Sexkitten

EXPOSED

Nick is away so I'm not having any sex. That does not mean that I'm without stimulation. It's no secret HERE that I indulge in lustful thoughts about women.

I have not been with a woman in a long time. Partly because I know for certain that I love cock too much to ever have a "real" relationship with a woman. Brief experimental encounters are all I want and have to give and don't care for the complications I've have to deal with in the past.

Secondly, I haven't met a woman in a long time whose smell and taste and touch I can’t resist.

I’m a gym rat. I’ve always been. Maintaining physically fit life is important to me.

So you see, I see naked women on a regular basis in locker rooms and steam rooms. I've seem them in and out of their panties. I see them put them on and take them off. I see wide assortments of breasts and ass and pussies, hairy ones, shaved ones, neatly trimmed ones—women of all shape, and sizes, age and creed.

I admire them all. And I’m sure that I’m not the only one looking. We are curious about others. If it were socially acceptable to touch we'd touch. Spread your legs so I can see what yours look like.

I’ve been asked about my breasts, are they real? I’ve been asked about the small tattoo on my hip bone that hides a childhood scar. I've been asked about my ass. And I’ve seen other women stare at my shaved pussy as I have stared at theirs. Yes, I have seen them admire my curves as I have done them.

I sat in the steam room today naked as the day I was born with five other women. Two had towels wrapped around them, the other three exposed with not a care in the world, the scene makes me think of an orgy room without the sex, just a bunch of naked gals hanging out.
We are all quiet, seeming in our own private worlds yet so deliciously exposed.

Isn’t this what most men dream about?

FEMININE & IRRESISTIBLE

He came out of the bathroom and stood over me. He was naked. I touched his cock instinctively. Stroked it.

“Are you having a good time?” He asked.

“Yes,” I answered still stroking him.

“Did I fuck you enough?”

“That’s impossible,” I said, spreading my legs. I moved aside the crotch of the itsy bitsy, teeny winsy green bikini exposing in all my slutty glory my shaved pretty little cunt now warm and moist and ready for penetration. My tits were hard and lovely and rose seductively with each breath. I felt soft and feminine and irresistible.

His eyes moved up and down my body appreciatively. “You’re so sexy,” He said, parting my exposed pussy-lips. He massaged my swollen clit—traced my hard aching nipples ever so lightly with his fingertips.

"I love your skin. I love your hair. I love your breasts. I love everything about you,”

He knelt down beside me and stuffed his face between my legs. He sniffed me. He fingered me probingly as if searching for something.

I watched him. "What do you want to do to me," I asked.

He didn't answer. He peeled the itsy bitsy, teeny winsy green bikini away from my body and turned me around to face him. He stood between my open legs, his cock hard from tender stroking.

"Touch yourself," He said.

The words barely left his lips I was abusing my wet cunt. “Fuck me,” I said.

He stared at me and started stroking his cock. His eyes never left my exposed body writhing and moaning before him begging for his cock.

“You’re such a good whore,”

“Fuck me,”

I gasped as his cum shot in my face, splashed on my neck, lips, tits… I licked his juice off my lips, rubbed it all over my tits and stomach.

“I’m still horny,” I said.

"I'll fuck you later. I wanted the vision of you drenched in my love juice"

FUCK-FILLED DAYS

It’s been four fuck-filled days. I’ve been abused and violated with cock and lips. I've been spanked. I've been cuffed. My cunt is sore. My ass was taken when all I asked for was a massage. And the taste of his cum still on my tongue.

Nick and I were on the hotel’s twentieth floor. The view was spectacular. The magnificent buildings loom outside our window. I could see miles and miles across the city. I lay relaxed and satiated on the bed looking at the view with a smile on my face.

The window held traces of my lip-gloss where my face was pressed as I stared at the seemingly endless fall below. I’m deathly afraid of heights and fear filled me as my cunt takes a pounding from behind.

