0 comments/ 21074 views/ 0 favorites Ramblings By: Diane Marie Here I sit in front of a computer screen, my hands on the keyboard ready and willing to type, it 2 a.m., I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because a few hours ago, I couldn’t write, I have writers block. I never knew how addictive writing could be, I now understand my father locking himself in his study hour after hour. I wonder what he did in those hours he couldn’t write, did he write letters to friends. He kept no journal, so I have no idea. At least I have an outlet, I have all of you, in a way my letter to a friend. I can be more open then if I was writing to a friend, I like that. I’m sure you’ve all heard of writers block, I’m equally sure you can’t understand it, at least those of you who don’t write. Then again, maybe no one but myself can understand it, maybe no one else writes the way I do, that isn’t right, it’s not about the writing, it’s about the story. Where do my stories come from, I just don’t sit down and write, my stories seem to come from outside of my mind, a world not part of me. In my little world I see all, I feel all, I know the very core of each of my players. So much of that little world doesn’t make it on paper. A bar scene, two seeming strangers, hidden glances across a room, eye contact, signals, him going to her, words exchanged, him asking her for a dance, the quickening of her heart beat as he takes her in his arms. Words spoken, little words, everyday words, in a way meaningless words, but words that mean so much, words that kindle desire, want, and need. As he pulls her close to his body, she response as she has to no other, her body nestles in against his, a perfect fit. His scent so alluring, so perfect, she looks up into his eyes, warm loving eyes, consuming eyes, and she is consumed. All thoughts, save for the thoughts of him driven from her mind, an overwhelming desire, a desire to know him, to touch him, to be one with him. You read what I just wrote, you see those words in print, they are the players in my story, maybe players in a world that is real, a world I am only allowed the briefest of time to enjoy, to love, to hate, to cry, to feel pain in. In that world there is so much to see, take my bar scene, you didn’t get to read about the couple who’s marriage well end that night. You didn’t get to read about the husband, out with his buddies, who ends up cheating. You didn’t get to read about the woman whom he cheats with. The woman that falls in love with him, the disastrous consequences of her love for him. How about the drunk over in the corner, he has a life to. How about the young girl so in love with the man she is with that she’ll do anything for him. His heart is hard, he’s a user, soon she’ll be on the street bringing him home money, but she’ll never doubt his love. What drives her, why is his heart so cold, you’ll never get to know. Of course we all know there has to be a cockold husband in this crowd, how else would I be able to write about them. We do have other characters in my world, the two women sitting in a hidden corner of the room, eyes locked on each other, tender words spoken between them, loving words. Writer block to me is when that world is shut off to me, or sometimes I see it but as if I’m in a fog. Then there are times like now, I can’t get to my world, it’s not closed but I get detoured to the world of another, a writer who’s given me a look at his world. Today that world, is the world of Night Writer 99, the glimpse he’s given me is with his story Best Served Cold. The truth is I rarely read a whole story at Literotica. I used to but so many are so poorly written, and even the ones that are written well are so trite. I may skim some for content and admittedly some ideas. In a way I hate the ones like Night Writer’s, those make me stop, slow down and actually read them. Reading them consumes time, all life really is, is time, so they consume a portion of my life. I’m greedy I don’t want to waste my life. In the end, so many of the stories that catch my interest, do waste my time. To understand any of what I say next you do have to read his story. Best Served Cold is not one of those, the screen at the bar was, wickedly cruel, while at the same time very sensual, very stirring, it built emotions, but most of all it made me think. I can’t say I loved the ending, in my world the husband could not have handled the "Let me tell you what a bad girl I've been." Granted Linda had brought doubt into the whole episode, did she, or didn’t she, with "But you're living it out in your head, David. The things you saw could easily have been suggestions, innuendoes, illusions." In other words, although some things did happen, certain things, like Stephan masturbating her in public, were only imply, her reactions, her orgasm, faked. Of course there is no way of knowing what happened once Linda went to Stephan room. We see a part of David we didn’t know existed, his fantasy about his wife being with another man. That really doesn’t change things, it was a reality he couldn’t live with. In my world that doubt and her telling him about her night would have destroyed what had been restored, their marriage. Although I beg to differ, it wasn’t a night it was a week, a week in which both Linda and Stephan admitted she’d done things she’d never done with David. Not only that it was implied that Stephan was a better lover then David. Again the doubt, if the other was an illusion then so was the week together. I try to read between the lines, I see signs of arousal, but even if it’s an act that could happen. At least it could for me, this is a fantasy I could live so I’d be turned on. When David mentions the beads of sweat on her breasts, to me it belies that this was just an act, at least for me, it takes more then being turned on to the situation for that to happen, I’d be way past just a little turned on for that to have happened. Of course it could just be that the room is over heated, she sure doesn’t have enough on for her to be overdressed. The orgasm could be faked, I can do that, I’m sure most of us can. We don’t get any description, such as her face and chest being flushed, if we had it would belie it being an illusion. I love to fill in the bits and pieces, so here my take on it, Linda was obviously turned on to what was happening, despite her husband’s present, or maybe partly because of it. It most surely could have been an act, pay back for her husbands affair. The truth is you can get lost in an act, my take on it was Linda