…and Clara Dances

… and Clara Dances, Like a Feather in the Wind.­­

 La donna è mobile
Qual piuma al vento,
muta d’accento
e di pensiero.

Feather

Clara span round and around. Naked men sucked one another to satisfaction as they watched Clara spin around and around on her point. They watched as she span but she could not watch them, for she was locked tightly alone in a world of darkness, a cover on her eyes forbidding access to the dazzling colour; forbidding access to the succulent pleasures of the male sex she so greedily desired to feast her eyes upon. She couldn’t have them, she could only spin around on her axis and dance.

And so Clara danced, and as she did, although denied vision, her sense of enveloping sound and music increased. She heard the rough whine of an old needle scratching a record as the light tenor voice of Pavarotti singing an aria from Verdi drifted pleasantly across the room. She heard the slow incessant drip-drip-drip of water from a tap, picking out every painful note of its ceaseless rhythmic torture. She heard the pop of a bottle uncorking and the slow dank pouring of wine in a glass, and she smelt the spiced cherry grape of the delicious vintage Cabernet she’d been expressly forbidden to taste. She heard the light, gentle tap-tappety-tap of her own bare feet upon the ground as she danced around graciously in time to the music, her feet picking out and accentuating the beat, as light as a feather in the wind. She heard the soft sounds of sex from every corner of the room, from far away and close beside her, and she could feel fucking warmly embrace her. She heard the sound of bodies pressed tightly against one another, the slow salivating suck of cock slipping deep down into a hot willing mouth. She heard moans of pleasure sing out, drowning out the melodic cries of Pavarotti. She heard the shrill shriek of male orgasmic lust and she heard the light slap of balls, and the swishing jet-spray of cum as thick members thrust hard in and then emerged softly from their adoring pleasures.

And as she heard all of this, Clara danced ever on like the wind.

Clara did not dance voluntarily. She span around and around because they wanted her, desired her, made her. She danced for them and they watched keenly, lusting her feverishly, aroused by the music she sang as she span. The wild music of her silken hair as it flung exuberantly about her shoulders, the tiny music of her breasts as they thrust firmly forwards in time to the drip of the water. The swaying music of her hips as they jiggled sensually from side to side, and the supple music of her legs as she span them faster and faster so that she might be free. But she could not dance free while the hands grabbed her body and held her, and twisted her, and forced her down. She could not be free as they came upon her, big, hard and filled with intent. Could not be free as they gave her themselves to their grip, to tease, to fondle and jerk. Could not be free as she was surrounded, overwhelmed, dizzy and confused. They desired her and they had her, and she wanted them back. She could not see as they slipped down her throat, first hard, then sticky, then soft. She could not count as they came at her insatiably and left her satisfied. She could not see her desire, just hear it, feel it and taste it.

Clara danced on her point until she stumbled and fell. She danced until they grabbed her and took her and held her down. They grabbed her arms and they bound them, took her legs and then tied them, they took her clothes and they ripped them. The Versace dress she wore was violently stripped away, leaving her naked and exposed.

“I’m frightened,” she confessed as they held her down, tore her clothes, stripped her naked and bare. She couldn’t see who, she couldn’t tell how and she couldn’t know what manner of pleasure or punishment awaited her. Clara was alone, scared, vulnerable and defenceless. Clara’s cunt dripped wet.

Clara Dances

As they strapped her up, her body ached and trembled. Bound tightly as she was, she was no longer free to dance; yet Clara danced inside as the tannic red wine splashed across her naked breasts, hands crawled slowly across her skin and probing fingers buried themselves deep inside of her most private holes. The softness of touch told her that these fingers were feminine, and as a delicate nipple flashed gently across her mouth, begging her to lick, her mind and body flushed hot with new sensations. The world seemed strange and she danced; sensations were soft and she danced; sounds sang pleasant and she flew, soaring upwards and ever higher as the groping fingers of a girl – or two, or three – penetrated her tight, clenched ass; she soared higher still as a full pair of breasts rubbed erotically across hers; she soared up to the sun as the rough tongue of a girl lightly licked up the scented juice that gushed like a torrent from her pussy.

“Let me go, please let me go,” she begged, almost screamed. “I want to be free.” She heard the stern reply of “Never.”

“Take off the blindfold, untie me. PLEASE. I want to see, I want to touch.” She implored her captors and they replied without mercy, “Never.”

