FAZER LOGINBut it was then that the lesson began. Or life unfolded. Isn’t that what teaching is all about? The passing of knowledge and wisdom gained not so much on one subject but on the cumulative experiences of many.“When I first met my lover I was strictly a top,” Joey said. I was on my back with my legs bent and my kneecaps parallel to the ceiling. “I wasn’t interested in somebody sticking something inside me, because all I wanted to do was to stick something myself, you know. Then, after we were together for about four years, we started changing roles. He didn’t always want to be the bottom so I experimented with it some and decided I liked it, so we changed roles. He was the top and I was the bottom. That lasted for a few more years and then he decided he wanted to be the bottom again. That’s when we started getting all this stuff,” he said, waving his hand at his assortment of dildos.“I think that’s more than I can handle,” I said, twisting my body to look at the smallest dildo, which
“I loved this show,” I said, trying to deflect my discomfort when Joey returned with a glass of wine that looked more beige than white. I reached over and plucked a Playbill out of the arrangement, the fan quickly disintegrating into an unorganized mess. As I tried to straighten it all up, the thought occurred to me as I made an even larger mess that murderers don’t like show tunes—do they? But wasn’t Joey too old to be a murderer? Isn’t it usually the wealthy sixty-year-old man whose throat is slashed the next morning? Joey seemed unperturbed by the mess I had made on his coffee table. In fact, he seemed to be a bit too amused by my nervous stumbling about, as if I were a six-month-old child who had tottered into the room on his own two legs for the first time and he was about to applaud at any minute. When I looked up I noticed Joey was smiling, or, rather, I noticed that Joey’s mouth had widened to reveal a set of conspicuously fake beige teeth.“The dancing was terrific,” he said,
Let me teach you how to enjoy your ass and asshole. I will show you how to experience ultimate pleasure from the space between your legs.I must confess now that I had never answered a sexual ad before. Yes, I read them and mulled them over, but I only circled and called the romantic, dream-date ones. And as for sex, I’d always found enough action at the bars or the clubs or on the street or from the dating ads that I hadn’t ever needed to turn to the “Sex Only” personals as an outlet. My goal was to find a worthwhile long-term relationship or at least someone who would stick around after the third date, not someone who wanted to stick their sticky fingers up my butt in order to get their rocks off. Nonetheless, I circled the ad, part nostalgic over my lost boyfriend and part curious about whether I should really consider a new method to snare a new one. A few days later, when I was leaving voice mail messages for all of my potential dream dates, I decided, oh, well, what the hell, le
There was a time in my life when I became a virgin again. It was during a period when a lot of things were going wrong—or rather, a lot of people were disappearing from me without saying goodbye. Those who weren’t disappearing were afraid that they would be disappearing soon themselves, too. And so, instead of waiting to see if I was going to vanish as well, I sequestered myself. I drew those willowy pink chenille curtains of mine closed, locked those overpainted louvered window gates up tighter than a chastity belt, and decided to hide in the dark away from it all until it was safe to go back out in the sunlight again. It never really got safe again, you know. Things never really got better, but I learned how to adjust to them. I learned to peek through the slats and wear sunglasses and hats and whatever other protective gear I could get my body into when I went outside.But then one day I found myself no longer fretting about my self-imposed exile and back out in the sun again—in Sh
He offered no more explanation, so I went ahead and tried it, assuming that’s what he wanted me to do. I stood up and leaned forward to take a swing, and it was much easier to keep the head of the mallet focused where I wanted it to go. I wasn’t entirely convinced it was the size of the mallet, however—except for the fact that the shorter mallet was, as a consequence, lighter. I’d just spent a good twenty minutes swinging that first mallet, so I felt some of my skill had simply come from my own practice.I took another swing with the new mallet, and then another. Alberto didn’t say anything, just watched me from beneath those dark, brooding eyes. I kept practicing. Occasionally he would comment, in the form of an instruction: “Slow down the swing.” “Lift your arm higher.”“Take off your jeans.”I looked at him, surprised. Had I heard him correctly? My heart was beating so fast I could almost hear it rev; I could hear nothing else. At last, this was the moment I’d been hoping for. Then
I kept guiding m horse around again, in tight circles, again and again, trying to hit that damned ball. But I never did. The mallet struck too high or too low or too far to one side. I’m really impressed by the Captain like this, I told myself each time, trying hard to fight the blush of shame and embarrassment that colored my cheeks.To my surprise, as I dismounted, the Captain said, “You’ve got a good seat and you ride well. But you can’t hit the ball for shit. Meet me in the practice room at the gym tomorrow at 6:30.”My heart was beating so hard and loud I couldn’t hear my own reply. I must’ve mumbled something. He hadn’t offered anyone else a private lesson, so he must actually see something in me. My cock felt pinched in my jockeys again. I wanted to climb up into the hayloft and jerk off, but I didn’t know how to get up there yet. I went into the bathroom instead. My hand was covered with grime and horsehair but I didn’t care. I fisted my stiff cock until I came, whispering “Al
My thighs are aching from being restrained for the last thirty minutes or so, but still I manage to raise my bottom up a little more. "Please spank me, Sir. I need to learn how to behave." Despite my enthusiasm for a decent spanking I still wince when the flat of a paddle caresses my right buttock.
"Are you comfortable, Jessie?" This from Mark, who is also behind me now."I... I wouldn't describe myself as comfortable exactly, Sir.""Oh? Is there a problem?""No, Sir. I just... I want you to touch me. Please.""Ah, you're eager to get started, is that it?""Yes, Sir, I suppose so. It's just...
I expect darkness, or at least subdued lighting, but find neither. The room I enter is well lit, and whilst not especially large, I can see at a glance that it is equipped with a dizzying array of toys and implements. I turn in a slow circle, taking stock.A spanking bench dominates one end of the
I swallowed hard as I regarded the polished oak door before me. The steps leading up to it are a distinguished dark granite, gleaming and austere yet stately, separating the mysteries to be discovered beyond that portal from the understated grandeur of this quiet West London suburb.I glance from m







