i showed up anyway

i showed up anyway

i knew my friend wasn’t there

but i liked the attention you gave me

so i showed up anyway

you touched me and charmed me

you stripped me bare,  became a part of me

and i bled for you

i shed my innocence that day

and the next day you buried it

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Tow Man, Part 2

Let’s see…we last left off with our hero — we’ll call her Steph 😉 — hopping into a tow truck with Tow Man.  She has no money to pay for his services.  What will she ever do???  Also, her brother is lurking around here somewhere as well, but his character is just not very well developed and probably shouldn’t be a part of the story at all!!!  If you’d like to catch up, please refer to Tow Man, Part 1.

–Mark climbed in and looked a little surprised to see me in the middle seat.  He pulled the truck around, and before we even made it a half mile we saw my brother.  I yelled out the window for him to get in, and he did.  I explained to him that Mark was going to take us back to his shop and replace the tire for us.

Mark shot me a look.  He had agreed to nothing.  He quipped:  “Isn’t there a saying about not letting your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash?”  “My mouth is good for it, trust me,” I fired back.  I tingled.  “And so’s my ass!”  My hand moved to his thigh.  He grabbed it and moved it to his crotch.  “What would your brother do if you started giving me head right now?”

Wow!  Go, Mark!  “Nothing,” I told him.  “OK then,” he said, reaching his hand to the back of my head and issuing an ever so slight amount of force.  It was less of a pull and more of a push if that makes sense.  Regardless, that was my cue.  Not missing a beat, I dove in, thrilled by his boldness.  His blue collar smell only intensified as my face moved between his legs.  I nibbled at his bulge through his pants.  He wasted no time in moving his right hand down to my hips and hiking up my dress inch by inch.

I maneuvered so I could get to his belt buckle, which strained somewhat against the girth of his midsection.  When I unclasped it, he seemed to relax, which allowed more of his belly to sag down.  And more of his smell to waft up.  The workman metal smell gave way to sweaty man, and I took it all in.

My right hand worked down into his pants, while my left hand lifted up his shirt.  I wanted a piece of that belly!  It was so hairy — I just rubbed my face through it for a moment or two and then started kissing and licking him.  Everywhere!

I had freed his cock by that point and was stroking it in earnest.  I shifted the focus of my mouth from his stomach to the head of his cock while my right hand ventured back down into his pants in search of his balls.

Mark had my dress up over my hips by this time and was roughly kneading my ass, his fingers brushing against my asshole through my panties.  He yanked them down roughly to my thighs, though in the front they still clung to my soaking wet pussy.

Before I had properly acquainted myself with his cock, the hand that had been pawing my ass moved to my mouth.  He shoved two fingers in alongside his cock, which made for more than a mouthful.  I closed my lips and reflexively and began to suck.

He withdrew them a moment later, his right hand then returning to my ass, finally allowing me to give his cock full, delicious strokes with my mouth.  And his fingers, thick and rough and dirty, now slick with my saliva, pressed against and then into the entrance of my ass.  The pain was immaculate, causing me to yelp.

“Are you — ah, Jesus!”  My brother was peaking over the seat from the back and had a full view of the front-seat happenings — Mark’s cock in my mouth, my dress up over my hips, and Mark’s fingers in my ass.  I told him to fuck off.  This wasn’t the first time he’d seen me in a position like this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Mark’s fingers grew more insistent and he began to make deep probes inside my ass.  The truck soon came to a stop, and I felt his left hand then force my head down onto him.  As my nose was being wedged down into his pubic hair, he lurched his hips upward and at the same time slammed the fingers on his right hand as far inside me as his hand would allow.

With his hips positioned all the way up, he clutched my hair with his left hand and simply jerked himself off…with my throat.  His body went rigid, and he began to come.  I swallowed each wave as best I could, Mark’s grunts accompanying each new emission.

His right hand relaxed, and the weight of his arm caused his hand to slip slowly out of my ass.  As his hips relaxed, he fell back onto his seat.  Still holding my head by the hair with his left hand, he brought his right hand to my face.  “Open up.”  I obeyed, and Mark popped his two thick and (now extremely) filthy fingers into my mouth.

