His Winter Goddess

The man had a love of plants. He would always post pictures of his beauties (as he called them) online and videos detailing their care, species, and other information. I dubbed him the Handsome Gardener, but just Handsome when we spoke. He grew herbs indoors as well, eating one of the leaves in a video “because nothing goes to waste in my home.”

I commented with a cheeky “Eat it up!

And to that he wrote “I love to eat everything organic and fresh.

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This had been going on for some time now, the cute comments and texting here and there. We hinted at meeting up somewhere, but never laid down concrete plans. He was incredibly sweet, calling me names such as Empress, and Goddess. A text message from him never failed to make me smile, and even the comments he would leave for me online would brighten up a rough day.

I posted a photo online of a chicken recipe I planned on making for dinner that night. “All I need is fresh basil and rosemary and I can begin!” My phone lit up and buzzed; a new comment already! But this was a text message from him, my Handsome Gardner:

Hey! I grow those herbs here at my house. You can come here and pick them up if you like.

I was already dressed and ready to go to a market that sold those items. However, it was located about 45 minutes away from my home via public transportation, and this would be a great time, if one of the few that I could hang out with this handsome man.

Sure! That would be great! Give me the address and I’ll take a cab.

He was downstairs in front of my apartment building in less than ten minutes. It took us twice that time to get to his home, so I wondered if he had rushed over to me. The thought alone, of his possible excitement to see me, made me shiver while we walked through the entrance of his home.

It smelled like a day in woods when I was 10, where I would go fishing with my parents. The smell calmed me immediately, while flashes of squirming fish, the smoke of a fire, and the polyester blend of a tent so thin, I could see the stars twinkling through flooded my mind. We were still only in the living area. He motioned for me to continue following, and we past the kitchen, a mudroom, and finally found our way outside, a few squares of concrete separating us from the back yard. But it was unlike anything I had ever seen before in my life.

I am accustomed to a green lawn with a few chairs, a table, and maybe a pool. But this was an island within the island. From small potted plants, bright neon flora, and even an apple tree perfectly centered at the far end of his inner city oasis. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the tree, even though there were no apples in it. I felt fingers touch mine, and he softly raised my hand and place a newly plucked flower in it.

“Hellebores, commonly called a Winter Rose,” he said with a smile. Oh my, what a beautiful smile he has…

I slowly raised my head and was surprised to lock into his eyes. He took the flower and kissed it, sliding into my hair.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, and my words of appreciation came out in girlish giggle. My smile caused me to blush again and I looked away, but his finger caught my chin and redirected my face back into the path of his gaze. He swiped a curl away from my eyes like setting aside a vine, and lifted my face unto his. Our lips met and did their dance under the apple tree lit by the sun and I felt like I was taken away from the world that I knew. Somewhere in the distance there was a ringing. The phone shook us out of our enchantment and he ran to answer it leaving me with a breathless “I’ll be right back” to hold onto.

I began to think about what he might be on the phone talking about. I know he was a very busy and man and taking care of these plants are a job within itself. I hope he doesn’t have to go…

I looked above me, the sun bobbing past the leaves into my eyes. The air, the sun, the trees, and the smell of the winter rose flowing through my body like poison. I lifted my hands in the air and caught the rays of the sun on my fingertips, the soft breeze caressing a section of my exposed stomach. My skin prickled in appreciation, and I instinctively removed all my clothing save for my cotton panties, the rest falling like leaves to a heap at one side, and allowed myself once more to salute the sun and earth with my hands stretched upright.

The air was cold, but it’s been much colder than this. Still, my nipples hardened and greeted the wind. It swept between my legs, and bristled the teeniest of hairs reaching the surface. I leaned against the barren tree, unbothered by the coarseness of the bark. I began to sway with the whooshing wind and brushing against the tree, and soon I resembled a flesh colored lizard, every inch of me covered in bumps, every part of me reaching for the winter air. I turned and let my nipples grace the tree, embracing it like a lover. I had forgotten about the handsome owner of this yard and merely enjoyed the silence of the cold winter air circling around me. His hand felt like an extension of the air, cold and hard, the back of his hand so cold it felt like steel, and traced the curve of my spine. Reaching the end, I shuddered and tipped my bottom up and stood on my toes.