had gone beyond acting, Stephan being a man would have taken advantage of that, him masturbating her would not have been an act, I don’t care if he was hired help or a friend, he was a man, enough said. Furthermore, Linda had completely surrendered to her Stephan, something she’d never done for her husband, I’m not sure she could have acted that out, my take again is she actually did so, not so much that she wanted to but she had to make it real. Her anger, her pay back, this gorgeous man, yes I’d surrender. My intend, perhaps would be to regain control after leaving David, but would I, I’ve surrendered, I intend to put doubt in David’s mind regardless of what I do, I’d make love to Stephan. The doubt was essential to this story, it gave David something to hide behind. I’m not sure many real men could continue on in a marriage where his wife gave everything to another man, did things with him that she’d never done with him. Implied he was a better lover. Those thing all can happen but you don’t tell your husband if you want to save your marriage. Exception noted to the cockold husbands who read this. Revenge may be sweet but it also has to be tempered if you hope to continue in a relationship. I have a friend who’s husband cheated, she got her revenge fuck, her was essentially as hard as this story. He waited with her until her date arrived, he stayed at home while she was gone, he saw the way she looked when she came home. He is not aware of it but his cheating and her revenge has changed her, changed her life, she still see the man who helped in her revenge. That is almost four years ago. Yes sex can be better with someone else then your beloved, they just don’t need to be told that. I was a little lost by the seduction part with Casey, I would have preferred to have read about what was happening inside his mind during his waiting. I really wanted to know more about why he even stayed. Most of us wouldn’t have, no matter how much I loved, nor how guilty I felt, that would have been a bitter pill to swallow. One I’m not sure I could. Obviously Casey was put up to this, women don’t just offer themselves to a man solely because his wife is cheating, add to that his wife was only cheating because he had, I’d guess the most such a man would get from Casey, would have been a hate stare. But it’s believable because either the wife or the lover could be trying to tempt the husband. Perhaps, the temptress was basic to the story, without her he may have just left. The more I think about it she is essential, I just wish he could have let us in on how she was effecting him emotionally. Even the carnal, lust, desire and passion. Maybe it is that some men, maybe all men, can see sex as just sex. It was only sex. Maybe you men don’t need an emotional component to have sex. I’ve done a few one night stands but I assure you my emotions played a big role in my doing so. Hopefully I’m wrong, hopefully there is always an emotional component to sex, I can’t believe that men are that much different. What do I know, I thought I did a good job of portraying a man in my last story, obviously you men didn’t think so. The sensual part of Night Writer’s story, the scene in the booth, I just loved it. I did have to switch places and become Linda, have her thoughts, feel what she felt, to completely enjoy the sensation, of course I’m a bit of an exhibitions myself. Given that it would still be hard to do as Linda did, from what little we know of Linda, almost impossible for her. Could she be angry enough for this to have been an act, I have no doubt of that. Still she would have had to mentally surrender to Stephan, anger, an act, whatever, she still would have had to completely surrender to the situation, that meant surrendering to Stephan. That very surrender, in my mind, belies the ending, there could be no doubt that Linda man love to Stephan, once they were alone it was inevitable. It could have been all lies but in the end she would have been unfaithful. The opening scene and conversation was enough to make most men slink away defeated. The conversation between David and Stephan, would have been devastating. If I wanted to humiliate a man I can think of nothing more humiliating then that conversation. The utter cruelty of it, spoken by Stephan in such a casual manor, no leering, no arrogance. This David, is your wife, a woman you’ve never know, a woman you may never know accept while she’s in the arms of another, implied of course. David’s denial being the only way he could withstand total defeat. Linda’s actions taking even his denial away. I would expect more from my men, even in love, that would have been the end game. Humiliated yes, complete defeat no. Save for one, my men would have walked away. I don’t write about those men, strong men, men who could be hurt but never humiliated in that manor. Men more like Stephan then David, men I could surrender to. Much more dominate men, maybe to dominate. I have been accused of being a man hater, think what you must, but I do choice my male characters carefully. They are weak men, they have to fit, only one of my men ever came close to fitting the male characters of my stories. Even with him I have to go to the inside to bring out the truth of his nature, a violent man, to say the least. In truth my male characters come more from the stories you men write, then from men I’ve known. They’re the I in your own stories. It’s not always open, what man writes about I as a weak man, a man who wants to be humiliated, a man who feels inadequate, a man who relishes the idea of being dominated by his wife, but it’s not hard to read between the lines. You have to know my characters come from the stories about cockold husbands, cockold defined as a man who longs to have his wife cheat. I just write what some of you men are afraid to write. Afraid to even admit to yourselves. Do you all fit, of course not, what a boring world that would be. Honestly I do not dislike any of you, I’ve come to accept your nature, your needs. I’m sure a lot of you are really very nice men, milk toast yes, but I’m sure nice. Maybe I would have been better off with one of you, I can’t say it ever worked with the strong dominate men of my life. Maybe it could have with one, I cockold him, defined per Webster’s as a man who’s wife cheats. He was a strong man, I humiliated him, I made love with someone else, I even did so in his own bed. Strong men, confident men boot their wives for that. Maybe some can forgive, but they’ll never say, please do so again, it turns me on. I can