Sometimes we put things out into the universe and they happen, and they do so for a reason.

Of course I have my library fetish. Ever since a geeky jr. high girl who used to hide in the stacks during lunch–looking at pages of; deformities of the human body, grand master paintings, pop art, circus side show performers, and poetry have I had these fantasy of being taken in a library. My position within a library institution, I always felt, was a coincidence, a pleasing twist of fate that has helped shape the woman I am today.

For about the last five years I have invited only a handful men to meet me at the place I hold so dear, to stalk me in the stacks, another mild fetish of mine also since jr. high (the real stalkers are never as good as the imaginary stalkers). The imaginary scenario would always start out innocent; a question at the reference desk that would then lead to a material search in the stacks and would culminate with me on my knees with a cock in my mouth.

Yesterday’s fantasy was a simple email, one I have probably sent variations of –on more than one occasion. My fantasy was in actuality a request, but it took the right person to see it as that and to seize my words and make something happen. I put it out in to the technological cloud and it came back in the form of flesh, blood and hard cock.

“I am at my reference desk now, imagining you walking in, or walking beyond me, but in my view–making me aware you are here and that you want me–maybe demand me– with no words ever spoken between us.

It would only take a glance and a phone call for someone to relieve me of my reference desk duties–so that I could meet you in a secluded section of books going unread.

I went bare legs, no tights to get in way of your hands to my flesh.

intrigued by you and want to make you swell.”

Yes, I guess that is a rather inviting, but I had not with deliberate intention meant for it to be, I was not even really wearing skirt with bare legs, it was just part of the tease, part of the work drift fantasy that was happening in my mind as I sat at the reference desk. Or was it?

I sensed it instantly, the moment you passed my eye I knew who you were, even though we had never laid eyes on each other.  My heart began to thump and my breath became spontaneously erratic, yet heavy as I watch you approach my space. Sex charged, bold and in control–you walked straight up to the desk feigning a question that requires my full attention, that demands an escort to help you find what you are looking for.

As we walk the magnetism between us is powerful.

“You should really give a girl a warning, I am not even wearing a skirt.”

You tell me you believed my email to be an invitation, which I now believe to be true as well.

My section of the library is small, secluded, closed off, and always filled with patrons, but one can still can hide lovers behavior. In between the row of self help and poetry,  we touch, learn, embrace, kiss. I can feel your cock, before I even actually feel your cock. I have never been this brazen in my place of work, and really did not care, I was lost into you–your tie, your suit–I wanted to undress you–I wanted you to use that tie in other ways.

Stroking your cock over your pants I needed to taste you. Lowering myself to the bottom shelf my mouth so close, so hungry I run cheek along the shaft of your cock. I become that other women. Slightly submissive and all cock hungry. I can smell you, I can feel you harden on my cheek, by my lips and my cunt begins to throb in need.

“Would you like to come to the fourth floor with me.”

Art and Music is on the forth floor, I love this area, one can really get lost–in the seclusion, in the art, the photography, the past works of great of lives are held up here. Taking you by the arm, proud to be yours, I take you to 759.4, the isle between LPs and master painters. The fervor we felt on the first floor is boiling. Your hands lock into my hair, pulling me in–our eyes, our bodies pulled together, your lips to mine. Our first kiss and I want more. You grab my hands at the wrist place them on the sturdy metal shelves, my fingers bruising against Cezanne, my body feeling your weight.

“Put your hand down your pants, then in my mouth I want to taste you.”

I comply eagerly, slick I pull them out and into your mouth, then back in, so I too can have a taste. My fingers coated in me fill my mouth– becoming a mix of our lips, tongues, and fingers. Again, your hands lock around my strands of curls, forcefully you guide me to my knees, to your cock and that feel, that laden need consumes my body, my mouth. The want is painful and almost scares me–and still does.

“I need your cock.”

