Archive for January, 2010

Sugar and I were talking about how much her mother and my step-mother were clean freaks.  Because we grew up in such environments we know what clean is but we certainly don’t want to do it ourselves.  As well, we had been talking about how sad and pathetic tiny dicks are.  We decided it would be fun to have permission to not only make fun of a guy’s tiny dick, but also to make him clean while we humiliated him.  We placed an ad on Craig’s List under Casual Encounters ww4m.  Before the ad was flagged and removed – despite the fact that it violated none of the terms of use – we received dozens of responses.

As per usual with Craig’s List, there were some responses that simply wanted sex, such as this one:

I don’t know about my cleaning skills ….but I will gladly come over and fuck both you silly right now on this rainy Sunday.

Or this one, from, I kid you not, dear readers, Elvis Presley:

i want a 3some

Elvis was nice enough to include a couple of photos so we could determine if we wanted to engage in said threesome.  The photo with the bottle looks like he wants a threesome that includes cock.  We didn’t bother responding to Elvis, but apparently he’s not only still alive but still randy.

There were several who didn’t know what the fuck a house slave was, such as this one titled “I will be your slave!!!!!”:

Hey there!!
I noticed your posting and was wondering if you want to play?? ;)
I am totally down for anything you can handle, I might be kinkier than youre ready for hahah jk ;)  Here is a nice idea: I would love to bend you over and fuck you really proper soo hard and deep while I play with your pussy, and grab your tits and hair, then turn you around slap my thick cock in your mouth and face fuck you soo good and make you deepthroat my cock until your eyes water and you gag on it, then I will pull it out of your mouth and slap it between your tits and fuck them till I cum all over your Face and Tits!!!! Can we play now?? ;)

After I accused him of not knowing how to read he assured me that he was a sub and would happily serve us.  Too late.

Then there’s this guy who along with giving himself a lame nickname and spelling poorly referred to himself in the third person:

Shazam!!!  Oh master, Balldor is so excited!  Balldor will not dissapoint you.  I’ll be eagerly waitng for further instruction.  Thank you so much for this opportunity to please you.  I can’t wait to meet my new  masters!

He was actually a pretty good-looking guy, but one of his photos inexplicably showed him with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, looking a little Downsy.

We had quite a few responses that told us to call them.  Uh, we don’t take orders, we give them.

This one is just plain goofy:

Hey ladies and hey babies !
What’s cooking?
I’m down to earth person
We didn’t bother responding to this one since clearly he’d not be able to handle us:
Wow….that is a very interesting proposition…but VERY scary!!  Lol  I never knew there are women out there like that.  I mean I do like cleaning but damn……You ladies make it scary.  hahahah.
P.S Though you are very pretty..  :P

We had many serious responses as well.  So many that Sugar suggested we conduct interviews.  What an excellent idea.

When coordinating schedules to accommodate everyone’s needs things can be put off, sometimes forever.  However, when dealing with people who want to be told what to do, the best thing is to simply tell them what to do.  I emailed a number of the serious respondents and told them to submit to an interview/tryout on the following Saturday.  Those who responded to the call to service were given my address and a time to arrive.

I scheduled each potential slave for a half-hour session.  Fourteen interviews/tryouts were scheduled on the hour and half from 1:30pm until 8pm.

I swear.  True story.

[True story that will, of course, continue.  Details of slave tryouts to come.]

For years I didn’t snore. At least no one ever told me I snored. That was probably because I always lived alone, and the few people I’d let spend the night didn’t want to tell me something so horrifying about myself.

When I thought I didn’t snore I was a little smug about it. I had grown up with a father who snored so loudly he disturbed the whole house. My step-mother didn’t sleep with my father more nights than she did because of his loud snoring.  And my sister snored.  But I didn’t, dammit.

My father was not overweight at all. He was actually quite slim and muscular. I obviously did not inherit this trait from him.

I did, however, inherit his crooked teeth, bad eyes, acne-prone skin, big nose, snoring, and bad knees. I also inherited his hair. My dad, though he has the same hair style for probably 50 years, has great hair. It’s thick and full and has, at the age of 60, only about ten grays.

So I have my father’s great hair. I still have no gray hair whatsoever (knock on wood), and balding is not in the realm of my possibility. Plus, my scalp very strong: Wads of hair can be pulled out with nary a notice from me.

But my knees. I was riding in the back of a cab on the way home from an overnight date.  The cabbie was very chatty.  Annoyingly so.  He wanted to talk about the weather, and the various neighborhoods through which we were driving.  My date had picked me up at my place the night before so I didn’t have my iPod with me.  That thing has saved me from stupid conversations countless times.

The cabbie expounded the virtues of San Francisco’s many hills and talked about them being good for walking.  The “conversation” up to that point had consisted of him talking and me grunting in agreement, but when he talked about walking the hills I actually had something to say.  I said walking up hills is great but that walking down hills hurt my knees.