“Keep your eyes closed, Goddess.” His hands became the wind and ran circles across my skin, ensnared itself into the roots of my hair and pulled, allowing him to easily kiss my neck. I went to reach back, to touch him, but he took my hand and slowly turned me around, whispering once again, “Keep your eyes closed…” and his voice made the heat rise in my cheeks. He took both my hands and placed them on his shoulders. I couldn’t help but place my own hands behind his neck and entangle my own fingers in his fine hair, pulling him in and kissing him hard. He grabbed my hands, firmly this time, and in a deeper tone, said

“Please, my sweet…” and softly kissed my earlobe. He proceeded to kiss me, trailing lower and lower, and his hands following in its trace, and seeking refuge upon my perked nipples. I felt his breath under my navel and my heart beat faster. He nudged his chin between my thighs and kissed me some more. His tongue parted my lips, his hands reached under and behind me, lifting my legs onto his shoulders, and he feasted. He held me firm and balanced, my hands reached out to clutch onto the branches above me. Snow, fresh from a quick flurry this morning, sprinkled down like feathers, and melted upon contact.

The first orgasm rolled on his sweet tongue and still he continued, my body spasming against his face pressed tightly between me. I kept my eyes closed but my screams I could not contain and I begged to be fucked, I needed it. It was a request that went unanswered and there he remained. He moved my buttocks up and down, grinding my body against his face until I took up the motion. He pressed harder and onto my second orgasm. He stood up from his crouching position, turned me around and took my place with his back to the tree, folding me into his arms and cradling me as the tree cradled us. He removed his coat and covered me in it, and we sat beneath the apple tree, my legs simmering down to a quiver. He found my flower, and put it in its former place, his finger lingering on an adherent curl. 

“My winter Goddess…”

- Scarlett

Masturbation Monday

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An Untitled Message

The four-year anniversary of creating this blog passed about a week ago. I didn’t know what it was that I had begun, or even what I would write about. All I knew is that I needed to shed some guilt and hopefully find a way to express myself. Since my transgression was due to sexual repression, I began to write about my fantasies and past sexual moments that stood out in my memory, all having to do with my husband. Reminiscing about times before our son, before moving in together, before my cancer, before his diabetes, before the pressures of life diminished our fervent passions.

With the placement of our agreement, I finally decided to push apprehension aside and pursue those fantasies I had written about and searched for on porn sites. I went the route of fucking around, meeting guys online and meeting at the motel. I didn’t want anything elegant or romantic. My agenda had always been to just have great sex. I initially thought I needed a big dick, since Henri is not huge and has always been self-conscious about his size. But they weren’t as easy to come by so I settled with personality, with the penis a bonus. That turned out to be tricky because sometimes the personality was fantastic and the dick was sub-par. I quickly found out that I was tired of playing roulette with these men online, and after 4 hook ups, I was ready to take a break. Then here comes Sir Dre, in all his Domly glory. After our first meeting, I saw all the times I had searched for BDSM, Bondage, submission flash before my eyes and file itself away somewhere, because it didn’t compare to this. I had given my submission to someone and had it inexplicable stripped from me over a year and a half later by his absence. Three months and still no word. In a world so technologically advanced, that has to be a sign right? I don’t know what happened, or if I did anything wrong. But I know I don’t deserve this.

As I told my friend Chloe, it feels as though he was inadvertently preparing me for this. He had been keeping his distance from me, always because of work or something that was going on. But if I’ve learned anything this year, is that if someone wants to talk to you, they will. And it was a lesson that has hit me hard. This year, I’ve wasted my time waiting on men who were amazingly hung, insanely charismatic, one who appealed greatly to the bad boy persona every girl craves, and one man whom I had chosen to trust, who has honestly pissed me off more than hurt me with his disappearance. Still, at the very end of it all I got more heartache than dick, and that really grinds my gears. The headache, the bullshit, still all my fault because I had let it all get to me and searched for the wrong things.

In each of these men I found something that I was missing, that had left some time ago where we decided to stop trying and allowed life and its events get the best of us, Henri and I. We lay in bed and I looked at him and said “I think we–mostly me–should stop trying to fuck other people and work on this, us right here.”

And he began to pick something from his slowly growing beard.

I turned over and went to sleep, and tried again the next day.

With the weight of the holidays freshly behind us and a new year about to begin, I am so fucking ready to say goodbye to my 20’s and look forward what my 30’s bring for me to experience. This year emotionally kicked my ass, but it also taught me to grow the fuck up. There are more important things in my life to invest in, but I shouldn’t forget about the things that make me feel good. Plus, I want Henri and I to grow further together, and if we can still manage this other debaucherous lifestyle, that would be great but it shouldn’t replace us.