You comply, giving me what I need. The twitching, throbbing red head of your cock passes my lips, my tongue tasting your drippings. That is the moment when your cock became and extension of me. I refused to let it go, whether in my mouth, hands or thoughts.

We walk, our bodies tightly connected. I see patrons looking at me, they can see it, they know I have just had cock in my mouth, they can smell the pussy. 779.092, photography.

Gone. My need at that moment are about your cock, about my cunt, about this need. When I get in this space, I feel everything fragment around, like all else crumbles around me except this one exclusive moment.

My hands find your cock inside your pants, your dripping, viscose strands from my fingertips to the head of you cock the fabric is not even absorbing it anymore. To my knees I drop, my mouth loving your dick. You begin to feed me, thrusting slowly, filling my mouth, pulling me by the hair into you. Pulling me off and taking step back you taunt me with you cock, so red and blatant pointing at me the row of books. My mouth hanging open in needy want. I am so turned on, all I want you to do is bend me in half and plunge, stab, fuck into me. Not caring who is watching, wanting them to watch, wanting them to get hard, touch their cocks while they watch me fuck you and while you fuck me.

Begging, with my lips, you oblige and give me more, and my pussy continues to thump. I stand turning my ass to your cock, your hand works down to the back my jeans and into my pussy and you administer a sweet finger bang. I have to stop you, I need to gain control of the situation.

In my ear you whisper, “are you going to have an orgasm right here?”

It was a question and a command at the same time. In my mind I thought– no way, but his fingers where pulling it out of my tiny little hard clit. I did come; as I held tight to your body hard, strained, with barely a audible sound.

I had to return to my post, I beg you to come back next Wednesday.

The remainder of my shift my cunt stayed wet, with every move I could feel my full and needy pussy and I drifted around in some sort dream–not sure what had just happened even happened.

I wish it were it were Wednesday again.

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Because I am too busy pleasing a fat persistently hard cock, I am pulling a post from the deep storage, the archive, the vaults, the closed stacks.

Now I must get back to the cock, to my spread thighs, to the man lapping at my pussy–keeping me in persistent soak, and back to the cock for breakfast.

I used to date this man, a whim, not a keeper, but a time passer, the first man after my divorce. He was a librarian too. The male librarian is not the same as the female librarian. The hot librarian archetype does not apply to the male version of my species, although they do tend, like me, to be sexually freaky. As a personality type, they tend wear crumpled suits with cigarette holes in the pants, they are nervous, on the edge of being under a blown stress out at all times, they are the quite type you wonder about.

Back to the man. He looked like Vladimir Lenin, my friends all called him Vladdy, “where’s Vladdy?” He had the bald head; I used to wrap my legs around his head and drop my pussy right on top of his bald cranium, feeling the wetness and the suction from my cunt to his skin. It really felt quite fantastic, if you are bald you should try it.

If we went to parties, he would scope out friends of mine, friends with features similar to mine, reddish hair, full ass, and then he would “accidentally” grab a feel, pretending he thought it was me. The first time he did this, I thought, hmmmm—maybe it was an accident, but eventually I became a co-conspirator in his little ass game, it was entertaining. One friend though, we look pretty similar, must have gotten her ass grabbed 50 times by him.

Vladdy and I would spend a lot of time driving around Oakland, taking pictures, checking out prostitutes, drinking in dive bars, we often frequented the White Horse Inn, the legendary gay bar, that’s been in operation for 75 years. We also frequented the hot tubs in Berkeley, also pleasurable. We would get sloppy drunk, actually I stayed sloppy drunk for about two years after my divorce, I had just found an equally as sloppy partner. We would get sloshed go back to his place, slowly remove bits of clothing, while doing so we would draw each other, each drawing with less clothing, until we were naked. His drawings were more simple, a line varied width style, mine would be more detailed, or detailed heavily in one area then fall off in all the other areas.

