Four writers for the price of one blog
So, she said to me, do you do nothing but think about sex?
Not if I can help it.
I mean, I said, rather be having sex than thinking about it.
She bit the tip of her thumb and leaned on the café’s table. Make up a story, a little cruelty Will. Right now. Make up a twisted little erotic story.
A little Raziel and a little Anne Rice.
Raziel and I were separated at birth.
She licked her lips with a devilish smile and sipped the latté. You know, she said, Raziel’s stories? They’re better than yours.
He’s a cruel writer. Every word’s a noose. He knows how to scare orgasms out of a woman.
You like that?
His cruelties are his vulnerabilities.
That’s what turns you on?
What woman isn’t when a guy risks everything to fuck her?
I could think of a few.
In a literary way.
Quick and twisted?
Tell me one, she said.
The master of the house, a feudal Lord, has three daughters and one son. The son is the youngest and also shy and unwilling. The capricious father disapproves. He orders thirteen vassals to bring him their village’s most beautiful girl. When the thirteen girls are brought to him, he orders them stripped and bound in leather bondage. Two straps between their thighs and two that squeeze their breasts and until the nipples almost burst. They wear leather collars that attach to their wrists at the small of their backs. If they disobey in any way, the Feudal Lord orders his two most trustworthy servants to discipline them. When their breasts are bound, the girls twist and helplessly press their knees together. They simper but quickly learn to await their next command on spread knees, bowed, and spines sublimely arched. They are next told that one of them will marry the Feudal Lord’s son. He too is in bondage and only wears an unbuttoned tunic as though he had been roused from bed. The girls are made to obediently kneel in a line. When they kneel, the leather belts between their thighs tighten and part the lips of their pussies. The further they bend, the wider their pussies are opened, as if each invited the young man to mount them.
There’s no such thing, she said.
Do you think it’s erotic?
She tapped the table with a sharp fingernail. Sure.
The dirtiness, the helplessness, but mostly being looked at like that.
Then it must be true.
What if you were in bondage. I tell you to bend over. You refuse. I whip you. You resist but your skin is a sheen of sweat. Your knees widen. You begin to bend over and, as you do, the straps tighten and draw your pussy apart. More, I tell you. And as your chin goes lower, your pussy opens further. Your nostrils flare. You’re humiliated. When your chin touches the ground, I kneel behind you. Then what? Imagine the familiar feeling of a cock. But now the first delicate touch will already be inside you. You swear to yourself you won’t make a sound when I penetrate you.
I won’t see your eyes roll but I’ll know.
No, but any self-respecting erotic writer lies.
She offers me a pitying smile, one knee crossing the other. She absent-mindedly moves a hand over her hip and knee.
Want to hear the rest?
One of those poor virgins is going to get her pussy filled.
Keep telling the story?
She smiles expectantly as her hand moves from knee to latté.
So, I continued, the boy’s cock hardens as he looks at the virgins. Soon, between the unbuttoned front of his tunic, the tip of his cock almost touches his belly. The woman guiding him by his elbows glances at it approvingly. Do you want to pick one? she asks. Do you want to try each of their pussies and choose? No, answers the stunned youth. Pick one, urges the woman. Come in her and claim her. No, answers the boy again. Then your father has suggested another way, she says. She guides him to the front. She and her companion force the boy to his knees. They roughly tie his wrists to his ankles such that his cock is vulnerably thrust forward. They force his knees apart and lock them to rings in the floor. And then the man who has helped secure him, tugs one of the girls forward by a leash. He produces a beautiful many-colored glass dildo. Your father wishes me to convey to you the art of taking and keeping a wife.
Oh I can’t wait for this, Will.
You’re going to love it.
Regal me with your weirdly prurient, Victorian, erotic depravity.
He holds the glass dildo so both the young man and girl can see it. She glances fearfully but doesn’t dare move. A woman, says the man, requires two qualities in a husband—they are the generosity of his heart and the discipline of his cock. He kneels and delicately kisses the back of the thirteenth girl’s neck. Then he presses the smooth bulb of the dildo at the back of her neck and slowly begins to slide it down between her shoulder blades. He tenderly strokes her lips and cheek with his other hand. She desires her husband’s kindness and devotion but he must never be too obsequious or solicitous. She expects him to also be manly, resolute and, above all, firm.
Poor womankind, said my companion, where would we be without a good, stiff cock?
Shopping for dildos.
It’s a stress reliever, Will. And where would men be without pussies to hide their little heads in?
Not a world worth living in.
Is he going to be cruel to her?
Then tell me more, she said and dabbed of the latté’s cream from the tip of a finger.
