Monday, October 31, 2011
Look at the woman in the picture, that's what she's doing, hungrily sucking a cock drawing the life of the man into herself. It's been my good fortune to know some very hungry women. It always struck me as odd that they could love cocksucking so much and be so satisfied. After all, I'm not returning the favor, when I'm getting blown I just stay still and let her drink her fill. Is this why women love the vampire myth? A vampire at their throat, a most vulnerable spot easily pierced by teeth like a cock. Women let the vampire suckle them, they surrender, they are still, they wait and feel the pleasure of being drained, and then expire in a wave of ecstasy. The French call orgasm the little death, "la petite mort", vampires give "la grande mort". Women like to give and vampires take all they can possibly give. The cunt of a woman in that state must gush like a faucet.
Picture from libraryvixen
Text by Snidely Whiplash
Muse by the spirit of womanhood
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Back in the 1960s when I used to visit whores many times I was solicited by one who wore boots just like that. Boy, was I hard! I expected that she would take them off but she shook her head and said, "Hey, I ain't got all night, buddy." I was in her in a moment, with those luscious boots around me. Six, seven humps and BAM! ejaculation. Wow, that was fast! I never saw her again and boy did I look, jerking off many times. Life is like that, you get what you don't ask for and never mind what you're really want...And one day these boots are gonna walk all over you.
via Lucifer's Cum Hole
via read about my 100 Whores
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
He likes me on my knees, leaning back so he can see my eyes.
I'm the perfect height for him coming eye to eye with his cock.
I love it here pleasing him. He knows how much I crave
it, how wet I get waiting anxiously for the first taste. I know he likes
teasing me here. And he can be cruel. Stroking himself and denying me.
He can see it in my eyes, see me instinctively licking my lips...waiting.
My palms resting on my thighs, he doesn't need to bind me, he knows
I will keep them there until he orders otherwise. I have a strong will and
I won't move, won't disappoint him. His first drops are right there, so close,
just a lick away but I wait. Denied. I watch them drop to the floor and the
disappointed sigh escapes me before I can stop it. I know he heard it
when he laughs. He knows how much I hate to see any drop of him
go to waste. It's a privilege to taste him, have him and fill me up. I want
it all. Greedy hungry whore that I am, I want all of him in me.
More drops escape and I tense up. More drops and he brushes his cock
against my lips leaving a trace of himself. Letting me taste just a little.
My body is still but tense.I want to touch him, I want to touch me.
My breath is quick and my mind is screaming, "I want! I want!"
and the begging starts. Quietly, simply at first, "please."
"Please. Please. Please." The only words I can manage to get out.
The begging in my eyes says more than any words could.
He grabs a handful of hair and pulls my head back more. "No."
Only one word and still it reaches into me. Frustrates me. Excites me.
Feeds me. My need arouses him more. He's not going to give today,
I can feel it, I'm resigned to it. So I wait for the hot spray of cum,
still tense, still wet, still excited. If he let me touch, I would erupt in an instant with him.
He pushes me back onto the floor and releases over me, cum hitting my face,
my chest, sliding around my neck like a collar. He smiles pleased with his
volume, his artwork and my restraint. He takes his finger and guides his cum
from my cheek and chin into my mouth, letting me taste, letting me lick, making me soft and smiley again.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Picture from http://biblioklept.org/
Text By Snidely Whiplash
Muse by Mister Christian and his Bode post
I was recently invited to join. I'm a Canadian erotic writer, reviewer & writer of diverse rants.
I thought I would start by posting this short piece from several years ago as a free story (because it's probably unpublishable, *g*).
This is a cautionary tale about the imaginary consequences of sexual hypocrisy and tax evasion.
- Jean Roberta
:D :D :D :D :D :D
Reva New hummed to herself as she laced herself into her black satin Merry Widow. She made sure her pencil, pen and calculator were in their usual place in the hidden pocket. She hesitated for a moment over her accessories: flogger, cane or whip? Definitely the whip; it looked more convincing as an emblem of office. She pulled on her supple, thigh-high leather boots and was almost ready to start the day. A quick slug of her favourite scotch ensured that her breath would smell of booze, and a slash of blood-red lipstick ensured that her cruel smile would be noticed.