visualize complete sexual freedom, sexual freedom defined as sex with whom ever I chose, never being forced. I can visualize having a man I can so control, that I can cheat for my own pleasure and have him beg me to do so again. I don’t think I could truly love a man like that, but my needs are such that I don’t think that would matter much to me. Maybe if I’d continued on the path my life seemed to be heading, I would have picked my next man for that very reason, I can’t say. I hope that doesn’t dishearten any of you, I do believe some women can and do love such men. Although I think most women who love these men, over look that desire, choosing instead to stay monogamist. I know some of you hate me saying that, you wish your wives would fulfill your desires, oh well, you always have your fantasies. I realize that some see my writing as prejudicial, my female characters always strong, my males always somewhat flawed and weak. I could write about flawed women, weak women, we all know there are women like that. I could write about spiteful, bitter women, they exist, some place me in that category. Or maybe the catty woman, spreading her gossip, her lies, never truly having friends because of her nature, if she does have friends she’ll betray them. I don’t because none of those women can drive home my points. I don’t know how many women, or men for that matter, really live the loving wife life style, my assumption is not many. Some women have done threesome, but it isn’t their life style, we all know some women have done gang bangs, but that isn’t their life style. I do think living the life of the wife of a cockold husband, takes a women who is strong enough to know she’s doing so for herself. My female characters may be prodded by their husbands, but when they move from fantasy to reality, they do it for themselves. I for one think you men need to understand that. I for one think you men need to understand we can, if we choose to be, be almost unquenchable in our sexual desires. You man have nothing to compare to our capacity to experience sexual pleasure. Your orgasms would hardly register on our scale of ecstasy. We could, if we wanted to, take on a room full of men, and still come back for more. I don’t mean fucking either, each one making love to us, one after the other. Most women would never do that, most women don’t have a need for that, one loving man, in my case a women, is enough for us. Some women would like to experience that just once, your wife may even be one of those, but I doubt you’ll ever know. Regardless whether we want to or not, we can, you men can’t. I just want you all to know that no matter what you may think, if your wife elects to live the life style you want her to, she does it for self. When she is being pleasured by another or pleasuring another, it is not for you, it’s for her, you are irrelevant. You in essence have become NOT ENOUGH. If that hurts I’m sorry, my intend is not to hurt, my intend is only to tell you how it really is. This may sound strange to you, some have degraded me for it, I would still expect complete fidelity from such a man. The pleasure of cheating, the pleasure of sex with others would be mine and mine alone. Be assured you would face humiliation, I could play it no other way. Contrary to most of my female characters, I would not deny you, your voyeurism, I would let you watch. At times I would make you participate, I’m not so sure you’d like what you’d have to do, but that’s life. You want a strong domineering woman, I assure you I could be that. But that really isn’t me, I’d much rather surrender. I do chose strong lovers, male or female. Don’t take that wrong I don’t like butch, a woman does not have to be butch to have strength. I prefer to be lead, I love the security of having someone else set the course. Don’t take that to mean I don’t want some say in my life, in our relationship because that would be wrong, I do. It is in the little things, going to dinner, I’d rather she/he picked the restaurant, the theater, she/he pick the play. In a way I do have my own need to be dominated. For a lover to demand I take off my undergarments, as Stephan did of Linda, would make me wet. I could absolutely see myself being exposed at the whim of my lover, as Linda was. I read a story here, about a women being willingly forced, see the word willingly, to masturbate while she leaned against her lover’s body at a crowded dance club, oh my god, I’d just love it. I stress the word willingly because, in my world of domination, of submitting, I have limits, I have times I want that and times I don’t. I want a lover who won’t violate my limits, nor force the issue when I’m not in the mood. On to the next, I have this little creep, my concept of him, who keep bugging me about my father. First he says, I’ll never read your stories because your so spiteful to your father. The next time, after again berating me because of my feeling for my father, he says he hates my stories, I must hate men because my male characters are so wimpy. He can’t have it both ways, he won’t read my story but he knows my character. My dear little man, your laughable. You really would fit one of my stories, a weak little man, a man who I’m sure feels inadequate. A man without the backbone to give me his e-mail addy. I don’t really mind the hate mail, but I have no respect for a man who hides behind anonymous. Your not the only man who doesn’t like my male characters, I don’t mind that, but then show me where I’m wrong. Some have tried, I enjoy reading what they have to say, most are very nice men. The only thing I have to say to some of them is that no matter who you are, your wife is not doing this for the us part of your relationship. It’s about her, not you. If you can accept that, if her passion for others gets you off, then I don’t have a problem with you. Most people, if they would admit it, are probably voyeurs, it’s just that most people don’t want to watch their partners with others. In fact, I do understand the lust, jealousy part of seeing your partner being flirted with. I’m not exactly sure it’s lust, it is nice to know that others find your chosen one worthy of their attention. A number of men have made the point about the way some of us dress at times, the fact that our husbands or lovers like that. I’m sure there is in most of us a component that wants other to see the sexual beauty of our lovers, and I’m sure that for a lot of men, some women, that is a turn on. Whether the lust part of seeing that or the jealousy part is prevalent, I