The cab driver said I need to lose weight.  What?  So he repeated it.  He said that if I lost weight that my knees wouldn’t hurt.  Actually, no.  The same slim father who snores like a man three times his size also has shitty knees.  It hurts his knees, and as luck would have it, mine as well, to walk down hill.  That means I prefer to walk up hills and find the lowest grade, or stairs, for descending the heights of San Francisco.  That also means I shouldn’t have to put up with a cabbie telling me to lose weight.

So I told him to pull over.  He thought I should walk more then I’d walk more, and take money out of his pocket.  He didn’t seem to get it that I wanted out, many blocks before my original destination.  I had to raise my voice.  I said several times to let me out.  Finally he pulled over.  Unfortunately, I still tipped him.  I simply cannot not tip.

I also gave him another tip, not to tell his fares that they’re fat, that few people appreciate it.

I walked home the rest of the way.  I avoided walking down any hills, though, for fear of hurting my knees.

I cannot, however, avoid snoring.  I’ve been told sometimes it sounds quiet and sweet, while at other times it’s loud and not very lady-like.  Well, there’s really not much I can do so I just warn those who will sleep in the same bed, or even room, with me.  It’s not very sexy; I snore.

I swear.  True story.

it’s an idea it can’t be seen i haven’t gotten stoned tonight and I don’t think i’m going to ’cause i have to go to work early in the morning well 9:30 but i’d have to leave at 8:40 henry hasn’t called me yet but maybe he won’t ’cause it’s friday night and he has better things to do but he did say he’d talk to me today so why hasn’t he called me? He didn’t call last night until 12:15 so perhaps when he gets home, he’ll call me to tell me what he did tonight. Or maybe he’ll be to tired and forget to call me. Oh, why do I have to wait around for him to call? Because I’m a boring woman. Am I even a woman? Scrotum – Laura called Deanna one outside her house. Sex is rotten. I always think about it and having it but at the opportunity I reject it. I

Could I please have me two hot guys to do this in front of me?  Please?  Any volunteers?  While I wouldn’t mind if the guys would only let me watch, I would really, really like it if they would also let me participate.  I would be more than happy if I weren’t the center of attention.  After all, I’ve participated in threesomes where I wasn’t the focus, and while I didn’t have fun that first time if I knew what was expected of me I would certainly not overstep my bounds.

However, I’d be even happier if they’d let me suck their cocks.  Just a bit.  And bite those nipples.  Oooh, and lick those asses.  I could certainly have a lot of fun with these two.

Really, I would dig quite a bit participating in something like this.  Anyone?  Contact me at [email protected].

I swear.  True story.

I had my first threesome with two guys. I was 18.  Or maybe 17.  Either way, it was when I lived in my first apartment alone, a very small studio.

My boyfriend at the time had finally admitted to me that he found men attractive. Actually, after months of me teasing him he finally acquiesced.  I knew he liked guys, I just knew it.

I’m of the opinion that everyone is a little bisexual, pansexual, whatever; everyone likes cock and pussy to a degree.  My boyfriend at the time was certainly no exception.  He liked guys but had all sorts of shame and guilt about it.  I hope I showed him that he needn’t be ashamed about being attracted to someone of the same gender.  I was openly bisexual, I told him my mother was an out lesbian, and I had plenty of friends who were gay and/or bi.

One such friend was a bisexual guy with whom I had fooled around previously.  As soon as a broached the subject of a threesome he was in.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, had to be talked into it.  He was so fucking far into the closet that he was very secretive and constantly scared of being “discovered.”  I assured him that the person I had in mind was cool and that he didn’t know anyone my boyfriend knew.  I also assured him that he was his type.  My boyfriend had admitted he had a crush on his neighbor, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, and – to me – white trash-looking guy.  My bisexual boy was blond and blue, but not white trashy.

After much cajoling my boyfriend agreed.  But then we had the scheduling issues.  One of the most difficult things with threesomes is coordinating the schedules of not two but three people.

Finally, the day of the threesome came.  My boyfriend still lived with his mother and the bisexual guy had a roommate so it was agreed that we’d have our threesome at my place.  My very tiny place.  Really, it must’ve been about 200 square feet.  Maybe.  The “kitchen” was a corner of the room with a sink and counter, tiny freestanding stove, and college-sized refrigerator.  There was also a walk-in closet and a bathroom that wasn’t large enough to accommodate a bathtub, just a shower.  I paid $395 per month including utilities.  Ahh, the good old days.

The furniture in the apartment/room, other than the stove and refrigerator, consisted of a dining table that served as a tv stand and a desk, three dining chairs, two stacked orange crates that served as a entertainment center – meaning they held my CDs and “stereo,” a boombox – and bookshelf, and a queen-sized futon that was always in bed position.  I was a slob at the time so most of the time my floor was covered in dirty clothes, magazines, and other household detritus.  At the time I was not the type to clean up for company.  It was my first apartment on my own and no one was telling me what to do so I did whatever the fuck I wanted.

The three of us sat on my bed.  It was awkward.  So my boyfriend pulled out the pot.  He smoked a lot of pot.  A lot.  It was rare that he wasn’t high.  The three of us smoked pot.  It was still awkward.

