Jefferson_1

In his e-mail he said he was feeling lovely and mean. Little did I know. The one thing I did know was that as soon as I walked in the door, I had to kiss him and get naked as soon as possible. He greeted me at the door in boxer shorts. I inhaled his scent and felt his skin, relieved to be here again. We kissed and devoured each other for a while, then he told me to get out of my clothes.

I can't remember everything. When it happened, in what order. It was all a bit of a blur.

When I was naked, we locked lips again as he half guided half pushed me into the bedroom. I knelt on the floor in front of him and took his cock into my mouth. We soon moved to the chair and continued. He took my face in his hands and said, "You know one of the reasons I like you? You are so pretty!" And slapped me hard across the face. I grinned and sighed. "You are so fucking pretty!" and he smacked my face again and again, until I heard a little ring in my ear. He ran his foot along my cunt and I squeezed my thighs together rubbing my clit against his foot. He guided my head away. "Get on the floor." He pushed my head down until I was lying on my back. With my legs spread he slapped my cunt. I screamed and closed my legs, he pulled them apart and smacked it again and again. He sat on my face and I eagerly licked his asshole. He rubbed his ass against my face as I ate him, trying to get my tongue inside. I love to eat ass. I could live down there. He sat fully on my face, suffocating me.

He punched my chest over and over, forcing breathy grunts from me. I noticed that his punches were different from other punches I have known. Then again, maybe they all are a little different. He pushed me flat on my back, he shoved his foot on my face. He kicked me in the crotch. I remember scraping my nails against the cabinet doors, but I don't remember what he was doing to cause me to do so. Biting and twisting my breasts far beyond what they are used to? Smacking my cunt? Forcing one too many fingers inside me? "Your such a pussy today." He said, as I sobbed. That's always the worst punishment, the suggestion of being disappointing. He whispered in my ear, "I need to to be brave, today, because I really want to mess you up." I nodded, determined to do my best. My lips were trembling uncontrollably. My eyes unfocused.

I felt his fingers inside me, curling up to hit my G-spot. Thank god, I thought as he slipped another finger inside. I'm not sure how many he fit inside. I knew four has been done before. He ground his fingers inside me, the pain and pleasure melting together into something... else. So intense, too intense. I willed my pussy to expand for him. He fingers churned inside me. I was moving backwards, my body trying to escape the invasion, until my head was against the wall sandwiched between the bed and the legs of the chair. At one point I felt a pinch at my ear. Somehow, my earlobe had gotten caught in his humidifier. I laughed a little at this sudden absurd and mediocre bit of pain, until I was snapped back into the moment. I begged him to slow down, he did not. "I can't!" I screamed. "I can't!" as he went on and on. When he finally withdrew, I scooted myself (or did he pull me?) awkwardly out from behind the furniture. He lifted my leg and I could see a smear of blood on my thigh. He kissed my calf, the kisses turning into bites.

He sat back in the chair and I slipped my mouth over his cock again. He brushed the dust off of my back. When told me to masturbate I did.

I always loved the humor behind "Deep Throat", the absurd idea that this woman's clitoris was inside her throat. But, I swear there are times when I feel like I could come just by sucking his cock. I get incredibly wet. Obscenely wet, so much that I can feel the fluid dripping down the inside of my leg.

He then took over the blow-job. He forced his cock down my throat, I gagged and retched. Thick, pools of saliva pored from my throat, collecting in his public hair. He pushed me back down, a little puke coming up this time. He stood and I stayed kneeling. "Clean this mess up." I went back down on him trying to ignore the flecks of vomit.

I laid on back on the edge of the bed. I lifted my legs for him as he slid his cock inside me. It was so very comforting, this cock, slipping into me perfectly, fucking me just hard enough. I don't know what happened then. I felt my lips go numb and my body go limp and I rolled off the bed. Not a faint really (I'm familiar with that), but something like it. I laid on the floor for a second. I lifted myself up, then decided the floor was better and laid down again. I could hear him moving behind me. "Get on the bed." I pulled myself up and flopped on the bed, face down, luxuriating in the momentary rest. Then I felt the first hit of the flogger. This, like the fucking, was so very good. It came harder and harder and I moaned into the pillow. When it stopped, I could hear the sound of the canes rattle. I writhed and twisted under the blows. Then there was another pause and a much sharper pain. Was it a single tail? The sting was so far from the warm thud. This was razor sharp.