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Dry

You were right.  You were right about everything as it concerned my body, it seemed.  I never believed that I could take all of you, every inch of you, dry.  You did own me, my body, after all, so perhaps I should have just trusted you from the beginning.  It would have spared me from your belt all of those times.  All of the stripes you gave me, all of the welts.

You said I just needed to be patient, to let it happen.  But I could not do that for you.  I could not get past the temporary sting and discomfort of accommodating you.  Initially.  That initial blast of sensation and pain was always too much for me.  Though you could have forced it on me, you allowed me the space I needed.  Growing pains.

You never seemed angry as you disciplined me for failing you.  You were in total control of your emotions as your blows came down on my backside.  You never shouted or even raised your voice at me.  I felt safe and protected over your knee, or on all fours, as the love you chose to show me was in the form of spanking after spanking.  Had I only trusted you sooner.

But tonight, you stretched me.  We made it past the head, and you just held me, stretched painfully wide for you.  You said you could wait there like that for me for as long as I needed.  And you did, you were so gentle and patient.  You moved past my limit without me even realizing.  To the hilt, I accommodated you fully for the first time.

It was glorious.  You allowed me then to take control, to love you back.  To envelop you, to squeeze you, to milk you.  Slowly, methodically, purposefully.  I felt every millimeter of you, all of your contours, as you slid in and out of me.

I was gaping for you by the end.  All resistance had been put to rest.  I yielded to you entirely.  And when you knew the time was right, you put me into proper position, on my knees, face on the floor, hands bound behind my back.  And you thrashed into me relentlessly, viciously, perfectly.

Finally I was serving you, the way only you knew I could.  You had, once again, molded me to your liking.  And now you had me in the furnace, my body would never be the same.  Permanently shaped.  For you, my love and Master.

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Tow Man, Part 1

Do you guys remember the show called Loveline on MTV from [a very long time ago]?  A caller to the show shared this story about him and his sister, which evidently made an impression on me deep enough for my brain to retain it for like 20 years. This is my attempt to inhabit that story and make it my own.

In high school I began to learn the value of sex.  Not in terms of its value to me, but more in a marketplace sense — as a form of currency.  So, while I have have never exchanged sex for money (nor have I exchanged money for sex ha ha) per se, I have, however, quite transparently traded sex for services; bartered sex for goods; offered sex acts as incentive; used my so-called sex appeal to gain favor with store clerks, county clerks, any kind of clerk really; and rewarded good deeds with sex.

Over time it became my first option for getting anything where men were remotely involved.  This method of mine led me to some smashing victories.  And some seriously humiliating defeats.

It also led me to my Tow Man story.

My brother and I were at this dinner thing with our parents.  I was a freshman in college by this time, and my brother was a junior in high school.  He and I drove separately from our parents.  It wasn’t black tie, but we did have to dress up.  And we weren’t happy about it.  I, of course, pushed the limits with my dress and had my parents’ friends gawking at me all night.  The bartender was also kind enough to serve me drinks while I was there even though I was underage (he was easy).

We made it through the awful dinner and the super boring speeches, and finally we got the signal from our parents that we could take off.  In the parking lot, I told my brother to light up the joint that he had been holding for me.  He was happy to oblige as I was his only source of pot in those days.

Our collective mood improved until we screwed up the joint pass — completely his fault!  Anyway, the joint fell between the seats and I freaked out…and jerked the wheel, running us into a curb at like 40 miles per hour.  Thankfully we were not hurt (and we found the joint!), but the front right tire was trashed, so we weren’t going anywhere.

We had no cell phones then, so at first we waited.  And waited.  After maybe an hour “we” decided that my brother should try walking to the gas station (which was closed) that we saw a few miles back to see if there was a payphone he could use to call road service.  So he left.  Perhaps not the wisest decision to split up like that, but were stoned, so…

Enter Tow Man.  He must have seen the flashers and pulled over.  I told him we had a flat, about my brother, and that we needed a tow.  He said he could probably replace the tire tonight if we went back to his shop.  And then we could just drive home from there.