think depends on the person doing the leering, if there is a chance that your partner would cheat with that person, no matter how slight the chance, then jealousy well prevail. If your partner has, or you feel they have, a need to cheat then the jealousy may turn to rage. For some it seems the lust part has just taken over, the jealousy and rage part goes away. Ramblings Back to my little world, I’ve found the window, but it’s not a window it’s a door, I’ve never been to my world preferring instead to only look, dare I go though that door. What part well I play if I do, I’ve observed, I’ve written but I’ve never been part of my world. Could I, dare I take part, if so what part, the part of the wife of a cockold husband, the part of a stranger, the part of one of the women at the hidden table. The part of the partner of the cheating husband. How about the part of the soon to be whore, I’ve never sold my body, could I do so in that world. Maybe I could conjure up my own David, Stephan, and Linda. Linda’s part seems so interesting to me, the shear wickedness of her actions, and not in front of not just any man, in front of her beloved husband. Change the names, to Timothy, Shawn and Martha. Change the husband’s part to one who refuses to forgive, a husband who didn’t cheat, but nevertheless drove Martha, to the arms of another man. Make it six mouths later, no make it a number of years later. Timothy knowing that no matter what he did, Martha would always be his, it could be no other way. He’d toy with Martha he’d come in and out of her life at will, he’d break her heart many times. Timothy did love Martha, he’d just steeled his heart, his rage unending, his punishment unrelenting. Things don’t always seen as they are, people don’t always see themselves clearly. Martha hadn’t, she now did, she now needed, more then wanted, to pay back the debt, a debt of many years of pain. The three of them sitting together, a triangle of lovers, Timothy is not comfortable, but surely not unduly stressed, Martha had made her choice years ago. Timothy knew where he stood, he’d prevail. Shawn defeated, excuses himself, a new person appears to be walking to their table, a very beautiful woman. A woman that would and could turn Timothy’s fancy. As she slide into the booth next to Martha, she smiles at Timothy, a knowing smile, a confident smile. A new player who can she be, as she gentle put hers arm around Martha shoulder, Martha melts against her body, surrendering, as she never surrendered to another person in her life. The rest we’ll leave as Night Writer 99 wrote it, but somehow I don’t think Martha is going to come back to get Timothy. Talk about sweet revenge. A woman in love with a woman, surrendering herself completely in front of the only man she ever truly loved, my god how humiliating, wouldn’t you men agree. Can’t you just see his eyes as this woman runs her hands across Martha’s breasts. Now that is the turned on-jealous syndrome at it’s best. Oh my god, I didn’t even know I wanted to hurt him so, I won’t, he’s still beloved, although not loved. I like my world I can do as I please, and never really cause anyone harm. He well meet my beloved, I want him to meet her, to see how much we love each other, but not out of revenge, he seem to worry about me, he seems to think I’ve lost my way, when in truth I’ve finally found it. I hope he can understand, who I really am. To the man who asked about my painting, first off it’s an oil painting not a photograph. The composition for the painting however did come from a photograph, something I rarely do. I did change a few minor details, the only major detail I changed was replacing myself with his model. This painting was a gift for the love of my life. If you saw the whole painting, you’d understand how sensual it is, you’d also see that it is the surrender of my body, my soul and my spirit to my love. I took a picture of it with my 35mm camera, I do so with all my work, once they are sold I’ll never see most of them again, it’s my way of preserving them. I scanned that one into Photoshop, adjusted the color for a closer match to my painting. Changed the levels again to reflect what my painting looked like. Desaturated parts of it that had to much light reflection. Used the unsharp mask, it was somewhat blurry. Enlarged to part of it I have posted at here. That said, no computer image can do it justice, it can’t show the softness of my brush stroke, which are essential to my style. It can’t show the depth of color, nor the detail. I know some of you think computer graphics is just marvelous, I think it’s just fine, but it’s not art. It lacks the main component of true art, the emotional side. Walk amongst the works of the masters, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Picasso, Van Gogh, Renoir, and so many more. The emotional impact is so strong you can not help but cry. Art has to invoke emotions or it’s only canvas and it surely is not a computer screen. I do ramble don’t I, I could go on for ever, I haven’t even tried to cover the swingers. Although I think I’ll just end this with one thought about swinging and women in general. It’s said that it’s the man who gets the couple into swinging, it the woman who insists they stay. I’d assume the same for an open marriage. Maybe you men need to be very cautious about letting our true sexuality out of the box. You may be in for a real shock. Maybe we women really can look at sex as just sex. That may best be left unexplored, unlike you men, we can have lots and lots of sex outside of our relationships, we don’t have to work for it, we don’t have to wine and dine to get it, we can just do it. Men think about your wife/lover at a club, alone, look around the room, look at all the choices she has, single men, married men, even some women, if she’s willing, most are available for sex, they’ll even buy her drinks, do you really want to go there? Thank you all for being my outlet. Be happy, I am. Ramblings As always: Thanks to "Alpineskier" for editing. Thanks to "Doc" for story consulting. * I have become conscious that my subconscious was being controlled by someone else years ago. I suppose it could just be a few weeks considering time goes by so slowly when your days suck, therefore it felt like years. I do not know if it was a gradual transition or if it was something that immediately impacted me, all I do know is I'm not in control. It's not like I'm a puppet and She pulls the strings. I'm not Pinocchio. It's more like I'm a robot, programmed to do daily tasks. I'm on