The future of this blog is currently undecided. So many others I know have disappeared, gone private, slowed down. I would be one of many to disappear. But this feels so intimate to me, like a great friendship that is hard to break, no matter the distance between us. For now I want to raise an imaginary glass of champagne to you all and tell you Happy New Year. I hope it brings good fortune, better sex, and more love than we have ever known.

Photo found on Google search

 

-Scarlett

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A Change of Season

A Scarlet leaf that fell and found me.

The leaves were green and shedding their
Waxy exterior
When our eyes last met.
Now yellowing, some have begun
Their descent
Into the ground they’ll go, a new cycle to begin.
I feel the warmth of your memory
Growing as the days get colder;
Perhaps because my hope has not died
That I will see you sooner than expected.
I keep the feeling on my lips burning,
And the shivers left from your fingertips
On my thighs
Remain like the ardent etchings of a tattoo.

You are a rare Creature, one who
Takes flight
For a momentary and unnatural hibernation,
Where you disappear for moons
And ignore the change of seasons.
While you are gone, I cannot guarantee
Not to fall,
Or freeze with the coming snow,
Nor grow along the daisies in the Spring.
I await the fear of growth that comes from the
Seedling you planted,
Now much too long in the nature of our history.
I hope you rest well, dearly intrinsic Creature, and
Return as bright as the sun that will greet you.

-Scarlett

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This may be the end of us…

I haven’t written about Sir Dre in months because there hasn’t been anything to write. We saw each other in April for a session at our favorite hotel. Work picked up generously for him and throughout the spring and summer, he spent it traveling and working. We would speak about once a week, sometimes the days between our phones calls would be longer, not exceeding two weeks. By August, when Henri went on a weekend ‘fishing trip’ (which ended up being a lie, but that’s another story entirely), I invited Sir to my home so that we can spend some time together. However, on that day he also had a job lined up and so we had only 5 hours to spend together. We did have sex, but it was nothing like our meetings at the hotel. We did one position twice and then watched television and took a nap. “Don’t worry baby girl; next time we meet up, we’ll do what we do,” he said.

Since that day, we have spoken on the phone a total of three times, once in August two days after we saw each other, and twice in September. I called almost daily, worried out of my mind that something may have happened to him. I had texted, sent emails, and received no reply. When he finally called me in September after over a month of no communication, he explained to me that he had been in a bad mental state, not himself since hearing he may need surgery for an injury he incurred sometime in June. While I’m understanding of this situation, I was upset. What makes you think its right for you to disappear for over a month? You ignored all forms of me reaching out to you, and I was completely worried about you. Why couldn’t you at least text me and say you were alright, you just needed space? 

He apologized and said it would not happen this way again, that he would make more of an effort to stay in contact with me no matter the circumstances. But here we go, over a month since the last time we spoke on the phone and still I have not heard from him. I understand his need for space, but I feel that as his submissive, I should be a person of comfort for him, not someone to keep away from. This pattern of separation seems to have grown and I feel that perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I honestly didn’t expect it, especially from Sir.

I recall a conversation we had last year, where he told me there would come a day where I would “outgrow him.” That I would reach a level of this lifestyle where I need more than he can provide, and I will have to move on. That conversation continues to play over and over in my head as I strongly consider cutting submissive ties with Sir Dre. Beginning this sexual evolution of mine, BDSM was not something I was looking for; it was a fantasy to me. Something I would search porn sites for centered around it and daydream of being in those situations, never thinking it could happen to me while I came to visions of it in my head. As I looked for a fuck buddy, Sir Dre crossed my path, and began to teach me about the lifestyle, taking me under his wing as a mentor. After our first meeting, I wanted to do this, to be apart of this feeling he provided as my Dom. Our first year was good, with our meetings sparse but fulfilling, and long intimate phone calls in between. This year however, seems more trying, and with the interim of communication growing longer apart, the distance seems so much more than what it is.

I have love for him, I do. But keeping me in limbo like this is frustrating, hurtful, and sexually stifling. I think that right now he should completely focus on his health in all forms, and I can still remain a close friend and confidant if he were to need one. Honestly, that is how I have felt for months. Our D/s relationship was only touched upon in our sessions at the hotel room since late last year. We don’t get into headspace over the phone or work on my submission to him otherwise and because of this, I’ve even questioned my role in the lifestyle. I believe it is time I step away from it, and while I wish him all the best, it is also best for the both us if I were no longer his sub. There are things within himself and his life he needs to work on and I feel there is no space for me right now.

