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What is happening to me?

By Kristen | Erotic sex art by Samarel


'Vintage Sex'

Canvas print size 18"x28"

After the motel called and we decided to stay another night, we both drifted back to sleep for a few hours. As you might guess, I was far too excited to sleep for long. Who the hell was this man? I didn't even know his name. I was fucking a stranger. Finally. I was hot.

He lay there atop clean sheets. My hair smelled of juniper berry. I recognized my shampoo. He had washed me after I passed out. God knows what all I did. I wish I could remember how many of his friends I had fucked. Thoroughly fucked. I am a whore.

I remembered having pissed on the bathroom floor. I don't remember if that was because some pervert wanted me to, or I was just too drunk to make it all the way to the toilet. What's the difference, really.

The point is, by the end of the night, I was a serious mess. I think I threw up. I am sure I did. I can't think about that right now. He had cleaned me up. What a sweet heart.

I felt whole sexual gratification, like I never had. It had been months since I started fanaticizing about being banged. I had done it. I felt alive.

I do remember he was a huge part of it. I let him fuck me I the ass. Or maybe he just did it. Either way, it was amazing. Christ, was it amazing. I was glowing. I wanted to reward him.

There is a big difference between getting your face fucked and sucking a guy's cock. I was never really very good at the latter. I wanted to try. God knows, I had some recent practice.

He was still asleep. Soundly. It was soft. It lay there curled up in a nest of sinewy curls and bulbous mounds of flesh. I rubbed my cheek against it. He even smelled good. Like a man. I stretched his sleeping cock out. It seemed to yawn and stretch as it swelled, rolling over to meet the new day.

I kissed it a few times about the face and shoulders. Baggy flesh became more taught, as if it were puckering to kiss me back. I circled his whole head with my tongue, waking the sleeping giant. His generous cock stumbled from its nest and into the dark damp confines of my mouth. I really wanted to give this man one incredible blow job, even if he was asleep. It was turning me on.

He tossed a bit, I slowed down. The rhythm was polar opposite from last night. I could take my time. No one was going to shove their cock down my throat - fucking my face. No one was in line for me to suck them off. Jesus, my jaw still ached. This was heaven. It was just me and him. Clean sheets, cloudy memories of pure sexual gratification pacified my hunger. There was no real rush. This could take all day. Slow. I was in charge.

It took a while but he became fully extended, but still far from hard. I let his cock lie on his tummy coated in my saliva. I blew lightly across the shaft to keep him firm. It is called a blow job after all. Resting my head on one arm I lightly stroked him, and admired the fine specimen.

As my forearm started to tire I had to wonder, "How do guys do that for so long? I guess because they can't do this."

I gave him a few long licks with the flat of my tongue. She wrapped around him like a blanket. He was nearly hard.

The tip of my tongue became an entirely new sensual pleasure zone, my whole mouth, an erogenous expanse. I opened wider inviting him semi-erect inside.

My eyes whirled backward with need as his savory member began to fill my mouth. I could not imagine anything so satisfying as the taste of warm flesh on a perfect morning.

His skin grew taught.

In the back of your throat there is a spot that, if you let it slide in just right, you can fit the entire swollen tip in through your tonsils. You have to take a deep breath through your nose as you do it or you'll gag. When that slimy membrane cinches round him, he is yours. That's the spot. Don't let him shove farther. You'll vomit. It takes practice, and after last night, I had practice. I was a fucking vet. I am a slut. A good one.

This was not about me just sucking cock. It was about me GIVING head. I was not some fuck hole like I was last night. I would not let him fuck my face if he wanted to. I was doing this. I was in charge. He was NOT going to grab my head and stuff his cock down my throat till I gagged - or he came. No fucking way. I had this one, baby.

But even in his sleep he tried to buck his hips to push his cock deeper in my throat. No fucking way. Men.

I considered leaving him right there, bobbing helplessly, but I didn't. Knowing I could be a major turn on. I pushed his hips back with my hands as my head bobbed furiously. In and out through my narrow tonsils, the widest part of his tip clung to the sides. I felt him start to spasm in my throat. I wanted it. I wanted it, now. I was going to take it. This was about me!

Taking one big final breath, I pulled my head back, and retreated his cock from my throat to give him room. I had to create a nice warm dark wet cavity to take what was coming - but not too much - to ummm - keep it from coming. I was playing it perfectly. He bucked one last time. I pushed his hips back. I knew the spot I wanted him to hit. Period. He throbbed recklessly and finally filled my mouth in three giant spurts. I swallowed with ease. Nothing up my nose. No gag. Not even a cough.

Damn, I'm good.

I even managed to let out a tasty, "mmmm." in case he was even half awake. I was a pro. I am a whore. I am a slut. I am a Goddess.

I grabbed the base of his softening cock and pushed upward like a tube of tooth paste. He stroked my hair and said, "that was incredible."

"you were awake?"

"Absolutely, I didn't want to interrupt the best blow job ever given."