From what I could tell in the poor lighting, Mark (according to his name tag), was a big guy.  Tall, heavy.  But not sloppy.  His hair was dirty blond or brown, and short.

“We’ll get you hooked up here right after we get the paperwork sorted out.”  Ah, yes, paperwork.  This was going to cost money, of which I had none.  I was so out of sorts from the incident that I hadn’t been thinking like my normal self.  I should have been all over that guy.  But life’s all about second chances, right?

He stepped down out of his cab with his clip board, and I got into character.  I told him I didn’t have any money.  He stopped in his tracks.  I was young enough to be his daughter, I thought.  He suggested I call my parents, then.  And I told him that wasn’t an option.  He sighed, and I knew I was going to make this work — one way or another.

“Maybe we can work something out?  I mean, instead of money?”  I kept my gaze on his eyes and walked over to him.  “I don’t have any money to give you, Mark.”  I reached out to touch his arm.  He smelled like metal, and his hands were stained black from grease.  From up close I got a better view of his face — stubbly, nice chin, kind eyes.

“Why don’t you hook up the car and we can go find my brother, OK?  Then when we get back to your shop…”  I just left it at that, not wanting to be too specific.

Mark’s face changed.  He leered at me, which I kind of liked.  Those nice eyes of his were still there, but they were now reflecting something different.  He engulfed me with them.  After another sigh, he told me to get in the front seat of his truck.  His nice eyes were back — score!

The cab of the tow truck had two bench rows.  The second row was more of a throw-in it seemed, and was mostly full of random tools, etc.  That’s where my brother would be sitting.  I sat in the passenger side as instructed, and Mark went about getting the car ready.  Once the car was up, I made a split decision to slide over into the center of the bench so that I would be sitting right next to Mark.  I thought maybe I could make the ride more fun?

To be continued…

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take care of it here

The place was packed, but as far as I could tell we were the only ones there.  I was sitting on a bar stool, my back against a stranger sitting next to me.  You were standing by my right side, hand up my skirt.  I had ditched my panties hours ago, right there in the crowded bar.  They were in your coat pocket presently.

This was a little game we played.  I guess you’d call it foreplay.  Soon we’d be heading off to the parking lot where you’d fuck me over the hood of our car or I’d go down on you.  Sometimes cliché, but always hot, at least as far as we were concerned.

You hiked my skirt up to an obscene height and excused yourself to use the restroom.  “Don’t move,” you told me as you left.  It just made we more wet, being exposed, tipsy, and not caring what the people around us thought of me.

You were back in a flash — too soon for the burn of exposure to settle in, for anyone to get a good luck.  “Did you go?” I asked you.  “Their plumbing must have busted.  Everyone is lined up for the ladies room.  Let’s just go.”

Your response barely registered.  I was focused on one thing — what was coming next.  I practically dragged you back to the car and went straight for your belt.  Whether I was getting fucked or not I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t care really.  I just wanted your cock in my mouth.

But you weren’t playing along.  Normally you would have taken control by now, guiding me up and down your shaft using two fists full of hair.  I looked up at you.  Clearly you were not enjoying this as much as I was.  “I really have to piss,” you tell me.  “Another minute and I’m going to explode.”

I kept my eyes on yours for a good while.  The suggestion was entirely of my own doing — maybe it was more of a dare.  “OK then.  Take care of it here.”  Your expression didn’t change at first, but during our staredown it definitely registered.  That calm look of complete dominance came over you.  I knew it well, and I also knew that you would be taking me up on my veiled suggestion.  We were in perfect balance.

You adjusted your stance, and I finally blinked as the first drop of your searing hot piss crashed against my face.  I think were both momentarily stunned at first.  I did not anticipate the warmth, and the steady power of the stream.  You really had to go!