He knelt on me and pushed his cock down my throat again. It's amazing the difference just an inch or so further down at just the right angle can make. When sucking cock and deep throating becomes true skull fucking. The gurgling noises that came up from inside me sounded so unfamiliar. He put his hand over my my nose cutting of my air. Seconds passed like hours until I flailed my arms and slapped his hand, my entire body craving oxygen.

He rolled me over and took out a condom. He bent over me as he fucked me, he kissed me, I wrapped my arms around him wanting more and more of him inside me, wanting to force his skin inside of my skin. I ran my fingers through his hair, licked his chin and sucked on his lips. Then he gently kissed my closed eyelids. First, one and then the other and I started to cry again. It was such a tender gesture. It threw me off, I grabbed the side of his head. I wanted to see his eyes. I wanted to LOOK at him. I felt this flood of emotion that I rarely feel and hadn't felt in a long time. It scared me a little. "God, what are you doing to me?" I asked.

He held me tightly and whispered in my ear. "I don't want you to say another word to me for the rest of the day." I turned my head away and cried softly. "I'm going to cum down your throat, then your going to get dressed and leave." I anticipated something like this. I could feel it coming. I stood up and walked to the chair. I sucked him as deeply as I could. He told me to close my eyes. When he came I slipped the head into my mouth drinking it down, not wanting to waste a drop on my cheek. I laid my head on his thigh as his spasms subsided.

When it was over, I sat back and gestured to the bathroom. He gave me permission and I got up to wash my face which was now puffy and red. I smoothed my hair a bit and pulled myself together.

He was sitting at his computer with his back to me when I emerged. I gathered up my clothes, the slight pressure of my bra painful against my breast. I slid on my skirt and slipped into my shoes. I smoothed my shirt, picked up my handbag and walked out of the door, I wanted to slam it, but I didn't. I punched the down button to the elevator harder than necessary.

My hands were trembling as I took out a cigarette. I planned to take the subway back, but after a block I hailed a cab. As we rolled along the West Side Highway, I tried to take stock. I was fuming. At the time, I didn't understand why. Now, I think I do. As much as I say I want to be out of control, I'm usually not. Usually when I'm with someone, as violent as it may seem, nothing ever happens that I don't want to happen. I'm never made to do anything I don't want to do. No one ever takes me further than I can take (or think that I can take). I'm rarely surprised. Everything is so very safe, sane and consensual.

I was pissed because, somehow, I had gone further than I had ever gone in someway and I didn't know how or why. "How dare he!" I thought. "Who the fuck does he think he is?!"

But there's a lot of time to think along the West Side Highway. As the cab moved further downtown, I sank into the seat, my head swimming. By the time we passed Junior's on Flatbush, the endorphins had died down, the anger was gone and I was settled into a nice pile of goo. The radio was set to some smooth jazz station, the tag line "It's like cruise control for your mind." Yeah... I though. Exactly.

When I got home, there was an e-mail waiting. "That was fucking hot."

I laughed to myself. It was. God mother fucking damn it was.

Over the next days I watched the various bruises on my legs and thighs develop, the teeth marks and scratches on my breasts. Souvenirs. I had a burst blood vessel in my left eye. When I sat down at work, the button on my jeans hit the spot where he had gripped and bitten my stomach and I squirmed in my seat, contemplating going to the bathroom to masturbate. On the subway, I smiled as someone's gym bag hit me over and over where his teeth had been.

dorm

My freshmen year in college, I lived in Memorial Hall. It used to be an infirmary for soldiers returning from WWI and it's tower was rumored to be haunted. The facade was decorated with relief sculptures of soldiers in gas masks. It was one of the oldest buildings on campus and had a certain charm that the newer, massive, hideous, cinder block tower dorms lacked. It was an all female "quiet dorm" which meant the girls in it tended to be more studious than the co-ed dorms.

