Ok, so usually I write about actual experiences that, cross my heart and hope to die, have ALL happened. With this ‘staying quiet with Him’ I have been doing, also seems to come a quiet in my life. In other words, when I’m very involved with Him, especially when things are very positive, my life and pussy seem to have this joie de vivre that’s damn near explosive. That is not to say it’s His “doing”. He is, after all, many states away from me. His presence in my life has an effect on me, though.
Perhaps this is truly just me taking a breather from the whirlwind of sexual adventurism that ensues when He is “with me”, or it’s He and who He is that gifts me the permission to let it all hang out. And, holy shit, have I let it hang out…at least, in my former quiet life’s eye.
Yet, in this quiet, there is a building up. A deprivation that allows me to believe it’s all in my imagination. None of it really happened. I can deny it and something feels safe in that. It’s protective. No one can touch me in that space, not even Him.
You see, all of this exploring has brought out of me almost an animalistic frenzy for freedom. A cock-craving she wolf at times and a sacrificial lamb whore at other times. Always, though, feeling compelled and driven and needy. Living fifty years of life not ever knowing that can make that transition a bit bumpy when it cums out.
Even when it hides inside, like now, I get images or feelings; maybe, thoughts of something dark that I’m craving. They become more pronounced when things are quiet sometimes almost more than when I’m fucking and sucking like mad.
And so before, doing a simple thing like filling my gas tank, I see it, I feel it: The men’s room. This fantasy I have had for a long time. I’m brought in to the men’s room; harsh lighting, sharp smell of urine, golden black stains on the porcelain, sink dripping leaving a green water mark and floors dirty and smeared.
The man who brings me in makes me get on my knees and suck his cock until I drain every last drop of his cum. My knees hurt while he’s choking me, gagging me on his cock till I’m begging for air, eye makeup running down my cheeks. I’m looking up at his eyes because he demands that. Demands that I know my place, as he grabs a fist full of my hair and pushes my face down harder onto him. When he is done with me, when he has filled my belly with his cum, he looks for more men to use me…and watches as they do. Sticking my head in the urinal while they bend me over, lift my slutty denim skirt, push my cropped tank up to expose my nipples and tits and fuck me hard, leaving me used and filled with cum oozing down my thighs.
A steady flow of men keep using me and filling me like a common whore; just a receptacle for each cock’s pleasure. Three or four of them at a time using my open wet mouth, aching, dripping wet cunt and willing ass till I’m exhausted and they are all pleased. The harder and rougher they are, the more they feel nothing for me but to simply take what they want, the more my pussy will drip and squirt.
Oh god that’s intense. I had Him involved in it when I stood there staring at the side of the building, to be honest. Not my place to wish this really, but in my heart of hearts and desires so deep, He would be the man bringing me in the men’s room…using me and then watching and arranging it all. And when they were all done and He felt I had been used appropriately…He’d take me again and remind me how I’m there for His use first, last and always.
We can all have fantasies, can’t we? We can all dream.