We changed positions and now it was my back against the cold glass. My legs were hoisted and spread. I couldn’t take my eyes off his body moving in and out of me. I would give anything to see my pussy lips around his thrusting cock. And just as I couldn’t take my eyes off him, I couldn’t ignore the coldness on my back. Fear and pleasure. I felt as if I was going to cum and die at the same time. This piece of glass was all that separated me from the ground 20 stories below.

With every thrust that rocked and jerked and banged me against the window I thought about falling. Every thrust that tears from me a gasp and a scream, a moan and a plea, I thought about falling. But there was no escape. I’d never felt such fear and excitement at once, fear and excitement that sent me reeling into sexual bliss. My toes curled. I thrashed and screamed like a trapped animal against the window. My cunt pulsates around his cock and sprayed pussy juice that flowed and flowed between us.

He slowed his movements to slow gentle strokes while I came. But as my screams turned to satiated purr his thrusts came at me faster and deeper. He yanked my legs higher and spread me wider. I cried out. I buried my face against his chest. I counted his heartbeats. I sniffed his scent and begged for his cum.

WE GET BETTER

I’ve been deeply in love a couple of times. Ready to surrender all, give my love to only one man—give up my serial dating lifestyle.

I’ve also been heartbroken. One of my biggest heartbreaks happened here. I loved B passionately. I hurt long after I admitted to hurting. I stumbled long after I said I stopped stumbling. I cried long after I said the tears stopped.

The hurt is gone and my heart is healed. I think of him and I don’t feel anything. I run into him and I'm ok.

I called Jennifer to see how she was doing. She didn’t show up to work and I was worried. I felt bad about the day before. I wasn’t as understanding as I should’ve been. I was even a bit judgmental and this is something I try never to do.

Allan had looked at me in one of my broken crying-my-eyes-out moment. “Kitten,” he'd said taking my hands and looking me straight in the face. He wiped a tear away and in the softest voice, “You got involve with a man who use to be a swinger. You couldn’t walk down the street without bumping into someone whom he’d fucked, why are you so surprised that he cheated on you?”

I didn’t answer. I kept crying. All I could feel was hurt.

“Kitten, you’re one of the strongest, brightest, most beautiful women I know in everyway. Don’t you deserve better than a man who cheats on you?”

I knew that. But it still hurt. None of us is exempt from playing a fool. What’s important is that we catch ourselves.

I invited her to lunch for Mexican food. John hadn’t called and she was a wreck. Her face was caked with yesterday’s makeup. She had a handkerchief on her head. Her teeth I’m sure was not brushed. I handed her a stick of gum. “I don’t want it,” she said,

“You need it,”

It was no longer about a woman hurting over a failed relationship with a married man. It was about a woman hurting. And that I understood all too well. How many of us can relate? How many of us have held on to men/women who are undeserving of our love?

A part of me wanted to forgive and take B back. The pain in my heart was unbearable love, hate, disappointment, anger…It was every kind of hurt rolled into one. My ached for him. I hungered for his cock, his kisses, his fingers, his smiles. I couldn’t get him out of my system. It’s as if he’d crawled under my skin and made his way into my blood stream. So yes, I may not understand getting involved and engaged to a married man but I understand the hurt.

“I love him,” she said. “There’s no one else. I’m never going to be happy again. No one else can make me feel like this. No one else is going to love me this way,”

“Jennifer,” I said, Don’t you deserve better than a man who cheats on his wife with you? Who promises to marry you when he’s married to someone else and leaves you when you dare ask for more--after three years?”

She didn’t answer. She stared at me with her tear filled face. Mascara made black streaks on her beautiful face. Thank god we were seated in the back of the almost empty restaurant.

“I know I shouldn’t be crying over him, but I can’t stop,” She said.

“You’ll stop. And you’re going to be okay. I promise you,”

I wish I could show her what I know to be true. That the hurt she’s feeling is going to fade away.

We get more than one chance at happiness.

We get to love again and again and again if we choose.

We get to be smarter about our decisions.

We get better.

LOYALTY

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Jennifer asked. She was standing in the doorway of my office.

“Is it about work?” I asked. She’s not supposed to talk to me about work without her manager.