This made it the target of more obscene phone calls than any other dorm, the perception that it was the place for prissy, prudish, nerdy girls who were too scared to party with the boys. It wasn't true, but the reputation stuck.

You would hear a phone ring down the hall, then moments later another ring a bit closer, then another until it came to my room and I answered the phone anticipating the heavy breathing. I would hang it up then moments later the phone in the room next to me would ring. Sometimes I would hang up right away, annoyed. Other times I would listen, trying to picture the boy on the other end and what they were doing, why they were calling and what they would expect to happen. More than once, I talked back, participating in the awkward phone sex, masturbating along with my anonymous caller until I heard him groan and hang-up.

I once got a call that was different from the others. It was late and I was already in bed. I answered the phone with an annoyed hello and was greeted by the usual panting. "Yes?" I asked, feeling confrontational.

"I need to be fucked." He said in a soft, quivering voice. "I need to be fucked." He said over and over again.

"Do you want to be fucked in the ass?" I asked, not totally understanding if he meant he needed to fuck a girl, wanted to be fucked by a girl or wanted to be fucked by a boy. I wanted clarification. He stopped talking and his breathing quickened. "Do you need a cock in your ass?" I asked.

He let out a whimpering and slightly sad, "Yes."

I wanted to ask him why he didn't call a guy, why he automatically defaulted to the girls at Memorial Hall, but I thought that might be needlessly cruel. I deepened my voice. "You want it badly don't you? A thick, long hard cock pounding inside you. I bet you have a finger inside you right now..." I think I was doing this for me as much as him, since at the moment, we both wanted the same thing.

I went on as best I could (I've never been very good at phone sex) until I heard him moan. It sounded far away, as if he had temporarily sat down the phone. He hung up without a word and I went to bed, feeling like I had done some kind of humanitarian service and wondered long it would be before he would ask for this from an actual boy. Or, for that matter, when would I?

thursday, bloody thursday

Doug just left. It was our second date. We went to see Margaret Cho's burlesque show and it was fantastic. He had sent me an e-mail earlier in the week that was so sweet. "I know we've only been out once, but I really want to have sex with you." Aw sucks! How could I say no?

We came back to my place and it started off nice enough. We made out on the couch for a while then made our way to the bedroom. We progessed to 69-ing after a bit, he fingered and licked my cunt while I sucked his fat cock. All's good in the hood. After a while, he asked, "Faster? Slower?"

"Thicker!" I answered. "Oh!" He laughed and slipped in another finger. His finger slipped now and then and there was a brief wince of pain, but nothing big. "Four?" He asked, adding another finger. "Yeah!" Let's do this thing! But I needed a little help.

"Just a second." I lifted off and reached into the drawer by my bed to get the lube. When I turned back there was a POOL of blood on his chest. Blood was all over my white duvet. Blood was dripping out of me down my leg. And no, I am not on my period."What the fuck?!" I walk to the bathroom leaving a trail of blood behind me. He must have scratched me. Fucking fingernails.

He follows me to the bathroom, his chest hair dyed red. "Maybe I should take a shower?" Yeah, sure. I take a sponge from the kitchen and start wiping up the trail I've left behind watching the blood dripping down my leg. The blood on the duvet cover leaked right through to the comforter below. Shit. Why must I have white bedding?

He apologized over and over. These things happen, I assure him, checking to make sure the bleeding has slowed down. "I forgot to tell you," I say. "I'm a virgin." He laughs a little. It's awkward. The mood is definitely ruined. I have to have a cigarette. I'm a little freaked out. How did he not notice the blood pouring out of me? My goddamn pussy was in his face. I guess he just thought I was really, really wet. There's blood on my bathroom mat and in the grout between the tile.

We sit and chat for a while and I wrap my robe around me, my underwear back on, a panty liner now in place. "I guess I should go." Yeah, I have to get up early for work and all. We kiss. It's still awkward. He keeps apologizing and I try to assure him that I know it was an accident. These things happen. It hurts a little, but I'll be fine. The bleeding seems to have stopped for the most part.

