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Return on Integrity

“New media continues to change the way companies approach the consumer,” Josh went on, walking across the room.

It’s 8:00AM and I’m slouching through the second strategy meeting of the week. Social media is the new it thing, even though it’s not really that new. You can’t have a decent conversation nowadays without slamming into things like “viral,” “tribe,” “transparency,” “return on integrity,” “influencer”–it’s incredibly annoying.

“The trend is shifting from the importance of branding to creating conversation, putting faces and names to companies, working with and through influencers…”

Of course, it’s also made it perfectly acceptable to be glued to your iPhone during strategy meetings–you have to keep up with the conversation, after all.

Even if the conversation has nothing to do with the industry.

“What would you do if you were here?” Alistair asked me.

We’d been messaging back and forth all morning. Alistair lives in New York, which essentially means he’s texting me by 3:00AM Honolulu time, and possibly explains my improved timeliness, as well as my dire need for caffeine all day long.

I met him while he was here on business, as part of a think tank to embrace web 2.0.

I looked up at Josh, still speaking, and panned the room. Half of the team was looking down at their mobile devices. I launched PocketTweets and tweeted something about the importance of social media in terms of awareness and conversion. You know, to make sure they knew I was paying attention.

Then I replied to Alistair: “I’d fuck you somewhere public.”

His response was immediate: “I like that. The park. A restaurant. Against the lamppost, your skirt pulled up.”

ME: A street corner.

HIM: I want them to see your face while I fuck you, your pussy spread open on my cock. I will have to spank you for a bit.

ME: As cars slow down to stop for a light, my tits exposed and my hands tied to the post, over my head. You gonna spank me mercilessly? I hope so. And alternate between slapping me and kissing me while you fuck me.

“You know that’s what I will do,” he responded a few minutes later. “And I am going to spit into your pretty face when I drive into you.”

Oh, spit. I’d forgotten about that. I knew I would fuck him from the moment I saw him. It’s true what they say about women. We do know if we’re going to fuck someone within seconds of meeting them.

With Alistair, it was instantaneous. Almost minutes after the handshake and the boring meeting that followed, we were at his hotel, making out violently against the wall. He picked me up and threw me on the bed, crawled over me and before kissing me again, he spit into my face.

“You want to be my whore?” he asked me. “You know you do. Tell me you do.”

“I want to be your whore,” I said. “Make me your whore.”

He did.

I thought about him doing that again, uncrossed my legs and responded to his message: “My cunt is pulsating thinking about it.”

HIM: When I am all the way inside you, I am going to choke you.

ME: I am so, so wet thinking about you chocking me as you fuck me, my face stained with tears and your spit.

HIM: I want you wet and dripping. That’s how I want you. Messy and crying. Remember: this is after you’ve been gagging on my cock for a full hour. Taking it deep in your throat, yes? How far?

“All the fucking way. I am going to impale my face on your…” I paused and looked up at Josh, who was presenting some data from a study by RazorFish.

“Impale my face on your ridiculous cock.” I finished.

If you were with him, you wouldn’t think Alistair had ridiculous cock. He has a cock that’s quite decent, actually. Unless you love giant cocks, as I do.

“The growing focus on social media will continue in 2009 as companies generate quantifiable results through engagement, open communication, responsiveness and crowd-sourcing,” Josh kept speaking in the background. “We’re currently working to improve our existing social media measurement tools, including comparability to other marketing media and tracking trending…”

“Wait, what do you mean ridiculous?” Alistair asked.

ME: Not a monster cock.

HIM: It won’t even be a challenge for you, will it?

ME: I hope you ask me in person and slap me hard across the face when I pull your dick out of my mouth and tell you no. Not even a challenge.

HIM: You love monster cocks, don’t you? What are we going to do about that?

ME: Give me them. But first you. Then hunting.

HIM: First me. Always me first. I am greedy for you.

ME: Yes, that’s how I want you.

HIM: When you take my cock out of your mouth, you will be laughing. And I will ask you why.

ME: And I will say it’s your cock, your ridiculous little cock. One of the smallest dicks I’ve ever seen.

HIM: And then I will slap your face, stinging. And if you don’t stop, I will slap it harder. I am even going to slap it while my cock is in your mouth.

Josh asked someone a question. I stopped to pay attention, I had to inform those present about some expansion we were working on with the microblogging platform Twitter.

When I didn’t respond for a few minutes, Alistair messaged me again, “Is that true about my cock?”

