was told to write about the things I knew, I found the advice to be both helpful and inspirational because already, even at a tragically young age, already my hand was holding the pen that would write the poison thought that would unravel my sanity.

I recently have come to believe however, that these events so rich in experience are merely the background for what I intend to do by taking an even bolder step to take even the darkest experiences into the light of day without having to actually jump into the volcano myself (for once).

This brings me full circle into my favorite genre of Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction.

It occurs to me that as a writer, to simply chronicle what has already happened by way of direct experience is only a small part of an even larger theater of Imagination. It takes research to create stories spawned from within my imagination and still embrace factual truth, even if it represents another reality that at least for now is not entirely my own.

We live in wondrous times that the collected knowledge of the world is available at our fingertips without even leaving the confines of one’s own home via the Internet…if only you know where to look. No one single library anywhere in the world could contain such a wide array of subjects and information.

Long ago I was forced to embrace the admonishment to Never Look Away regardless of fear, embarrassment or revulsion. You cannot flinch if you intend to prevail…in fact it is only by embracing conflict that it is put into its proper place.

In truth, most of the times, I found myself strangely fascinated.

These past several weeks I have wrestled with whether even I have the abilities to embrace these thoughts I entertain, or rather, whether to reveal the heights and depths of where my imagination will lead.

Who the fuck am I trying to kid? Life never takes precedence over the words, at least not for me. Life may postpone the writing of the words, but the experiences themselves seem to arise from my compulsion to live out a screenplay that was written before my parents were born.

I live for the words, and the words live through me. I was born to live this life with all its highs and lows and to live to tell the stories of it. What are empty words without experience? What is Joy without the experience of Sorrow? How can you really savor Victory without experiencing the taste of the bitter ashes of Defeat? You can only really appreciate Peace after you have suffered Conflict, but you don’t have to stick your hand into the fire to know that it is hot.

Enough is enough. Time to use those experiences to kindle my imagination beyond my own experiences. A writer should be able to give voice to those too busy to tell their own tales. I once was one of them.

I am just the messenger.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

07/07/2015