“It’s personal,” she said.

“Come in,”

I don’t know her very well. She says hello when she comes into the office. We see each other at company functions. We’ve chit chat about clothes, hair, and evening plans. She’s extended several invitations to join her after hours that I did not accept. At the last function she introduced me to her fiancé who I found to be quite charming. She showed me her beautiful ring. They’re been together over three years. It was clear that Jennifer was smitten. It was nice to see two people so in love.

She sat down across from me and took a deep breath.

I stared at her and waited.

She started to cry.

Should I hug her? I had no idea. Like I said, I don’t know her well enough to know how to respond.

“John is married,” She said.

“Who is John?” I asked.

“My fiancé, I introduced you to him last month at the restaurant.”

“Ok,” I said. I was confused.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. I consider you as a friend. You’re always nice to me. I think you’re a really nice person,”

“Thank you,” I said.

Should I hug her now? I wondered.

She was still crying. I stared at her.

“We’ve been together for three years. I thought that we were going to get married I really did. I love him so much. But he broke up with me this morning. He said that I’m putting too much pressure on him,”

“How can you be engaged to a married man?” I asked.

LOL. I ask profound questions, don’t I?

“He asked me to marry him?”

“What’s wrong with that picture?” I asked.

“He said that he was going to leave her,”

“How long ago was that?”

“When we met, over three years ago," She said. I am such a fool,” She dropped her face in the palm of her hands and cried. And no, I did not hug her.

“What am I going to do?” She looked up and asked after several minutes.

I see terror on her pretty face. I see hurt. I see desperation. I see so much that I couldn’t feel.

“You’re going to move on,” I said simply. I didn’t understand how such a bright, educated, intelligent woman, could accept an engagement ring from a married man. I also know that intelligence has nothing to do with it. It was something deeper and more complex.

I didn’t understand her tears. And I didn’t quite understand the hurt. How do you become serious about a married man and not expect hurt?

How can you remain three years after he tells you that he’s going to divorce his wife and not see the lie?
What exactly are you entitled to? Time that can be snatched away in an instant because he or she who is entitled has decided that she wants it?

There is so much I didn’t understand.

I never speak for anyone. I will never say something is right or wrong for anyone, I can only say what is wrong or right for me. Not everything is black or white, but for me some things are. Dating a married man is one of those black and white things.

If you lie to me, the lie will destroy us.

I may feel for you, but if you’re not free to love me the way I deserve, we're done.

I will most certainly not accept an engagement ring from a married man? If that’s not the deepest bowl of bullshit that can be served, I don’t know what is.

If you’re not happy in your marriage and you REALLY want to get out, get out. And we’ll talk when your plate is clean.

If you say your marriage is over. Prove it. I don’t want promises. I want specifics. When will you ask for divorce? When will you file the papers? When? When? When? If you don’t do it when you say, you will, it’s done. Excuses are meaningless. I want results. You will not waste my time.

Why wouldn't I sleep with a married man?

1. I believe in the sanctity of marriage. I believe in commitment. I believe in honesty. I believe in loyalty. And if I were married, I would not want another woman sleeping with my man.

2. I will not settle for second place. Never. Not for one minute. It’s all or nothing. The last time your cock is fucked and sucked, it has to be by me. Every intimate, pleasurable touch that thrills you must come from my fingertips. Every gasp that escapes you has to be me taking your breath away. Every drip of cum you spill must be caught by my lips or my cunt. The bed you sleep in must be mine. Mine. Mine. Your nights, weekends, holidays mine. It cannot be any other way. I’m a possessive woman.

3. I wouldn’t know how to go to sleep knowing that the man I love is with another woman. I would go insane. I would lose myself. I would feel like shit. I would feel compromised. Reduced. My god, the suffering. I wouldn’t do that to myself.

“Let it go,” I said to Jennifer. I got out of my chair and was perched on the edge of the table before her. I touched her small shoulder. She felt so fragile shaking under the onslaught of unending tears. Let it go. That may very well be the hardest thing to do.