ME: Mmm, yes, it’s true. Slap me, slap me hard, baby, until I cry and then I will laugh again.

HIM: You little slut, I will slap you hard, over and over until you admit it’s your favorite cock ever. That you need it every day.

ME: I dare you. I dare you to slap me until I admit that yours is my favorite cock ever.

“Alice,” Josh motioned to me, letting me know it was my turn to start.

I rose slowly, walked to the front and began discussing the revolution in communication that had been brought on by Twitter.

“The power and speed of the microblogging platform is impossible to deny,” I heard myself saying. “Example: when the earthquake of July 29th shook Los Angeles, the news broke on Twitter in seconds. The AP took a full ten minutes.”

I went on to discuss the speed of information, the community on Twitter, the manner that these could be harnessed to convert and bring awareness to a product. The slides moved fluidly with examples like Zappos, Dell, Starbucks, brands that were using Twitter to build loyal followings.

When I returned to my seat some time later, I had a message from Alistair waiting: “Do you like my ass?”

“I love your tight little pink pucker, I can’t wait to put my giant cock in it,” I responded.

HIM: Don’t promise something you can’t deliver. I doubt a girl like you would have a big cock.

ME: I will show you after you have your way with me. Once you know what it’s like to have a monster cock inside you, you’ll never go back.

HIM: Oh my… do you think you can make me your little bitch?

ME: You are my little bitch. I’m gonna make you beg for my cock, squirm those little ass cheeks around it and squeal like a piglet.

HIM: When you saw my cock did you decide you should be the one fucking me?

ME: Look at you, my little bitch, such prompt replies. I knew I would be fucking you—remember how fast I got on you after I realized how easy you were, you dirty little cockslut? You love being my little cockslut, don’t you?

HIM: Yes, I love worshiping your cock, Alice. I love being used by you. I love kneeling down before you, trying to please you.

ME: Now leave me a message telling me how much you love my cock and kneel while you do it.

HIM: On your voicemail? But you haven’t let me touch your cock yet.

ME: Yes, right now. Beg for my cock and I might let you have it.

My phone lit up with a phone call call a few minutes later. I let it go to voicemail. It was shortly followed by another message from Alistair.

“My ass is twitching for you…” he said. “Alice, I want to unzip your pants…”

ME: I may let you have it, see what you can do with it. You’ve done it before, yes? Worship cock? Don’t lie to me, you little cockslut.

HIM: I don’t know, have I? I just want yours. Will I like it?

ME: I’m sitting back, pants unzipped, half-hard cock in my hand… tell me about the cocks you’ve had. Tell me how you worshiped them.

HIM: That’s difficult to type. Better for conversation. But there haven’t been that many.

ME: Don’t lie to me, cockslut. I know you love the cock, sucking them, being fucked by them. Yes, you do.

HIM: I’ve tried to be good, licking them all the way up and down… I don’t know. Yours I might love. I want you to sit back while I suck the head of your cock. While I spit on it to get you hard.

ME: Oh, yes, my dirty little cockslut, suck the head and lick the cumslit and apply pressure on the prepuce with your tongue.

HIM: My hand will be jerking you at the base. I will try not to let my teeth get you. Pull my hair.

ME: I will use your hair to guide you, pulling on that gorgeous cockslut mane of yours when I see fit.

HIM: I like my throat fucked. Can you do that? A lot of girls don’t know how.

ME: My dick will thrill you. I will fuck your throat. I know how.

HIM: Can we talk?

ME: I’m busy, sweet pet. What can’t you type about these marvelous cocks?

HIM: Just that I want yours. The others were nice, I try to go as deep as I can on them–it can be very wet–but I want to see your huge cock on your amazing body, that will be a memorable sight.

ME: You like that, don’t you? The perfect shape of a woman and the force of a mighty prick.

HIM: I think you’d like that, too, wouldn’t you?

ME: I’m asking the questions now. Tell me how you love it, cockslut.

HIM: Oh, please, everyone thinks they have a huge dick, but only a lucky few like me really do.

ME: My dick owns your dick.

HIM: What do you mean owns my dick?

ME: I mean my dick owns your dick.

The meeting was over, there was a general sense of purpose about everyone. People were invigorated by the data, ready to get to work, to change the world.

Alistair messaged me as I was walking back to my office.

HIM: I like someone with a monster cock who will tell me how to take it and make me beg for it and whisper to me as she fucks me.