Reva dialled her partner’s cell phone. “Swish? You ready to go? Good boy.”
Within minutes, two government cars pulled into the parking lot behind the office of Family Values Real Estate. Stepping out of her car, Reva smiled at the sight of Swish emerging from his with a subtle wiggle and a flick of the wrist. He was wearing his hot-pink shirt with the calypso ruffles and the spandex pants that matched his skin and showed his equipment to advantage. He was a drama queen with such a disarming manner that the subjects of investigation were usually defenceless by the time Reva moved in for the kill. She loved working with Swish.
He flung open the office door, startling the receptionist. “Swish Gaylord,” he announced, flashing his badge. “I’m here to see Mr. Values.” He smirked. “I need to ask him –“ he looked meaningfully at the pale receptionist, “a few questions.”
Reva stood menacingly beside Swish. “Reva New,” she barked. “Special Forces Unit, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You may call me Mistress. I need to see Mrs. Values immediately.” She stroked her whip, and stared hypnotically into the eyes of the terrified receptionist. “And I’ll need to see those books.”
“No,” gasped the young woman. She had heard of Reva and Swish. She lunged desperately for something under her desk, blonde hair flying. In a few swift moves, Reva had her in a headlock which somehow required Reva’s long red fingernails to pinch one of the receptionist’s nipples to keep her from getting away. “Mistress!” screamed the blonde, gazing into Reva’s unfathomably dark, government-appointed eyes. “You’ve corrupted me. I’ll-I’ll never be an honest woman again.”
Reva snickered without mirth; she was an accountant to her boot-heels. “You never were, honey,” she sneered. “We’re onto you and your crooked bosses. And I’ll take that file,” she ordered, snatching it from the trembling girl who was now thoroughly infected with an urge to masturbate.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Weasley Values, Conservative city councillor for Whitewash North in the newly-formed Canadian province of Up Here. He was a fat pink man with guilt in his eyes.
“Ooh, I want him, darling,” cooed Swish to Reva.
“He’s yours, baby,” she purred back. “Right after I read the evidence. Weasley Values, did you make these comments to the press?” She tugged a crumpled section of newspaper from between her breasts, stroked it open and read aloud:
“The taxpayers of Whitewash won’t stand for foreign perversion from Down There in our town. I speak for the whole community when I say that our hotels will not be used for ‘workshops’ for deviants and our streets will not be filled with psychopaths who claim to have ‘gay pride.’ We need to protect our young by kicking out bad elements and raising the age of consent to thirty-five.”
Reva paused for effect, and the sounds of pussy-pumping and deep moans from the receptionist in the corner echoed off the walls. Weasley swelled and stiffened in disapproval.
Reva resumed. “I call on the Mayor and the other members of city council to prevent our valuable tax dollars from being misused and our public spaces from being defiled. I call on the people of Whitewash to declare our fair city a sex-free zone.” Weasley looked defiant.
“Did you say this, councillor?” demanded Reva. Swish was blowing him kisses.
“Every word!” declared Weasley, breathing loudly. His own rhetoric always excited him.
“Then I have no choice,” she taunted him, “but to conduct an audit. You’re going to be exposed, councillor.”
A shriek from behind the sweating Weasley announced the presence of his wife Chastity. “You can’t!” she screamed. “You’re feds! You’re supposed to be on our side!”
Reva peeled the grey flannel suit off the indignant woman with her eyes. “Not any more, sweetheart,” she sneered. “We have information that homophobic, anti-porn politicians are usually hiding their own dirty little secrets. You’ve been holding out on us, fellow-Canadians, but we’ll get you in the end.”
Swish was trying to investigate Weasley’s oversized butt by removing his pants. Weasley wiggled flirtatiously, trying to hide behind Chastity, who was trying to stuff a file into the depths of her cleavage.
Crack! Reva’s whip sang through the air and tore the file out of Chastity’s slippery hands, scattering papers on the floor. Not having a leg to stand on, the Values sank to their knees before the government agents.