If you have any words of advice, I would truly appreciate it.

-Scarlett

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TMI Tuesday: What’s in your car?

Something to break up the non-sex that’s been going on around here…

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1. What CD is in your Cd player?
No cd player, we use our iPods a lot and we have Sirius XM radio.

2. Turn on your car radio, what station is it tuned to?
Sirius XM radio channel Octane

3. What is in your glove box?
The car manual, insurance card, napkins, and a tiny bottle of perfume for me.

4. Are there any stickers on your bumper? What? (You can post photos too).
Nope. 

5. What stickers or car magnets are on your car? (You can post photos too).
None. The car is six months old, but we don’t want to defile it yet with stickers.

6. When you drive do you have a favorite beverage? What?
I don’t know how to drive yet, but Henri loves coffee and I’m a sucker for iced tea.

7. What is the most unique thing about your car?
We named her Scarlett, after my pseudonym for the blog. And because she’s red 

8. Have you modified or decorated or enhanced your steering wheel?
No, still as it was when it rolled off the lot.

9. If your normal mode of transportation is a bicycle or a motorcycle, what have you done to personalize it?
N/a

10. If your regular mode of transportation is public transport–bus or subway–what do you do to pass the time on your rides?
I listen to music on my iPod and daydream a lot!

Bonus: What is the sexiest thing in your car?
The leather seats. Oh so smooth against my skin…

TMI Tuesday

-Scarlett

 

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They Don’t Know You

The memories, these feelings I can no longer abate
As I jot these words down with a flourish of hate.

People sing your praises, honesty far-flung
You are selfish and borderline cruel; should I go on?
Deceitful, you have twisted lies and lives
To ensure that only your breed survives.

Your love is a plague that darkens the hope,
Feeds the ravenous flames and chokes the smoke.
A kindness is to leave before you’ve left,
Yet niceties are unnatural, you require deathly effect

Blinded, we fell into the pit you laid
Of gilded roses, with our love we paid
To enter the recesses of your heart and mind,
Only to conclude there are things in this life we will never find.

Release me from your clutches, set me free!
I want no more attachment of you to me.
I no longer wish to see you near;
A monster who loves, but does not (cannot) care.

-Scarlett

Click the button to see more Wicked posts this Wednesday.

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Squishy Boobday

People do the oddest things when they are restless, alone or lost in thought. Some nibble on their fingernails, twirl their hair, doodle on a scrap of paper. I touch my boobs.

They are really soft, and I’ll find myself idly petting them on top, the cleavage part occasionally exposed at the top of a v-neck t-shirt. There are lines etched into them, marks of growth throughout the years, and my fingers glide over them like braille. When I’m in the middle of writing, there are times that I’m at a lost for inspiration or for the right words to type out. I’ll grab each side, and squeeze my breasts together, squashing and kneading them like fresh dough. I scratch them gently just to see the red lines appear on my skin. Sometimes, I slap them together because the sound of them hitting with force reminds me of the sex I should be having. Other times I simply caress the exterior of my shirt over them, concentrating on my nipples. Hard nipples under a shirt is the sexiest image for me, and having a bird’s eye view of it excites me.

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It’s a beautiful thing when a woman can get turned on just by looking or feeling herself. I don’t consider it self-centeredness but self-love and despite occurrences in my life that have questioned the love of myself and body, I still love myself, and I love my body.

And hell almighty I love my fucking boobs.

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-Scarlett

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When good vibes collide

I haven’t met someone like you in what seems like a very long time. We followed each other on social media for almost two years, merely existing between posts and clicking ‘like’ under photos. I knew you were in my city; so close to me in fact we may have crossed paths many times and not have known it. But I said nothing, mostly because I thought I’m not his type. He’s not my type; not what I’m looking for. I had this image of what I wanted a fuck buddy to be, and I’m sorry but it wasn’t you. Still, I was drawn to you and I thought the reason was the close proximity; maybe we could be good friends. He seems like a really cool guy. In retrospect, perhaps my subconscious was telling me something I couldn’t see until now.

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I found Sir Dre, and thought this is exactly what I’ve been looking for! The intensity he provides will be enough. But after a year, there was still something in me not fully satisfied. I had come to realize that while I do have submissiveness inside me, there is a harder part within me. One that craves to take control; to pinch and scratch; to strike with conviction and momentarily change the color of skin. To wrap my hands around delicate parts of the body and watch the inner fires rise in the eyes of the person who trusts me to take them to the euphoric limits. But I also want that person to do the same to me.

