• #10528 (no title)
  • 15 September 2020
  • Gourmet, Down South
  • The Author
  • Walking
  • What Endures. What Passes.

Dispatches From Dystopia

~ "What man by worrying can add one cubit to his span of years?"

Dispatches From Dystopia

Category Archives: Erotic Writing

Post Office

08 Wednesday Jan 2020

Posted by David in Erotic Writing, Uncategorized

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Tags

#Erotic Fiction

NSFW. Fantasy. 18+

For my muse in Savannah

It was a nice thick mailing envelope, perfect for this purpose. She waited patiently on line, behind the elderly woman with a parcel for Bettendorf, or so the label said. She fancied the woman was sending something to her grandchildren or even great-grandchildren. Certainly possible these days.

The woman put the parcel on the counter, answered the clerk’s questions, paid the clerk with a card of some sort.

Now it was her turn.

“Are you sending any flammable liquids?”

No.

“Firearms or ammunition?”

No.

“Drugs?”

No,

He quoted the price. “Insurance?”

No.

Was the clerk looking too intently at her? Did he notice her nipples hard and pointed beneath her tee shirt, whose graphic was that lewd Rolling Stones tongue. Pokies, the English called them, randy sods that they can be.

She paid. In cash. He took the mailer envelope.

She walked back to her car. As she walked, she felt the rub of the seam in her jeans against her, well you know, cunt.

But she did it. Obeyed Him. Mailed her panties to Him. She made sure they were nice. Date Night Panties. Smooth silk with lace on the edges, a seam down the back, defining the globes of her ass, that ass she thought was too big, but the ass He loved. She could even feel the memory of a swat He would give it, just because He could.

And she drove home. Went straight to the bedroom, took off the jeans, and that tee shirt, lay down on the bed. And masturbated.

Hurried? Or Eager ?

30 Monday Dec 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

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Tags

#Erotica

Erotic Writing Maybe A Poem. NSFW 18+.

I want you. With no consequence.

No repercussions, complications,

Paternity Tests Nor litigation.

My Dream makes you as randy

And shameless as I am.

Greedy for this Time and Taste of You.

If you care not about my paunch, I will grasp your muffin top

And revel in your back rolls.

Marvel at the seasoned  invitation of your most private grip.

Grantor Of Wishes

26 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Fantasy

Erotic Writing More Poetry Than Porn NSFW 18+ You have been warned

If I knew everything there was to know about the heart,

I would be Ann Landers and Michael DeBakey combined.

Throbbing like a dynamo, bringing blood to the flexing pricks and lubricious cunts of a lost and lusty world.

I wish I knew where everything fit. I would be bring every faux phallus to life on New Year’s Eve. And every Top who ever strapped on and wondered would know. And real jizz would spurt and every toe would curl.

The Dreamers who long for a working cunt would get their wish and then some, a matching clit that throbs and shoots electric sparks to every tingling nerve.

And those who hate their fragile hearts will find

A Champion to protect them.

Dreamers Who Love

21 Monday Oct 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

passion

I dream of the women with bellies, and asses they think are too big. I dream of their tits deemed saggy, but whose nipples respond nonetheless, to a pull or a tug or the fervent suckle from this grizzled and hungry lover.

The timid end the game too soon. To let the buzzer sound on joy itself. But the fierce and ardent lovers seek eternity with every play and drive. To seek the timeless in the loins’ fusion.

Fado Amidst The Passion

03 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

#Fado

Strong Erotic Content. Dedicated to everyone who has felt great passion. And great loss.

I had not listened to Fado for quite a while. Why? Was I afraid of passion in crescendoes and refrain, the Portuguese guitar work, so much like the Blues, piercing into my heart, coursing through my veins like the very blood itself?

Maybe because I thought about whenever I listened, of the time when we were together. How when we were alone, she would quickly reach for the buckle of my belt, undo it, then unbutton my jeans, letting them bunch around my ankles, pull down my boxers, grab my balls in her fist to draw my penis to her mouth, then lick and suck the head until I was breathing heavy. And crazy from the scene.

I would bring her from her knees to her feet, spin her around so she could feel my prick against her butt. Then I would raise the hem of her dress, pull it over her shoulders. I was pleased when she wore neither brassiere or knickers.

A slight push was all it took to send her toppling onto the mattress. And the fadista continued her songs on the record, happy now as the fado continued, like the happiness that only being with one’s lover can bring.

She had turned around facing me so we could begin the wet deep kisses we both thrived on. She would guide my penis inside her and I would grasp her buttocks and we would kiss as our pelvises rocked and thrust and pushed back. We were caught in that world, where we yearned for time to freeze, one slow millisecond away from our release.

Love, I guess, is like that sometimes, the songs a translation of passion and kisses, and sweat.

It sure didn’t feel like risk.