ME: Humor me, baby, tell me the kinds of things you like to hear when you have a cock inside you.

As I walked, I could feel how wet I was. I stopped in the hall and veered into a supply closet, closing the door behind me. Then, I texted him: “We have to do this on the phone. Call me.”

I answered the call as soon as the call came.

“You’re eager for my cock, aren’t you?” I asked him as soon as I heard his voice. “You want me to fuck you hard, don’t you? Tell me you do.”

“I want you to fuck me, Alice.”

“Oh, my little cockslut,” I said, leaning against an inactive copier, spreading my legs and reaching under my skirt to feel my hot, wet cunt.

“Tell me about the other dicks you’ve had. Tell me your first.”

“It was in sixth grade,” he said. “A boy who lived down the street.”

“Did you suck it?”

“No, I was too innocent.”

I slipped a finger inside me. “Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Did he fuck you?”

“No, but he put it against my ass.”

“How did it feel, you dirty cockslut?” I slid another finger inside me and rubbed my clit with my thumb.

“It felt good.”

I moaned. “Tell me about the first time you had some dick.”

“I was older. In high school. A girl invited me over. I knew she had a dick.”

“She had a dick?” I asked, in a considerably quieter tone, followed by another moan. “How?”

“You know how,” he responded. I didn’t exactly, but I could imagine.

“She invited me over and fucked me.”

“Did you know she would?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you went?”

“Yes.”

The door opened and suddenly, Josh was standing before me, with only a shelf of supplies between us. I knew he could see me and what I was doing. I didn’t stop. He didn’t move for a moment.

“Tell me what she did to you,” I said, making eye contact with Josh.

He closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward me. I looked at him and then reached out, taking hold of his belt and pulling him to me.

As Alistair told me his story, I kissed Josh, feeling his dick hardening in his pants. I unbuttoned and unzipped them, taking his cock in my hands. Another ridiculous cock, though perhaps less ridiculous. I couldn’t quite recall Alistair’s.

I turned around and bent over the copier, still listening to Alistair. Josh lifted my skirt. His cock was hot when it made contact with my slit, wet and throbbing, ready to take him. I resumed playing with myself with my other hand.

Suddenly, without any warm-up, Josh was fucking me, his hands on my hips, giving me his cock in long, hard strokes as I listened to Alistair’s voice weave his story.

“Are you playing with yourself?” I asked him, moaning.

“Yes, and I’m thinking about your lovely face looking up at me while you swallow my cock.”

“Tears streaking down my cheeks?”

“Yes. And your spit dripping off my balls,” he responded. “Take just the head in. Cup my balls in your hand. I want you to slowly inch down my cock with your throat.”

Josh plunged into me and I moaned again into the phone before asking Alistair, “Can you feel my hot mouth on your cock?”

“Yes… look up at me. I want to see your eyes. How deep can you go, darling? I want you to slowly take me to the base, Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Josh thrust harder and deeper. I was slamming into the copier. One of his hands found and unbuttoned my blouse, pulling one of my tits out of my bra as he continued to pound me.

“I will be slapping your face while you do it. Not so hard,” Alistair went on. “Do you take all the men deep like that?”

“No,” I whispered. “My cunt is too greedy.”

Josh slammed into me.

Can you take all your men deep like that?”

“Of course not,” I choked out.

“What do you mean of course not?”

“They’re too big for my mouth.”

“But I know you love that,” Alistair said. “Don’t you?”

Josh was fucking me faster and faster, his face close to my ear, near the phone, and his moans stilled by his desire to hear what we were saying.

“I have a rather small mouth,” I said.

“But you saw my cock and you know you can take it all the way down, yes? I demand that. Your mouth is sexy and small. I am guessing most guys are too big for it. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I responded, turning my head a little so Josh could see my mouth, imagine what it would be like to stick his cock, covered in my cunt juice, into it.

“I will be the first guy you’ve been able to go deep on?” Alistair asked.

“No.”

“What percentage of your men have bigger dicks than mine? Tell me the truth, you little slut.”

“I hate math,” I lied. Then after a fast tabulation, I added, “85.”

“I love the irony,” Alistair said. “My little size queen is going to be worshiping my cock for some time. And practicing her deep throat skills on it. Tell me, Alice, do you go looking for bigger cocks?”

“They find me. And I can just tell how big a guy is going to be, looking at him.”

