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Wicked Writer Blog

Misc ramblings and musing with a little bit of kink and twistiness.
16 hours ago. Jul 13, 2020, 5:04 PM

My first time was a threesome. It was the perfect storm of alcohol, bad intentions, and my ability to read and push things. Looking back, of course it was about fucking two chicks at once, but over time that singular event galvanized in me a desire to break away from the pack and do something different. It instilled in me the confidence to take what I want, and not shy away from situations that could offer a unique experience. I became about the experience. Pushing things to the edge. By the time I was 18 I had lived out many dreams men spend a lifetime trying to fulfill. Babysitter, teacher, twins, hot MILF, and the list goes on.

Like distant memories each event lives on inside me. I can see vividly white flesh on brown as the events of my first time play out in my head. Each girl riding me and the awkward transition that followed. I remember that heart shaped mole on the teacher’s inner thigh while I clumsily tried to slip on a condom, before finally saying “fuck it” and going in raw. Those events helped fashion me into what I have become, and what I continue to grow into.
The most common question I get asked is, “How long have you been dominant?” To me dominance is like breathing. It’s as much a part of me as my arm, leg, or mini-me (not that it’s all that mini.) Those events I mentioned were brought about because of my nature, a byproduct of that dominance. Another byproduct was the path that was made up of all these events that led me to become a Dom.

These days any loudmouth fuckboy can be a Dom. My inbox is littered with horror stories about these guy’s blowing up women like they already own them. Like these women don’t have a choice? It’s all about choice dipshit. It’s sad really. I remember D/s when you had to actually put some effort into learning about it, and not just pull a label off of a website because it looks cool and you’re into kinky sex.

Don’t get me wrong, kinky sex is great, but to me sex is just a tool. just one of the many ways a Dom exerts control over a sub, and to relegate yourself to just that one avenue to me is a bit myopic. Society today tends to breed myopia though, so perhaps the potential pool is getting flooded with shallow posers and predatory opportunists looking for a quick score.

I probably shouldn’t be so harsh. The thing is, being dominate is a subjective thing. Anyone can be legitimately called a Dom, because there’s always someone naïve enough to buy into a title. It’s what you do with that title that really matters though. To me, being a Dom, is far deeper than being in control and issuing orders. It’s about respect and responsibility. It’s about being that voice in the back of a subs mind. The voice that overrides her conscience. It’s about imprinting on another individual your particular likes, needs, and dislikes and having them do their best to fulfill them.

It’s an awesome feeling to be in control on that level. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s what subs feel when they are servicing, only in reverse. The human mind is a fascinating organ, one capable of such amazing feats and equally impressive debauchery. I intend to keep filling mine with epic experiences while continuing to learn and grow.

2 days ago. Jul 12, 2020, 6:23 AM

3 days ago. Jul 11, 2020, 1:28 AM

leather snaps and cracks against her back.
the sub recoils and relishes the sting
before another strike finds it's mark.
torturous glee leads to an impassioned plea.
More.

5 days ago. Jul 9, 2020, 12:56 AM

I never had normal sex in high school. I isolated myself as a teen because I couldn't "go with the flow." I was grunge kid, when all my friends wanted to be thugs. I wore flannel and holey jeans and rocked out to Nirvana, when my friends were wearing baggy pants and rapping to Biggie. It got to a point where I didn't really click with the cool kids, yet I wanted a bit more status than what being a geeky kid offered. This caused me to be a bit of a tweener. All through high school, I was cool enough to have the cute popular girls come over and fuck, but I wasn't quite cool enough to be seen in the quad with or go on dates. This created a lot of confusion.

The nature of my "status" led to me not creating any sort of attachments. Any time I came close to liking someone, either I would suddenly lose all interest because of the nature of our relationship, or because they wanted someone seen as cooler. My detachment led to some of my earliest Dom experiences. Many of these experiences happened because I knew they wanted me and I was able to barter to get my way.

One such instance was my first time. It was actually a threesome. We were young and stupid and thought it was a good idea to skip school and get drunk. We were all lying in bed, my girlfriend at the time making out and petting each other. My other friend, now I know her type to be submissive, but back then I just knew she would do whatever I wanted. She was a bit reluctant when I told her to undress, but she did it without uttering a word. She was even more reluctant when I told her to blow me. Of course she complied.

