Tag: whore

Inseminated by the Bull

I open the door and there he is – towering over me, strong, black and looking magnificent in tight leather trousers.

“I’m from the agency, madam. You are expecting me, I hope.”

“Yes, of course, you’re just what I requested. Do come in.”

He strides into the hallway.

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Taurus, madam.”

“Oh, like the bull? How very appropriate. Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks. I’m ready for action, madam, whenever you are”, and at that he laughs and quickly strokes his hand down from his crotch towards his knee and under the tight leather I can see what appears to be a very long truncheon. I can’t resist reaching out and feeling it and he’s hard and thick and it seems to go more than halfway towards his knee.

“My God, that’s a whopper, isn’t it? I bet you’re popular with your clients.”  

“Ten inches, madam. No complaints from the ladies. Good repeater too.”

“Perfect. Would you like me to run through what I’m looking for.”

“Sure. I was told two hours, full penetration, no condoms. Is that right, madam?”

“Yes, exactly. I like it a little … forceful, if you know what I mean. With the black lads, I mean.  I’m a happily married woman but if you force yourself upon me, use me, make me do all sorts of things, well what can I do?”

“Of course. I understand Is anything off limits, madam?”

“Other than anal, no. I’m not taking that thing up my arse, but apart from that you can do whatever you want with me. And I don’t want you to be offended by anything I say. It’s not personal. But, you know, black bastard, nigger, brute, pig. And you can call me whatever you like – bitch, slut, whore, whatever. I really won’t mind. In fact, I’d prefer it if you did. And if I tell you to stop, to get off me, you mustn’t, do you understand?”

“Yes, I see, madam. I like your style.”

“Well, just because I’m dressed like this” – and I look down at my leather mini skirt which doesn’t even cover the welts of my seamed stockings and at my 6 inch steel stiletto heels, ankle chain and a slashed pink top which is struggling to contain my large, heavy breasts – “like a tart you might think, doesn’t mean I want to be raped or gang banged by a group of incredibly well hung young black men but I know resistance is futile, so you might as well get on with it and make me feel like a sex object.”

“Then, shall we go to the bedroom, madam”, he asks.

“Oh no, let’s not be so boring. You’ve invited yourself into my house and now you’re going to take your pleasure whichever way – or should I say ways – that you wish. There’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

And at that he grabs me by the hair and pushes me down onto my knees in the hallway. With his spare hand he unzips his leather pants and pulls out his enormous weapon. Thank goodness I’m already nice and wet (a bit of vibrator action before he arrived made sure of this) because otherwise that thing might hurt.

But he’s not going there. As I shout, “Get off me you bastard”, he whacks me across the face with his hard cock. And it bloody hurts! Then he swings it back the other way. Whack! And again, in the other direction.

Suddlenly the polite gentleman from the agency and all of the ‘madams’ have disappeared and I’m in the hands of an animal who wants to use me and humiliate me.

“Suck it, bitch!”

I pull my head away. “No. I’m not having that thing in my mouth. Get off me you animal.”

But he shoves it into my mouth anyway and grabbing my head with both hands he works me back and forth long his shaft. I’m just getting into the rhythm of it when he grasps me by the back of my neck and begins to force himself down my throat.

As I struggle to control my gag reflex, fearing I might bring up my last meal, he starts to laugh and says “That’s it, take it all, you whore. I know you love it.”

He eases up after a minute or two of choking me with his monster cock and I get the blow job rhythm again. He murmurs with pleasure and then says “I’m going to cum on your face, bitch” and, with that, pulls out of my mouth and stands over me, quickly stroking his cock. He pulls my face closer to the tip of it and then with a groan I close my eyes and he begins to shoot thick ropes of semen over my lips, onto my forehead and over both sides of my face.

As he wipes his cock across my face I say “You can’t treat me like this, you brute. Get out of my house, you disgusting pig.”

“No, I’ve not finished with you yet. Not by a long way.”

Grabbing my hair again he pulls me to my feet and I almost topple over on my spike heels. Holding me by my hair, he half leads half shoves me into the lounge and then pushes me face down over the large oak dining table. He pulls my knickers down and off and then he kicks at my feet to force my legs wide apart and then with one brutal thrust he’s deep inside me and as he pulls back he almost pops out altogether before he slams back into me. His semen is dripping onto the table and pooling below my face and for a mad second I consider asking him to stop so I can wipe it up (will it stain the wood, I wonder) but then I realise he won’t stop anyway and as he thrusts into me again and again, I have the most rip roaring orgasm I’ve had in years. My whole body shudders and I think I briefly blacked out because the next thing I notice is him grunting and arching his back as he pumps me full with the second load of his semen.

We both take a few minutes to enjoy the sensations as he slowly slides back and forth inside me.

“You said you were a good repeater, so I suppose you intend to carry on using me, don’t you? You blacks are all the same. Beasts.”

He chuckles at this but picks up the beat. “I know you want it, you dirty white slag. You’re just a piece of cheap fuck meat, aren’t you”.

“Hey, a bit less of the ‘cheap’, Taurus. I’ve paid your agency a lot of money for this session.”

“Well, let’s give you your money’s worth. Would you like it on all fours or would you prefer to be on your back and I can push myself into your womb.”