Fulfilled

03 Tuesday Sep 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Fantasy

Erotic Reverie. For The Mature. 18+ I would suggest.

Would she be ready, he wondered? It was, after all, Saturday, her day to prepare. There was hair to be styled, other hair in other places to be removed. Her clothes were her whim, but she knew which of her fancies would stir him to the quick eliciting his generosity.

“I’m in the mood for something leather, a skirt perhaps.”

Antoine, her designer who conspired to fulfill these whims, had found a red kidskin from an artisan in Italy and fashioned a most marvelous skirt that caressed the twin globes of her buttocks as if it were a coat of paint. To this masterpiece of suggestion, Antoine chose an exquisite black silk and fashioned a blouse that draped her breasts, suggesting their presence was within his grasp.

The Red and The Black. Leather and Silk. Flesh encased in luscious textures that fired not merely his lusts but hers as well. For that leather caressed her bare skin, and the tightness produced a sweaty stickiness. The silk, in turn, stroked her bare nipples to excited little points with every breath, welcoming his sucking and later the teasing pinches and then the maddening pulls.

Who is the Master of this Game, she who offers this fullness to match his concupescence, or he who rises to snap at her proffered bait?

He would have her body. She would have his. And the mutually beneficial arrangement paid for her flesh with his dollars. Never did they see their working arrangement as mutual exploitation. But mutual pleasure as attested to by their serotonin gluted synapses,

Desire In Four Paragraphs

01 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing, Love and stuff, Uncategorized

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Tags

#Sexual Desire

Sometimes I have the energy to put down a lot of words that may seduce another into the vacuous dreams of my adolescent fantasies, aged within an old man’s brain.

Alas, today, there is no room or time or energy to tempt another with conjured delights of skin on skin, lips on skin, lips on lips, genitals in congress, or moans and cries of ecstasy.

There are in my head, a thought and a yearning of pleasure, a dream that you will be free of all the craziness that enslaves you, just as I shed the construct of my loneliness

And, for once, in your life, you won’t care what time it is, or where you have to be tomorrow.

Submissive Seduces

09 Sunday Jun 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

#D/s #Power Exchange, #erotic poetry

Occasionally the moments arise when formality and dogma and rightness fade. I see you naked and soft and vulnerable. That whatever power I may have, I offer to you. I am the paltry gift of yearning and tumescence, of service and surrender.

Maybe we can freeze this time. You and I can both forget what we’ve been told. Or what we have chosen. Life can begin again between you and me. And out of the tingling, the sweat, and the bother, we can kindle the fire anew.

Servant Body. Servant Mind. Slave Dreams

13 Saturday Apr 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

#Femdom

NSFW. Erotic Fantasy, y’all.

Long slow morning. The lazies take over. And the dreaming begins.

I am naked, wearing only my collar. I begin my chores, I am on my knees as I scour the tub, my ass on display. You pinch it hard. The distraction takes my innermost thoughts to your body. I can almost smell your cunt.

I scrub on, then clean the toilet, the sink and scrub the bathroom floor, again on my hands and knees.

These weekends are special. My clothes stay in the hall closet. My purpose is service. I am vulnerable. I put my focus on you, my trust in you. You could embarrass, humiliate, or degrade me, should it be your wish or whim. Yet your fancies have not led you there. Yet.

Last winter, in the snow you sent me to pick up the pizza you ordered wearing only my shearling coat and leather boots. I felt the fleece against my nakedness. The clerk at the counter must have wondered when I exchanged the money for the brown cardboard box containing the pie , redolent of oregano and pepperoni.

It is all about knowing my place. Not conniving to get the chance to lick your cunt, or asshole, or have your dildo fill my ass.

I choose this way. I know the itch of deprivation, as the yearning drags on.

The Volunteer

26 Tuesday Mar 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing, sadomasochism

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

#Spanking #Humiliation

NSFW Erotic Fantasy. Mature Topic

It was a typical medical office. There was the sign-in sheet designed with confidentiality in mind, the desk where insurance coverage was verified, the waiting area of chairs, magazines, TV monitors on some specialty medical office channel touting flu shots, stressing hydration, and affirming the wisdom of cabbage (cruciferous vegetables). Sarah Jane was as tired of hearing about cabbage as she was of her husband’s interminable praise of golf.

“I want a doctor to tell me to eat pastry,” her fanciful and rebellious imp side whispered in her right ear as she glimpsed at an ad for Farxiga.

“Maybe a session in that fancy jetted tub after strawberries and mangoes would make more sense and be more fun,” countered her healthy fairy godmother in her left.

“Mrs Harricott.”

The nurse called her name.

“This way, please.” She knew the drill, the weigh in, the blood pressure. She was half-expecting the application of leeches and the analysis of her bodily humors. That would make about as much difference as to how she felt.

At this point, the office visit took a singular and momentous turn. After the mandatory “knock knock“, a woman in a lab coat strode into the examination room.