What I learned from my first time, was that I enjoyed directing and giving orders. I also learned that I liked watching those orders followed through. Many years later, I was out one night and ran into that submissive girl again. She had moved off and had come back into town for the holidays and was out with her friends (several of which were the ones that had thought themselves better than me in high school). She and I wound up going to a dive bar together and talking. After many drinks the conversation turned to our first time, and the other sexual experiences we had with each other. By this time, I was fully aware of my dominant tendencies and had started to explore them. She confided in me that was some of the best sex she had ever had, and proceeded to hint that she wanted more. She informed me that her friends were already at home and that I was responsible for her well being.

At this point I asked her if she truly knew what she was asking. Playing coy she smiles and takes a sip of her wine.

"Take your panties off," I whispered in her ear.

She looks at me with that same reluctant look I had seen many years before.

"Right here?" she asked "Or can I go to the bathroom?"

"Right here's fine," I say.

After a quick look around she pushes close to the bar and slips them off. Unsure what to do with them she clutches them in her hand, carefully trying not to expose any part of them for others to see.

"Sit on them," I ordered.

She complied, unsure the significance of what I was telling her.

I look to the bartender and tell him to close my tab out. He gives me a slight nod along with a sliver of a smile. He had seen what was going on and knowing me, knew what I was doing.

As we got up to leave she instinctively reached for her panties. I caught her hand.

"No," I said. "Leave them."

She complied.

Later on, she laid at the foot of the bed exhausted. Several times she had started to ask a question. I had wanted her to verbalize it. To form the words and speak her thoughts. She wasn't used to having to be direct. I liked that a simple idea could make her squirm. I liked seeing her olive tone cheeks darken and her look away. She dare not look me in the eyes.

Finally, she shook herself to, and turned to look directly at me. "What's the deal with my panties," she asked in a forceful and rehearsed manner then quickly cast her look away.

"It had nothing to do with the panties at all," I offered. "It was more about seeing if you would do as you were told."

She smiled, looked back and me and cocked her head. "But why?"

"Easy," I said. "I wanted press you a bit. See how you responded. I wanted you to linger in the unnatural feeling of not having your panties."

"You were testing me?" she said through a giggle. "All of it?"

"All of it," I confirmed.

I let the thought play in her mind. I don't think it fully clicked for her. I wasn't going to connect the dots or explain any further.

"Did you like it?" I asked.

She gave me a sly smile.

"I did," she said in a hushed tone that just barely audible. "I feel like you opened a door or something."

"Or something..." I said.

As a Dom, I feel we learn best when we are challenged. Some of the greatest experiences of my life have come when I have been pressed to do something I was unsure of. For her, a women whose life had been filled with boring and mundane sex, I pushed open a door that she had been searching for. I gave her acceptance of those deep dark thoughts she had when it was just her and her imagination. I showed her the pleasure that can come from straying outside of what's considered the norm. For one night she was my sub, but it's one night that fundamentally changed her outlook on sex.

6 days ago. Jul 8, 2020, 12:08 AM

Muffled cries bleed out
through a lust soaked pillow.
White thighs flash and shimmer
as she struggles and lurches forth.
Burying herself deeper.
Fear gives way to anticipation,
and nervousness to acceptance.
She steals herself,
and submits.
Relishing the simple words,
"Good Girl."

1 week ago. Jul 4, 2020, 6:39 PM

The last time I had seen Mira we were both drunk out of our mind and she was complaining about her knees. It was one of those drunken trysts that carried over from the club. We were on our way to the after hours bar just outside of the city limits. Things were hot and heavy in the back of my friends car as he drove us to our destination. Mira had always been a bit coy, and though I had her many times, it was never a guarantee. She liked to toy, tease, and be chased. I didn’t chase, so that typically led to many nights of frustration for both of us.

That was what was in my head as I pulled back. Two could play that game. I distanced myself a bit as she continued to rub the bulge in my pants and try to chase me across the backseat.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“Just seeing what you’re going to do about it,” I responded as I gently nodded to my groin.

“Here? Now?”

“If not now, when?”

“No, because you never know when to stop,” she whispered. “I always wind with a mess in my pants.”

“So?” I countered.

“So?! You try acting normal with a fresh sticky batch in your crotch,”

We both cracked up at that thought of our last encounter which had been in a cramped closet at a convention center where we were attending a formal Mardi Gras gala. She had looked particularly stunning in a floor length black dress. I had no choice but to pull the “Anything I want” card. A card I earned while playing a game we had concocted with the results being that the winner got to bend the loser to their will. In this case that meant a closet, her dress hiked up above her waist, and me depositing a load. It was extremely gratifying watching her all fancied up, yet all the while knowing what just occurred in the closet.
She had always been mine. She could play the brat, try to be Alpha, but in the end she always wound up on her knees or on her back. And that’s where she found herself now. My friend had parked the car and headed on in. Mira had broken away and started to make her way to towards the bar before finally relenting and returning.