Margaret Cho was awesome, though.

office crush

I'm currently working freelance, in-house for a firm and I am in the misdts of a kind-of "perfect storm" of boredom. The people are nice, but not particularly interesting. The project is for a financial advisor company who's workings I don't understand at all and care about even less. I've been told they want to be innovative and new, but, you know, not that innovative. By 4:00, my eyes are so heavy, I wonder if it is actually possible to die of boredom.

Today, I sat in on one of the many, many meetings they have with the entire team. I never noticed him before, which is odd considering he sits right behind me. Maybe he's been out, but we officially met today. He's working on the website. He scooted his chair over to my desk so we could collaborate on our image searches. It struck me suddenly, "Holy God, he's beautiful." Huge brown eyes, with long eyelashes, shiny black hair, chiseled features and broad shoulders. He looks slightly Middle-Eastern or maybe Spanish or a combination of both. We chatted longer than necessary, made little jokes about the project and talked about our previous employment. He doesn't know what the client does either. He has glasses like an architect. He said he liked my hacksaw necklace.

I spent the rest of the day wondering what his cock looked like, what it tasted like. How did he smell, what did his skin taste like? What does his ass taste like? When was the last time he masturbated? This morning? What does he think about when he jacks off? What does his semen taste like? As I sat, scrolling through page after page of stock photos of "business people", I wanted to get down on my knees, crawl under his desk and spend the rest of the day there sucking his cock. Or maybe the other way around, and he would be snug and cozy under my desk as he licked my cunt and fingered me until I left a sizable puddle on the ergonomic office chair and my juices hung from his neat little beard.

I'll probably wear a tighter shirt tomorrow. I should wear a skirt to show some leg, but the bruises on calves are still pretty evident from a week ago (story to come). I could wear boots. Tomorrow, I'll find out he has a girlfriend or a fiancée. But tonight, for now, as far as I'm concerned, his cock is mine.

David_2

We didn't speak in the taxi. We sat far apart, not touching, each of us looking out of our windows at the rain. When we got to my little studio, I asked him automatically if he wanted a drink, even though we were both still a little drunk. Maybe we kissed a little, I don't remember. I don't remember if we talked or if we made out at all. I remember him undoing my pants, yanking them down and pushing me to my knees. I rested my arms and head on the bed. I listened to him open the door to the bathroom. I closed my eyes and waited patiently.

When he came out I turned to him. He looked about 50 feet tall. His belt was loose and with one hand he slipped it off, then doubled it cover. He pushed my underwear down and without ceremony whipped my ass with the leather belt. I cried out at the shock, my hands curling into fists. He drew back and hit again, the straps burning me. I settled into the rhythm, concentrated on my breathing as the pain washed into me. Soon, it became too much. I put my hand over my ass to protect it, but he swatted it away. I tried again and he hit it away again. At some point, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was huge. I sighed when I saw it, the belt forgotten for a moment. "Hold on to it!" He commanded. I grabbed his hard cock, gripping it for dear life as he hit again and again.

When he finished I slumped to the floor, leaning against the bed. He knelt in front of me, looking into my eyes. The he slapped me, full across the face. No one had ever slapped me before. I felt the tears well up and he slapped me again. I inhaled sharply and turned my eyes away. I looked to my left, my right, anywhere but at him. I clenched and unclenched my fists frantically. He reached over and grabbed my hands, opening my palms, his fingers entwined in mine. He moved to sit on the bed next to me. "Look at me." He said. I couldn't. "Look at me," he said firmly. I did, my eyes wide, a childish pout on my lips. He slapped himself. And not gently. "See?" He said and slapped his face again. "Here." He took my hand and put it to his face. "Slap me." I shook my head no, afraid of the ramifications. "Slap me!" And I did. Softly at first. "Again!" I hit him again, this time with all of my force.

"See?" He smiled at me and I smiled back, I even laughed a little. As we made our way up to the bed, I pulled my pants all the way off and stripped away my shirt and bra. It seemed odd that I would still be clothed. He was finally naked as well. He lifted my legs over my shoulders, a condom appeared from somewhere. He said, "I like wearing condoms. I like the idea that I control your reproduction." I rolled my eyes at this and entered me hard, all the way in one quick thrust. He was serious. He fucked furiously, my legs bouncing on his shoulders.