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I spoke to many men before I got to you. And it happened in the most unexpected way, with a post: Ask me anything, and I have to answer no matter what. And that’s it. We began texting here and there, but you’re job and other responsibilities made it difficult to be consistent. I deleted and then redid my profile many times, always looking for you again. Looking for that ‘friend’ I had made. When we finally spoke on the phone, it was an instant connection. We’ve walked a similar path, have known similar people, lived similar lives. Why had it taken us so long to get here? But still, I couldn’t be sure.

And then came that day. You told me, if even for a minute, you had to see me. If just to say ‘Hello.’ Work had kept you away, that’s why I hadn’t heard from you, and now you wanted to see me no matter what. You picked me up, drove me around, we came back to my place. I was flattered by your nervousness, how you were incredibly shy, but mostly how your eyes never left me. I stood to fetch something to drink and I could feel you looking at me.

Stop staring at my ass! I laughed, expecting you to say you weren’t looking. Instead you removed your glasses and apologized. No, I was just joking. Stare all you want… and I had to stop myself from saying or doing something that might lead to more than talking.

“I was watching the way you move…” Your smile made me blush, and I looked away struck with the giggles.

Time in my apartment was of the essence and being alone was a short-lived luxury. Our shared loved for Tequila had been a bonding agent, and I offered you some, hoping it would ease you a bit. It absolutely did the trick. You sat closer, and I noticed you tried to hold my hand, but I would pull away and occupy it stroking the cat or adjusting my shirt. You stopped shaking, and your gaze was intensely concentrated on me. I took a shot to handle my oncoming nerves. You looked at me with the eyes of an artist on his muse, a smile on your lips as I spoke. You looked at me as though you worshipped me. Like I was something new and rare. I haven’t felt that in years. 

The hour came and went and it was time for you to go.

“Can I get a kiss before I leave?” you asked.

“I don’t really do that. I only kiss my–”

But you didn’t wait to hear the rest of my sentence. You’re lips were on mine and I knew then you are the reason why I had that rule within myself not to kiss anyone.

“One more before I go…” became 3 more, and I had to push myself away from your wandering hands. If I hadn’t pried you off of me and out the door, we could have been caught in a compromising position by my son and my friend.

I had wanted to see you immediately. If that is what kissing him feels like, I wonder…

And wonder is what I did when work took you away from me again for almost two weeks. The next time we met, I had expectations of spending intimate time with you, unwrapped on top of blankets in a bed somewhere. Instead, our first stop at 8:36 in the morning was the beach.

I’ll admit, I laughed it off at first. He already has me where he wants me. Is he trying to lay it on real thick now? Go the ‘extra mile?’ I wasn’t sure of your intentions, but I desperately needed time away from home and seeing as we had the whole day available to us, what was a few minutes at the beach? An hour and a half later, you held onto my shoes, socks, and sweater like the gentleman you are so that I could walk in the water and wet sand barefoot.

How did you know? I didn’t realize what my soul needed until my feet touched the balmy ocean water, my worries and sins receding with the foam and leaving peace behind. We spoke about our family, our past, some worries, and the beauty of the beach. Besides us and a handful of fishermen, it was empty. We sat in your car, my gift offering of Tequila idly beside us. You had to take a swig before our walk to calm your nerves again (which I find so incredibly sexy I wanted to fly to the nearest dark corner and take you then). It seemed like all the energy we had built on that walk came with us, and could not be contained in that space. I fought it, knowing what I wanted to do, but not sure we should do it again. The last time, I had to get drunk to numb the feeling of your lips on mine.

“I’m scared to kiss you without touching you. That if I kiss you, you’ll disappear on me again.” You looked at me and said, “I know. I’m sorry,” and I didn’t fight anymore. I grabbed you by your red sweater and pulled you to me. We tore at the nuisance of our clothing, trying to touch whatever we could. We would come apart only to come together again, my hand over your neck, your hands pulling at my face, lost in my hair, wanting more as if you could fuse us together.

Then your fucking phone rang…

And I haven’t seen you since. Almost two weeks and you linger on my skin like a sunburn. This is a long version of foreplay and the anticipation is eating away at me. When will I hear from him again? Will I ever? Is everything alright? I couldn’t ask you to stay; I don’t reserve that right. But sometimes I wish I would have asked anyway. I could have been writing and feeling something different. Honestly, I began writing again because I needed to get you off my mind. I hope to see you again, but if I don’t, please know how grateful I am to have met you, handsome. The passions and the fantasies you’ve stirred up in me brought me out of my shell again.