I was sorry for her pain but not for her. Getting involve with a married man was her decision. Staying was her decision and she must accept responsibility. She needed this. I’ve known many women who fall in love with married men. And sometimes—most times, it’s the men who set them free when miraculously the relationship with their significant other gets better and they can no longer have you in their lives. You no longer serve their purpose. Sad isn’t it?

Sad for your big, beautiful heart.

Your great, amazing mind.

Your luscious, delightful body.

Sad for the years that you can never get back.

Sad for the life you could've had, if only you'd let it go.

Let it go…

LOVERS CUM AND GO

I watched him sleep, the taste of his cum still on my lips and overflowing from my pussy.

"Let's go back upstairs," he’d said an hour and a half earlier. "I want to use you,"

I can’t explain what those words did to me or why. They made my breasts harden and ache. My pussy pulsates. My heart pounds.

“Let's go,” I said with such excitement he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him.

"Don't get too excited, this is not about you,"

"Keep talking," I said pulling out of his arms and running up the stairs. He followed me. I stepped out of my jeans, unbuttoned my shirt and helped him out of his clothing.

“I can’t decide if I want a blowjob, pussy, or both,” he said.

“This is about you,” I said. “You may have whatever you want,”

“Start with a blowjob. If I want pussy, I’ll have that too,”

When I met Nick, he’d never had an orgasm through oral. This was a challenge for me. It took me sometime to figure out how to get him off. He told me it would never happen. He got so many experimental blowjobs he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He also thought I had a problem but he never complained. Every time I asked, how about a blowjob? the answer was “hell yes” now he expects them all the time.

Let me say that it’s a pleasure having this man’s cock in my mouth. I went to work on it. He is thick and hard and throbbing. I licked him like an ice-cream cone. Licked him like a lollipop. Kissed his cock-head. Stroked him. Deep-throat him. I devoured him while massaging his balls and pressing against his anus.

"You're a good woman," he said. "You take care of me,"

Five minutes later he was bucking his pelvis at my face and panting. I felt the spurt of his cum, tasted it and continued sucking until his cock was limp, and his body still and satiated.

I went to the bath room and spat out his cum, came back smiling proud and triumphant.

He pulled me in bed and kissed me. “I’m not done with you yet,”

“Yes, you are,” I said playing with his limp cock.

Half hour later he rolled me over and mounts me.

"This is still not about you,” he said. He cupped both ass cheeks in the palm of his hands and pulled me into him. There was no escape from his deep possessive thrusts. He pounds me. I matched his rhythm.

“You can fuck me all day, baby,” I told him.

“I can’t get enough,”
“Fuck me,”

I tilted my pelvis and locked my muscles around his cock. “Use me,” I begged. "Use me," Just as he shot his wad in my mouth earlier, he filled my pussy. He filled me.

Afterwards, I stared at him as he slept. We’ve been together for a year now. He’s met my children. He loves me, I know. I love him too. I’ve been here before with different men, but still…here. Fucked and satiated and overflowing with feelings. I leaned over and kissed him.

What now? I wondered. How will this one play out?

But who the hell knows? Lovers come and go, that’s been my story. I don't hold on to them. Here I am again. I've learned through previous relationships not to count my chickens before they hatch. I don't expect happily ever after. I can't because there's no way to know.

But I’m along for the ride. If it works, great. If not, it’s been fun.

DAHLIA

"Can you love her at over 300 pounds? I asked.

He looked at me, "No I can't, Kitten. It's not that I don't want to, I just can't. She's not the woman I marry. She was fit and beautiful and funny. She laughed a lot. She was happy and confident. I love fit women who are funny and happy and confident. That’s why I marry her. I've never dated big girls because I don't find them attractive,”

"Do you still love her?" I asked.

