Archive for the 'CFNM' Category

Fresh Content

What matters, what I’m trying to tell you, what I’ve been trying to tell you all night, is that you’re busted.  We can’t go back now.  There is no turning back.  I liked watching you much more than I like fucking you.  Can’t you understand that?  Don’t you get it?

But I thought you liked sex with me.

I do, or I should say that I did.  It’s been changing for a while now.  What, probably for a year?  Yes, at least a year.  It hasn’t been the same and you know it.  I know that you know it.  I mean look what you’ve been doing behind my back.

I … I …

Sush!

But …

I said to shush and I mean it.  There’s no sense in being embarrassed and I really don’t have the patience for any of your silly posing.

No fucking?

No fucking.  Besides the fact that you really have never been that good at it, and besides the fact that I’ve been rather bored with your “breast-grab, spread my legs and mount me” tactics, well, like I said, I’ve rather enjoyed watching you this past month.

You’ve been watching for an entire month?  What the fuck?

Hmph.  Like you have any room to judge me!  Let’s just remember who’s been sitting on a rickety stool in the back of the basement with his pants down around his knees any chance he gets.  Lets not forget who does it in the shower, on the toilet or even off the back deck, when he thinks he can get away with it.

You saw me on the deck?  Jesus!

I sure did.  In fact, tomorrow you are going to go down below the deck and clean off that bird feeder.  Absolutely disgusting.  And if you do something like that again, I’ll make you clean it off with your tongue.  Do you hear me?

Yeah.

Don’t you dare roll your eyes.  Come here; I want to show you something.  I said come here.  Come here right now!

Jesus!  Okay, what?

See this website?

Yeah, what about it.

I built it.  Don’t look so surprised.  I’m not as technically challenged as you think.

Oh fuck!  No, no no.  What the fuck?  What are those?  Oh, honey, you didn’t.

Oh yes I did!  Once I figured out how much you were “going at it,” I started taking pictures.  So let’s see.  Each page holds twelve pictures and so far I’ve got almost six pages.

Honey, baby.  This isn’t right.  What if somebody sees them for Christ’s sake?  You’ve got to get these down.  You’ve got to take this website down.

No.  Look closely.  See how I’ve blurred your face?  Nobody’s going to recognize you.  And, take it from me, even if you’ve cheated on me with hundreds of women?  Your dick just isn’t that memorable.

You bitch!

You have no idea.  Now get your pants down and start jerking that dick of yours.  This time you’re going to do it right in front of me.  No sneaking off like a dirty pervert.  Come on, get them down.

This is crazy.  You’ve gone off the deep end.

Here, let me show you something else.  With a click … here, here and then there.  Do you see that?  That picture is NOT blurred.  And I can do that to every last one of them.  And then, my love?  I can just pop a link into an email and send it out to all your business associates, your friends, even your family.  Like you just said — I’m a bitch.  But guess what?  You’re MY bitch.   Your my masturbating bitch boy from now on.  Whenever, wherever, however —  I tell you to drop your drawers and start pumping, you will do just that.  Do you understand?  Do you get it now?

I, but …

Let’s see, where is that email address to your secretary.  Or, better yet, your sister-in-law.  There they are.  I think I’ll just send it to both of them.

No. Please.

Then get busy.  Get busy now.  That’s a good boy.  Drop them lower.  Drop them down around your knees, you dirty little masturbator.  That’s right.  Now get jerking.  Wrap your grubby paw around that thick, useless cock and start stroking.  Look.  Look how hard your prick is.  You know what you are.  Stroke it.  Stroke it and repeat after me:  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch.  Go ahead.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Go ahead.

I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a —

Don’t stop.  I’m just getting the camera.  Got to have fresh content for the website, after all.

beyond that door

beyond that door
you are the brick-boy
the silver-tongued hero
you’re the whole shebang, motherfucker!

the hero, the big dick, the maaaan
the big man on campus
the man in the moon
the man to see
the man with a plan

you’re the taker
you’re the shaker
you’re the breaker
you’re the goddamn
candlestick maker

beyond that door
the world is your oyster
beyond that door
your kingdom come
beyond that door
women swoon and flirt and flatter

beyond that door
you are the candy man
the master of your own domain
you kick ass and take names
you are a player, a six-pack punk
every woman knows your name

but that door is closed
closed down, boarded shut, bang-bang
no way out, no where to hide
no where to go
but down down down

you’re on this side now
my side, mendicant man
my turf, toy wonder
you’re in the bosom of the bitch

you’re on this side:
you’re overpriced
and undervalued
and nobody gives two cents
suck it up

mendicant man
you’ve cashed your frequent flyers
mediocre man
you’ve burnt your neon bridges
nowhere man
you’ve spent your sorry wad

you’ll cease that fast-talking spinnity jive
right now (nobody cares)
and shuck that grandiose i-wish-it-were-my-dick tie
(nobody cares)
and lose those boot-cut Calvin Kleins
(not impressed)

get on the floor,
the stone cold floor
on this side of the door
where you belong

Candy Mouth

The lights are hotter than you’d imagined.  The makeup she’s applied feels shinier, brighter somehow under the glare.  You blink — your eyelashes like giant spider legs against your cheeks.  Your rose-rouged cheeks, you remember.  To match your whore lips, she’d said just moments ago.  You wonder what you look like in the camera’s lens, because it is pointed right at you.  You feel it like the hot point of a laser.

