Longer ago than I care to remember, there was a real Amalia. It was during a time when young people still believed in gurus and avatars, when there was always someone cooler or hipper than you were, someone to be followed and studied, learned from. And so it was with Amalia...I had just met Her, and Amalia worked in the same research lab that She did, a seductive and manipulative woman, mysterious in her ways and connections, seemingly disdainful of us and our relationship, until we included her.
For almost a year, she dominated us and every aspect of our lives, holding us entirely and completely in her thrall. We totally surrendered ourselves to her domination and direction, I trying hard to fit such a dominant woman into a life that now included Her, and She becoming ever more submissive, forgetting how to think for Herself and how to make Her own decisions. We saw Amalia separately and as a couple, always deferring to her wisdom and judgements, gradually at first and then more and more, allowing her to control almost all aspects of our lives.
We were told how and where to live and love, given specific directions on how to experiment sexually with each other, what buttons to push and what avenues to explore. We were a compliant and complicit couple, She the middle daughter of an alcoholic father and an abused mother, always obedient, I besotted with Her and overwhelmed by the strength of Amalia.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Not Enough #13
I stood poised in the doorway, knowing that crossing the threshold and re-entering the room was more than just a physical manifestation, and that once I went back into the room I went back into the vortex we all three had entered...Debra stood with her hands at her sides, her shoulders slumped down, her eyes downcast, a vacant stare on her face, looking every inch a defeated ragdoll, lost yet again in her own faraway world. Amalia now stood behind her, hands raised to Debra's breasts, gripping Debra's nipples between the thumb and middle finger of each hand, rolling the nipples back and forth between the fingers until they became stiff. She lifted each breast by the nipple, and I could see the fluttering of Debra's heart, Debra who was now no longer Debra, but who was morphing into Alice, a new person created by Amalia.
"Plug that thing in and hold it against her clit...let's see just how long it takes her to cum." And so I extended the long cord to the nearest outlet and knelt in front of Alice's vagina, the dyed blue hairs now drenched in fluid, her cuntlips now engorged and slick with her arousal. I held the head of the vibrator flush up against her, moving it around in little circles, trying to match the rotation of the hips in front of me. Alice now exhaled deeply, and emitted a slight moan, the tempo of her breathing increasing, her mouth open and her tongue working itself back and forth across her lower lip, her discreet little noises now cascading on top of one another in rhythm to the circling of the vibrator, the wetness now starting to shine at the tops of her thighs.
"Please, she asked..."Please what?" "Please, can I cum, just a little?"
There was only silence for long seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds, as the vibrator hummed away and as Alice sank deeper into her own arousal...then finally, "Cum right now, little girl," and I watched as waves of contractions rippled through her belly, her chest and shoulders shrugging several times quickly, then she sagged back against Amalia.
She had always told me that when she came, the sensations immediately afterward were to intense to bear, and she needed to separate. But I could see the evil smile on Amalia's lips, as she looked me straight in the eye.
"Make her cum again," she said, and Alice just tried to moan her dissent and disapproval.
"Plug that thing in and hold it against her clit...let's see just how long it takes her to cum." And so I extended the long cord to the nearest outlet and knelt in front of Alice's vagina, the dyed blue hairs now drenched in fluid, her cuntlips now engorged and slick with her arousal. I held the head of the vibrator flush up against her, moving it around in little circles, trying to match the rotation of the hips in front of me. Alice now exhaled deeply, and emitted a slight moan, the tempo of her breathing increasing, her mouth open and her tongue working itself back and forth across her lower lip, her discreet little noises now cascading on top of one another in rhythm to the circling of the vibrator, the wetness now starting to shine at the tops of her thighs.
"Please, she asked..."Please what?" "Please, can I cum, just a little?"
There was only silence for long seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds, as the vibrator hummed away and as Alice sank deeper into her own arousal...then finally, "Cum right now, little girl," and I watched as waves of contractions rippled through her belly, her chest and shoulders shrugging several times quickly, then she sagged back against Amalia.