“You knew I wasn’t to be as hung as you like but you let me take you home anyway. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I responded. “Because you said you get what you want in that quiet way of a man who always does.”

Josh slowed down for a moment, and I knew he was close.

“The most important question remains,” Alistair went on. “Is your dick bigger than mine, I wonder?”

“Of course it is, baby.”

Josh plunged inside me again.

“Much bigger?”

“Don’t be scared, darling. I will be gentle.”

“Please be gentle. Go slow.” Then he asked, “Are you longer than me or thicker than me?”

“Both,” I responded. “I will make you crave every inch of me deep inside you.”

Josh sped up, fucking me hard again.

“Are you going to show me what a monster cock feels like?”

“I am going to show you how to love a monster cock.” I said, as Josh began biting my neck. “I am going to fill you with so much cock, you will cum harder than you ever have in your life.”

“Oh my god,” Alistair responded, moaning. “Be sweet to me when you fuck me. At first.”

I moaned, feeling my orgasm begin to creep up. Alistair added, “I want you to slap your cock against mine.”

“You will. After you suck me off.”

“How do you like it?”

“Fast, with pressure around the head and along the frenulum.”

“Are you going to say sweet things to me while I do it?”

“If you please me.”

“I want to rub my cock against yours but I’m afraid yours will be stronger.”

“It is stronger. But you love it.”

“And I’m afraid mine will look small in comparison,” Alistair said, and moaned, too. He was getting close as well.

“Say you love it. Say you love my cock.”

“I do love it…” he said with a grunt.

“Say, Alice, I love your cock. Your big monster cock.”

“Alice,” he said breathing hard. “I love your beautiful cock. Your big monster cock.”

His moans in my ear sent me over the edge.

“Alice, I want it. Give me your cock, Alice.”

I came. I came hard. Josh pulled out quickly; shortly, I heard a grunt behind me. I wondered whether he’d cum into his hand or a stray pencil-holder, but didn’t turn around.

“I have to go now, my darling,” I said sweetly to Alistair. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I ended the call and turned around. Josh was standing breathlessly behind me.

“Coffee?” I asked, buttoning my blouse and straightening my skirt.

“Yes,” he said buttoning his pants. “With cream.”

“Is that the cream?” I asked, pointing to the box of paper clips in his hand.

He laughed and threw it into a garbage can before we left the room.

Scheherazade on IM

She’d been chatting with him on and off for a few weeks–or was it months? I suppose it doesn’t mean anything in internet time, where Einstein’s relativity rules (after lolcats, of course).

HIM: which i’d love to hear a story now before i go fuck my lover in her hallway.

HER: Against the wall or on the floor?

HIM: you can pick if you get me off.

HER: You should torture yourself and hold off until you get there.

HIM: i’m a baby, remember? i’m only happy when i come four times a day.

HER: If you insist.

HIM: i do, hottie

HER: The bar is packed, everyone is bumping into everything. The place is a mass of bodies, pulsing against a smoky background and already stale hits off last year’s Top 40 charts…

And so the story began, melting the 437 miles between them.

I’m trying to get the bartender’s attention. It’s open bar before midnight, but the fuckers charge for non-alcoholic drinks and I’m driving.

Before I can get my $15 Red Bull, I feel a hand go up my skirt.

I don’t move. I can see him barely out the corner of my eye, but I don’t turn to look. Imagine he was hideous?

Suddenly, I can’t decide if I want him to be hideous or not. There’s something delightful about the notion of being touched by an ugly man without your permission.

“Ha!” her friend interrupted the story on chat. “Is there?”

She ignored him and went on:

A hideous man. A bulging mass of sweaty, aging flesh. Oh, yes, it’s delightful, especially when you’re a beautiful woman.

I feel another hand on the small of my back. It slides around, gripping me around the waist, then runs up my chest and pulls me so I’m standing straight, just as the bartender hands me my drink.

I hear a voice in my ear, but I can’t make out what’s being said. The stranger pulls me against him–his torso doesn’t feel large or round against my back. Before I can feel disappointed, I feel his fingers hovering over my slit.

I’m wet. A man beside me elbows me. He’s talking animatedly with two other men, all of them with that boring emokid haircut that covers one of their eyes. Or both. Might as well. Sheep. Bahhh, say the sheep, bahh, walking blindly behind Brendon Urie.

