Now I've Seen Everything

A friend sits me down at his computer and says he's got something to show me. A porn clip that he insists will blow my mind. I laugh and say, "Honey, I've seen Hungarian midget porn. Nothing can shock me anymore." He smirks and tells me to watch.

On the screen is just the neck and head of a very beautiful woman. She's lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. She turns to the camera and says, in a heavy French accent, "Here is something special, just for you." She turns back to the ceiling and her eyes look behind her. After several minutes, a man comes up from behind, rapidly stroking his cock, and the woman raises a small, glass funnel to her nose and inserts it in her nostril. The man cums in the funnel, and the woman begins snorting the semen through it.

Let me repeat that last part: this gorgeous Frenchwoman was snorting jism.

She's French so of course she wasn't making disgusting snorty noises, but deep, sexy inhales and you could see her throat moving as the cum dripped down and she swallowed. She was moaning and pursing her lips and her eyes were rolling back in her head. She wasn't doing this for cash or shits and giggles: this was her thing. She was getting off on it. It truly was something special, just for me. After several minutes of snorting and swallowing, she pulled the funnel out of her nose and licked it clean.

And I'm just sitting there watching with my mouth hanging WIDE OPEN and my friend standing behind me, completely satisfied that he's shocked the jaded whore.

I firmly believe that for anything you can think up there's at least one person in the world who has it as a fetish. I play it as a game with people, thinking up the weirdest, most digusting things we can and debating whether or not there exists a person with that kink. Never, ever, ever in my wildest imaginings would I ever, ever, ever have come up with this, but now I've seen proof that there exists at least one cum snorter in the world.

Sexual Savior

The Executive is in his mid-30s, tall, trim, stunning blue eyes. I can usually find something sexy about everyone (my lovers have been every type you can imagine) but I'm not overtly attracted to him. Probably because I know there will be no sex. I can suck his cock and lick his asshole, fuck him with a strap-on, but nothing else. He needs to be used like a whore. It's been five years since he's played and it's becoming a fixation for him.

I don't particularly care about him, but I owe him. He's the one who discovered and then nurtured the sadistic Domme hiding inside me. He is a switch, and when we met he was the top and I was the bottom. Somehow he saw in me the potential to switch and helped me become his "Mistress." (He's the only one I allow to use that moniker - because he wants to and I owe him - the others I tell to just use my first name). I teased him that it's not often a submissive can create and mould their Dominant.

I've mentioned twice that I "owe" him. Here's why. I used that dominance to regain my sexuality. During my marriage, sex had become emotionally dangerous. Now, to be on top, to have control and be worshipped, enabled me to fuck without fear. If not for that, who knows if I'd have recovered so fast and returned to my normal self: frank, forthright, and a total goddamn slut.

The Executive has a serious fetish for heels. Women wearing them, wearing them himself, looking at them, touching them, licking them, having the pointy heel shoved up his ass. He's just happy to live in a world where heels exist. It's absolutely amazing. So, of course, I dressed him up in stockings and heels. It's not my thing, but I have to admit he has lovely legs and he walks well in five inch pumps. He wore those heels and a huge butt plug for six straight hours.

I kept him tied up, in one way or another, the whole time. He loves it and I'm only too happy to practice my rope bondage skills. All bound up on the floor, I tie up his cock and balls with rope, put clamps on his nipples and along the length of his dick, gag him, and take a nap. Later on, I'm mocking him and pouring hot wax on his stomach, thighs, and balls when he says "OUCH!" No respect, no begging, no fear, no "please don't," but "OUCH" all uppity-like. So I yank the plug out of his ass, push two ice cubes up there, seal his asshole shut with the wax, and leave him like that. Fucker.

After cleaning him up, I have him stand, bend over, and hold his ass cheeks apart. He has the sweetest, loveliest, pinkest asshole I've ever seen, and I attack it with my mouth and tongue. He's never had that done to him before, and he can't believe it. His knees buckle and he starts groaning from deep in his chest, grinding his ass back into my face. An incredible turn on! I jerk him off while licking his ass, and he goes out of his mind. He wants to get fucked in the ass (like most men do, whether they admit it or not) so I put my biggest dildo on the strap-on and sit down, letting him bounce on it. He takes it all, riding it like crazy, and I'm impressed. Thank god his back was to me so he couldn't see me wide-eyed with amazement. Still, I grab his neck and tell him that he's a disgusting whore, which of course spurns him on. That's what he wants: to be whore. That's what everyone wants.

For Future Reference

Note to Self: No matter how bad you want that cock in your mouth, don't agree to be videotaped giving head. Dumbass.

My Multi-Orgasmic Ass

The Hippie called when he got home from work. He'd had a horrible day and was hoping for some oral. I agreed to come over and laughed after getting off the phone with him. He can never have just a blowjob. He gets too excited and then wants to fuck. Sure enough, less than ten minutes of head and he was dragging me to the bed, to fuck my ass. Me on my stomach, legs straight out, and him on top with his knees on either side of my ass, leaning over, his face next to mine. He's the best ass fucker I've ever known, and I came twice.

(Dear God: thank you that I can orgasm from anal. It makes up for all the other bullshit. Love, Me)

Trouble Brewing

This weekend, The Hippie said, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

The Hippie has the annoying habit of calling me when he's had too much to drink, and when he's had too much to drink he gets cryptic. To the point where I sometimes have no idea what he's saying. After one too many drunk, cryptic phone calls in a row, I stopped seeing him for awhile. A couple weeks ago, stressed out and horny and in need of some comfort, I went to see him again.