She had always told me that when she came, the sensations immediately afterward were to intense to bear, and she needed to separate. But I could see the evil smile on Amalia's lips, as she looked me straight in the eye.
"Make her cum again," she said, and Alice just tried to moan her dissent and disapproval.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
MIA
And in the time I was trekking, two of my favorite blogs seem to have disappeared---Jane Not Plain and Thursday's Child.
Any clues as to where they went??? The former is just gone, the latter temporarily unavailable.
Any clues as to where they went??? The former is just gone, the latter temporarily unavailable.
A Little Travelling Music, Ray
I haven't posted in almost a month...much of my disposable energy has gone to being stressed about being hounded by a disgruntled client who threatens, on a daily basis, to sue me for malpractice and take me before the state boards. Couple that with the angst involved in getting ready to travel and it has been all I can do to keep my head above water.
Tomorrow I leave for two weeks trekking in the volcano region outside of Quito, Ecuador, travelling without Her but with an organized group, almost all of whom will be younger than me, and will look upon me with mixture of curiosity at the old guy trying to keep up and amazement at the fact that I'm sooo much cooler than an old guy should be. The trek means two weeks of relative quiet, minimal ambient noise, time for reflection and regeneration, and just getting high (altitude-wise).
Say a prayer for me, as these trips always have some element of danger. I plan to be back just after Halloween.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * *
OK, I meant to post the above just before I left, but the franticness of departure meant that it stayed as a draft, at least until now.
I'm back after two weeks at serious altitude (when I departed, I looked up at the screen in the airplane that tracks altitude, distance, etc., and wondered how the plane could climb so fast, only to remember that I was starting at about 8500 feet.) The trek was harder than I had planned on, and I submitted only about half the volcanoes, although I did get good altitude on all of them, including Chimborazo, which is the highest mountain on the planet, despite being only about 20,000 feet, owing to the curvature of the earth. I made nice new friends, mostly Brits, had lots of personal thoughts and relative quiet for two weeks.
One interesting thing musically...I didn't take an ipod and so had no music other than what was stuck in my head. And so, when I've come back and started up the ipod again for the gym, it's as though everything was in HD. I'm hearing things in the music that I never heard before, and with greater clarity. I've retained some of the benefits of being at altitude for two weeks, and can manage better on the treadmill and stairmaster.
I've thought a lot about postings for here over the two weeks, and just need to find the time to write...when you're self-employed, nobody does the work for you when you're away from the office, and so catchup has been a bitch.
The next trip is with Her, either to Barcelona/Bilbao or Tunisia/Paris. My next trek is not until 2011, but I'm looking at the NYC Marathon again, after an absence of 15 years.
And can someone explain to me why Jackson Browne is soooooo stuck in my head, Here Come Those Tears, The Pretender, In The Shape Of A Heart.
Tomorrow I leave for two weeks trekking in the volcano region outside of Quito, Ecuador, travelling without Her but with an organized group, almost all of whom will be younger than me, and will look upon me with mixture of curiosity at the old guy trying to keep up and amazement at the fact that I'm sooo much cooler than an old guy should be. The trek means two weeks of relative quiet, minimal ambient noise, time for reflection and regeneration, and just getting high (altitude-wise).
Say a prayer for me, as these trips always have some element of danger. I plan to be back just after Halloween.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * *
OK, I meant to post the above just before I left, but the franticness of departure meant that it stayed as a draft, at least until now.
I'm back after two weeks at serious altitude (when I departed, I looked up at the screen in the airplane that tracks altitude, distance, etc., and wondered how the plane could climb so fast, only to remember that I was starting at about 8500 feet.) The trek was harder than I had planned on, and I submitted only about half the volcanoes, although I did get good altitude on all of them, including Chimborazo, which is the highest mountain on the planet, despite being only about 20,000 feet, owing to the curvature of the earth. I made nice new friends, mostly Brits, had lots of personal thoughts and relative quiet for two weeks.