Vladdy was a pussy worshiper, well–and a cock worshiper too, but since I pack pussy he worshiped at my pussy. He would stay in there forever if I permitted him to. He probably would have crawled up my snatch, set up a home for himself if he could. He was submissive. With his submissive type, I am both very good and very bad, and to the submissive–that is still very good. I found my self using him all in kinds of ways. I would make him fuck me with his mouth; I would ride his face, grind into him, cum all over him, and then not reciprocate. When I did, I pounded him like crazy; when he fucked me I would get my fingers slicked up with spit and ram his ass with each trust into my pussy. Often, on those drunken dive bar nights, I would nearly assault his ass. He loved it, I fucked him harder each time, but each time, it was with more and more disdain, and it made me fuck him harder. I would fuck him until I was done cumming; however many times it would be, then not really care if he ever came. What a selfish mannish girl I was.

He was also chronic masturbator, if we were not out of the apartment doing those other things; he was either masturbating or serving my cunt. One time I left him in my apartment, while I went to run some errands. I came home sooner than anticipated. I found him at my computer, watching porn, wearing a pair of my panties, masturbating, and chain smoking. It was quite a sight.

We had a good run, but in the end I used him, I fucked him, I “fucked-used” him. It was never going to work; I would only always be fuck-using him. It ended rather badly, he became sort of stalker-esq, librarian weird, very needy, needy of my fingers to be buried in ass, and while this is fun–a girl need to fucked-used sometimes too. It was all just too one sided of a sex life. I am in search of a man who will let me bend him over, but who will do the same to me. I need to be used, fuck-used. I need fingers in my ass while you fuck me, I need to be handled, but then have the opportunity to handle as well.

Make sense?

Your deeds tonight have elicited a response I have long craved. I have always wanted a man to control the situation, to control me. Until now no man has ever been successful.

I was taken aback by your requests to remove my panties at the table during dinner, as we sat across from our companions who knew nothing of the devilish demeanor that lay within that mind of yours. Once I finally removed them, you slipped my beautiful midnight blue v-cut panties into your pocket; you made me keep my skirt hiked, my bare ass sticking to the vinyl, your hands grasping at my thighs throughout the remainder of dinner. By then my mind was already searing with your tantalizing wickedness. I felt odium and delight in one, a mix of sheer pleasure and humiliation in your fiendishness. I knew when I rose from the seat my mark will have remained, with the sensation I was already consumed with, I was sure to leave behind a small puddle.

When we reached your apartment, I thought you were done, or that was it, and yes while that was fine, I secretly wanted more. More of your control, your power, I wanted you to tell me… no I wanted you to make me yours.

That’s why– I was secretly, beyond, elated when you seized my wrist and twisted my arms behind me. I immediately felt myself fill with pleasure in what you may have in store for this bad kitty. You instruct “over here pet” and proceed to have me kneel before you. I crave to follow your direction; my cunt lifts and clinches when you call me pet. I love this; I love being considered a play thing, an animal, a toy, a pet.

I watch with widened eyes as you remove your clothing and then unhook the belt. Ooh….My mind reels–what are you going to do once you have pulled it from the loops? Are you going to fold it in half and spank me with it, are you going to massage my now very wet lips with it, tease, maybe slip it in a little, get the leather wet and then smack my ass with it? I begin to speak, you instantly stop me. I am so turned on as your finger bumps against my lips, silently telling me the time for talking is done.

Then you seem to yank it from your waist and command me “put your hands together.” I blaze with an excitement I have never felt, I feel searing liquid already dripping down my thigh. You constrain my wrist with the belt then pull me up like it is a handle and drape me over your lap, where I am sure to leave, yet another wet spot. I am already throbbing in anticipation of what is about to take place. You snatch my skirt up past my ass, and then I feel it–a swift, firm spank to my cheek. I melt; it feels so fucking luscious, I think it made me slightly cum. Then from out of nowhere you pull my panties from your pocket and shove them into my mouth, restraining not only my mouth, but my tongue. I am dazed, agitated and utterly turned on all at once. My mind does not even get time to register the fact you have stuffed my own panties between my lips–before you do it again–only better, faster, harder, the sting administered by your hand brings forth an animal squeal from me. I would flash embarrassment if I was not so aroused by the move. I can now feel your cock swell under me; it too causes me to let out a breathy moan of craving.