"Of course I love her. It’s not about loving her. It’s about her being big. Her bigness changes everything. She doesn’t laugh anymore. She’s miserable and bitchy all the time. She’s abusive. She quits her job even though we needed the money. She doesn’t want me to go anywhere. She’s always accusing me of cheating on her. Kitten, I ain’t never cheat on her. I think about it sometimes, but I ain’t ever cheat on her,”

I was talking to a man name DK who I met for the first time that day. DK and his wife lost their home through foreclosure and are living in the basement of my friend Lisa and her husband’s house. He's Lisa's brother-in-law.

Lisa and I were upstairs discussing an account that I was working on when we heard the commotion downstairs. Lisa rolled her eyes. “They’re always fighting,” She said.

I heard the woman screaming and crying. “I’m going to kill you, you mother-fucker. I hate you, you cheating lying bastard. You no-good scum, you fucking this and fucking that…”

Then the man’s voice, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lower your voice. We’re guests in this house. This is not right,”

Loud banging and pounding accompanied the cursing and crying. I didn’t understand how Lisa could just stand there rolling her eyes.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“Girl no,” she said.

I got up and ran down the stairs. DK’s wife was pounding on him, his head, his face, kicking--cursing and crying. DK was trying to stop her blows by grabbing her hands and restraining her. There were clothes and furniture and vases every where.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at them. Shocked. Embarassed for them. Flustered.

Dahlia stopped hitting DK when she saw me. She stared at me. “Is this your little whore?” she demanded.

“I don’t even know who she is,” DK said.

I ran back up upstairs. “I told you not to go down there,” Lisa said.

The screaming continued for a while longer then the sound of a door slamming and silence.

“Thank goodness,” Lisa said.

“What happened?”

“She’s gone,”

Few minutes later, DK came upstairs to get some ice. His face was bleeding.

I felt sick to my stomach. “I’m leaving,” I said.

“You don't have to go. I’m sorry you witnessed that. I’m DK, the crazy woman is my wife Dahlia,” he said smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. I felt sorry for him. “Are you all right?” I asked.

He sat down with us and started talking as if nothing had happened.

DK and Dahlia have been married for 6 years. They have a daughter. She never lost the baby weight and over a three year span he watched his wife ballooned to over 300 pounds. It wasn’t just her size that changed. Everything changed.

“You need to leave that bitch,” Lisa said. “It’s not your fault that she’s fat. And you’ve tried, DK. You’ve tried everything to make your marriage work. But she won’t help herself so there’s nothing else that you can do,”

Evidently, DK has been trying to help Dahlia with her weight problem. He bought gym membership for both of them. She went once and stopped.

He bought her gym equipments that she never uses.

He buys healthy foods that she doesn’t eat.

“She’s not the same woman I married,” he said.

I didn’t tell him to get a divorce. It’s not my place. I’m sure that I don’t know the whole story. I don’t know Dahlia’s story. What's stopping her from taking the necessary steps to get herself together?

But I do know that we have to be happy with ourselves before we can be happy with someone else.

Dahlia has to change her life if she’s unhappy with it.

Dahlia has to fix Dahlia.

And DK has to take care of himself.

LET IT BE

I woke up with little C's foot my face. I got up to take him to his bedroom. I turned on the light. He was sprawled on my bed adorable as could be. I stared long and hard at him. He looked so innocent and so damn lovable.

I sat on the side of the bed and watched him sleep. I touched his feet--I touched his fingers. I kissed his soft cheeks. And I thought of T.

Thoughts of T always fill me with an overwhelming sense of sadness. He was just as innocent and lovable as little C. Where did that adorable lovable child go? How did he disappear so completely? I used to wake up and look at him too. Even at thirteen, there were times I would go to his room to say good night and he was already asleep. I would stand in the doorway and watch him.

I’m in no way questioning my decision to send him away. I don't miss wanting to kick his ass everytime I'm around him. I do not miss our fights, his disrespectful behaviour, and his blatant disregard for my rules. I have peace of mind.

I'm not constantly worrying about him. I know where he is. I know that he's not out there smoking pot. I know that he's not in a gang. I know that he's in school.

But on the other hand, I come home every day to the empty space that he once filled.