One interesting thing musically...I didn't take an ipod and so had no music other than what was stuck in my head. And so, when I've come back and started up the ipod again for the gym, it's as though everything was in HD. I'm hearing things in the music that I never heard before, and with greater clarity. I've retained some of the benefits of being at altitude for two weeks, and can manage better on the treadmill and stairmaster.
I've thought a lot about postings for here over the two weeks, and just need to find the time to write...when you're self-employed, nobody does the work for you when you're away from the office, and so catchup has been a bitch.
The next trip is with Her, either to Barcelona/Bilbao or Tunisia/Paris. My next trek is not until 2011, but I'm looking at the NYC Marathon again, after an absence of 15 years.
And can someone explain to me why Jackson Browne is soooooo stuck in my head, Here Come Those Tears, The Pretender, In The Shape Of A Heart.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
spelling
I know that the combined effects of spellcheck and of a growing population where English is not the primary language have caused spelling to become a lost art. I think that it always used to be that sign painters knew how to spell, but the DIY world has also caused this skill set to erode.
Witness the following orthographical missteps:
The florist on the corner sells panzys, marry golds, and for the fall something he views as cock's comb.
The local nail salon now features a special from Monday through Wednesday---manicure and padacure for $35.
The local lumberyard/woodworking store lists, among their products a quantity of sadles for sale, and I'm thinking they meant saddles for your door/threshhold.
And yes, I did just run spellcheck before posting, jic.
Witness the following orthographical missteps:
The florist on the corner sells panzys, marry golds, and for the fall something he views as cock's comb.
The local nail salon now features a special from Monday through Wednesday---manicure and padacure for $35.
The local lumberyard/woodworking store lists, among their products a quantity of sadles for sale, and I'm thinking they meant saddles for your door/threshhold.
And yes, I did just run spellcheck before posting, jic.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Not Enough #12
And so I watched and waited, knowing that the night would only get darker and more violent as we all three slid down a slippery slope. We all remained motionless, Debra wide-eyed in the wake of being slapped across the face, I gazing down at my softening cock and the small pool of cum on the floor, Amalia grinning the churlish grin, ever the Cheshire cat standing between two dumbstruck statues. And then she reached up, her left hand entwined in Debra's hair, gripping it hard, then obviously harder, as Debra gasped at the new level of discomfort. Amalia pulled the handful of hair close to her mouth, bringing Debra's head along with it at an awkward angle, causing her to tip to the side and quickly become off balance.
She whispered into Debra's ear, "Clean him up," a short command, as her left hand continued to travel downward toward the floor, now dragging Debra with her, crouching almost to the ground and planting Debra's chin right on the floor. I could see and sense her discomfort and pain, her neck bent almost straight back, and tried to adjust my kneeling posture to accommodate her mouth as it formed that familiar ring around the very head of my cock. I could feel her suckle on it like a nursing child, her head trapped in its clumsy location by Amalia's tight grip on her hair. She was allowed to pull her head back slightly, leaving her little pink tongue protruding from between her lips. "Alice, Fuck the slit of his cock with your tongue, and clean him inside as well as outside" was the next command, and Debra strove to comply, rolling up the sides of her tongue to make it as narrow as possible, trying to cram the tip inside the head of my cock.
Amalia looked up at me, the grin starting to become a sneer. "Why don't you go to the bedroom and bring back the vibrator? It's time for someone else to cum." And I stood there dumbfounded yet again, because she didn't own a vibrator. "Didn't know she had one, did you? Tell him where you hide the Wand." And, armed with the knowledge of Debra's secret hiding place, and the shame and embarrassment of not knowing that she had been masturbating herself to the orgasms that we weren't sharing, I made my way to the bedroom to retrieve the toy.
