Skip to main content

Stoking

So we'd been seated at a cozy Thai restaurant, and by the time my Nam Tok arrived, I realized sometimes I liked to be slapped. The after burn of flesh against flesh, delivered with such controlled viciousness turned me on. We'd just argued a mere ten minutes before he grabbed by my wrists and told me, "You're going to fuckin' have dinner". After all, it was what we'd gone out to do. We were doing the whole dinner and a movie cliche,a nd I was flipping out over a phone call from his ex-girlfriend. I'd hit him on the back really hard and he'd let me, but when I screamed and hit him on the back of the head, he grabbed my hands and held them, then slapped the shit out of me. I nearly came from the blow. I wanted more. Something in me must have conveyed to him that he could control me for the evening. And so he did.

Later, after dinner and expensive drinks, he pulled me into an alleyway and had his way with me. I wanted him to slap me, but I couldn't bring myself to say it to him. The sex was brief and orgasmic, and I got off by feeling that sting on my face. He never slapped me again. And I never asked for him to do it. I self-gratified off that slap many of nights.

He's a powerful memory and I don't like to share much about him. But I'm stoking today, adding pieces of him to every erotic feeling surging through my body. Michael.

Popular posts from this blog

Tick-Tock

So there I was, standing in line at Walgreens, a bottle of orange juice and a box with the acronym e.p.t. stenciled across it in my hands. The orange juice is there to make me feel better. This is no big deal; just a city girl buying orange juice and a pregnancy test. There's an old white-haired lady behind me with a tube of KY Jelly and tampons. Okay.... In front of me is a middle-aged man, looking jolly with chubby red cheeks. "Hurry up," he barks to cashier, "I left my car running." Well, so much for jolly. It was my turn. I manage to stop my hand from shaking long enough to put my things on the counter and pry my wallet from my handbag. I paid and fled. Jan's waiting in the lobby of my apartment building, chatting up my doorman. When he spots me he frowns. "Oh, look at you, honey," he says while hugging me. "C'mon, baby, let's get this over with." I smile, comforted by his genuine concern. When Jan's being comfort, his acc...

Friday Night, Vol. 2: Rare Breeds

Last night I went to a wonderful party thrown by my friend Viviane. I love going to Viv's parties, because there are two things I know for certain will be in abundance: Men and good wine. Last night was no exception. I had sex ... technically (I think I better confirm with Clinton ). Anyway, the point is I did orgasm last night at approximately 11:34 p.m, sitting on the edge of Viv's pool, my crotch thrust in the face of a man whose name I didn't bother to learn. And thanks to his game of Let's-See-How-Fast-I-Can-Make-You-Come, I knew that it took him less than five minutes to complete the job. That was that. No numbers exchanged; no small talk; no promise of getting together next week for lunch. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Just a girl and her orgasm. This encounter is so strange, and now that I reflect on it without the delicious pinot noir imbuing my brain, I realize that we didn't kiss or even rub parts. I don't even remember how I ended up being orally pleasured by th...

All Is Revealed

is name is *Jim. He lives in Naperville. He has two dogs. He's divorced. This info courtesy of a clueless Viv. I casually brought up the man in the blue shirt and black slacks to her and she spilled all. "Do you think he's cute?" Viv asked. (Bless her naive heart.) "Oh, I think he has a nice mouth," I said. Wink. Wink. Inside jokes to myself? I need to get a life. Night.