For years, Thursday nights were reserve for he and I to spend together one-on- one. We would talk, go to an arcade, out to dinner, see a movie, whatever he wanted to do— those days are gone.

The pile of clothes that as long as I can remember was strewn all over the room is folded and packed away.

His scent too is starting to fade. My son's existence in my life is absent.

And with every thought of him, I’m filled an overwhelming sense of sadness. Emptiness, void, and a hurt that’s deep and persistent.

My family is broken.

This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not the way I planned it. But that’s the thing about life isn’t it?

We can’t really plan it, can we? Do we plan on giving birth to a sick child? Do we plan on getting divorced? Do we plan on having our significant other betray us? Do we plan on financial hardships. Do we plan on being single parents? Do we plan on our love ones dying?

How often does our life turn out just the way we planned it? Sometimes, despite our best laid plans it takes a course that we don’t see coming.

Some say that everything happens for a reason. Everything is just as it should be. I don’t get that right now. There is so much I don’t understand. But I have no choice but to believe and let it be because folks, it is what it is.

KITTEN COMES TO LIFE

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” My friend Carrie said.

“I’m not. I loved it,” I said, smiling from ear to ear.

She stared at me. I could taste her disapproval.

We were discussing anal sex. Her husband wants to do it to her. She's appalled that he could ask such a thing. She feels disrespected. She threw him out of their bedroom. She’s been crying herself to sleep. “Only whores do that, and I’m not a whore. I’m his wife,” she said.

I stare at her. She's sobbing.

“Would you ask for a divorce?" She asked.

“No,” I said.

“What would you do?”

“I'd give him some ass,” I said. “But…,” I added when I saw the horror on her face, “If giving up your ass is going to make you feel like less of a person, if you're going to be ashamed and disgusted and resentful of him and yourself, you shouldn't do it. You should talk to him about your feelings. If you have no interest, you have no interest. It is what it is,” I said.

We are so different that most people cannot understand our friendship. My personality overwhelms her. I'm open, seductive, sensual, and adventurous. She's closed, frumpy, and timid. But I love the woman. And she cannot stay away from me, I think because we are so different.

Why should I be ashamed?

This story:

I'm always ready for a good old fashion fuck, but occasionally, when pmsing I have a day or two when my body is foreign to me. I'm out of my mind. Everything bothers me. I'm a bitch. And Nick's cock penetrating and pounding my pussy feels like an alien object that just doesn't fit.

I was having one such day.

We crawled into bed. I curled into his arms. He kisses my forehead and tells me he loves me. I kiss him back and snuggle closer. I didn't want cock. I wanted closeness. I wanted to be held. My naked, sweet smelling, inviting body was sprawled all over him, my bare pussy there for the taking pressed inviting against his thighs, who wouldn't think that I wanted cock?

He started touching everything, my breasts, ass, legs, my inviting pussy.

His cock is hard and throbbing and pressing against me. He fondles my sore breasts, runs his hand over my stomach, my ass and fingers my inviting pussy. I don't push him away, but I don't respond.

He rolls me onto my back, spread my legs and starts to eat me.
I felt nothing.

I think positive thoughts. I looked at his face between my legs. I propped on my elbows and watch his lips ravaging my pussy. This should send me into orgasmic heaven. I should be grinding my hips and bucking at his face. I should be moaning and groaning in pleasure.

Nothing.

"Come and fuck me," I said. I didn't want to, but I don't believe in denying my man. I will not send him to bed dissatisfied. If fucking me didn’t get him off fast enough, I was open for negotiation. How about a good cock sucking?

His cock pierces my pussy—in and out he moves. I'm not wet. It hurts. I cannot get my body to feel still I moan and groan. “Fuck your pussy, baby. Yes. Just like that. Yes, give it to me,”

He pounds me, missionary, on my knees, sideways with one leg on his shoulder.

After fifteen minutes he's still fucking me.

"Honey, I'm doing this for you," I said. "I'm not in the mood so don't take too much longer,"

Ten minutes later, he’s still fucking me.

"That's enough. Get off me," I said.