I am longing for more, and then you grab the belt and nudge me off your lap, while holding onto the makeshift belt handle, directing me to my knees. You stand, I do not turn but I hear you undress, I can almost smell you. You bid me further to the floor by grabbing the back of my hair and impelling my face downward, which causes my ass to be raised further into the air, an improved view for you. The compelling tug on my hair has me anticipating your next move with a longing that starts in my mind and runs the length of my body. My wait is not long–there is no time to even react to you raising my ass before you swiftly, forcefully strike the untouched side of my ass. There was an instant throb; I knew instantly my bottom was a beautiful shade of painful pink. This throb was not only on my ass, but my cunt was now resonating uncontrollably as well. I felt my eyes water, but did not know if it was tears from the pain or the pleasure.

My favorite, especially now, panties still stuffed in my mouth has heightened my sense of smell. I smell your space, I smell you so close to me, I smell your body, I smell my own sweet musk radiating from between my thighs, and, I swear, I can smell the scent of your cock, from behind me as my ass remains ascended toward your gaze. I feel your breath along my neck as you lean over and tug on the v-cuts, they seem to cascade out of my mouth. You lean in close and whisper; asking me, not wanting an answer, already knowing my answer, “Do you want something else in there? Do we need something else for my kitty’s mouth?” The sound of your voice sends a chill down my spine that emanates deep into me; I can feel the pulsating from inside me. I know that if I were able to slide my hands onto my stripped junction that they would easily glide across my flesh like silk. The thought begins to make me throb even more and I want to beg, I want to beg for you to caress my growing fruit. I want to beg for you to slide your fingers along my slit; I want to beg for so much more. However, I suppress my wishes and continue to take pleasure in the restraint and in your control, knowing in the end the beg will be unnecessary.

Instead, I obediently nod. You sit–your cock pointing at me–tantalizing me with that beautiful streamline that runs your curve. I want to pounce, wanting to devour it and you whole. You say “Wet this for me pet” and my cunt liquefies even more and my mouth drips with saliva as I sink my lips around your head. It taste so damn good I cannot control myself and I begin to rise and fall on your shaft. You stop me so quickly, again by taking hold of my hair and saying “There– that’s enough.” I want to cry out for more, but your authority has me absolutely captivated. I am yours. I will abide.

I watch eagerly as your full round head and curve bounce in front of me as you stroke up past the tip and then back down the length, making me so ravenous. You tug on your balls causing your cock again to bounce so close to my face, to my mouth. My pussy clinches and pulsates. You taunt me again with your words “Is that what you want? Promise you will be a good kitty?”
I nod eagerly. My mind racing–What I want?

What I want– is you to grab my hips by my ass from behind and pound that stunning curve deep into my cunt, relentlessly with no delay, with no more tease, I want you to plow me, I want you to push my body into the floor with your hands tangled in my hair, while my ass stays raised in place, as your dick cuts through my soaking wet pussy, pummel me until I feel it in my brain. I want you to spread me open, I want to feel your throbbing inside me until you are about to cum. Then I want you to lift me back up by my belt handle and dictate me to rise to my knees and finish your cock with my mouth, my lips– until I surrender my entire mouth to you and I feel and taste your cum slip down my throat. That is what I want. I promise I will be a very good kitty.

This is an oldie from the Library Vixen Archive– orginally posted January 4, 2009.

There are a variety of men employed at my library. Being the insatiable twat I am–I have, of course, analyzed each in an overtly sexual manner and on an occasion or two have perhaps tasted for myself the kind of men they are.