When the dildo slides down the small of her back, she arches as though to avoid the cool glass. Now, as the bulb rises into the divide of her ass, the man ensures that her pussy remains vulnerably lifted by pressing at the small of here back. She begins to pant as the bulb slides over her anus. The man continues: When she becomes emotional, erratic and disruptive— He pauses as the glass bulb drops into the divot of her upturned pussy. Each of the girl’s exhalations becomes a small, anticipatory cry. When a woman becomes emotional, erratic and disruptive, then she needs the firm guidance and discipline of a cock. The girl inhales sharply, a virgin no more. Her toes and fingers spread. Every thrust corrects and guides her, says the man. Be firm and resolute. The girl’s answering cries rise in pitch. She struggles. The man keeps his thumb pressed into the small of her back and continues to thrust the dildo up and down. Her cries transform into a single scream before the convulsive silence of an orgasm wracks her. And then, says the man, holding the dildo deeply in place, fill her womb to remind her of her place.
Isn’t all sex a little cruel?
And how easily the girl orgasms!
You would too if you were in an erotic story.
And ten years younger, Will.
And an inch longer.
Two if you have any respect for me.
Do you want me to fuck you in an erotic story?
Only if you lie.
Anything less would be worse than the truth.
Tell the rest of the story.
The man withdraws the dildo slowly. A web of the girl’s orgasm slips form the tip of the bulb and smears her thighs and a bead of come glistens at the tip of the youth’s cock. He has watched it all. So you see, says the man, a woman requires kindness and firmness—tenderness and the firm discipline of a cock.
Fuck a woman to orgasm and she’ll behave?
Is there a better reason to behave?
You’re the worst of the worst, Will.
If the youth refuses to choose then the youth’s cock will choose. The twelve remaining women are made to suck his cock one after the other. They only vaguely know what to expect. The youth pleads and begs as each girl softly engulfs his cock. His muscular abdomen strains but his cock experimentally twitches and palpitates in each girl’s mouth. A small hourglass, with a minute’s worth of sand, is turned and the next girl stoops in front of him. Three times round they go. Each girl’s eyes a little wider and a little more desperate as his cock becomes ever more lively in their mouths.
Now you sound like Raziel.
Do you like my little cruelty? Do you ask yourself what it would be like? The cock aimed at the back of your throat as the hourglass times your sucking? Do you imagine the taste of its little twitches? Do you feel it grow harder in your mouth. Do you panic? Do you look at him? What do his eyes tell you?
Go on, she said, biting her lip.
The youth’s cries reach a fever’s pitch. The hour glass is turned. The red-haired girl slips his cock slip from her mouth, her tongue seeming reluctant. A lithesome brunette takes her place. She bends, knees spread, wrists at her back, and sucks. The hourglass runs half through its sand when her eyes grow suddenly wide. She tastes him. Then manages a muffled cry, a panicked protest, before her mouth and throat fill with semen. The youth’s eyes roll, his stomach convulses, his mouth stretches with a silent helplessness. The girls coughs, moans and swallows each spasm. When the youth finally breathes again, the Feudal Lord’s trusted servants lift the girl from his cock. A web of semen falls between his cock and her bottom lip. The youth’s cock has chosen her.
She wants more.
She wants to make him do it again.
How do you know?
But they won’t let her, I said. They stand her up. They undo the bondage of her wrists and undo his as well. She’s sweating and so is the youth. His cock glistens and drips. The girls arms are at her sides. She looks down. Her nipples are remain swollen and jutting, trapped between the leather straps. Her fingers open and close at her sides when suddenly she lunges and presses her breasts hard against the youth’s chest. She kisses him and bites his lip until it bleeds.
How did you know?
She scooped another dollop of cream with a finger’s tip and sucked it clean. Is that the end? she asked.
Another little cruelty, Will.
Yes, another cruel pleasure Will.
Okay, the two servants part the youth and the girl. The other twelve girls are removed from the Lord’s Manor, oiled and washed, and each given gold in a purse the shape of a woman’s snatch. Obeying the instructions of the youth’s father, the boy and girl are once again put in bondage. The foreskin of the youth’s cock is pierced by gold ring and so too the girl’s clit. A fine gold chain connects the two rings such that if either youth steps more than two or three from the other, his cock will tug at her clit or her clit will tug at his cock. The girl’s nipples are also pierced with a chain and single pearl as though each dripped with milk. Both are summarily wedded in this wise, then left alone in their wedding bower, hands bound behind their backs. The Feudal Lord instructs that neither youth should be permitted to leave the bower until the boy’s orgasms drip from the chain that pierces the girl’s clit.
Not too cruel?
William Crimson | October 9 2016