For the record, this is not me. I never say that’s enough get off me. Never! This is pmsing psycho chic.

He chuckles and climbs off me. I settled back into bed and pulled the covers about me. I hear him opening and closing drawers in the bathroom.

Few minutes later he came back and yank the covers off me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

"Come here," he said pulling me towards the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees,"

"We did that already," Pmsing psycho chic complained.

He pulls me to the edge of the bed and lubes and fingers my ass. I moan and groan. My pulse quickened. My heart is racing.

Kitten comes to life.

Yes. I thought. Yes.

I’m not an ass-fucking maniac. It’s been several months since we last did this. I find it quite pleasurable when we indulge, but I don’t need it all the time, and thank god, neither does he.

“Give it to me, baby. I want it in my ass,” I said.

He slaps my right cheek, grabs and pulls my hips toward him with his cock pressing at my entrance

“Did you tell me to get off you?” He demands.

“Yes,” I said.

He penetrates and break through my tight opening. I cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Don’t ever tell me to get off you,” he said shoving his cock all the way in and pounds me.

“I can have you when I want you,”

“Yes,” I said.
.
“I can have you how I want you,”

“Yes, I said.

“I can have your mouth, pussy, AND your ass,” He said.

“Yes, give it to me. Give it to me,” I begged.

For about ten minutes he fucks me, uses me, dominates--he bends me to his will.

He yanked my hair back and comes deep in my ass.

“Now, I’m done,” He said kissing me as I lay there spent and smiling.

He came back to bed and bundles me in his arms. He kisses my forehead. “I love you,” he said.

BOUNDARIES

I run an agency inside an agency. Those who work in sales may know what I'm talking about. I am a manager with a manager.

Mine is an idiot on drugs. It didn't take long to figure out that something was wrong with him. Our first day in the field he told me that he loves Puerto Rican and Dominican women and likes to be dominated by them—spanking, biting, abused. On and on he went about his sex life through the second day.

I listened. I offered no feedback.

“What are you into?” he asked me.

“I don’t discuss my sex life with co-workers,” I said

I play different roles in life—we all do, and I believe that it’s important to have boundaries. I can be freaky all I want in the bedroom, and I am, but when I’m at work I can’t be showing my tits and talking about my pussy.

I’m appalled by the office slut. Appalled. I’ve seen that woman’s cunt once too many times. A prude I’m not, by god, if you’re not going to wear panties to the office keep it to your damn self.

I’m getting off track aren’t I? The office slut is another story.

Boundaries are important.

It’s important for me to look at my manager and see authority, someone who would fire my lovely ass if I didn’t do what’s expected of me. Not on his knees naked, lapping at my pussy, bruised, begging me to hurt him some more.

Folks, if I were to tell my boss that I will spank his ass if he wants me to, I would be over stepping over my boundaries. It would be unprofessional and I would open myself for a series of unwanted advances.

Lets just stay he never earned my respect.

Beyond all that nonsense it was clear that we were mismatched from the start. I’m a professional. I believe in doing things correctly the first time. I’m thorough. I’m competent. I’m like a freaking assassin. I go in and get the job done. There is no room for error.

If I make a sale, I shouldn’t have to go back because I forgot something. Yet there I was making all kinds of mistakes all the time because he didn’t give me important information. Why? I found out that he didn’t know. He was making me look like a fool. I don’t like to look like a fool. I don’t like my credibility questioned.

I ask specific questions, I need specific answers. I don’t want a story; I want the story whatever it is. He could not stop telling bull-shit stories, I believe to mask his ignorance.

I talked to him about it. He gave me an explanation that I can’t repeat because I have no idea what he was talking about.

I learned from other managers how to do my job even though I wasn’t supposed to ask anyone else for help, but screw that—mine didn’t know.

Over time our relationship became strained. An essential ingredient was missing RESPECT.

He had no authority over me.

I felt sorry for him. I felt frustrated. I wanted to fire him.

Now that’s a concept isn’t it? How many of us would like to fire our bosses?

I fired mine.