While he fucked me he asked me, "What would you do if I slapped you like that in public?" Gasping as his cock drove into me, I said with a smile, "I'd kick you in the balls." "No, you wouldn't." He said, thrusting harder. "Yes, " I laughed. "I fucking would." The temperature changed. There was a shift somewhere in the dynamics. It wasn't want he wanted to hear. I grinned, staring directly into his eyes now, daring him, challenging him. I wanted him to know that I had his number. I wasn't going to make this easy for him.

He slipped out of my cunt, pulled off the condom and raised my legs further up. He shoved his cock into my ass using my own juices as lube. I winced at the pain, but as my body opened up him, I sighed with a smile on my lips. I know he was trying to punish me, to hurt me, but it felt too good. I closed my eyes and let out a laugh. When I opened my eyes, he was deadly serious. He was fucking me harder now, sweating with the effort. "Don't laugh at me." He said. I laughed harder, "I'm not laughing at you!"

(I wasn't laughing at him. That's the truth. I was laughing because, well... I was happy and I was feeling good and I was having fun. I know it may not be the sexiest response, but I can't help it. And no matter how many times I've had sex, I still get giddy by the fact that there is a cock inside me.)

He slapped me across the face. "I said, don't laugh at me!" I couldn't stop grinning, his large cock pumping in and out of my ass, hitting me so deep in just the right place. "I'm not laughing at you!" I shouted. But for some reason, just then, I wanted him to think I was. I looked him in the eye, a smirk on my face. "Go ahead," I thought, "What ever you're going to do, do it." His eyes were mean, there was no humor, he was genuinely angry. I knew it wasn't directed at me. It was an anger he had already for some other woman or women in general. It was too deep and too old for me to have caused it. I took stock of where my knives were in my kitchen and how quickly I could get to them.

He pulled his cock out of my ass and positioned it to my mouth. I could see bits of my own shit on his cock, but I put it in my mouth anyway. It did not take long. He pulled out, came all over my face and collapsed on top of me panting. I reveled in the weight of him on top me. I hadn't come, but I didn't care. He rolled off of me and quickly fell asleep.

I usually can't sleep with another man in my bed, one I don't know anyway. It takes me forever to fall asleep by myself, anyway. Usually, I lay awake for hours and fall asleep just as the sun is coming up. This time I dropped right off. I slept like a baby.

The next morning, I walked him to the subway. We awkwardly kissed. He seemed shy and maybe a little embarrassed. He couldn't look me in the eye. I stopped at the corner to get a cup of coffee and a muffin. When I got home, I went to the bathroom and saw there was a small smear of shit on my forehead and a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my ass.

At the time I was angry at his "It's not you, it's me" brush off. Like most men who do deliciously mean things to me, I had developed quite the crush. He wrote that he didn't intend for it to go so far so quickly. E-mails became less frequent and then stopped.

Now, I know I dodged a bullet. He was right. It was him.

Dimtri_1

We had met for the first time in person that night. He took me to a divey club where some band he liked was playing. I half listened to the mediocre music while I sipped my drink and looked at him, sizing him up, wondering how the rest of the night would go. I was getting a headache in there. I rubbed my temple dramatically. He took the cue and finished his drink.

We took a cab back to my place in Brooklyn. He put his hand on my thigh in the back seat. "Are you nervous?" He asked. I shook my head no. I wasn't, not really. I get nervous when I have expectations. This night I had none. I knew exactly where this was going. We had nothing in common, he bored me with his talk of his job and his bad taste in music. There was only reason why would be together and it was starting in the back of this taxi.

He moved his hand to the back of my head coaxing it to his crotch. He quickly unzipped his fly and pulled out his erect cock. I gave a quick glance to the cab driver, who kept his eye dutifully on the road. Then I went down. As quietly as I could I gently suckled his cock, just teasing. I could hear his breathing quicken as his hand clenched my hair. Every once in a while I would lift up to give directions to the cab driver.