“I’ll blow you, but you’re not fucking me.”

“Agreed,” I said.

Mira stood framed by the car door and begrudgingly dropped down to her knees. I shifted around so that she was positioned between my legs.

“But you’re swallowing,” I offered.

“You know I ca-“ she started. “Oh, nevermind.”

She tugged at my jeans and slid them down. She lightly kissed my stomach before she ran her hand up my abdomen and pushed me back onto the seat. I felt the warmth of her mouth engulf my cock. It throbbed mercilessly as she went to work. Slow and steady at first, before she started to methodically nibble and work the shaft with her tongue.

“Sit on it,” I commanded.

She stood up and turned away. She cast me a sly smile before unbuckling her belt and with a quick shimmy dropped her pants. She obliged my request using the car door to provide leverage. She rocked back and forth allowing my cock to slide out of her vagina just enough to where rentry created just the right amount of friction. I had trained her well. Too well.

She quickened her pace, the sensation plus the visual of her porcelain white ass bouncing up and down my cock, brought me near climax. Before I could even utter the words to let her know, she had spun around and caught me in her mouth. I unleashed with an electric fury and grabbed the hair on the back of her head so she couldn’t escape it. I held her there for several moments until I started to go limp. I released and she melted back and firmly planted her bare ass on the pavement. I didn’t move.

Still in various states of undress she crawled atop me and just laid there. We heard some chatter near by.

“You think anyone saw us?” she asked.

“Probably,” I offered.

Mira gave me a quick jab to the gut.

“What?!” I said.

“Someone saw us?”

“So,” I countered. “Maybe she's hot and we could invite her to join in.”

“You’re such a perv.”

We laid there for several moments. The chatter had died down and Mira crawled back into the night. I could her belt buckle jingle as she readied herself to go in. Reluctantly I joined her and we made our way inside.

“I want a shot,” Mira stated as she girlishly whirled around in front of me before losing her balance. I caught her and pulled her close.

“You just had one," I whispered.

“Fuck you,” Mira said as she spun away. She laughed and caught her self on the car. “You know what I mean.”

I leaned in and with my thumb I wiped the corner of a lip.

“You’re such a whore,” I said with a smile.

“I have my moments,” she offered “but my fucking knees are killing me.”

1 week ago. Jul 4, 2020, 4:03 AM

The Doll is laid upon her stage.


A posh setting of plush pillows


and satin. She's too large for a shelf,


but small enough for play.


The Doll's eyes are forever watchful,


yet remain fixated above.


A black spaghetti strap dress hangs


loose upon her waifish frame.


Cutting a stark contrast against


her procelain skin. The Maker


adjusts her head slightly and applies


a Peach Passion lipstick.


He kisses her gently.


This Doll's mouth tastes nothing of plastic or latex,

 

but rather flesh and honey.


The Maker watches her for a moment,


appreciating and admiring his prize,


before leaning in and pushing


the black dress straps away.

 

@wicked.writer

1 week ago. Jul 3, 2020, 11:10 PM


My finger traces her spine
from the nape of her neck
down to the small of her back.
Cool at first, and moist to the touch.
She flinches slightly in anticipation
of a perceived act that doesn't come.
I refrain.
This phantom act builds and blossoms,
her imagination takes hold.
Playing out in her mind at a feverish pace.
Muscles contract, heart beat races, lips quiver.
Her body writhes and melts in upon itself.
A sea of molten flesh,
that burns to the touch.
A ripe fruit
splayed and offered up for consumption.
The sub is not herself anymore,
And with a quick thrust I make her mine.