I have a special affection for the security staff. Our saviors! I work in a big city library these men and women are literally, our saviors. We have a hot button directly to their office. They rescue us from the unsavory, the jilted, the too high, the too low, the smelly, and the unruliest of unrullies. Therefore it is only natural for me to have a fond affection for them.

However; I have an extra fond affection for one in particular. His name is– well that is not important, his badge number is–let’s say 69.

69 has saved me countless times. He also happens to be, almost as big a flirt as I am. We fit well together, and we play off one another sluttish ways, in only the best dirtiest way possible. He will come around to my section and I do my little book shelving routine, that involves a lot a squatting and meandering, I do a little bend over ass up number. Another one of my favorite moves is to be pretending to look at his record on the computer and really I am just showing him naughty images of my ass.

The library has a stereotype of being dreadfully slow, quiet and boring, but really it is far from that image. The place is off the hook, I must wear invisible armor to my job. The public will eat your ass alive (not in a good way), sell your only child for one more fix, steal your granny’s car and then ask to have their fines reduced in a matter of minutes. I am forced to be at times a dominatrix librarian, which goes against my vixen grain. I am the one who wants to be controlled, or perhaps the job has made me this way. Perhaps I am forced to be so dominate on the job that when I am not “on” I want to just be taken, handled, ruled, and told what the fuck to do by my man. Now I am not saying this is something I live by, because that is not me either. What I am saying is, I like a man who knows what he wants and takes it. If he possesses this character I am more than willing to give it all up to him.

Back to 69; he is the kind of man who knows what he wants.

I was having particularly rough day. The regular addicts had already spent their dole on their vice of choice and are coming down and doing so at the library. Not pretty, not fun and sometimes dangerous. When I finally did get the chance to take a break, it was much needed. I walked up the stairs toward the side entrance, as I approached the automatic doors 69 was coming in, he took one look at me and gestured for me to follow him. Security has a magic key card that allows access to every part of our giant 7 floor building. He immediately opens a side door, which I had probably past a million times and never even noticed. The door opened up to a long hallway with one side being completely made up of windows. They are a combination of large frosted glass squares surrounded by a band about 2 inches wide of clear glass, making the visual both visible and invisible at the same time. The windows look down on to ground floor, the fiction reading room and express internet terminals (porn stations), an area that is always crawling with patrons, who I could clearly see through the clear band of glass. If any one of them were to look up they too could make out the forms of our bodies.

As we walk the hall he pulls my ass into him so I can feel his stiffing cock, I slow my stroll and lift the back of my skirt so I can asses the situation a little better. 69 has this incredible way having his dick out quickly, like it was always out of his pants, so that by the time my skirt was lifted my stocking covered ass was touching his flesh already. I did mentioned he is man knows what he wants. I let my skirt drop and grasp his cock with my two hands; I feel him begin to grow solid between my clutch. As we approach the end of the hallway, 69 nudges me toward the window my back facing the glass, my hands still wrapped around his cock. He flashes these eye at me, that any other time and any other man I would think to myself “are you fucking kidding me with that cheap shit,” but today I will let him have it, this kitty wants to taste security. I slowly begin to lower myself toward the floor, my hands running across his shaft, his striking green/hazel eyes watching my slow descent to his dick.



I reach just the right level and am facing my savior’s cock. He is a long, low hang of a man and curves inward so from the position I was currently in, with his dick not yet fully erect it easily dropped directly down into my throat. As he slides the tip in I taste pre-cum, I begin a slow gentle suck hands sliding along the soft skin of his shaft. The man behind the badge lets out a low moan and his dick begins to rise and grow in strength. I must raise myself up a bit to accommodate the new angle. Our pace begins to flow as his cock enters my mouth at a more deliberate tempo; more of him is slipping down my throat, with each thrust I can taste more of that that pre flavor. 69’s hands are firmly planted above me on the glass as he plunges further in; he is now fucking my mouth driving it in deeper. My cheeks stuffed. Saliva is flooding around his hardness his breath becomes deep. He says things to me like “suck that dick, that’s the way, you know how I like it, damn girl,” (things that I would normally find amusing and not hot somehow seem hot when he says them) as he pushes himself in even more. I grasp my hands around his balls and pull him into me. Like a giant trophy. I can feel his whole body begin to tighten, his thighs, his abs, his balls all pull in and we begin to move in slow motion. His hands begin to slide down the glass leaving sweaty palm trails behind.