"The best blow job ever given?" I questioned in my mind as I melted in his arms like a girl. "hmmm" I wondered. "How do you measure such a thing - what constitutes the BEST blow job ever given? Oh, I don't care - as long as he thinks so." I took a drink of water.

He wrapped my arms around torso and pulled me up for a kiss. After everything that happened last night, after every one I had fucked, I had not been kissed. Once. I guess I did not want to be kissed. Maybe they did not want to kiss me. I am a whore. Anyway, I didn't want to look at the idiots as I let them fuck me.

"You are amazing." He said. "First last night and now that! You have got to meet my old lady."

"Old lady?" I thought. "What the fuck was this?" I was fuming. I don't know why but I was. I said nothing. He continued.

"Yea, you'd love her. She likes to get passed around too. Ummm... do you like women, too? I would love to watch you and her go at it."

"Jesus, this guy is a fucking idiot too," I thought but I just gave a weak, "We'll see." I fell into his arms and waited for him to drift off back to sleep. It didn't take long.

I slipped from under his arms, packed my things and snuck out the door, leaving him with the second day motel bill. I was pissed.

I felt empowered.

None-the-less, his words lingered in my head as I walked down the stairs. My thoughts bounced from one side of my head to the other. I was running away.

"His old lady," I thought. I was turned off. Cold. Not because I thought experimenting with women would be bad - just - everything. "She likes to get passed around too. HA Like I wanna share with some other bitch - who does this fucker think he is?"

When I got to the car, when I got home, when I got to my bed room and all week at work the notion loitered in my head.

I was confused. I fanaticized about it - at least I tried. It really did nothing. My fantasy pool was dry. Perhaps because I had just had more sex in one night than I had in my entire preceding years combined, I was just exhausted. A week passed. I did not successfully masturbate once.

I went to a dike bar. Nothing. I felt no attraction - just more confusion. I was horny as HELL. But could do nothing about it.

I tried going on line to look at porn. I really don't like porn, per say. I admit I have looked at it in the past, but I hate the way the models smile and pose and preen. Often, they are - well – beautiful people. Square jawed hunks with five o'clock shadows. Erect towers of erotic flesh peek over tight chinos. Giant erect cocks tickling washboard abs. Hot, but phony. Posed. Boring.

To be honest, I hadn't spent much time, any really, looking at women. The cloud of curiosity that bastard implanted was driving me to do things. I went to several sites. Most of the women there really did nothing for me. They are attractive, I guess. Well dressed. Well photographed. They are everything, but what they are supposed to be:

Boob Jobs. What is it with big tits? If this turned me off so, why then was I so obsessed with looking?

I could not think of anything else. The other day at work I actually went on line to find pictures of women. Jesus, I hope I don't get caught. Fear is erotic.

I found myself going to the amateur sites instead of those lusty ones with California girls sucking picture perfect cocks. At least at the proletarian sights it wasn't some model, posing and smiling naked for the camera just because she couldn't get job selling laundry detergent. The amateur sites were at least real. Some were even hot.

But still, I was just flipping through the pictures.

Something was stirring but I didn't know what it was - I know where it came from, that mother fucker's comments - but I didn't know WHAT it was. These pictures just did nothing for me, sexually. I guess I am just not a lesbian. I have certainly had opportunities to try. I was confused. I wish I were one. That would be easier to deal with. What did I want?

None the less, I kept looking at the screen. I couldn't stop. Also, over my shoulder to see if anyone could see what I was doing. Fear is erotic, did I mention that? There was nothing I could do. I could not stop myself. I could not. I am obsessed. I am a slut. I wish I knew how many cocks I had sucked Friday night.

I got to a sight that was so amateur it was actually moving. Upsetting. Violent. Some of the pics were so blurry or dark you had to work to make out what was happening. Always hidden in that darkness, there was pain and loneliness. It was real. It made me hot.

When I saw her through the pixilated shadows, I froze. Immobile. She had such sad eyes. Always downcast. She did not dare look at the camera. I could see her pain. I knew her. I was her. She was afraid, as was I. Fear is exceedingly erotic. I couldn't take it.

I chickened out. I shut the browser and erased my footprints. I was wet. The URL was tattooed on my brain. I could not wait to get home. I thought about her - or it - all the way. I imagined she was being made to pose for the camera. Even in the one picture, when she smiled, you could tell she was being forced. It turned me on. I imagined her sitting naked watching as someone posted her pictures on the internet for anyone to see. Humiliation. Hot!

I knew what she wanted, or needed. I imagined myself taking the pictures, telling her to remove her clothing. It was a long ride home. I burst through the doors. I didn't even feed my cat. I walked straight to the computer, and straight to that sight. I was completely captivated. I could see through her flesh to the switch that would turn her on. I felt what she was feeling. I wanted to flip that switch. I know where it is. It was overpowering. Erotic.