-Scarlett

P.S: Like the sand we stood on, he slipped between my fingers. I wish him all the best in life and I hope it was as fun for him for awhile as it was for me. xxx

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Something old, something new (Part 2)

I wasn’t sure what to say. This wasn’t really happening, was it?

It’s as if the entry Paul read had altered reality, Kevin came right off the pages of my fantasy. There was more to that entry Paul didn’t read; details of some dreams I had carelessly written down, naively thinking that they would never be known. I was wrong, but now I’m not sure if that is a bad thing.

I couldn’t see beyond the silk tie, but my body knew whose hands were touching me.

Paul’s  hands were slightly calloused. A construction worker by trade, his hands were rough and worked over. A manicure was mandatory, I had told him, if he wanted to make me his wife. But I enjoyed the texture of his rough hands, especially when his large fingers dipped inside of me. Three fingers in and I could swear he was using one of my toys instead.

But Kevin…his hands were soft and just right, in the middle of where über manly and feminine meet. Years of a comfortable desk job had conditioned his hands so they weren’t swollen sausages like Paul’s, but thin and supple. When he touched me I shivered from his cold touch. But I found that I got just as wet.

At first, that’s all I felt: hands, every where possible. While my dress was safely place on the chair, my corset had remained, and my breasts had been fished out from the tight constraint of fabric, every inch of me available pinched, grabbed, caressed, and squeezed like testing fruit at the market. I felt warm breath, whispered kisses, and though my own eyes were covered, I could feel them looking at me, observing the writhing statue they had created. My leg was lifted upon a shoulder, and when his lips met with mine, I knew it was Kevin exploring my folds.

I felt hands on my buttocks, but lost in the euphoria of this daydream come to life, I assumed they belonged Kevin. I felt the hand position, thumbs swirling circles on my hips, and the head of Paul’s cock encircling a most private and sensitive area we had only just privately begun to explore. He pressed against it, lifting my left leg now and leaving me fully exposed to them both.

I initially prayed that the door to my dressing room was closed, but I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. Nothing was worth more than this.

Kevin continued, my first orgasm receding like a low tide. I felt a mangled mess of hands, wetness, and lips. A kiss for me, a kiss for my body. I felt Kevin’s hand reach between me, his fingers plunging into me, spreading my wetness, preparing me for Paul’s invasion. I felt something else, though I wasn’t sure at first. Kevin’s tongue continued his exploration, but from time to time, his fingers would take over, but his head remained between me, and Paul would press into me so closely, I could feel his heart beat. A loud  moan escaped from him and I knew I was not alone in enjoying Kevin’s oral artistry.

This had not been part of my original fantasy, but I could feel the difference in Paul’s touch now, his body relaxing against mine, and his stroke becoming more deliberate and steady, his hands methodically massaging my breasts to this rhythm. My body followed, no longer hesitating to do what Kevin seemed so willing to provide: a hungry mouth. He dips himself into me, and then back towards Kevin’s awaiting mouth, all so well monitored, we became an assembly line of body parts. I was sure Kevin would tire of it soon, his face surely a mess from my second orgasm, but he held his place there, taking all that was given.

Paul had cleverly passed through the barrier, and I came to realized how relaxed my body had become to take him in. So swift, he continued same dance, slowly pushing himself all the way in, only to retract, almost exiting my body, bringing us to the edge. My moans became screams, and I while I could not find words, I utter loud noises. It was exquisite pain at first, as it always it. But I am reduced to nothing as he stretches me open, hands clenched tightly at my hips hold me there, and Kevin the counter resistance, allowing me no room to move.

“Keep her quiet,” Paul said faintly. I heard a rustling, and a jingling, and then nothing. “What happened?” asked Paul.

“She looks beautiful,” replied Kevin, and his lips came down on mine hard, my moans now echoed into the cave of his mouth. I could smell and taste the sweetness of our juices mixed with the sweat of our bodies, and he fed it to me with kisses. His own member was hard and pressing against the previous object of his oral affection. I could feel my next orgasm swell within me, but I suppressed it, knowing exactly when and how I wanted to cum.

“Just like your dream, huh baby? I felt it coming too, I know what you’re doing,” and Paul chuckled in to my ear, and I had to concentrate harder to hold it back.