A finger slides inside me. He pulls it out and and begins drawing circles in cunt juice around it. I sip my Red Bull and pull out a cigarette. I’m about to light it, when I feel his hand on my back again. He pushes me forward on the bar and leans close to me, “Order me a mojito,” he says and I can hear him clearly now.

A mojito. What a faggy drink. I am thoroughly appalled by the man, I can’t believe a Mojito-sucking pussy is fingering me at my bar.

I thrust my hips against his hands–I bet they’re manicured, too, that little bitch, and that he likes girls to finger his ass while they blow him. Or better yet, likes to borrow their dildos. Little fag, oh my god, yes, I thrust back against him.

He takes my hair in a hand and pulls me to him, “did you hear me? Get me a mojito.”

The fact that I man has me by the hair at the bar gets the bartender’s attention. (Mental note: employ technique later). I order the mojito.

I put it on my tab, what the hell.

Suddenly, the grip on me is released. I sip my drink and wait a few moments. Nothing happens. I’m still holding the unlit cigarette. The bartender slides an ashtray toward me. I keep waiting. Did the stranger leave? The mojito slides before me.

Did the stranger leave me with the fucking mojito?

I’m going to turn around, but I suddenly feel his breath on my neck.

“What would you do if I fucked you, right here?”

I feel something hot and hard against my thigh.

“At the bar?”

“At the bar,” he responds, pushing up my skirt. His cock is hot, pressing against my hole.

I pick up my lighter and light the cigarette I’d dropped on the bar. Inch by inch, his cock slides into me.

Someone bumps into me on the right. I don’t even bother to look. Everyone is so packed together, they don’t notice anything, not who they bump into, and certainly not who’s fucking at the bar.

I exhale. I can’t believe I’m getting fucked at a bar and no one can tell.

I suck on my cigarette, feeling kind of like a goddess even though I haven’t done a damn thing.

Just then, my eyes meet the bartender’s. He can tell. I can just tell that he can tell. Fuck. What’s he going to do?

He comes over, ignoring people trying to get his attention.

“How’s that mojito?” he asks.

The drink is still sitting in front of me, untouched.

“Great.”

“Need another one?”

I look at him. He’s older, worn, un-manicured hands. The sort of guy you see in dives around this part of town. Interesting.

We don’t verbalize anything more. When you serve people at decibels like these, you learn to guide yourself by other signs. He knows what I’ve in mind as well as he knew I was getting fucked right here.

I reach back and grab Mojito’s cock. I straighten up against his back and, turning so my lips are near his face, say, “we’re going outside.”

He pulls out. I give him a moment, then motion for Bartender to meet me in the alley. I don’t know if Mojito is following me. I don’t give a fuck. I notice the expression on the face of the woman manning the other side of the bar. The place is too full to take breaks. Oops.

I’m out the door. When he steps out, I push him against the garbage–

“Oh, darling,” she paused, making her friend fall out of the story and land back at his computer. “What’s it called?”

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, the dumpster,” she said.

“Mm-hm.”

I shove him against the dumpster and unbutton his pants. Inside there’s this big, fat cock. Not very big, but fatter than anything I have ever seen. It’s so fat, I get down on my knees and kiss it. I was gonna suck it, but I can only lick it because it’s so fat.

I’m on my knees licking him and he’s looking down and laughing, watching me lick his cock like that. He picks me up and pushes me against the dumpster, facing it so I can smell the sweet scent of rusting metal mingling with the rotting garbage inside. He rolls up my skirt so my ass is exposed to the cold, wet night.

Finally, I feel his fat cock slide inside me.

As his dick goes in and out, he brings his a hand on my hip, pulling me into him as he pounds me, and places another on my head, flattening the side of my face to the dumpster. From this view, I see the door open again. A shortish guy steps out, probably 5’10”, with reddish brown hair, clean cut, an all-American face. I assume it’s Mojito…

HIM: god gonna comw

The story stopped again and both were spun back into the reality of the pathetic glow of their laptop screens.

HER: Oh! Are you finished?

HIM: yes. wow. head, as always, spinning

HER: I was just about to get fucked in both holes, what a shame!

HIM: apparently this will be a two-volume story

HER: Have fun fucking your girl-thing.

HIM: i will. and i’ll be picturing you.

HER: Getting fucked in both holes by strangers?

HIM: mm, possibly.

He logged off, but you can’t stop a story once you’ve started it. When another IM opened on her screen, she picked up right where she’d left off.