“Spare us, your Fiscal Majesties,” begged the partners in white-collar crime.
“Never,” gloated Swish, “until you’ve come clean. A bubble bath and an enema should do the trick.”
“And Chastity, my dear,” gloated Reva, “you’ll eat your words about dykes in high places.” She showed a sodden wad of crumpled newspaper between her ferociously white teeth.
The suspects spilled the goods, as suspects always will under the right pressure. Reva and Swish proved, once again, that neither the shocking invasion of citizens’ lives nor federal intervention into sensitive local issues was limited to the government of Down There. The general ambience of Whitewash North was revealed to be as horny as a moose in heat and as entertaining as an equestrian Musical Ride.
The spread of depravity proceeded like a spring thaw until the natural features of Up Here were completely uncovered. Fortunately, none of the residents seemed adversely affected.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Dementiuk, Mykola. “On the Prowl”. Sizzler Editions, 2011.
Dark and Gay
I must confess that reading Mick Dementiuk is one of my guilty pleasures. I am not a great fan of erotica but Dementiuk’s approach to it is literary and aside from being a good writer who tells a good story, he seems to know what I want to read.
Dementiuk’s latest work is a novella or a novelette if you prefer that term. “On the Prowl” is a dark look at gay life in New York City and if you like sex and adventure this is a book for you. The characters are just looking for a good time and we are with them on their hunt. From what I have read from others, the spirit and the sleaze of the gay sexual underground is perfectly captured and while gender-bending is not new to Dementiuk, he really excels with his characters this time.
This is not a book for a prude, to be sure. There is a lot of graphic sex and there is drug use. But, hey, that’s what makes the whole scene, underground. This is a strong contrast from the sweet gay romantic stories that fill the market. I found neither sweetness nor romance here—this is sex for sex. As much as we may not like this kind of sex, this is how it is for some. With his Times Square stories, we see a kind of gay life that really can only exist is large metropolitan centers. The stories are all “dirty” (for lack of a better word) but they are also very real. Dementiuk captures the reality of underground sex with aplomb and if you have never read him, you should. He will open your eyes to a scene most of us know nothing about.via Amos Lassen
vi Sizzler Editions
She is very suggestible and we think she may be able to orgasm on command with some practice.
Here is the post about the yoga pose if you want to refer back waxing
Pic from libraryvixen
Text by yours truly, Snidely Whiplash
On a rainy afternoon I told the regular lunch crowd that I had things to do and with sly looks at each other I went off to 3rd avenue, a few blocks away.
It didn’t take long before I saw a whore coming umbrella-less up the street. The rain had increased but she walked unconcerned, letting the rivulets stream on her body and dress, which was plastered to her. I was hard before she came near me.
“Goin’ out, sister?” I asked from under my umbrella.
She looked at me and faintly smiled and shrugged, “Guess so, I don’t care. Where to?”
I said, “There’s a hotel down the street, let’s go there.”
She thought about that and said, “Neah, let’s do it in the rain, ok?”
I looked at her a bit puzzled when she said, “Take it or leave it, it’s up to you.”
But what could I do, I was already drenched as she was too. “Ok, but where? Can’t do it in the street, you know.”
The heavy rain beat down her face but she smirked and shrugged.
“Why not?” she asked, smirking. “Let’s go to the roof; I like it very much up there up there.”
I thought she was joking but she wasn’t. We entered a 3rd avenue building and went upstairs. Normally the sight of a woman’s legs will arouse me but the drip dripping off of her as we climbed gave me a different kind of arousal. It was like she was melting and only the freshness and wetness could revive her. I was pretty stiff climbing up after her.
But we were on the roof in no time, the heavy clouds and the darkness only intensified what we were feeling….Too bad there wasn’t any thunder and lightening….
It was fast, but well worth it, and I didn’t go for back to work, guess I had enough; I got fired a few days later anyway.
via 100 Whores
Saturday, October 22, 2011
My new e-book "On The Prowl" came out yesterday...