She whispered into Debra's ear, "Clean him up," a short command, as her left hand continued to travel downward toward the floor, now dragging Debra with her, crouching almost to the ground and planting Debra's chin right on the floor. I could see and sense her discomfort and pain, her neck bent almost straight back, and tried to adjust my kneeling posture to accommodate her mouth as it formed that familiar ring around the very head of my cock. I could feel her suckle on it like a nursing child, her head trapped in its clumsy location by Amalia's tight grip on her hair. She was allowed to pull her head back slightly, leaving her little pink tongue protruding from between her lips. "Alice, Fuck the slit of his cock with your tongue, and clean him inside as well as outside" was the next command, and Debra strove to comply, rolling up the sides of her tongue to make it as narrow as possible, trying to cram the tip inside the head of my cock.
Amalia looked up at me, the grin starting to become a sneer. "Why don't you go to the bedroom and bring back the vibrator? It's time for someone else to cum." And I stood there dumbfounded yet again, because she didn't own a vibrator. "Didn't know she had one, did you? Tell him where you hide the Wand." And, armed with the knowledge of Debra's secret hiding place, and the shame and embarrassment of not knowing that she had been masturbating herself to the orgasms that we weren't sharing, I made my way to the bedroom to retrieve the toy.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Civility
We read the NY Times over the quick breakfast that we share together, She gets the front, I get the business/sports, we kick the Arts back and forth. And so this morning, when She stuck the front of the paper over my cereal, folded to the editorial page (which I only read if She finds something She thinks I should read) I left the business travel and moved on to the editorial about Serena.
Everyone should read this editorial and learn from it...learn how not to behave, learn how not to make amends, learn how to point their children in the exact opposite direction. The phrases that jumped out at me in block caps included I WAS IN THE MOMENT (as an excuse for not remembering what she said), I'M MOVING ON (as a way of leaving the event behind her) and I JUST WANT TO GIVE HER A GREAT OLD HUG (as if that would make everything as it was). In a sport that prides itself in its civility, where the audience is told to be quiet and they obey, in a sport where there is absolute silence during serving, the image of a player raging at an official and threatening to shove a tennis ball down her fucking throat (good lip reader that I am) is unconscionable. And to learn that whatever additional punishment against her may be mitigated due to fear of loss of television viewership is deplorable.
The outburst during President Obama's speech last week initiated this past week of uncivility, and the Congressman who blurted out the comment about lying should be punished as severely as possible. There doesn't need to be any reference to the race card here, as President Carter posited. This was just misbehavior and disrespect of an individual and his office.
And then there's Kanye West's bizarre stepping on poor Taylor Swift's toes, in his inability to understand why someone else's choice of music might be different, let alone better, than his.
All in all, a sad week for civility and manners and decorum.
Everyone should read this editorial and learn from it...learn how not to behave, learn how not to make amends, learn how to point their children in the exact opposite direction. The phrases that jumped out at me in block caps included I WAS IN THE MOMENT (as an excuse for not remembering what she said), I'M MOVING ON (as a way of leaving the event behind her) and I JUST WANT TO GIVE HER A GREAT OLD HUG (as if that would make everything as it was). In a sport that prides itself in its civility, where the audience is told to be quiet and they obey, in a sport where there is absolute silence during serving, the image of a player raging at an official and threatening to shove a tennis ball down her fucking throat (good lip reader that I am) is unconscionable. And to learn that whatever additional punishment against her may be mitigated due to fear of loss of television viewership is deplorable.
The outburst during President Obama's speech last week initiated this past week of uncivility, and the Congressman who blurted out the comment about lying should be punished as severely as possible. There doesn't need to be any reference to the race card here, as President Carter posited. This was just misbehavior and disrespect of an individual and his office.
And then there's Kanye West's bizarre stepping on poor Taylor Swift's toes, in his inability to understand why someone else's choice of music might be different, let alone better, than his.
All in all, a sad week for civility and manners and decorum.
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