I’m pressed up against a dumpster in the back of a bar, getting fucked by the bartender when the back opens and another man steps out. He walks decisively toward us and instead of stopping, the bartender begins to pound faster.

HIM: the typical thing would be for the other guy to like tag in for the bartender. but that’s boring. i think instead he would come up behind the bartender and put his hands on his hips and nuzzle his neck.

HER: Come on please me, don’t get all homo.

HIM: maybe he has a camera then–not some bullshit amateur camera. this guy is either a serious hobbyist or a pro.

The only light in the alley is a flickering neon 7-Up sign over the bodega on the corner, so the man with the camera moves in a disconnected sequence, as under a strobe. While he films, he unfastens his belt with the other hand.

He removes his belt, a thin leather one, and slips it into a noose around my neck. The bartender lets go of my head as Mojito begins to pull on the belt, directing my body toward him. I bend at the waist and reach for his dick in his unfastened pants.

When I pull it out, I see it’s smaller than the bartender’s. A perfect dick to suck off. I take hold of Mojito’s hips and begin to fuck his dick with my mouth.

Mojito hands the bartender the belt and I feel the direction of the pull change. Suddenly, I begin to feel light-headed as the oxygen supply diminishes. All I can feel are two cocks pounding into my mouth and cunt as the world starts to fade.

As with all stupid erotic asphyxiation n00bs, the bartender doesn’t know how to properly regulate the pull and I faint and fall to the wet asphalt. The cold wetness brings me to in seconds before the bartender is on me, his dick back inside me after half-slipping out during the fall.

My shirt with the plunging cleavage has opened, leaving my breasts exposed to the dirty, wet asphalt. Every time the bartender thrusts into me, I can feel the dirt grind against my nipples.

Mojito has the belt again, he’s slipped it around my mouth now and is pulling on it while pushing down on my neck with his foot.

The bartender’s cock is throbbing inside me, I can tell he’s about to cum. Sure enough, withing a few seconds, he’s pulled out and, having pushed Mojito away, he rolls me over with his boot and cums all over my face.

“Suck it clean,” he says, his gorgeous cock standing at attention, still dripping cum. I rise slowly and get on my knees to lick him clean. As I do, Mojito comes behind me and pulls me up, pushing me down so I’m bent at the waist again, with my ass in the air.

As I lick the bartender’s dick and balls, I feel the Mojito’s less impressive cock on my slit again, rubbing around it, spreading the juices all over. When he plunges, he doesn’t go into my pussy, he goes right into my ass. My sphincter tightens immediately, but it can’t hold against the power of the thrust.

Meanwhile, the bartender has taken the belt and removed it from around my neck. With Mojito deep inside me, the bartender pushes me so I’m standing up straight. Mojito holds me by the arms as he fucks me, and the bartender runs the leather against my exposed tits, dirty from being on the ground.

He doubles the belt and makes it snap, then brings it down on my left breast. Mojito plunges deeper.

Snap!

The belt lands on the right nipple. The pain flashes through my body, shooting down my spine and causing my ass muscles to tighten around Mojito’s cock.

Snap! Under my ribcage. Snap! My left nipple. The bartender comes close and reaches for my pussy. I’m dripping again. He brings his hand up and lifts my chin. I can smell my cunt on his fingers. He kisses me.

Mojito pulls out slowly then fills me with his cock again. I moan into the bartender’s mouth.

The bartender is getting hard again. I can feel his big cock pressing against me. And now that I’m upright, I can also feel the blood running out of my nose from where it was bloodied when my face hit the pavement in the fall earlier. In fact, the whole side of my face is throbbing. Oh, fuck, I can just tell it’s gonna be black and blue in the morning. Jesus, everyone is going to think my boyfriend beats the shit out of me. Random women are going to come up to me on the street and give me the phone numbers to battered women’s shelters.

The bartender hands the belt to Mojito, who uses it to tie my elbows together behind my back. Mojito then takes his free hand and grabs my throat and pulls me against him as he pushes his cock up into my ass. I realize that he’s leaning back over the dumpster in order to give the bartender a good angle on my cunt.

The bartender pulls my shirt and the top tie becomes undone, exposing my body completely. Her steps forward and grinds the head of his cock against my pussy, he’s working it against my clit, trying to get it hard enough to put it in again.

He’s stroking himself, just outside my cunt, all the while looking at me. I see him reach into his pocket with his free hand. At first I can’t see what it is–a condom? A little late for that, I’d imagine, I think feeling a sliver of guilt.