autopilot. Hell, I don't even know my name. With that said, I guess my name could be Pinocchio. I know what you're thinking, "How does he not know his own name?" That's easy, it is never used. I assume when I was born my father and mother slapped my ass and said, "I shall call him Jack or George or Henry or..." well, you get the point. But I have no recollection of it even though I was there. I have no memories of family, friends, school (I assume I went?), or anything else for that matter. If I do have family or friends, those assholes haven't tried to find me. Or couldn't? I prefer couldn't. What's worse is I don't even know who is controlling me. Yes, I know what She looks like, stop trying to trip me up! She's average in height, 50ish, with short brunette hair, slender, and likes to boss me around. I just don't know Her name. I know what you're thinking, "How does he not know Her name?" See the answer to "How does he not know his own name?" above. Same reason. My conscious knows Her as "Master". But I never call Her that. Well, I can't say never. I did once. Only once. She didn't like it. I was verbally berated and then ignored for a week. That was tough. Even as a slave, verbal communication is nice, even if it is one way communication. My subconscious, however, doesn't call Her anything. If I have a question, I just walk into the room until She acknowledges me and I ask. Simple. Oh, and if I'm using the words conscious and subconscious incorrectly, I don't care. I'm not Sigmund Freud. Or I could be. Like I said, I don't remember. Well it's time for me to wake up the Master. Being Saturday, I only know its Saturday because She is lying next me as Monday thru Friday She would be at work (what I wouldn't give to go back to work, if only I knew what I used to do) and Sunday She would be at church. I don't get to go. I'm certain its because She wouldn't know how to explain our situation. I know, how ironic. A person with a slave goes to church. How does that work? Well, it does. For Her anyways. Not for me. Damn. I'm a minute late waking Her up. Thanks a lot. I hope She doesn't notice. I have to stop talking now. I have to focus briefly on this task of waking Her up. Hold on a minute. Okay, using my tongue, start at the bottom of the slit and lightly go to the top. Use my hands to lightly caress Her inner thighs and around the pelvic region. Use the tongue to tease Her folds. Gently insert tongue into pussy. Circle left, gaining depth. Circle right, going deeper. "Oh, is it morning already?" Master rubs the sleep from Her eyes. I let my mouth answer as I begin pushing in and out of Her tunnel. My hands travel up Her body and fondle Her breasts. First, molding and shaping them, then finding Her nipples and pinching. She has very sensitive nipples. I am rewarded when She has a sharp intake of air. I'm doing well. And She didn't notice the minute late. Ha! "Are you alright?" Her head lifted off the pillow. "You just stopped." Damn, I told you I had to focus. Why did you interrupt me? Time to lie to Her. "I was only savoring your taste." Her head went back down as I worked my tongue harder. Whew, that was close. My hands now leave Her breasts. One finds a home playing with Her clit. The other goes underneath Her body and I gently push a pinkie finger in Her ass. My Master begins convulsing, writhing in Her orgasm. All my motions go to a light petting as She rides the wave. I did well. Maybe I was a sex education teacher? Probably not. When I first started, She had to tell me a lot. I was never right. Come to think of it, I still am never right. I get up between Her legs and ease my cock into Her. "Mmmm." She moans. I begin to thrust. Okay, I can talk to you and do this at the same time. Where were we? Oh yeah, conscious and subconscious. I am consciously talking to you and subconsciously fucking my Master. By the way, I absolutely loathe having a Master. Since I must have one, I feel fortunate that I have Her. The worst I get is verbally assaulted. No whips, chains, or humiliating insertions. I still despise the bitch. I assume I must've liked Her, at least somewhat, in the past for Her to put me under this spell. It was probably all an act on Her part though. I know what you're thinking, "Why not leave when She's at work?" Duh. If I could have, I would have. There is only one car and we dwell, at least it seems this way, in the middle of nowhere. I say dwell, because that's what I do. She lives here, I dwell here. Anyways, back to escaping. I suppose I could just walk around and hope to find civilization somewhere, but more than likely, my body will have been eaten by a bear in the woods. Yes, I realize that is unlikely, maybe I was a forest ranger, but I would, in all likelihood, die. "Are you alright?" She was becoming curious. "You don't seem to be here right now." Shit. You distracted me again. I know I said I could do both, but the thought of me dying didn't sit too well with me. Oh well, time to lie again. "I was mesmerized by your beauty." Damn. Now I have to build Her up again. Hang on another minute so I can create a rhythm. I start pounding into Her and use one hand to rub Her clit while the other goes back and forth, dutifully toying with each nipple. Harder. Deeper. My Master is now moaning loudly, which is very good. She's almost there. If She's happy, my life is better. At least for the rest of today. Maybe I won't have to mow the lawn. Okay, I'm back. Where was I? Oh yeah, you wanted me to die trying to escape. So I am going to go with "no" on the attempting to escape. Thanks for trying to kill me. Besides, I'm only here for sex, cooking, hey, maybe I was a chef, like Chef Ramsey, or maybe I am Chef Ramsey, prove me wrong, and general house maintenance. My Master even let's me watch football in the winter. Not that I like football, I just watch because She lets me and I know She doesn't like it. My own sort of revenge. I know, I'm pathetic. "I'm cumming!" Master is screaming. Fuck, that was loud. Do you have earplugs? Oh never mind, I'm cumming too. As I've been instructed, I lean in and give Her a light peck on the lips and lie down next to Her. I then compliment Her. "You were phenomenal." "So were you, my loving husband. I love you." "I love you too, my beautiful wife." "I do hope you saved some energy. You have to mow the lawn." Damn. * * * Her side: What The Fuck? I swear, every Saturday, the one damn day I can sleep in, he has to pull this shit. He just has to jump in between my legs at six in the morning. Oh look at that, its 6:01 AM, he let me