I could feel them hold my legs, hands interlocked beneath my knees, and I was weightless, holding onto the ropes that bound me. Kevin’s cock rubbed circles around my already tumescent pleats and I lost my breath.

“I’ve been told this is what you wanted, my lovely,” Kevin spoke unto my lips, helping me breathe again. I nodded yes, my mouth still not equipped for words. “I’m glad to see I wasn’t the only one wanting this…” and the ‘s’ lingered on his tongue when he entered me.

I couldn’t hold back any longer, and orgasm number three tidal waved out of me and foamed onto Kevin. His hand clapped over my mouth to muffle my screams, but it was too late. They both could not contain themselves and emptied inside of me, echoing my shredded screams. I felt both members swell and soften, staying inside of me until my contracting muscles had pushed them out, they’re limp bodies rested against mine.

“Time to get ready, my beloved.” Paul was the first to recover, undoing the tie from my eyes and cleaning himself up. He redressed himself, Kevin following his lead.

“Can someone undo my wrists, please?” I asked, finally regaining the ability to speak.

“Not yet,” Paul said. “Hey Kev, can you get her dress?” While Kevin retrieved my gown, Paul wiped away the streams of  wetness cascading down my thighs. My breasts were readjusted into my corset, and by the time he was done with the zipper, I was put together and almost ready to go. He took scissors to my homemade chains, and did a once over, checking my hair and makeup.

“Sweetheart, I really need to clean up before we go. I don’t want to drip while I walk down the aisle.”

“Are you sure you don’t? Because I think you should. Actually, if you think about it, you would be breaking tradition if you didn’t.” He smiled wickedly, but I hadn’t caught onto the joke yet.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, baby.”

“Something old,” he pointed at himself and then to Kevin. “Something new.” He bent and grabbed the hem of my dress, lifting with one hand and reaching beneath me with the other. Two large fingers reached inside me swirling the stew of liquids they had left behind in addition my own, now overflowing due to his touch. His fingers detached, creamy and dripping into my mouth. “Something borrowed,” his hands now finding my wrists, “and something blue.” With blood circulating back to my wrists, the beginning signs of bruising began to appear. Paul walked over to the dressing table and brought back with him an elongated box, covered in black lace and silk white fabric. He presented it to me along with a key. Inside I found beautiful pearl bracelets and white lace gloves, belonging to my grandmother, he said, resting in the silk lined jewelry box.

“For you, my beloved.”

 

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I turned the corner and there he was, my love. He looked at me as though he had never seen me before, a tear appearing at the corner of his eye, quickly whisked away by the same two fingers that had fed me our conjoined flavors. My legs newly slickened with moisture, I smiled at the memory we’ve just made and those that are to come. And because the feeling of both of them inside me was still fresh, my pussy aching in the retrograde of the love we had just made. No I do not love Kevin; but when bodies combine in such a way, it can only come from a place of love.

With my welts covered, damp thighs concealed under my dress, and the taste of us still on my lips, I walked into my forever looking forward to a new life with Paul.

-Scarlett

Part 1

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Something old, something new (Part 1)

She looked in the mirror and gasped.

I look beautiful. 

This day had finally come. After all the years spent fighting for what they hoped could only end in happiness, their day had arrived. Before the people they loved, Heaven, Earth, God, and all the elements, they will become joined by heart and love. This was the happiest day of her life and she absolutely looked the part.

The hair stylist unlocked the final strand of curled brown hair from a hot curling device. She struggled to stay patient, knowing that in a little more than an hour she will be making the most important walk of her life.

“You look beautiful, honey,” said the hair stylist, packing the last of her combing utensils, the curling iron gripped tightly in her hand, wire wrapped loosely around her wrist.

“I can’t believe you have to leave so soon, Marie. I had hoped you would be able to stick around and share in our special moment.”

“Sorry sweetheart, but this is the second busiest times of the year for weddings. And a girl’s got to work when the working is good.” Out she was, hot iron still cooling down in one hand.

I can’t wait to walk down the aisle, she thought admiring herself in the mirror. She had already taken pre-wedding photos with her dress on, and needed a quick touch up before the wedding. I’d rather be early and ready then to be late.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Who is it?” There was no response to her question, but with a day such as this one, perhaps they hadn’t heard her. I hope it’s the fruit I asked for; I’m so hungry! She reached for the door, the fabric of her dress softly grazing the carpeted floor.

“What are you doing here?” She screamed, instinctively crossing her arms in front of her dress, a sad excuse at covering up.