The drunken calls have stopped, and we've been getting along really well. Plus, the sex just keeps getting better. He woke me up in the middle of the night yesterday by licking my pussy, got me off twice (and I never come from oral), thanked me, and I went back to sleep. (Can't beat that).

Later on he says, "I think I'm falling in love with you." I said, "Then maybe I shouldn't see you anymore." I have a soft spot for him but could never love him. Months ago he said something so fucked, so unnecessary, so unforgivable. He'd had too much to drink (again) and said it out of stupidity. Not malice but sheer fucking stupidity. He admitted to thinking it over before saying it and so I could never love him. If he thought about it beforehand it means he's so ignorant (about me, at least) that he'd be recklessly insensitive. I've done that before and heard plenty of "that shouldn't have hurt your feelings" and "a normal person wouldn't have been offended by that." Never again. (so it was probably a bad idea to fuck him twice after he professed love, huh?)

I am a Porche

The Pimp Daddy is in his 40s and in the last twenty years has had the craziest kinky experiences. Things I can only dream of doing. That's why he's The Pimp Daddy, my sex god. He laughs when I say I worship him, but I really do.

The first time we meet, he takes me out to dinner and we end up in his car making out. The chemistry is intense: he's so very Dominant and makes me feel terrifyingly submissive. Most times submitting, I'm still concerned with getting myself off, but with him my focus is solely his enjoyment. Kissing, he grabs my hair in a tight fist and yanks my head back; I groan and melt and when he says "Oh, yes" I know I'd do anything he wants. He gets me off with his hand: his fingers hooked painfully inside me, his palm cupping my cunt like he owns it. Afterwards, he puts my head on his chest and kisses my forehead, almost paternal. He's the perfect blend of torture and tenderness, inflicting pain and showing appreciation. He's paranoid and won't let me get him off there in the parking lot, and I go home feeling guilty.

The next time we get together, he comes over my house. His schedule is so busy and he only has a few hours. He's had a very stressful week and seriously needs some relief. He uses a flogger on me and a wartenberg wheel, but I spend most of the time with him in my mouth. He deserves it. He's lying on his back and I'm curled up at his right hip, the left side of my face resting on his stomach, my right hand cupping him and holding him to my mouth. I'd bragged about my oral skills and after a while he says, "You weren't kidding."

I tell him how The Husband didn't take full advantage of me, a woman willing to try almost any kink and down for sex whenever, and he says "That's like owning a Porche and never driving it over 55 miles an hour." I laugh my ass off, being compared to a sports car, and later when I tell my best friend she says, "Yeah that's a compliment. Do you know how much a Porche costs?"

A Near Miss

Honestly, I almost fell for this guy. In his early 40s, wide palms, thick fingers, dark complexion, scruffy, short curly brown hair with natural streaks of red. It was one of those weird connections where holding each other we just fit. Lying together, our bodies just interlocked and it fit perfectly. He was such a good kisser, and his mouth tasted so good. I was in trouble.

He was a good fuck, somehow knowing to do everything exactly as I like it. His hands were vicious, and when he'd spank my ass it'd hurt so much more than any paddle. He didn't need any toys, just those hands. He was rough: pining me down with hands on my arms or a fistful of hair, or cupping the top of my skull and pulling me toward him over and over. Once, from behind, he thrust in while pulling back on my hair and yanked my neck out. I could barely move my head for a couple days afterward.

Even better, our personalities meshed well. We'd had a lot of the same experiences and tragedies, and could really empathize with each other. I even let him meet my fucking mother.

One day he stopped calling. For two weeks. I left three messages, nothing psycho, just "haven't heard from you, hoping you're okay, let me know if something's wrong or if you want to get together." The not knowing was heart-wrenching. It would've been easier if he'd called and said, "I don't wanna fuck you anymore." He eventually called, and I called him back, and he said that he'd emotionally shut down, couldn't deal with intimacy, had been thinking of me every day, blah blah blah. Could he come over and see me? I was horny, so yeah. When he arrived, he looked different to me. He'd lost that rosy glow a person takes on when you have a lot of affection for them. How you see them in a better light because you like them. Instead he looked pallid and desperate. We fucked several times that night and he took me to breakfast the next morning before going home.

He told me that the whole time he wasn't talking to me he was wishing I'd just show up at his house. He said he'd leave his front door unlocked at night, in case I came over so I could just walk right in. How fucking ridiculous is that? The guy isn't talking to me but wants me to somehow know to go to his house, walk in, and do what? Emotionally rescue him? A couple days after our last meeting, I called and told him it was nice being together one last time (He goes, "Don't think of it as the last time." I say, "Uh huh.") and to give me a call when he figures out his shit. Haven't heard from him since (never will).

A New Mommy

The thing that gets me about submissive men is how much they want to be coddled. Full subs, not switches. As soon as I assert a dominant demeanor (apparently, the tone of voice and a "dissecting" look in the eyes), before even any restraints or toys or pain, they're clutching at me, their face buried in my tits, practically crying. They want to be held, comforted, and told that someone will take care of them. A lot of men are looking for a new mommy; at least submissives are obvious about it.