Finally I did what I had to do – I kissed the bisexual guy.  This was the first of many sexual instances in my life where I knew if I didn’t just fucking go for it that nothing would happen.  Sometimes I like it, sometimes I resent it.

Then I kissed my boyfriend.  Then I kissed the bisexual guy.  It was fun.  I definitely liked going back and forth between the two men, noting the contrasts between their kissing styles.

Eventually they kissed each other.  And then they forgot about me.  Really.  From then on I was completely and totally ignored.  Ignored.

They kissed.  They got naked.  They sucked each others’ cocks.  Their bodies writhed.  I read a magazine.  As we were in my apartment and I had no car I had little else to do.  As my apartment was so tiny I had little else to go.

I sat on one side of the bed reading my magazine while they went at it.  I wasn’t even fascinated enough to watch.  I was bored.  And annoyed.  And irritated.  How fucking rude of them not to include me in the threesome that I set up?!

Eventually they finished.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t fuck, but they definitely sucked.  I have no clue if either or both of them came.  I didn’t care.

I never saw the bisexual guy again.  My boyfriend and I continued to go out, and thereafter were friendly, for some time.  My first threesome was most definitely a disaster.

I swear.  True story.

The new roommate is so so much better than the last ones.

He’s pleasant to be around.  He doesn’t spread crumbs all over the couch.  He doesn’t watch stupid, stupid television.  He doesn’t go to bed before 10pm.  He doesn’t come home from work in a shitty mood asking where the fuck his things are.  He seems to genuinely enjoy conversing with me.  He appreciates my cooking.  He knows how to cook.  He can be quiet.  He’s downright pleasant in the mornings.  He uses a normal amount of household paper products.  He doesn’t seem to be passive-aggressive.  He seems to be an adult.

He’s not my ex-husband.  He’s not my ex-husband’s insane pregnant girlfriend.

He does, however, make me very tired because he gives me really nice big orgasms.  This is hardly a complaint.

I swear.  True story.

I recently had a very good first date. Very good.

We found each other through OkCupid.  I had seen his photos and thought he was cute.  One might think that I only go out with guys from OkCupid who I think are cute, but that is not the case.  If the guy seems interesting I’ll go out with him.  Looks are not all that important, and guys can grow on me if they’re cool, and good in bed.

We met at Cassanova, a divey Mission bar complete with velvet paintings of nude curvy women with big hair.  I was a little early but my date was already there.  We recognized each other immediately so there was none of that awkwardness of introducing ourselves.  I found us a seat on one of the several couches in the bar and he got us drinks.

The conversation was good.  As is my wont we talked about sex.  He had gone to Kinky Salon the night before, I had fucked a hot chick.  We talked about handcuffs; we talked about gun play.  He put both in the same category; I did not, as gun play is way more dangerous, and requires way more trust than simply being handcuffed.  But we agreed that they are both absolute turn-ons.

After a couple of drinks we crossed the street and had sushi.  Our waitress was curt with us, and didn’t much appreciate that my date wanted to order a sashimi combination, as it wasn’t on the menu.  We had sashimi, California roll, and spider roll along with some very tasty sake.

We then walked to his place.  He assured me he had more alcohol there.  And he did.  He had a bar, complete with crystal booze decanters.  He also just happened to have handcuffs, red ones.

He put the handcuffs on me, which I liked very much.  I liked ‘em so much when he offered to take them off so I could make myself a drink I declined.  My hands were cuffed in front of me so I made myself a drink with the handcuffs on.

We fucked.  I sucked.  He fucked my ass.  He had a lovely uncircumcised cock and the smoothest cock head I’ve ever had the pleasure to put in my mouth.  I don’t remember the exact order of the fucking, or if we fucked while I was cuffed, but I do remember him fucking me while I was tied up.

Tied up?  Yes, tied up.  At one point he appeared with rope and manhandled me into a hogtie.  It was so fucking hot.  I especially liked the feeling of the rope being pulled through as he was tying me up.  He got me into a hogtie and left me there.  Very nice.

He didn’t fuck me while I was hogtied.  He fucked me after he did a bit of rope adjusting so my feet were free and my hands were bound in front of me.  I was very much fascinated by the rope around my wrists.  It was so pretty I stared it most of the time.

He offered to pay for a cab but I felt like walking home.  It was raining but I had an umbrella.  It was a pleasant walk in the rain.  I probably should not have made the walk though, as it was well after 2am and I was quite drunk.

I was also still horny.  So when I got home I made my new roommate fist me.  Frustratingly, he refused to fuck me.

The next day I received the following message on OkCupid:

Hi There,

Thanks for coming out last night, and I’m glad you got home ok!

[Shazam's Date]

I really don’t know what the fuck to make of the message.  Did he have as good a time as I did?  Does he want to see me again?  I really hate this part.  I can only fuck things up at this point – by being too eager.

Whether he or someone else does it, I most certainly want to be tied up again.

I swear.  True story.