My own hand has slipped up my skirt and down my panties sliding around while the suck has slowed to a savoring crawl, he moves in and out, lingering with each pull back. As I run my tongue along the inside of his curve I visualize him sliding slowly into me. My fingers work my imagination and my cunt. I feel 69 twitch unyieldingly I know his time is approaching. His hips drop, his hands still holding him up pressing resolutely onto the glass as he plunges and rides into my lips. Everything ceases…I can hear the humm of the electrical, my head is spinning and 69 pushes one last time as a gush fills my throat. Ohhh my savior you taste so fucking good.

It is after the morning rush and prior to the lunch rush, the time I usually find myself at my favotite downtown coffee house. They make a perfectly strong Americano. I am a regular here, as are many others. For the last month or so I have been seeing this man, he is dark brooding, perhaps five plus years older than me. We have an acknowledged glance as two downtown coffee lovers nothing more.

Until today, today I was waiting in line as he was receiving his coffee and leaving the counter to find a seat, where he normally buries his head into The Times, but today, and I do not know what it was; perhaps it was my new skirt, which has extreme darts sewn into the back that accentuates my already curved ass, maybe it was black shoe with wood heels that make my calves look vigorous and strong, maybe it was the bare smooth legs, maybe it was the smoky lip gloss, but when he glanced at me I knew exactly what this fleeting look proposed. Usually I would either miss such momentary glimpses or become overwhelmed with coyness and dismiss the gaze and focus my eyes to the floor. However; today I was flooded with a wave of unabashed sexuality. I, without delay, forwardly returned his gaze, with a raise of my eyebrow and a small parting and lick of my lips. Our eyes locked and we knowingly understood something enticing was about to ensue.

I sugared and creamed my coffee, took a deep breath and found a seat across the room from him, but in clear view. He is wearing a dark suit that matches his olive skin and dark peppered hair, not perfectly pressed, but not wrinkled either. I look over at him–seeing him look directly at me, watching him shift in his chair to obviously alter what was beginning to swell. The move mesmerized me and I held my gaze, so much so that for a moment he dropped his, but only for a moment. When he looked back at me I moistened my lips with my tongue and gave a slight bite to my bottom lip. Taking one more sip on my coffee and without taking my eyes off him rise from my chair.

I feel his eyes following my back side as I walk toward the women’s room. When I reach the door, I pause and look back at him unashamed at my lust that is beginning to make me wet. I disappear behind the door, I enter, straighten myself in the mirror and anticipate his entrance. He does not leave me waiting long. The door and he locks it behind him. I turn to meet him and he grabs me and forces me back toward the mirror my ass into him. Grabbing my head from behind, pulling it to one side and he begins to kiss my neck from behind. I feel myself melt under the grasp of his forceful pull. His hand slides under my blouse and beneath my flimsy bra, as he grasps at my flesh I feel the warmth radiating from his strong hand. His lips move from my neck toward my ear and he whispers “lift that skirt and spread your legs.” I comply. Sustaining his grip on my breast while his other hand travels up the back of my hiked skirt. I begin to pant the closer he gets to my now dripping pussy. His fingers graze my lips through the fabric of my panties, causing me to let out a slight low moan. This moan causes him to pull his hand away. I am confused with a hint of torment. He grabs his handkerchief from his breast pocket and assertively stuffs it into my mouth. I am shocked and turned on beyond belief. He then tells me “You need to be silent,” as his hand then moves up the back of my skirt again, I am more wet than before, if that is possible.