@wicked.writer

2 weeks ago. Jun 30, 2020, 4:23 AM

Meg was a brainy girl with understated beauty and one of the greatest sets of breasts I have ever seen. She stood 4'11, and when asked she would always claim to be 5 foot.
"Just under average," she would say.
You didn't argue with Meg. She was pretty head strong, and had this wild streak to her. She thrived on spontaneity and had this infectious irreverent attitude about life. Though she was only eighteen, you could tell she had seen a lot in so few years.
I met Meg the first day of Spring semester during my Sophomore year at college. I arrived early for class and sat down outside in the hallway. Across from me sat this tiny delicate thing curled up in a mass of black and red flannel reading some obscure graphic novel. Her shorts were so short that it was nearly impossible to miss the sliver of neon green panties contrasting against her slender pale thighs.
Admittedly, that was how she caught my gaze. A single slip of color, that could have easily been drowned out by poor lighting. Nonetheless, it was essentially a trap and I took the bait. As my eyes drifted up, her eyes met mine. I was expecting some sort of nasty look or some sort of admonishment, but there was nothing. There was no reaction, nor any tell one way or the other, she just returned her attention back to the book she was reading and didn't pay me any mind.
When class opened, I was first in. I chose a seat in the back corner of the room. Along with my laptop, I had pulled out a copy of the Story of O which has just been returned by my last potential sub.
"Are you a Rene' or Sir Stephen?" a soft voice asked.
I looked up to see green pantie girl slipping into the seat next to mine.
"Excuse me?"
"You must be a bitch boy?" she stated emphatically as she motioned to the book on my desk.
It took me a moment to catch up.
"Do I look like a bitch boy?" I asked.
"I could see you sucking dick." she offered.
"Oh really?" I laughed. "With a mouth that small, how do you suck anything?" I countered.
She let out this completely obnoxious laugh. "You'd be surprised what my mouth can do," she said with a smile.
"I'm intrigued."
"You should be," she said.
As class began there was this lingering tension that existed. I've only felt it a few times in my life. It was like we were magnetically drawn together. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, the way she bounced around and seem to put out far more energy than she could ever consume. Part of her must have been equally as intrigued by me, as she rarely took her eyes off of me. By the time class was over her chair had shifted into the aisle from her constantly leaning over and passing notes back and forth.
"If you could do one thing to me, what would be it be?" she asked.
"I'd take you home and keep you for the weekend."
"But what would I do?"
"Whatever I wanted."
Meg smiled. "Two things, you can't call me baby, and you can't cum on my face."
"I won't cum on your face until you ask me to."
"That's not funny."
"Not meant to be," I said. "Just the truth."
"Sir Stephen," she said.
"Rene' is a bitch a boy." I offered.
"I'm sure he sucks dick," Meg added.
The next fifteen minutes felt like time warped and the world around us stood still. I can honestly say, that in those minutes, I don't recall seeing a single other person, nor do I remember the walk across campus to my car. There was only her.
"I'm taking you home," I said.
"Part of me doesn't care how bad that sounds," she offered.
"It's only bad if I'm a bad guy," I stated.
"Are you?" she asked.
"I can be," I answered.
Without any prompting, Meg had started to open the door to my car. I pushed it close.
"Backseat," I whispered in her ear.
"Yes sir," she said.
Meg opened the door to the backseat and started to crawl in.
"Stop," I ordered.
She complied and turned to face me. I took her backpack and tossed it into the backseat and pulled her red and black flannel shirt down from shoulders. As it dropped down to her waist I got my first view of her body. She was small with a slender frame, yet she boasted a bustline that was far beyond proportional. Her breasts poured through an old wife-beater, stretching the fabric to its limits.
"No bra," she said in a hushed raspy voice.
I placed my right hand on her hip and pushed my index finger down into her pants. It was the first time we had touched. I could feel a slight shiver from her as I ran my finger along her fleshy abdomen and to the button that fastened her shorts together. With a quick flip they were undone and my hand wandered up. The hair on her stomach and side prickled to the touch. As my hand found her breast Meg stepped forward into me. She found resistance as she pressed against the bulk of my 6'3 frame. For the first time she was speechless.
"Give me your panties," I ordered.
Meg stood quiet and motionless for a few moments, before she shook off the flannel shirt and let it fall the ground. With her face buried in my abdomen she shifted her weight and shimmied her short-shorts down to her knees. As she lifted her left leg to pull it through, she began to slip. I caught her as she began to lose balance.
"I got you," I said as I righted her. I then spun her around so that she was facing the backseat. I knelt down and pulled her panties to her knees.
"Turn over," I directed. "Lay in the backseat. You'll have to do the rest."
Meg stepped out of her shorts and crawled into the back seat. She turned over and immediately began slipping her panties the rest of the way down her legs. Once they were off she laid there listless. Her eyes focused away. I grabbed her left ankle with my right hand pushed it to the side. It was just enough to see what lied beneath those neon green panties. Her flower was just as delicate as she was. Fresh and pristine.
