Skin Deep

Skin, I once read, is the heaviest organ in the human body. The thought disgusted me. I saw myself being peeled to the muscular redness of  the grotesque cadavers you see in medical schools, my skin an amorphous pale mass plopping onto silver scales, all two and a half kilos of the stuff that holds me together. It disgusted me. My skin disgusts me.  For my most of my life I have suffered from eczema. I hate my skin. My skin hates me back. It cracks and bleeds, lets infections in through the perfidious gaps it leaves.

There came the day when I lay in bed, ill, my skin blotched, red, and cracked, oozing blood. My hands were incapable of holding a pen. I lay helpless and repellent. I cried but there was no one to hear, no one to wipe away the tears, before they seeped through my cracks and raised my torment up a notch.

Then she came. I could not make out her face through my tears , just the whirl of clothes bring taken off before she pulled back the duvet and climbed into bed next to me. She leaned over me, tugging down my pyjama bottoms, pulling out my blotched, ugly cock. I felt it harden.

She said nothing, but took it in her mouth, closed her mouth round it. I felt the foreskin slide back and she began to work the exposed head with her tongue, a rhythm of flicks alternating with gentle sucking, increasing the tempo as I swelled in her mouth until I came with a shout and felt the urgent force of the flow into her mouth

Come was dripping from her chin as she set to work licking my torso, my neck, my face, her tongue pushing into the cracks, applying the balm.

“I’m not disgusted by your body, you know that don’t you?”

She flipped me over and I felt her tongue running down my spine, felt it gently explore my bum crack. I came again.

“Kneel up.”

I did and she slid underneath me to take my cock into her mouth again, suck up soem more come for my legs, my feet.

I don’t remember her finishing, I don’t remember her leaving. It was after ten o’clock when I woke up. I had slept for, I don’t know, maybe 10 hours?  My skin hurt, still bled, but by Monday I could see that it was starting to heal. The following Saturday I went swimming.

And that is the thing with eczema. It comes and goes without warning, without reason. One day my whole body is cracked and bleeding and I cry in despair. A few days later the eczema goes, but never completely. There is always a small rough spot just below my left thumb that never clears up. My eczema is always there, lurking, lying in wait for the times when my mystery lover stays away, when I have no one to bring me to sweet, creamy orgasms, when I am too down to wank. When I cannot be myself. .

This is a post for edition 292 of Masturbation Monday. Click the picture below to see what others have been getting up to.

Masturbation Monday

 

Dear John

Dear John,

I hope you have had a great time on holiday. I have really enjoyed taking care of your flat and now have a week away myself. I look forward to catching up when I get back.

I have vacuumed, washed up the dirty plates you left lying around the place, (please don’t use plates as ashtrays again!). I have watered your plants every day . I even cleaned your bathroom. I was going to change your bedclothes but well ……actually I have a confession to make.

I slept in your bed every night, loving how the sheets smelt of you, and I played with myself, coming as I fantasised about what we could do together in that bed. I put two, sometimes, `three finger into my soaking wet cunt, and smeared my juices on your pillow.  And that porn mag in the bedside cabinet. The blonde in the centrefold, (she is gorgeous isn’t she?) now smells of me. I so got off on rubbing her pussy against mine. Get up close, smell her and you smell me. Wank to her and you are wanking to me..

Enjoy your bed John, and know that on nights alone you are never alone. And you have my key. It’s in the drawer with the mag. Do remember to water my plants, and if you could put the vacuum round that would be much appreciated. And why not sleep at mine? I want my bed to smell of you and I want to masturbate to you in my bed wen I come back, a bed that smells of you. I need you to come in my bed. Grind against the mattress after you come and mix your juices with mine.

And if I come back to a bed that smells of you then I know that I know I can leave my knickers at home when I next come round to see you don’t I?

See you very soon

Your dirty little slut

Alice

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Foxy Foxy

There are nights at The Fox when there are not enough loos. Like the Fridays when there is a crowd in for karaoke and I seem to drink lager without restraint, knowing I have Saturday to sleep it off. But there are simply not enough loos. I decided against joining the queue in the ladies, hung about impatiently by the single cubicle in the gender neutral loo and…well I didn’t want to but needs must.

I stood at the urinal, hitched up my skirt, slid my panties to the side and took my cock in my hand. I looked around, wondering if anyone was watching, not that this should really have been a problem. I finished, shook the drops of the end of my member, and was about to tuck it away, out of sight, when I felt a hand grip my right shoulder firmly. I spun round, my cock still hanging out of my panties.

“Hello” she said and smiled a smile that I thought wasn’t without a hint of malice. She was just a little bit smaller than me notwithstanding that I was still standing on the step of the urinal. She was, I guessed, in her early twenties,  had short blonde hair, wore jeans and a white t shirt.

“Hello” I replied gormlessly, suddenly acutely aware that my cock was dangling in front of me and my skirt was still hitched up.

“I’m Roo” she said, “and I want to make out with you.”

“With me?” I looked down at my cock which was by now quite hard and rising to the horizontal.