He wasted no time once I opened the door to my apartment. As soon as we were inside, he pushed me to my knees. He unzipped his fly again and took out his now soft penis. He pushed my head up and I instinctly opened my mouth for the familiar. Instead he said, "I'm going to piss in your mouth," he said shakily, fumbling with his penis. My eyes widened. I was not prepared for this and did not want it, not then at least. I had been curious, of course, but now with his flaccid penis in his mouth, the idea of it, well, it freaked me out. I shook my head no and could feel the tears rise in my eyes. "Just a little! It's no big deal." I shook me head again, but I didn't close my mouth. I looked up at him, pleading, but he wasn't paying attention to me. It occurs to me now, I could have just shoved him away jokingly, "No way!" But I didn't. I never do. He was concentrating. He seemed to have gotten piss shy and was mummbling with frustration. I smiled slightly with relief. "This never happens!" He said. I shrugged and gave him an "It's okay" look grateful for his inability to perform.

Of course, now he was frustrated and needed some kind of release. He pulled me up and positioned me on my knees in front of my bed. The first smack was perfect. Not to hard to throw me off, but not too soft. I couldn't see what he was using but it felt good. They came hard and steady, it must have been a paddle of some kind. I moaned into my duvet and gripped the fabric in my hands as the blows became harder and my ass more tender. It was the kind of beating I like: a slow build up that grew and grew until the pain spread into pure sensation. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the growing ache in my ass, soreness on top of soreness.

Then the pause between hits was longer than usual. "I have to stop." He said. I turned to look at him. "You're bleeding." He showed me the paddle. There were small raised spikes along it surface. I had no idea. "I could keep going," I panted. "No," he said. "I think I should stop."

That seemed to be some signal to him that the torture portion of the evening was over. I stood up, rubbing my ass, amazed at the warmth and watched him rifling through his toy bag. He pulled out a flogger. He told me to bend over the bed and I prepared myself for another volley. Instead, I felt his fingers at my ass. They were cold with lube and I pushed my ass out for what I assumed was his cock, the flogging now forgotten. Instead, I felt the blunt, textured tip of the handle at my asshole. "Oh!" I exclaimed and pushed my ass out further. It was rough, the braided leather adding a strange texture that was totally alien. It was not easy going in, my rectum fighting against the un-tapered tip. He forced the handle into my ass, until I felt the straps on my thigh. I stood up and turned around, wiggling my butt, making my new "tail" swing. I would say one thing for him. He was full of surprizes. He smiled at his handiwork, turning me around and bending me over. I could hear him unwrapping a condom.

When his cock entered my cunt, I groaned at the sudden fullness. I amazed at my body and it's capacity to take these forgien objects (alive and not). He tossed the straps to the side and grabbed my hips as he fucked me fiercely, the handle firmly in place. Robert Mapplethorpe would be proud I thought.

David_1

He looked like how I imagined the character Vaughan in J.G. Ballard's "Crash". He was very tall, muscular, not from the gym but from construction work. I hate to use the phrase "raw sexuality" but he had it. He was the definition of it. We met at my favorite bar, a secluded place in Chinatown that had once been a gay speak-easy in the 20's. It was usually quiet before 11:00 and the the little nooks provided instant intimacy.

We both came straight from work (although I suspect he stopped at his apartment for a quick shower), I from the office, he from the Williamsburg bridge. The palm of his left hand was wrapped in a white bandage that was already getting dingy. He explained he had an accident at work. A nail had driven straight through his palm. I was immediately turned on.

We sat near the back. He had scotch (he was already a little dazed from the pain killers). I had a martini. He sat back and leaned against the wall, his eye lids heavy. Conversation was slow in starting. Maybe it was the awkwardness of the first date or the combination of alcohol and drugs. We had chatted for a while by e-mail. I was intrigued by his odd combination of misogynistic and feminist tendencies. He was extremely intelligent, rather cocky and just a little terrifying.

Slowly, conversation grew. We talked about our past, our families, and third-wave feminist theory. We had another round, then another. At some point I had moved closer to him. We sat side by side, his arm around my shoulder. I hadn't noticed it, but the bar had filled up. I looked out at the hazy crowd with mild curiosity, wondering what all these people were doing in our space. The music had gotten louder. If we were still talking we would have had to shout. But we weren't talking anymore. I felt his hand caressing my cheek. It would disappear for a moment and then return. I felt a wetness as he ran his fingers over the side of my face. I turned and watched him put his three fingers of his un-bandaged hand deep in his mouth and withdraw them, covered in saliva. He lazily spread his spit over the side of my face, over my closed eye, my cheek, my chin. I suggested it was time we left.