Voices preceded a group of guys that were walking up from behind my car. No doubt, heading to 3PM class. A shocked Meg immediately recoiled. Her startled eyes met mine. I smiled and shook my head.
"Stop," I mouthed silently.
I crawled in between her legs spreading them further apart.
"I might want them to see you," I said.
I pushed forward and slipped the wife-beater shirt over Meg's head. Her immediate reflex was to cover up. The voices of the men grew louder and closer. I shook my head again.
"No," I said.
Meg's arms were locked across her chest. Her eyes were huge. She turned onto her side.
"No," I ordered. This time in a bit harsher tone.
Meg froze as the voices seemed right on top of use. I could see three guys through my back window, standing just feet away from my rear bumper. Meg slowly eased up and rolled to her back, her arms fell to her side.
One of the guys broke off from the group and walked between my car and the truck in the next parking spot. I lost sight of him as he passed behind me but felt the door push in a little bit.
"Sorry," he said.
Meg gasped. "Oh my God!"
I watched Meg squirm. The man's footsteps grew softer and the look of terror on Meg's face melted into a smile as the experience passed and the weight of what had happened set in. She bounced up and down frantically kicking her legs.
"Oh my God!" she squealed. "Oh my God!"
"Come here," I ordered. Her enthusiasm shifted, she quickly leaned up and I slid under while she straddled me. As she nestled in, she ground deeply upon me. Pressing her nude flesh against my denim pants.
"Oh," Meg said coyly.
"Take it out," I ordered.
Meg fumbled a bit with my belt. Her small hand was nearly the size of the buckle. Her ham-fisted attempt brought impatience and I reached down and assisted. She managed the button with no problem.
She quickly reached in and pulled cock out. I slid down a bit and shimmied my jeans down to my knees. Meg was now straddling my stomach. Her pussy was rubbing against my skin, smooth and warm.
"Play with yourself," I directed. She complied by burying one hand in her crotch and diverted the other up my shirt where she rubbed my chest.
"Smooth," she said. "I like."
Meg rhythmically ground against me with her hand sandwiched between us. Fast, then, slow, then fast again. With each gyration she slid further down until she her ass was rubbing the tip of my dick. Using her free hand, she grabbed my cock and offered it a few jerks.
"I'm not sure it will fit," she admitted.
"Ya think?" I countered. "We just gotta get you wetter."
"I'm plenty wet," she said.
She had stopped rubbing herself and placed her hand on my chest to brace herself as she tugged on my cock. Faster, then slow, then fast again.
"Spit on it," I ordered.
Meg looked at me with a half-crazed look.
"You heard me," I said. "I want the first time you feel me, to feel me balls deep."
Meg ducked down and after several halfhearted attempts, I pulled her up. I hooked several of my fingers in her mouth and then rubbed the top of my cock.
"Put it in," I whispered as I pulled her body against me. "How many guys have you fucked in the parking lot?"
"None," she whispered.
"Look at me," I ordered.
Meg complied and she arched her back so she could look me in the eye. I shifted my left arm down around her waist and brought my right one up under her arm and grabbed the hair on the back of her head.
"This is going to hurt," I warned.
I held her tight and with a quick thrust I entered her. She let out a loud gasp and her vagina clinched. Still, my cock pushed deeper and deeper into her. With my arms I leveraged her body back and forth on me until the friction has lessened and her vagina relaxed.
"Now ride," I said. She rode.
It didn't take long before the build-up started to get to me.
"Not on the face?" I asked.
"Don't care," Meg responded. "Anywhere!"
Meg sped up and the intensity of her grinding grew. I took a deep breath and attempted to compose myself as I grew closer to climax.
"I'm about to," I said.
"Then do it," Meg said in a hushed whisper. She began tonguing my ear.
I reached down and with both my hands I completely encircled her waist. I pushed down and drew and protracted groan from her.
"Anywhere?" I asked.
Meg nodded emphatically, and then kissed me. I responded by grabbing her by the hair on the back of her head and caught her gaze.
"You let just any guy you meet in class cum in your eighteen-year-old pussy?"
Meg slowed a bit and processed.
"Never have," she responded.
"Never?"
She shook her head. "You'd be the first to cum in my eighteen-year-old pussy."
I came hard. Yet, a funny thing happened. I didn't get soft and Meg continued. She rode me a while longer until her back arched and she let out a loud gasp. She crumpled upon me and just stared glossy eyed out the car window.
"What now?" she asked. "Sub worthy?"
"Well, I know you can fuck," I answered. "We'll have to see how ya hold up over the next couple of days."
"Next couple of days?" she asked with a puzzled look.
"I told you I was going to keep you for the weekend," I said.
"You did say that," she offered.
She gently rested her head on my chest and returned her gaze out to the parking lot before sitting up abruptly.
"Hey, when did the truck leave?" she asked.
I looked at her and then to the empty space where the truck had been. We both let out loud obnoxious laughs before turning our attention to getting dressed.
"I'm going to need a toothbrush," Meg said.