“Yes you. “

She stepped forward and began to knead my breasts.  She whispered in my ear

“Is it OK if I call you a shemale I mean I know it’s not quite the… but it makes me horny, the whole idea. That’s why I want to make out with you. What’s your name?”

“Celine” I lied.  I was sure she didn’t believe me, but she said nothing.

At that moment the cubicle door finally opened, a couple hurried past, avoiding eye contact and Roo steered make into it. She locked the door and squeezed past me to the toilet. She closed the lid and sat down.

I took a step towards her. I was still rock hard and my bellend was glistening with precome.

I took my cock in my hand and asked,

“Do you want to blow me? I would enjoy that.”

“Not really darling, I’m a lesbian, remember? No, you’re going to pleasure me.”

She pulled her jeans down, moved her knickers to the side.

“Get on your knees and move in real close.”

Her lady garden was completely shaven except for 2 thin strips down each side of the labia.  I kissed it, I smelt it and, even before she told me what to do, I began to lick, moving upwards until I reach her clit, felt it stiff and engorged, and I licked and flicked my tongue at it, like a snake sniffing the air for her prey. I put a finger inside her, felt the wetness, the warmth, the dilation that was just inviting me to put more fingers in, then the hand which I clenched into a fist.

Excited by the wet, the smell that overwhelmed my senses, I worked my tongue harder and harder until I felt her stiffen, arch her back and come with a scream that she quickly stifled with her left hand.

“Shit” she said , and started to giggle. “we’ll have somebody in here!”

I sat back on my legs, panting. I was happy that I had made Roo come quickly but what about me?

“What about me?” I asked, more in hope than expectation.

“Now you are going to masturbate for me Celine. Stand against the wall so that I can get a good view.”

This bit was easy. I had been on the edge for so long that I craved the release. I tried to slow down, holding my orgasm back until Roo was ready to come with me. She sat astride the toilet bowl, a finger up her vagina, her thumb deftly working her clit. I watched intently, silently repeating words of adoration, thanks too to whichever deity of debauchery had sent her my way.

“Come if you want” she said. “I’m just about there.”

We came together, Roo with a load sigh, me with a groan of overdue relief. She pulled a clean pair of panties from her pocket and held it so that my come would go glug glugging over it.

“My mother keeps banging on about me doing it with a man. She probably thinks it’s a cure. So I am going to show her this as proof that I have, and tell her it was rubbish……with a man that is. With a lovely shemale it was amazing. Thank you.”

She kissed me gently on the lips and pulled up her jeans as I rearranged my skirt. She unlocked the door and pushed me out of the cubicle.

“Come on Celine, let’s go and join the karaoke. I know what I want to sing.”

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“I Want Your Sex.”

We both laughed.

A story for Masturbation Monday

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Playing Those Mind Games – A Post for Masturbation Monday

“Play with yourself for my entertainment” I commanded and sat back to watch the performance.

He had a gentle rhythmic masturbation style that was pleasing on the eye. I could see that his eyes were focussed on my stiletto heeled thigh boots, presumably to fuel his fantasies.  I rather liked the idea of a man masturbating to me in my presence. It had never happened to me before.

As he worked away I watched his cock bulge and stiffen. He was now close to coming. So I reminded that I make the rules of this particular game.

 

“Keep wanking but I forbid you to come.”

 

He stopped and looked at me.

 

“Did I say stop? Keep wanking but you are on no account to come.”

 

He resumed his task with obvious reluctance, his movements now slow and hesitant.

 

“Mistress I am about to come.”

 

“I forbid you to come.”

 

“Please Mistress!”

 

“Wank harder and do NOT come.”

 

He looked at me pleadingly and I could see fear in his eyes.  This spurred me on. I was inside his head and I was going to torment him. When I am in this headspace I am a merciless sadist and his evident weakening sharpened my appetite for the kill.

 

“Keep wanking “ I said firmly as he slowed again.

 

He resumed his task. Now on the edge, with the slightest touch likely to bring him to ejaculation, he was in a terrible predicament. He stiffened, he arched his back, spread his legs and writhed and contorted , desperately trying to avoid the forbidden orgasm, and the harsh punishment that he knew would follow any failure to comply with My orders.  I laughed. I felt arousal, not at the sight of his wanking but rather that at his desperation, the mental and physical agony  I was subjecting him to. I was a sadist in full flow and loving every minute.

 

And really my sadism doesn’t need to find an outlet in whippings, floggings or physical torture, much as I enjoy those things.  Mind games somehow take BDSM play onto a higher plane and the satisfaction of getting into a submissive’s head and messing with it is like no other. It is a challenge to me as a domme too, a test of my own creativity and empathy. If I had just half an hour left in my life for a play scene with a submissive man I would leave my toy bag at home. Forced masturbation and orgasm denial it would have to be. The world would come to an end in a loud bang with me enjoying the intoxicating beauty of domme space while my poor submissive would be denied his orgasm for eternity.

 

Actually I am not really that evil. At the end of the session I allowed him to masturbate to completion and come all over my boots before licking them clean. He looked up at me, his face covered in come. In his expression I saw humility, gratitude, but above all, deep, deep joy.

 

 
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