But it is your mouth you feel the most.  She’s outlined it — a brick smear all around the outside curve of your lips.   It makes your mouth the perfect bulls-eye for cock, she’d said, and you heard the girl giggles from beyond the light.  She never told you her friends would be here today, but they are.  You can’t see them but they can see you, and they are — have been and will be — watching everything.

She filled in the outline — the “bulls-eye” — with glossy red lipstick; showing it to you before applying it.  You’re just going to be the perfect little Candy Mouth with this on, she’d said, the perfect Cock Sucking Candy Mouth.  You couldn’t help yourself then and you whimpered.  And she slapped your face hard.  Of course, the girls laughed, one of them telling her, “That’s it.  Smack the fuck out of that sniveling, Candy Mouth Faggot.”

And now you are waiting.  Waiting on your knees in the glaring spot light, naked except for your make up and the large, red bow she’s tied around your penis.   Waiting in this cavernous, high-ceilinged and dull grey chamber.  Ignored for the moment as beyond the light last minute preparations are made.   And you are going to do this.  You know there is no going back now.

You are going to suck cock.  You are going to do it in front of the camera and Mistress will do as she pleases with the film.

A door opens and closes.  You hear the heavy footsteps.

“Wait.  One more thing.”

She kneels in front of you with the red lipstick.  She begins writing on your chest.  “Make sure you get this on film, too, ” she says to the person behind the camera.  To you she says, “You deserve this.  You deserve everything you’re getting.”

When she is done writing she tells you what she wrote on your chest, the asks, “Who are you?”  You’re not sure what she wants and don’t answer fast enough.  “I just wrote it on your chest, DumbFuck.”  She slaps you hard again.  “Figure it out.”

“I am Candy Mouth.”

“Now let’s get this right the first time,” she says as she gets up and walk beyond the light.  We are going to start filming and we’re going to start with you answering a few questions.  Got it?”

“Yes, Maam.”

“Okay, are we ready.”  She is talking to them, not you, and you are silent.

You here the low whir and see the blinking light that tells you filming has started.

Who are you?

“I am Candy Mouth.”

Does Candy Mouth fuck girls?

No Maam.

Why doesn’t Candy Mouth fuck girls?

Because I am a faggot cocksucker, Maam.

Then the shuffle of feet as a man steps into the light.  He is shirtless; you can see the muscles of his arms and chest pumping even as he steps forward.  The black leather hood covering his head matches his tight pants.  You can see his bulge, large and heavy riding up the right side of his crotch.

In spite of yourself — your embarrassment, your complete humiliation — you are getting excited.  You feel the red bow move against your upper thigh as you become erect.  The man is standing right in front of you when you hear Mistress speak again.

Why is your penis getting erect, Candy Mouth?

“Because I’m going to suck this big man’s cock, Maam.  I’m a faggot cocksucker.”

Don’t you think you better ask permission, Candy Mouth?

Your hands at your sides, you look up at this man you do not know, you cannot see.  You lick your lips, feeling your heart hammer against your ribcage.  You feel so small, so weak.

“Sir, may I please suck your man cock.  Can I put my sissy lips around your fat prick and take the load from your balls.  Please,  Sir?”

The girls giggle again, but this time Mistress is quick to shush them.  The man grabs his crotch and grunts; he teases you, running the tips of his sausage fingers over the shiny leather covering his bulge.  Finally, he unzips his fly, but then puts both hands on his hips.  He wants you to come after it.

And so, fingers trembling, you reach inside and pull out his cock.  It is thick and dense with veins; the head is the size of a small fist.  Although you want to swallow it whole, you move slowly.  Although you wish he would just grab your head and throat fuck you, you know better.  You move your head forward, opening your mouth and place the heavy bulk of his meat onto your tongue.

As you begin working your mouth up and down on his cock you hear him grunt from behind the hood:  “That’s it, Faggot; that’s a good, little Dick Bitch.”  Your own little penis thrills to hear the contempt in his deep baritone, causing its red ribbon to bob up and down.  Splaying his large fingers across your scalp he begins pushing his cock into your mouth, stroke by stroke, deeper and deeper.

As his movements become quicker, his breath raspier, you fumble to pull his balls from the open zipper.  Feeling their swollen fullness, thinking about taking all of that down your throat, you believe you might actually swoon.  But suddenly he stops and pulls his cock from your mouth.

“You want that,” he says as he smacks his cock back and forth across your face, strands of pre-cum streaming across your nose, your eyebrows, your painted cheeks.  “You want what’s in those balls?”

You moan.  “Yes, Sir.  Yes, Sir, please.  I want it.  I want your cum.  I want to eat your cum.”

Then Mistress speaks from the dark, from behind the camera:  Tell us who you are.  Tell everybody on the Internet who is going to watch this who you are, and then we’ll let you have your Cock Juice.

And you do.  You tell the world:

“I am Candy Mouth.  I’m a Faggot Bitch Dick Eater.  I suck man cum out of Real Men’s Balls.”

Then he is leaning over you, pushing his cock so far back into your throat that your are gagging.  His bloated balls are like rocks against your chin.  And you don’t care that everyone and anyone will be able to see this, see you humiliated and used like this.  Because you want that cum.

Because you are Candy Mouth.

FireStats icon Powered by FireStats