sleep in for an extra minute. Remind me to thank his ass. I'm going to pretend I'm still sleeping and I move my legs a little to show annoyance. Damn, it didn't work. Oh well, might as well get this over with. "Is it morning already?" I wipe the sleep from my eyes. Of course the lush answers me with his usual response of ignoring me completely. Typical male reaction. Then if I ask again he'll say "I didn't hear you." Bullshit, he heard me. He could be In the garage making all sorts of racket and I could whisper something about him to one of friends on the phone and he will come storming in saying I can't believe you told so and so that. But he'll be right next to me and not hear a word I say. Oh, he stopped attempting to please me. Hang on a minute. I lift my head up. "Are you alright?" "I was only savoring your taste." He replied half heartedly. My taste. Did you hear that? My taste. What a retard. The only thing he can taste right now is his own spit. I know I haven't secreted anything. Oh great, now he's putting a finger in my ass. I just love that. Yes, that was sarcasm. Actually, I really hate that. Why not just give me an enema. That is so uncomfortable. Alright, time to fake an orgasm. I shake a little. Now he sits up on his knees and enters me. "Mmmm." I moan. I didn't moan because he's putting his puny excuse for a dick, pun intended, inside me. No, I'm just happy his pinkie is out of my ass. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, his ability to outright ignore me. It's not just verbally. I know he's stressed, however, I don't know what would cause it since he doesn't work. But when I see it, I'll go over and rub his shoulders. I would still get no response. No acknowledgement I'm even in the same room, let alone touching him. Hell, he should be massaging me. I work ten hours a day, five days a week. Hold on, he stopped again. I hope he's finished so I can go back to sleep. "Are you alright? You don't seem to be here right now." I'm hoping for a snore for a response. "I was mesmerized by your beauty." He said mundanely. Great. Now he has to build himself up again. Damn it. Oh, and did you catch that lie? My beauty. The beauty he hasn't looked at for over ten years, but any other woman that walks by, and I mean every other woman; the other woman could be a hot teen cheerleader or a ninety year old woman in a wheelchair, his head is on a swivel. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, I work, he doesn't. Now I do try to cut him some slack. He lost his job three years ago and has been down ever since. He hasn't been able to find a job and he is going through a mid-life crisis or something. But come on already. Live life. I make enough money to support us. Let's do something on weekends. My church is always doing something on Sunday after services and always invite me places, but can I get him off his ass from watching football? Hell no. I am definitely going to get him back when I go through menopause. You know what? I am done talking. Time to fake 'the big one'. The big one I haven't had in ten years, and that was when I was imagining Matt Damon plowing into me. Ooh, I actually just felt something. Matt Damon. Matt Damon. Matt Damon. Matt Damon. Matt Damon. Matt Damon. "I'm cumming!" Okay, it wasn't the big one, but at least it was something. Now he leans in for his patented peck on my lips and flops next to me. How romantic. Yes, that was sarcasm too. Would it kill him to cuddle just once? I would just settle for one minute of his time at that point. Now wait for it. He's going to say the same three words he always does. Wait for it. "You were phenomenal." He said in a monotone voice. Somehow he managed to say those words all in one syllable. Would it kill him to switch up the adjective? I suppose I have to compliment him back. "So were you, my loving husband. I love you." "I love you too, my beautiful wife." Now to get him out of bed so I can go back to sleep." I do hope you saved some energy. You have to mow the lawn." Ramblings of a 20 Year Old Virgin Hello, reader. Firstly, I would like to thank you for clicking on my story. At this point I can't assure you that you won't be disappointed; in fact it might be most honest to warn you of impending disappointment. There is not any actual sex in this story, and why you would come to literotica.com to read a story without sex is simply beyond me. But if you're still with me, we shall see. My name is Jen, and these are all my worries about sex. I am a 20 year old virgin. I have never given or received oral sex, never been fingered, never given a handjob, never even been kissed. People are shocked to hear that any girl has reached her 20th year without getting laid. Instead of being ashamed, I find the amazement rather entertaining. You see, I am a virgin by choice. Those who know me well often cut me down for stating that it's by choice, because I've never had a boyfriend. I see their point, but it doesn't entirely void my explanation. If I went out onto a street and asked the first guy I saw if he'd like to have sex with me, I'm confident he would say yes. I've gotten my share of proposals from random perverts. This is not the problem. Now I'm usually modest, but if I write this with modesty you'll have no way of knowing that it's not entirely accurate, so I'll be frank. I am a decently attractive girl. Not a beauty queen by any means, I don't quite turn heads, but if I look around I'm usually glad I have my body instead of the others I see. I've got nice teeth, a small nose, hazel eyes, and eyebrows nicely shaped by nature. My hair is very light brown, some call it dirty blonde, straight as a ruler and it hangs just past my breasts. I'm not trying to spice up the story by mentioning breasts; there's just no other landmark in the general area. But while we're on the subject, those are not very impressive either; I barely deserve to be a B cup. I could have lied to you and said I'm DD but on this site, it's unusual NOT to be DD, so I'll tell you the truth. I've been told they look larger than B because I'm slim and it throws the proportions off. 5 feet 7 inches and 115 pounds, you decide. I don't keep my weight down on purpose, it must be my metabolism. Whatever it is, a lot of my female friends are jealous, and that's fine by me. But back to the boyfriend thing. I've been asked out a few times but I politely decline. I just don't like anybody I know, and I won't have a boyfriend just for the sake of having a boyfriend. It defeats the entire purpose. I want the right guy, I want to