Exploring the mountains of ass and assertively pawing at the foothill of the junction between my thighs, he grabs my panties from the fabric trinagle between my legs and yanks them down as far as the brown lace will stretch past splayed legs. As he yanks my skirt further up around waist his hand never leaving my body seeks out the heat between my legs. His touch is vehement, unruly and makes me soak as he parts my slick slit with this stroke, if my mouth was not stuffed I would have surely let out a deep moan.

Plunging deeply into my cunt as he pulls me back into his body his other hand still around my breast, he begins to kiss the side of my neck with more force until it feels like I am about to melt upon his fingers and fist. He speaks softly in my ear “you are a fucking wet irresistible bitch.” I respond by pulling his fingers into me further with firmest clinch this pussy can pull. He continues to work it. I am rocking harder and grinding myself atop his whole hand. Removing his other from my blouse and down to my clit, which he also begins working feverishly on. In a matter of moments I feel myself seize around his hand as he lifts me off the ground by my cunt and I cum hard, I feel myself grabbing tightly around his fingers clinching, twitching, then a spill of sweet release, the inside of thighs dripping and his fist and fingers are covered in me. He slides them out from deep and rubs my entire pussy. Pulling them out, he slides two of the fingers in his mouth and in my ear tells me just how “fucking delicious” I am. Pulling at me one last time and passing his lips across my neck, he removes his handkerchief and slides his slick fingers in its place, so I can taste for myself. He then turns a walks out, leaving me week in the knees with my panties stuck somewhere between knees and floor, skirt hiked, panting in a whimpering mess.

I love coffee.

Guarded, controlled and yes– my body betrays with abandonment. And yes, I think you may be right, I do get some perverse pleasure in battling against the dichotomy of my mind and body. I am into dichotomy and my pussy is definitely into it.

When I got to Chicago for round two I felt prepared. Although, I am never sure one can be fully prepared to be fucked in the ass and controlled by a dom lovin’ man. This is part of my experiment, the exploration into one of the many sides of my sexuality. I have a dominate persona myself, I have dominated men in and out of the bedroom. Ahh, but the other side, maybe the stronger side– is soft, a giver, generous and nurturing. Submissive? I truly do long to take care of you, to feed you, comfort you, listen to you, love you and more than anything to be your sweet dirty nasty slut. Life becomes contorted though. Values, ideals, hopes and dreams get diluted and we are left with shards of theories of love and sex, which we stitch together to make up our particular proclivities for getting off.

The gangster used to control me in unhealthy ways, and in some misconstrued seductive way, I liked it. We fought and fucked. I would often purposely make him mad to see his anger, to feel his control. A rather fucked up cyclical situation. There was fire to every aspect of our relationship, not just sexually. When the sex died all that was left was the anger. My anger, his rage, my mouth of fire and poison would flow until he could no longer react with anything else other than his angry hand. The burning sting left across my face, the hand that wrapped and tangled around my hair pulling me to the floor, it connected to our sex–even though it was some twisted form of what our sex had become.

So this brings me back to my the investigation into my sexual dichotomy. While the gangster and I had deeper problems, I always recognized that his power and control turned me on, more so than my husband ever did or could, but that I was never without my control, it may have gotten lost, amalgamated–high on the mix of cock and love, but it was still there, just being an antagonist.

What is it about pain and control that makes so insatiably wet. I am not really a pain slut–I like good solid ride and nice pounding, just as much as the next girl, but why the rougher you became, the harder you bite my nipples, and clamp your hands around my tits, the wetter I get, despite my pleas for you to stop, despite my anger. I did not enjoy the pain, plus I absolutely hate being told what to do as you command in various ways, it pisses me off, but you like that. Don’t you? You like that fire that anger and pain give, that blaze that it sets to my cunt, the way it makes me saturate between my thighs. You like feeding me your cock, until I choke and gag, saliva spilling out the corner of my lips around your shaft and on to the hotel room floor, as my head hangs over the side of the bed being so completely filled and fucked.