“You choose, you’re the rapist after all. And anyway, why does it have to be either or? Why can’t we do both? You are meant to be a stud, aren’t you?”

And so for the next ninety minutes he doesn’t let up, ‘servicing’ me on my back, on all fours and then sitting on a chair and getting me to ride him, which results in a very powerful orgasm for me as I grip his vertical cock with the muscles of my vaginal walls. It feels like I am impaled on a fence post!

At one point he had me put one foot up on a stool and then leaning forwards and he then entered me from behind and as he thrust into me he lifted the leg off the stool and raised it so it was almost horizontal. It was all a bit too athletic for me – I’m a simple slut and just love being thrust into while on my hands and knees – and I said afterwards I felt I was in my Pilates class!

Even after coming five times he was still rock hard – although the way in which he used my mouth may have helped in this regard – and said he was ready for more but very business-like he glanced at his watch and told me that my two hours were up. I was exhausted, having been placed in some tricky positions and then absolutely battered by his incredible cock and had to settle for the four orgasms he had ‘imposed’ on me. When I looked in the mirror I saw a complete mess: hair all over the place, mascara trickling down my face, bright scarlet lipstick smeared all around my mouth, face a bit swollen and sweaty, I looked as if I had just completed a 5k run.

As he left I gave him a kiss and said “Goodbye, you black bastard.”

He squeezed one of my tits and said “See you again soon, you white trash MILF. I mean madam.” And we both laughed.

As I shut the door, I was already looking forward to taunting my husband about what I had just experienced, while giving him gloved hand relief and I knew he’d be delighted to hear how Taurus had flooded me with his virile sperm, which would by then be leaking out of me and dribbling down my legs.

Note: to avoid misunderstanding ‘Taurus’ is my regular sex partner and my hiring a black stud from an escort agency is just a little fantasy game we played, one of many we concoct in order to keep our sex sessions fresh and to introduce a bit of variety. But my husband really was delighted when I returned home that evening full of sperm..

Good with your hands

‘I hear you’re very good with your hands’.

Those were the first words Josh said to me when we met at an industry drinks party. Josh, mid-forties, good looking, rather smooth, maybe even a tiny weenie bit ‘too cool for school’. I knew a bit about him, already. Founded an IT business in his twenties, sold it for millions, started another which he still owns, or owns most of at least but no longer involved in its day-to-day   operations, giving him more time to enjoy his expensive car collection, a big motor yacht and a place in Spain, which I have been told is the largest in its region.

I laughed. ‘Yes, I’ve been told that too’.

‘In fact, someone told me you sometimes describe yourself as a Masturbatrix. Is that right’?

Okay, so he knows more about me than I thought. At this point, there’s no use in my being coy, I may as well be completely honest with him. ‘Yes, it’s true, I love to masturbate men. And, though I say it myself, I think I’m very, very good at it’.

He gave a little whistle. ‘Amazing. I’d like to know more. Do you mind’?

‘Not at all. What would you like to know’?

‘Well, what is it that makes you so good, do you think’?

I stopped to think for a moment. And then I explained why I believe I am a very skilled Masturbatrix.

The first and most important reason is that I really, truly enjoy it, love to do it in fact. I love giving men the pleasure, seeing their faces, hearing them gasp and groan in ecstasy but I also love the control it gives me, the sense of power. And I do find it a huge turn on too. By the time a man has cum for me I’m eager, wet, and very ready for my own orgasm.

I think some women will give a hand job out of a sense of duty, or to avoid sex or just to get it over with. Make him cum as quickly as possible and then get back to watching ‘Dancing on Ice’ or whatever. I’m not like that. I make an effort and like to dress properly – usually seamed stockings and very high heels, sometimes boots and low-cut tops, leather, PVC, uniforms, that type of thing.

Another reason I’m so good is that I like to take it slowly, build them up towards their climax but deny release, delay the moment, really make it last. I think I have a sort of sixth sense of when a man is about to cum, even if he tries to hide it. So, I’ll slow right down, stop, even make them wait. Making them beg, sometimes. I enjoy hearing them beg and I’ve had men sob with frustration at being so close to climax but being continually denied their moment of release. Maybe that’s a power trip for me.

And I love to see them cum – their faces, their verbal explosions, the semen pouring out over my hands or shooting up onto my cleavage, or stocking tops or even my face and neck, wherever.  I’ve always loved being spunked on, even in my early teens. I don’t really know why this is, I just know it’s something I love.

And another thing that makes me really good at giving hand relief – I prefer that term, by the way, rather than ‘hand job’– is that when the man has cum and ejaculated and I’ve extracted as much of his sperm and seminal fluid as possible, I don’t stop. So many women make that mistake. I’ll continue stroking for as much as five minutes or more, getting slower and slower to sustain and enhance the feeling for them. I think that makes it special. Plus, things like lots of lube, a great selection of gloves and also, I’m very willing to talk dirty while I masturbate them if this is what they wish.

By this point, I stopped talking and realised I’d almost been thinking aloud.  But I looked up at Josh’s face and his mouth was open and eyes really wide. ‘What do I have to do to experience this myself?’ he asked. Now we’re talking, I thought.

Please note: most but not all of the photos here are of me and the first set are of ‘Lady Sonia’ who has been an inspiration for me to be a Masturbatrix.