The bartender brings his hand to my face and I see the straight razor. He runs the edge of it over my lips and I can taste how sharp it is. He drags it down over my chin and down my frame, pressing it here and there just hard enough to make a little nick.

When I don’t struggle to get away, he gains some confidence and draws a long, shallow cut across my clavicle and abruptly thrusts his cock into me and so I’m suddenly completely filled up, ass and pussy, the two cocks almost touching inside me with just a thin layer of flesh between them.

The bartender puts the blade up against my throat where I can feel it, pushing just hard enough to break the skin a little.

“Cum for me, slut,” he says as he and Mojito pound into me.

A drop of bloody sweat lands on my lip, it stings. My whole face is throbbing. The bartender kisses me as he thrusts again, and my lips become alive with pain.

I can feel both their cocks now, moving out of sync, pummeling in their own way, one fast, the other slow, one hard, the other in gentle strokes. Then as they become aware of one another, it’s like they’re racing. I can’t take it. I realize I’m screaming and my knees buckling. They give, but their two cocks hold me up. With Mojito breathing into my neck and the bartender biting my lip, I cum.

The strength of my sexual response cycle makes my ass tighten around Mojito in a powerful sequence and he shoots into my ass, filling me with his searing cum. He’s followed by the bartender shortly after, who shoots his load into my cunt.

After a moment, the bartender pulls out and buttons up is pants. I step off Mojito and I feel the belt loosen around my elbows.

The familiar noise of zippers and buckles and a lighter as I light a cigarette, wondering how the fuck I’m gonna get my coat from the bar looking like I do.

“I’ll get your coat,” the bartender says. I hand him my ticket and he disappears inside the bar.

A few minutes later, I’m in a cab home, with a cab driver asking me if I want to call the police. People are so nice.

As for the video the guy shot? It got 1,276,430 views on Youtube before they took it down.

Not too bad for a typical Thursday night.

Ananke

Whoosh!

The curtains in the bedroom of our suite at The Standard whispered violently as I pushed them open. I closed my eyes and allowed my skin to swallow the warmth of the sinking sun, through the pollution, and the buildings, and the glass. I felt a delicate finger trace the tendons of my neck, a body press strongly into my back, and, in Mandarin, a voice inquiring softly into my ear if I had had a good flight.

I was visiting LA from Honolulu for three days to attend a design conference. My on-again, off-again lover, The Painter, was in town from San Francisco for a client presentation. (Apparently, we were “on-again”.) His other arm had embraced my chest by this point, pulling me so far into him that I could feel his muscled length grind lewdly  into me from behind. He whispered again, this time in English, as my head rolled lazily back onto his shoulder.

“Did you do what I asked?” he inquired, drawing the final “S” out into a seductive hiss.

“Yes,” I drawled softly in return, my hand reaching up and behind his head to run my fingers through his hair.

(A few days before our departures he had requested during one of our conversations that I remove all of what little body hair I had, that it was for “a surprise”.)

He curled his fingers into the blond curls at the nape of my neck and tugged my head back harshly, making my lips part in a gasp. His head bent down, his lips parted, his mouth hovered over mine, not touching but close enough so that I could smell wine and cigarettes on his breath.

He smiled. “Go take a shower,” he laughed. “And make sure you’re completely dry afterward.”

I re-emerged into the bedroom clean and completely dry as requested, the sun a mere memory through the window. It was dim in the room, with only candles burning (where had he gotten those?), but I could see that the bed had been turned down, could see him moving about at the foot of it. He was naked.

He looked up, smiled widely, and said, “Come. On your stomach.”

I could see an ashtray and my cigarettes and a glass of wine and a book from my carry-on on the far night table, so I stretched myself languidly toward them across the bed. He pushed my legs apart roughly, all of me splayed before him. I showed no sign of pain and lit a cigarette, opened my book, began to read. I heard the metal locks of a wooden box behind me being opened, the sound of a bottle cap being unscrewed.

I had just finished reading the first paragraph of my book when I felt his first wet brush stroke on my back: he was painting on me, writing on me. I had been hard already but I instantly became harder, as there are few things that turn me on more than writing on a body. I tried to focus on my reading while my thighs flexed slightly, attempting to surreptitiously hump the bed’s coverlet.