What I am into is the way your strong hands wrap around my throat, tightening, while your cock fill me up. It is the closest experience to being high that I have experienced since being high. My cunts throbs, as my mind fades, and my brain turns to static, and tiny stars fill my eyes, and if I could see my face I know there would be a sick sick smile on it. Your hand gripped tightly around my throat, mine buried between my legs, grinding atop your rock, I am amazed at how wet I am.

“do feel that? Can you even feel your cock in all that wet mess?”

My pussy overflows, the mouth of my river meets the ocean, and I ride and grind with all I can, I use your cock. The fire and the anger is focused into my pussy and ride it out, while your hands lock, continuing to restrain my thought process, I don’t need a thought process at this moment. I come many times this way, using your solid beam, my pussy in control of both of us. You make me cum in ways I have not cum in long long time, for the pain may have been worth it. But, is it really the pain that made me cum?

The dichotomy continues. If was with the right man, would I not cum just as much, of not more? Wouldn’t I let my guard down for him and let go of my ocean without the connotation of pain? The search for what makes me cum, let go, fall in love, soar–in all those deliciously perverse ways continues. Will I see Chicago again? Probably. Is he the one? No.

It has been two days of straight rain, a good day to go get heated up in small 110* room with 20 other sweaty bodies. I roll the mat out in my usual spot not many people there yet, lots of space. Then in walks “Ashley,” She surveys the room and then rolls her mat right next to mine. Ashley is quite distracting to me, not good when I am there to focus. She is maybe, MAYBE, 22 and just stunningly pleasing to the eye. She has a face that is kind of off, her nose a bit long, I love it; it adds so much character. Her neck is elongated and leads strikingly into her remarkable body, her ass is the perfect roundness, I just wanted to reach over and spank it and it leads to her equally nice thighs, which are not skinny, but voluptuous, they match her ass. Her mid-drift is quite pleasing too, the belly area is not all tight and over worked, but lean with softness and of course she dons simple navel ring. She has this all over brown skin, no doubt from a tanning booth, but looks hot nonetheless. Today she was wearing a black sports bra confining and squishing her rather large sized breasts and tiny loose fitting, green (my favorite color) racing shorts with stripes up the side. I am already thinking that I am going to be able to see right up those loose fitting shorts and the mental distraction begins.

I drift into thoughts of what Ashley might smell like, what she would sound like while being fucked—would she moan, pant, whimper, maybe she’s a screamer. I bet she would look so hot in a confining yoga pose all tied down and tied up, strewn on my big bed. I wonder what she tastes like. I wonder if she has tasted another woman on her lips before. I think to myself, where are these thoughts coming from, I am here to focus, meditate. Her navel ring glints a sparkle to my eye, her belly so soft, her ass so round. God to be 22 again.

We begin our series; I instantly get reprimanded for not having the proper focus. I try to snap my mind into where it needs to be, and it remains there for awhile too. We are all working hard getting exceedingly wet from the heat and sweat. Then it is time for the standing bow pose, which I am pretty good at, if it were not for Ashley’s perfect physique taunting me. In this pose the leg is pulled up, back and then toward the head with one arm and the opposite arm outstretched toward the front and then you charge your body forward with leg kicking up in the back toward y our head. This is when I could absolutely not control my fixation of Ashley. I glanced over her browned thighs glistening with sweat, as drips off, forming a pool at her pink toenails. I try not to, but I am weak, I follow the curve of her thigh up higher, to that ass, ohh that ass. Of course as I had suspected I could see right into those lose fitting shorts straight to the honey pot. It was shadowed and I think there were panties, but it was hard to really tell because of the way the silhouette fell from her thigh onto her pussy. I am all lost in Ashley, then all of sudden, again, I am being scolded for my improper posture and lack of discipline. Boy, if yoga master only knew my true lack of discipline.