I opened my mouth slightly to take some of it in.  “All the way,” you barked.  I complied, and immediately choked as the stream went directly down my throat into my windpipe.  Lesson learned.  I recovered, no thanks to you, in time to really taste it.  I was definitely drinking piss.

“Now open your shirt.  I want to piss on your tits.”  OK then.  The position you were in had emboldened you.  And I loved it.  My hands worked my blouse and my bra to reveal my breasts, and again I was struck at just how warm it all felt splashing down on my chest.

Finally your stream began to slow, and I took you back into my mouth to take your last few drops.  In a moment your erection was growing in my mouth and each of your hands grabbed a fistful of my my hair.  Finally…

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the dark

My earliest erotic thought was in 6th grade.  Well, it was much more than a thought.  I remember it so clearly.  I went to live with my mother that year.  And she had a basement.

I was never one to be scared of the dark.  But the dark did consume me.  It still does.  It’s like I have a whole different persona when it’s pitch black.  Only when I’m alone, though.  Only then does the dark for me.

It was just the two of us living in her townhouse, and she worked full time.  Leaving me home alone for long stretches to mostly spend with my imagination.  Most of the entertainment for me was in the basement — TV, etc.  It was there that the dark found me for the first time.

I was ready to go downstairs, but paused at the doorway.  It was completely black down there.  The way the stairs were, no light from upstairs really made its way down.  I felt nervous, but not scared.  At the first step down, I closed the door behind me, shuttering myself in.

My heart sped up, and I slowly and deliberately made my way down the stairs in the dark.  At the bottom I paused.  I would have to make a 180 degree turn to get to the main area of the basement.  I hesitated.  Without really understanding why, I unbuttoned my shorts and slid them down to my ankles.  My t-shirt came next, leaving me in my bra and panties.

I stood there frozen forever it felt like.  I knew nothing was coming for me, but rather it was calling to me.  I still wasn’t ready, though.  Off came my bra and panties.  Now I was ready to present myself.

I walked.  Small steps to keep from stubbing my toes, hands outstretched to keep me from injuring myself.  A burning heat between my skinny legs kept me going.

I made it to what I believed was the main area of the basement and stood.  He (the dark was always male) was watching me.  Studying me.  I tingled everywhere.  The weight of the darkness gently but firmly pushed me down to my knees, where I waited with my head down.

I was there to serve him.  I knew it.  I felt it.  A decade before I ever heard about Dominance & Submission, about Power Exchange, about Master/slave relationships, I knew I had to submit to the dark.

My hands then slid down between my legs and began to grope.  There was nothing sensual about it.  This was need, desire.  The darkness was taking what it wanted from me.  One hand had four fingers dipping in and out of my smoothness while my other hand worked furiously just above it.  I had masturbated before, but not like this.  This was something entirely different.

It took over my whole body and I began to shudder.  Almost uncontrollably.  I remember falling down onto my back after that, crying softly.  I wasn’t sad or scared — just spent.  Well used.

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Hello :)

Hello everyone!  I’m not sure who everyone is exactly, but…I just wanted to take a second to introduce myself.  I’m Steph.

I had used this same blogspace a year or two ago to help me work through a difficult time in my life — discovering infidelity on the part of my husband of 15 years and ultimately going through a divorce.  I’m quite technologically challenged and couldn’t figure out how to, um, delete the blog.  So…I dumped all of the posts and am using the same space for new posts.  Make sense?  Didn’t think so…

Going forward my purpose here is to share some of the many many stories I’ve encountered (in my mind), and perhaps some of the real-life experiences I have had as well.  If you have read this far, you will know that my stories all seem to revolve around sex.  Maybe because I’m not getting any, that’s where my mind lives these days?

I’m not a writer by trade (obviously), nor have I ever really done it as a hobby.  To date it’s always just been an outlet.  Therapeutic.  My thoughts are best collected and organized “on paper.”  So I write.  Once I get it down, it stays in place — captured.  I can’t have all these thoughts running around my head, right?!?!

Anyhoo, thanks for stopping by!

-Steph

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