She knew what a distraction a man's cock can be from your own sorrow. So do I. Her first picture was a portrait of her face. I studied it. I could not turn away. I zoomed in through the murk and blur. I had to. I don't know why. Her eyebrows had been plucked. I wanted to jump ahead in the series to see if her pussy had been shaven. If so, I bet it too was plucked - one hair at a time - while masturbating – and crying. Pain. I have done it to myself. I got off. I hate myself. I am a whore. I am a masochist.

Trembling, I clicked next with my mouse.

Her blouse was unbuttoned revealing her busty chest. She was ashamed of doing what she was doing. So was I. I could not stop myself. Neither could she. I unbuttoned my pants.

It was a peculiar hunger that made me click to the next image. Involuntarily, I used my left hand to operate the mouse. My right had a different button to press.

My home dial up connection ran slowly revealing her picture like a backdrop flying in during a play unfolding in my brain. She touched her breasts. Her listless eyes were cast downtrodden at the floor. Obedient. Her desire came from a need to do what the photographer told her to. It came from a need to please. I know that desire. My own fingers worked their way inside my jeans. The tips of my fingers found their way to my clit out of pure route. They have been there before. But never like this. I wanted her.

Severe sexual desire was manifesting itself from a new place. It was confusing and awkward. Arousing.

Energy in my body began to radiate downward from my chest and upward from my thighs. I was wet. Very wet. Yet my fingers felt awkward rubbing their familiar patterns round my most erogenous areas. It is not at all what I wanted. I clicked to the next image.

The photographers arm protruded into the frame. His hand held her chin in a firm grip. She faced the camera, still her eyes were cast downward. She did not want to look. She couldn't. I know.

I plunged my fingers inside. I was hot. Wet. Wanting. Yet, my fingers felt cold and wrong. I leaned back, my spine arched downward, thrusting my hips forward as I clicked to the next image.

She had removed her skirt and panties, they lie at her feet, discarded onto the concrete floor. She was trembling, frightened, aroused. I wanted to cum.

My fingers fumbled, nothing I had known before was working. My energy was manifesting itself in new ways that could not be satisfied by old means. Only by staring at this woman, whose pain and desire I fully imbibed, could I begin to reach anything. I was confused, fixated, possessed. It was the first time in my life I was unable to just finger fuck myself into an orgasm. I could not look away. I have never been so turned on.

She was shoved to her knees and stared at the floor, frightened. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to his cock while managing to take the picture.

My fist clinched into a ball and began to pull at my pelvic mound - well above my snatch and familiar clit.

All of the skin from my navel to my cunt flexed as I pulled harder and harder. Energy was releasing from my forearms. Everything radiated outward but there was a huge bottle neck. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing! Pressure. All was bottled inside me and MUST be released.

I managed to click to a new image. She was sucking his cock – taking him in whole. He was hard, taking his own pictures. I could tell by the way she took him in that he had made her do it. He was purely fucking her face. He held her by the hair. He was in too far. She looked like she might throw up. She was a hole. A fuck toy. I knew she would cum. I didn't care. I wanted to cum.

All of my sexual energy was growing more unstable - checking every porin my body looking for a possible escape route. It was as lost as I was. It didn't know how to get out. It grew more volatile. Desperate. I pulled at my pelvic mound. Flesh flexed taught and released. It was incredible! I was stroking myself. I was fucking jacking off is what I was doing.

I wanted her to suck my cock! But I don't have one. I could get a strap on - no! This was different somehow. It was about the transference of energy. Dominance, submission, alpha, beta, top bottom, positive, negative – opposites attract – whatever the fuck you want to call it. I was on fucking top! Everything in my body shifted. My arm was getting tired - but I could not stop. I had to release.

I let my other hand slip from the mouse to go lower and rub my clit. Nothing. Still out of habit, a finger slipped inside. Fuck, I was wet. I didn't care. I was only interested in stroking myself. My sticky fingers went back to the mouse.

She was still sucking his cock. He used a different angle and a flash. She was on her knees. The floor was concrete, the walls black cinder block. She had a red mark across her face. She had been slapped. Her eyes were watering. A tear formed in the corner. She was in pain and ecstasy.

My spine shot forward. I took an involuntary breath, like a hiccup, or suddenly being startled. Another. Another. I could not inhale anymore. I had to release. My body made me take yet another burst of air. It was too much oxygen. My brain just exploded. My body spasmed clicking the mouse.

He splattered hot gallons of white cream across her face. I felt it. She was frozen in time with a self-satisfied outer shell, like she was valued. She is not. Cum dripped from her chin to her breasts. She is a whore. I wanted to cum in her hair.

I jerked one more time. The shock waves reverberating from the explosion in my brain ran full force through my pelvis breaking down locked doors and walls - storming out into the open air in one gigantic rush. A tsunami.

My thighs snapped shut slamming my knees together. I felt a warm wet slime splatter against my them. My hand fell away in utter exhaustion. I inspected the wetness on my thighs. That came from my cunt!

I had... I had ejaculated.

Holy fuck!

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