We stumbled out of the bar into the street. It was starting to rain. We walked side by side, our cigarettes quickly turning damp. The rain came harder. Neither of us had umbrellas, but we made no effort to get out of the down pour. We walked lazily side by side, as people around us ran for cover. "Where are we going?" I asked casually not really caring about the answer. We made our way under the scaffolding in front of Planned Parenthood. He stopped suddenly and turned to me. I looked up into his face, dripping wet. He looked serious, a slight frown on his lips, but I recognized the look in his eyes. That slightly dazed, wide-eyed glare I've come to love on men.

He suddenly grabbed me by the belt and shoved me against the wall. He kissed me violently, his stubble scraping my chin. He kept his grip on the front of my jeans, pulled me from the wall and slammed me back, going in for another kiss. I thrust my hips forward, hoping he would take it as a sign to slip his hand inside my pants, but he kept his grip steady.

I looked to my side as he devoured my neck. There was a delicate, effeminate young man a few feet away. His soaking wet dark hair was plastered to his face and his already baggy pants were slipping down from the weight of the water. He wasn't paying any attention to us. He was crying softly. I watched him sob while David ran his tongue over the side of my face. He finally looked up and I gave him a small, sympathetic smile. He gave a small smile back. I rolled my eyes in David's direction in a mock exasperated "Men!" kind of way. The boy laughed a little and walked away.

David pulled me from the wall and we started to walk again. "Are we going to your place?" I asked. I knew he lived nearby. "No. Yours." I hailed the next cab.

Liam_1

I re-told David's fantasy to Liam. In his scenario, we would go to a fancy restaurant. He would order an elaborate steak dinner for himself and for me a piece of dry toast. I would sit through the meal in silence as he relished every bite of filet (medium-rare), washing each bite down with a fine red wine, my toast left untouched. After his meal, he would retreat to the men's room with a small dish. He would return, the dish now filled with a fair portion of his semen. With a spoon, I would take his cum, spread it on my toast and eat it. Meal complete.

David told me he would never think of acting this out. It was too degrading. I wondered, in this scenario, who would be degrading whom?

Liam and I agreed to meet for lunch two days later.

I sat at my desk, attempting to work, my fingers trembling over the keyboards. I glanced at the time, over and over, thinking I could e-mail him and cancel, making some excuse about a last minute meeting, knowing I wouldn't. When 12:30 finally came, I gathered my purse as calmly as possible, excusing myself from the usual debate about where and what to eat. I was going out. Just lunch with a friend. On my way out, I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a demitasse, slipping it into my purse. We agreed it would be more polite not to use the restaurants dishes.

He picked a nice, little Italian place in the Flat Iron district. We decided to deviate from the original concept slightly so I had the ravioli rather than toast. I had no appetite, but I ate quicker that necessary, anticipating desert. We chatted about work and movies and all of the normal things men and woman talk about at lunch. After, the waiter came to clear the plates, Liam asked calmly for the cup. I slipped it to him under the table and he excused himself to the men's room. He had picked a table by the window and I watched the people go by, a knowing smile creeping on my face. I sipped my water slowly, cleansing my palate.

It did not take him long. He emerged from the back, calmly, his hand discreetly concealing the cup. He passed it to me under the table. There was not as much as I had hoped, but it was a rather small target. I took a moment to savor the smell. If it was a wine glass, I would have swirled it for a moment, held it up to the light to examine the color. I raised the cup up in a small toast and downed it like a shot. That leering grin I knew so well, crept on his lips and I think I caught a glimmer of admiration in his eye. The waiter came just in time with the check as I slipped the now empty cup back into my purse.

Back at work, I sighed contentedly, running my tongue over my teeth, savoring the remaining traces. I quickly rinsed out the demitasse and put it in the dishwasher with the rest of the coffee cups.