love him and I want to marry him. I already love him, if you can understand that. The main problem is that I haven't met him yet. But, he's going to be terrific. Maybe I'll show him this little time capsule someday. You'll be suspicious of this situation once I tell you that, for a brief period, I thought I might have been a lesbian. Partly to blame is this site, if you ask me. I found it a couple of years ago and I'd read a story or two almost every night before bed. I masturbate a lot, I should tell you. Girls aren't supposed to admit it, but here I am. Anyway, I stuck mostly to erotic couplings, you know: guy meets girl, they get naked and fuck, not rocket science. I'd sit in my computer chair and rub my clit while I read, I'd make the most of my orgasm, clear my browser history, and go to bed. And then I read one story about two female friends who discover feelings for each other. There are about a thousand stories here with this plot, but something about this one struck a nerve. I don't even remember what it was called now, and it started this whole odd chapter of my life. I got into the lesbian section a lot, and it was exciting to me. Then I got to thinking – I read all these lesbian stories, I've never had a boyfriend, I've never really even had a really serious crush on a guy – maybe I need to put 2 and 2 together. So for a couple of months in high school I considered myself to be secretly lesbian. I never told anybody, and I'm thankful I didn't, because I've long since abandoned that theory. I'm sure of myself now, and the real deal is that the lesbian element turns me on, but I absolutely would not want to really have sex with a woman. If I imagine myself having sex with a woman, it makes me frown a little, and that's it. This was pretty hard to determine, because I'm bad at imagining myself having sex with guys, too. I recently realized that of all my fantasies, of all the things that play through my head while I'm masturbating, none of them involve me personally. Is that strange? If I imagine myself starring in my mental porn, it's an immediate turnoff, because I feel silly. Maybe it's just because I've never done it for real. Because of this, I'm concerned that I'm going to be bad at sex. I intend to wait until I'm married, and I'm pretty sure I can do it, but we'll see how it goes. First of all, I'm going to be horrible on my wedding night. Don't get me wrong, I'm really looking forward to sex. It's just that I want my first time to be so sweet and perfect, that I'm scared as hell I'm going to screw it up. I'll cry, I'll probably even wimp out and leave the poor guy hanging. I want to be good at sex. I want a lot of sex and no kids. I want to be the kind of wife that will give her husband a blowjob, completely out of the blue. He'll come home from work, plop down in a chair, and I'll blow him. I'm expecting to like BJs now, I don't actually know that they're like. I'm worried about being bad at that too, because I have a super strong gag reflex. Maybe you can train yourself out of that. I don't know. Getting oral sex makes me worry too. I'm the type of girl that gets nervous when you look at her for more than a brief moment. In gym class, I changed into my uniform in a toilet stall instead of out in the open with the other girls, even though nobody was looking anyway. I would probably die of embarrassment if I had to stand naked with a guy I knew looking at me. I actually have kind of a nice body, but something about that would just kill me. So having a guy stick his face up between my legs is possibly one of the most unsettling situations I can imagine. Even if I got comfortable with that, what if I can't come? What if it's been like 40 minutes, he's still licking around, pulling out every trick he has in his magic bag, and nothing happens? He'd feel bad, and I'd be embarrassed. And I can't fake an orgasm, either. I'm worried about that for 2 reasons. Firstly, I don't think I'm going to be able to make a lot of noise during sex. Now I've had an orgasm almost every night since I can remember. I started young. I don't drink or smoke, this is my addiction of choice. But all of these orgasms were had at night in the house of a family of five, meaning I've trained myself to be dead silent the whole time. Even when I'm home alone, I still don't make any noise, because that's the way it is now. When I finally have sex, and I'm supposed to moan and everything, I don't know if I'll be able to. I have to have the moans, because moaning is a turn-on, at least for me. I really hope that it'll be so much better than I expected, that I won't be able to stop myself from moaning. That's what I'm counting on, because if I'm totally quiet, it'll be so awkward. I'll have to put some music on or something. The other thing is, I don't even know if I'll be able to climax during sex. I hardly ever finger myself. It feels good, but it doesn't build up to anything, so then I'm left feeling silly with sticky fingers. So when I want to get off, I just rub my clit. That's convenient, I guess, because I don't even have to undress. I keep reading that some huge percent of women can't actually climax from penetration. Knowing I'm not just broken makes me feel better, but it's not really going to help when I'm married. What are you supposed to do? If I was a guy and I couldn't get my wife to climax while having sex, I'd feel pretty bad, even if it wasn't my fault. My hope for this category is that a real cock is way better than whatever I'm doing with my fingers. But losing my virginity, that's going to suck. I'm afraid, even though I don't know how afraid I should be. It apparently hurts a lot when your hymen breaks, understandably. Makes me shudder to think of it. To be honest, the whole hymen thing mystifies me. I don't know if I have one. If you finger yourself, are you supposed to feel the hymen? Because I don't feel anything in there, and I don't remember ever breaking what might have been it. Maybe it's more of a girth thing than a depth thing. Either way, that's going to be a bitch. I'll probably stop the whole process right there. It'll be like when I was little, and my dad was going to pull the string tied around my loose tooth on the count of 3. He'd keep getting to 2 and I'd keep crying wait, stop, stop! My poor husband, whoever he's going to be, has got to be a really patient guy. It'll pay off though, when I get the hang of things. But even though I'm scared for 100 reasons, it's fun to have such a big deal to look forward to. Even if it turns out to be a let