“Hello, my beloved future wife,” he entered the room and slightly closed the door behind him, keeping it ajar by inches. “You look stunning, my dear. Truly a vision.”

“Paul, what are you doing here? You know its bad luck to see the bride in her dress!”

“I think its worse to see the bride’s diary.” It was then that she noticed the red leather-bound book he held partially hidden by his side. She was confused and could only blankly stare back at him, his eyes calmly looking into her own.

Is this really happening right now or am I having some sort of weird dream? 

“Before you say anything, I need you to know that I’m sorry for betraying you by reading your diary. But there was something I needed to know, to confirm…”

“Of all the things we’ve been through, you go through my personal property? I have never given you a reason to question me! How dare–” and her left hand swung out and struck his right cheek, moving it but an inch. She knew it wouldn’t do much, that he was twice as strong as she could ever be, but with her pride and heart ringing with pain she thought it was worth a try. She braced herself for the next hit she would deliver. Instead, he took her hand and swung her around, allowing the book to fall to the ground. He sat her down on a chair, and grabbed his belt from his pants in one fluid motion. For a second she froze in fear, not sure what this man, the one whom moments ago she had dreamed of marrying, was capable of doing after having read her private thoughts.

He tied the belt around her at the part of her elbows.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to listen. Please.”

She settled down slightly, seeing a sadness in his eyes she’d seen before. A look that meant he was in regret over something, and she braced herself for what was coming. What did he read in there that has him so worked up like this?

“I know we’ve had our moments where things weren’t right. I want to say thank you, for putting up with everything I’ve ever done to you. The lies, time spent away from home, and worst of all, the times I took my frustrations out on you. I looked through your diary, not to prove that you were a deceiver of any kind; but to learn from your heart how I had truly hurt you and if there was a way I could make it up to you.”

“Paul, I told you all that is the past. As long as you are dedicated to us and our new future together, all is forgiven.” Despite the belt, her heart went out to him. She saw this act as a desperate form of forgiveness, and it somehow seemed to work for her. I must be sick to find him exceedingly attractive right now while he paces the room.

He stops moving and gets down on his knees. “See! This is why! I need to do something for you; and from your own words I think I know how.” He looks around the room and grabs things here and there. Still, she does not move, almost entranced by his mysterious motives. His right hand gripped a mangle mess of silk, lace, and sheer fabric. He place a finger under her chin and lifted her face toward him, uttering a deep muffled “stand up.” His hands reached into her hair, settling at the nape of her neck, a motion that volunteered a soft moan. He closed the space between them and kissed her deeply, pulling down the zipper behind her, the dress floating to a puddle at her ankles. He lifted her gently and moved her to the far end of the room, they’re lips remained conjoined.

His hands went to work and she knew he had planned this. She found herself suspended by her hosiery and scraps of lace from a ceiling hook, previously used to hang her dress, now crumpled on the ground. However, as she thought it, Paul hastily lifted the dress and placed it over the chair, setting it down as gently as he had her. He looked for the fallen book and once found, opened it to a page he must have known well. He began to read, mostly from memory as he gazed into her eyes and undid the knot from his tie.

Dear Diary

          I don’t know what has come over me. I have never felt this way for anyone other than Paul in such a long time, I don’t even know what to call this emotion. I am absolutely sure that it isn’t love. I do not feel for him what I feel for Paul when I look at him or kiss him. But when Kevin walks by, I can’t help but want to press myself close to his neck and take in his scent. When Paul and I were having our problems, he was the only one who could make me laugh and take my mind away from things for a while. His smile is pure and when he looks at me, I feel like I am finally being seen. The thought of him sets me on fire, and if I could fuck him, just once, I could live the rest of my life without regret. To give him only a small piece of what he has unknowingly given me; it would be my way of saying thank you. However, I am not that kind of woman. I refuse to lie to Paul no matter what. I’d rather die with peace in regret, then with shame and guilt. Still, in another time or life, even if the circumstances had differed…he will always be my unfinished business… 

“My love,” said Paul, circling around her once, and stopping behind her. He placed the tie over her eyes, gently combing away strays of hair before forming the knot. “I do not want you to live in regret because of me…” He kissed her soft buttocks and hooked a finger onto her thong, more kisses to follow its descending trail. She could hear muted footsteps stop inches before her.

“Hi Marisa,” Kevin said, and as the blood rushed in her ears from the increase beating of her heart, Paul greeted Kevin. “Remember, we can’t mess up her hair or makeup. She still has a wedding to get to.” (Continued…)

-Scarlett

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