“Hello, I’m Dr Parminter. Dr Feivel has the flu and asked me to cover for him. I see you are here for a six month visit for your hypertension.”

“Yes.” Sarah Jane tried to sound upbeat and that she had this handled, but she couldn’t hide her discouragement and resignation.

“You sound discouraged.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.” And this time she did. The frustration around the usual culprits in getting older, hypertension, obesity, diabetes.

“You don’t have to act your age. Acting your age is the fast track to the cemetery. I’m looking for volunteers to test a concept I have around wellness. Are you interested in being a test subject?”

“Sure. If it doesn’t cost too much.”

“How does free sound? All you have to do is follow instructions.”

“OK”

“Be at the address on this card tomorrow at 6:00 AM. Please fast for 12 hours, water only. Bring a good pair of cross training shoes. Ask for them at an athletic shoe store.”

The Fast

She had her early dinner at Five PM, the one she thought would help. Chicken breast, broccoli, brown rice. Iced tea. Algernon, her golfing husband joined her, although he had a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from some exotic vineyard in Uruguay that his oenophile buddies were raving about. Sarah Jane thought to herself, “Maybe one glass.” She had one glass, then two more, followed by raiding her secret stash of Ben & Jerry’s.

Then the munchies hit and the twelve hour fast became a ten, then an eight, then a six. Getting up at Five to be at the Clinic at Six was a challenge, but she made it with her brand spanking new cross training shoes.

“Good morning Mrs Harricott. We are going to draw your blood first,” said the impossibly chipper Physician Trainer at the Institute. Dr. Eisenblut, or so his name badge said.

“When did you last eat, 6:00 PM?”

“Uh, no, Doctor. More like Midnight.”

“You understand you have yet to begin here and already you are failing to comply with instructions. We could disqualify you outright, but that would not serve our interests or yours. The fasting bloodwork is critical in determining your baseline level of health. If you want to continue, you will stay here and we will draw your blood at noon. There is a waiting room with all the water you want to drink and copies of Life Magazine from 1966, for your reading enjoyment.

This waiting room was unlike any other waiting room in which she had ever waited. There were mirrors on all the walls. A little intimidating, as every ice cream bar, soft drink and donut she had eaten in the last two years flashed before her eyes.

Atop the mirrored wall was a sign, a question, painful to consider:

WAS IT WORTH IT?

At noon the phlebotomist came, drew her blood, asked for a urine sample. A blonde woman with an East European accent came and offered her an orange and some blueberry yogurt.

At 1230, Dr Eisenblut returned. The blonde woman stayed.

“We need to set the tone for working with us. Key is following instructions. There is a level of discipline involved. We hope to transform externally applied disciplinary measures into internally retained positive habits. To that end, you will sign the Consent To Discipline Agreement to continue. You will also receive your first discipline session.

You may withdraw now, If you choose. We will compensate you for your bloodwork, it is useful in building our database. The choice is entirely yours.”

Sarah Jane thought about her choices. She hated the general track her life seemed to be following. She was angry at herself for this initial screw-up. There was no choice really.

“OK, Doctor. I agree.”

She signed the paperwork.

“Magda, prepare Mrs Harricott for her session.” With that Dr Eisenblut left the room.

“Please undress.” was the terse two word instruction. Sarah Jane complied, as if she were an automaton. She undressed, tee shirt, shorts, sports bra, knickers, socks, shoes. Naked, she followed Magda from the waiting room to an adjoining room, reminiscent of a college lecture hall. There were people seated at the desks, some wearing lab coats, others in tee-shirts, shorts, sneakers. Reflexively she covered herself in embarrassment. She felt every pair of eyes in the room were focused on her. They were.

“We want to welcome Delta-21, our latest volunteer. She has the usual imperatives compelling her to healthy living, and the usual impediments, alcohol, bad diet, sedentary living and a penchant for self-will. She needs our coaching.

“Let’s first complete our profile. Please stand still while we take our measurements to calculate your lean body mass. The skin fold calipers meticulous measured the”muffin top” of her naked body, as the measuring technician called out the numbers in centimeters. The numbers were noted by the Lab Coat People, the Tee-Shirt People nodded or smiled knowingly.

Finally Sarah Jane heard Dr Eisenblut’s voice. “There is also a matter of a disciplinary session that I believe will be more efficacious if we conduct it publicly.”

With that an upholstered chair was brought out. “Place yourself over the back so that the volunteers and staff may observe your buttocks as you receive your spanking.

She complied. The paddling began. With each stroke of the paddle the observers counted. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…..20.

Her stinging and reddened buttocks were on displayed for a full thirty seconds. There were camera flashes.

“Turn around”. She turned and the crowd saw her tear streaked face.

Magda returned to the stage and led her back to the mirrored room. There was a tee-shirt and shorts that matched those of the other volunteers.

She was in The Program.

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