down, the anticipation is giving me a good time. It's funny, I've written a handful of stories on this site, and it looks like I'm a convincing liar, or so the little red H icons say. I've got some nerve, writing about things that I know nothing about. When the day finally comes, I wonder if I'll have learned anything from all this literature. Probably I'll just lay there like a moron. So, now you know all the worries and insecurities of some girl that you never met. There isn't really a poignant way to end this, so I'll just wish you a good time with the next story you click on. Thanks for reading. Ramblings of a Mad Porno Surfer Edited by Pantera Bonita Surfing porno on the Internet has become so simple; I don't know why anyone would actually pay for it. Well, I did once, but that was a mistake. They claimed the credit card was for ID only and I would not be billed. As it turns out, I was billed. I called the company to complain about the bill. As it turns out it was my entirely fault because I failed to read the fine print with a magnifying glass; If I had read it I would have known that after 3 days I would be billed a billion dollars a month if I didn't call Guam with the secret password to cancel the order. I love those "secrets to free porn" sites which tell you to use your credit card and then cancel. They got to be run by the same company as the web site itself. It seems I was not the only one who complained about this New York mafia run company as I just signed on to a class action suit against them. I thought about my security clearance. What if Uncle Sam found out I looked at porno on the Internet? Would I still be moral enough to make weapons that could wipe out a planet? Fuck it. It was about $100. The sad part was that it really wasn't that great of a porno site, although I believe I am now qualified to practice gynecology and check for lumps...ladies just put your feet in the stirrups and relax. A web site that starts off a great porno favorite list is one of those password sites. They advertise they actually have stolen or hacked passwords to porn sites. It seems odd that the same sites they steal passwords from are the same sites that sponsor the web page in many cases. Many sites are start-up sites looking for new members. I suspect the sites themselves are giving out the passwords but simply do not want the liability of minors viewing their material. It is from one of these sites I found Literotica. I am sure most of you have too. I don't know anyone who has come across the site by typing "cum poetry" into a search engine. The crème de la crème of free porno is full screen video with sound, English preferred. I have learned key German and Spanish phrases due to my surfing although I don't know when "Spritz mir in den Mund" or "Anal und Spermageil" will come up in conversational German. I have a high speed connection, but even buffering seems to be a pain at times. I suspect it is the web site's server that is crowded and slowing things down. Early Sunday morning is the prime time to view those crowded web sites without hassle. It is a lot better than watching 500 videos in 30 second clips. Viruses are big at porno sites. If your computer picks one up, it got it there. Many sites infect your computer with a harmless Trojan horse style virus that allows them to do massive pop-ups, links, and send porno e-mail in your name. Rule of thumb, if it says, "Tawnee Stone"-plan to get a virus. Last week my computer quarantined 27 viruses. Now I know why my dick is sore. My biggest peeve is when you have a group of photos to click on and you click on a young looking girl and the next thing is that they send you off to some "Youngest Girls on the Net" web page. Kiddie porn is not what I want. A woman should be 18 before she is abused, degraded and made to look like she is 14. I was disappointed when I found out that skat has nothing to do with jazz. There is another group of sick fucks this planet can do without. I have determined that the phrases "Russian girls" or "Czech girls" is synonymous with skank. Why do all these girls look like Courtney Love or at best Drew Barrymore on crack? I have developed an attachment for cartoon girls with perfect round breasts and green hair who get raped by a monster with 20 tentacles shaped liked giant cocks. This is not something I would have craved watching on my own, but now I am hooked. I would sell my mother's soul for Minka. I am learning Japanese too. For those writers needing ideas I suggest the comic sites. There is nothing like watching Barney drilling Pebbles or daughter Judy taking it up the ass. Live girl rooms are fun. Normally they do not have sound and you are not in the line of conversation. The conversation generally sucks anyway. On some sites the girls speak- always with a New York accent and they are all dumb as dirt from what I have seen and heard so far- not too different from the clients. They will toss you from the room if you are nasty. I got tossed once for pointing out the show was actually taped (I saw it the day before) and the girl was just faking it. You develop favorites by watching them. Most of my favorites have big tits. Some just have large tits. And since when was it required all women shave their muff? And why the fuck are the Europeans doing it too? When you go to a hairy pussy site, they look like gorilla pussy. Can't we just have one normal looking beaver like mom's? What I hate is when some guy in the live chat room wants a close-up of the girl's asshole. Does this really turn guys on? I mean the guys who have never been to prison. You want to tell the jerk, "Buddy, if you want to see an asshole, just look in a mirror." So now the girl turns around, sticks her ass in the camera and pulls her cheeks apart? What the fuck? I hope she doesn't expect this non-paying customer to stick around and watch. Has anyone else caught the Paris Hilton up skirt pussy shot? Are pussy lips supposed to hang down that far naturally? I have never seen such an ugly set of flaps. Bestiality- What is with that? I admit it, I was curious- I had to look. I looked, I saw, I scratched my head, said "what the fuck" and left. Good looking women, not Russian girls mind you, blowing pigs, dogs and horses. I am not sure if there is a law against this stuff or even if there should be, but DAMN! Just because you can suck off a horse and swallow a gallon of cum doesn't mean you have to do it. I love my dog, but I don't even let him hump my leg, let alone giving the pooch a blow job. That is just plain spoiling the dog.