His strokes began slowly, between my shoulder blades (touch and go, touch and go), before he straddled my hips and began drawing characters that were bolder down the curvature of my spine. He pressed his brush more firmly into my flesh with each stroke of his black ink. There were other strokes, as well, of course; between each stroke of the brush I also felt a stroke of his dick between my ass cheeks (paint, stroke, paint, stroke).

I inhaled sharply and looked up from my book, saw the winds blowing the curtains into the room, and took another drag from my cigarette, its white smoke mingling with the white sheer curtains on the downtown breeze.

He leaned over me. “Keep reading,” he whispered huskily, breathing hard. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

I flicked my cigarette into the ashtray and bowed my head again, reading the words in my book as he painted his own on my back, the only sound in the suite that of air: through the window from the street outside, and our mutual increased breathing of desire. When he reached my coccyx, his strokes slowed. I felt only the smallest of brush points. Until I felt his hot breath, and then the tip of his tongue, on my asshole.

I threw my book to the floor and whispered hoarsely, “Fuck me. Please. I need it.”

“On your knees,” he breathed. “Spread your thighs more.”

I was beyond insane as I felt him, his head between my thighs, stopping after each character to run his tongue along the length of my dick, sign his name down the inside of each of my thighs. I felt the bed shift with his weight, heard the clink of the brush against a water glass, and felt his strong hands grip my hip bones fiercely. “Ass up,” he said. I quickly obliged.

I moaned as I felt him press his head against my hole, relaxing my muscles so that they could swallow his length. A low moan emitted from my throat as he exhaled air in a whistle between his teeth behind me just as his head slipped in. My muscles were moving quickly, almost of their own volition, wanting to impale myself on his flesh. But I knew he liked it: liked taking a moment to look down at just the tip of his dick inside my ass, as my hole worked its flesh around him; liked reading whatever story led down my spine to his dick in my ass.

He began pulling me slowly onto his dick. I opened my ass to him as I moaned into a pillow and reached around behind him to push him into me with one hand on his ass. He took it slowly, savoring each second of flesh meeting flesh, each inch of his dick being enveloped by my interior, until his thighs finally came to rest against mine, and I could feel his balls on my ass.

Then nothing was slow.

He fucked me hard, up above my body, pounding it into the bed, pounding his dick into my ass. His fingers splayed across my lower back, positioning my hips exactly where he wanted them in order to fuck me the hardest, slowing only to curl his hands through my hair and pull me up to him so that he could whisper into my ear, “Do you like that dick?”

“Yesssss,” I said, squeezing his dick with my ass.

“Do you need that dick?” he whispered, lower this time, and flexing his dick inside of me.

“Yes,” I hissed, trying to kiss him. “I need that dick.” (Squeeze. Squeeze.)

“Do you want my cum?” he whispered. (Flex. Flex.)

“Yes,” I whispered, desperately. “Yes, I need your cum.” (Squeeze. Squeeze.)

As he almost growled and pushed me back down onto the bed, repositioning my hips, I could feel droplets of the black ink that had smeared between my back and his chest fall like sweat from my body to the bed below. But I didn’t care because that was when my vision clouded, and all I could focus on were the guttural sounds he was making, the feeling of his hands clutching my hips, the violent thrusts of his dick, the feeling in my own dick as he reached below me to pinch one of my nipples.

And then I was coming. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t feel anything but my orgasm except the fact that my ass was making him come, too, nearly yelling, above me, pushing his cum deeply, violently, into me. After one final thrust, I felt his muscled chest slam wetly onto my back, felt his hands caress my arms until they had reached my own hands. He entwined his fingers between my own as cheek against cheek we tried to catch our breathing. We stayed like that, thighs quaking, for several minutes, before he extricated himself from me and we both rolled over, smiling.

“Fuck,” he breathed, smiling sideways at me.

“Right?” I said, smiling wryly back at him. “Dinner?”

“Oh, hell yes!” he laughed, bouncing his lithe body off of the bed and into the suite’s bathroom.

I rose from the bed, noticed my book on the floor, and bent down slowly to retrieve it and a bookmark from a long-forgotten bookstore in Manhattan that had fallen out of it. At the top of the bookmark, in my handwriting, was written, “Ananke = Necessity”.

“Oh. My. God.” I heard him say behind me as he emerged from the bathroom. I turned quickly and my eyes immediately followed his, to the nearly destroyed white linens, now soaked in ejaculate and sweat and black ink.

I laughed.

“Housekeeping is going to be so pissed.”