Clara moaned aloud in pain and in pleasure. Clara screamed a happy, delirious scream and then she saw the entire world from above as a bright white light streaked across her senses; and then there were rainbow colours. She saw an intense streak of electric light and she felt it shock through her throat, constrict her back, pain her wrists and then sear through her brain, wrenching her entire body rigid. She saw her life in 16.7 million colours and she saw her death cloaked all in black. She saw Clara shrouded in dark blood red floating lightly around the room as a feather flies in the breeze. Looking down from above, Clara could see herself clearly, surrounded by lust and debauchery, smeared all over in nudity and wine, her face flushed tannic red, her mouth silently twisted, grinning with crazed notes of pleasure; her arms and legs pulling furiously on her bonds as her groin and chest thrust desperately upwards again and again; and Clara begged them again and again and again:

And the bonds on her wrists tightened, the straps on her ankles tightened, her constricted chest tightened and blood flowed freely from the stress of her bonds; her tentative grip on life and the world collapsed. She felt faint, overwhelmed with intense swirls of dizziness dancing around her skull. She descended into a world of pain and fear, and as the fear touched her heart she finally came. Her orgasm released her mind as the fingers, the hands, the breasts and the cocks danced across her helpless body, round and around; tongues thirstily licked the sticky wine that dripped from her chest, as two, three, four fingers penetrated her lusting holes, and the exploding cum drenched her body, squirting, smearing, and joyfully shooting its slimy sex across her tiny helpless figure. “Set me free, I must dance.”

She wrenched, contorted and collapsed exhausted. “Yes, I want this,” she managed before tiredly closing her eyes and finally embracing her dark prison. “I really do. This is all I’ll ever want. Thank you.”

And they nodded, satisfied, then released her body and un-strapped her bonds. She lay back and slept silently to the soothing sounds of a quietly dripping tap and the gentle clunking of the needle as the record played out its last operatic melody. And Clara was content. And Clara was free.

Beautiful Secrets

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(Note. A really light flash fiction I wrote today as a break from the piece I’m working on properly. This was inspired by someone saying to me that male masturbation wasn’t beautiful. I think that is is. Ended up being a little more comic, but that’s OK)

He was so beautiful.

He didn’t see me hiding away in the dark deep of the shadows. He didn’t know that I was there and he never could. He must never know. That I cherished his beauty was my deepest, darkest secret and it cloaked me with shame. My voyeuristic love of watching from a distance as he stroked his cock to climax swallowed me up in self loathing, but I was compelled to do it, and could no more resist the urge to hide myself away and watch his private performance than I could refuse to eat or drink.

He didn’t know that I knew his secret. I could sense the pangs of guilt that stole up on him as he tried so hard not to idly browse to the inevitable dirty websites; they were, afterall the reason he came here alone. If she knew he was sure that his girlfriend would leave him, his parents, he thought, would loathe him, his friends would tease him, his Church ostracise him. He slipped away in secret because he was compelled to, as I was compelled to cloud myself in guilt and watch.

Is it such a sin to bathe in the seas of such a beautiful act?

Guilt faded to resignation, then fired into lust. And as they always did, his eyes and attentions quickly turned away from the illicit pleasures onscreen and fixed themselves firmly onto his own. As I always did, I gaped on in wonder and  watched him undress, a patient, deliberate act that allowed him to savour every second of a moment that might not happen again for another week or two. And I savoured it even more for that. His top came off first, revealing such a glorious expanse of chest, muscle and ripple that looked almost out of place beside his delicately formed feminine features. I sighed as I longed to run my fingers across it and down its slender naked glory, imagining that it was I who skilfully unbuttoned the jeans that were now sensually siding over his perfectly round ass and falling to the floor. Like all men – like myself – he couldn’t keep his eyes from the main prize long, and as I marvelled at the huge bulge I could see stretching its way through his Calvin Kleins, he reached a hand inside and slowly started to fiddle and play with it – as all men do; I deeply regretted that I couldn’t step out from the shadow of my hiding place and help relieve the gigantic tension that had firmly mounted itself in full view..

As he slipped off his underpants and lay back on his bed, thick hard cock held tightly in hand, he rubbed himself off to an intensely satisfying conclusion and it was beautiful.The beautiful twinks came for his pleasure and he had to cum too. It didn’t take him long, a tight grip and a few swift strokes. He cupped his balls and thrust his cock repeatedly into his palm; he jerked and moaned and grunted and as he pleasured his penis the rest of his body writhed wildly, naked and sweating on the sheets. It didn’t take long for hot sticky jet to stream pleasantly from him and cover his chest in a lovely ocean spray of cum. It was my favourite part of the show and I couldn’t persuade myself not to reach down and touch myself as well; a terrible mistake, since on slipping a hand into my trousers my already blisteringly hard cock throbbed in accidental pleasure, and it peaked immediately, squirting streams of goo down the head of my cock, into my pants and over my hand. I couldn’t contain my appreciation for the show vocally either and I squeaked loudly as I shuddered; too late I realised that he’d heard and he started, looking across curiously in my direction.

Feeling drained, sticky and pathetic I was struck by a sudden panic. His beauty had led to this, my secret was to be found out.

He stood up, frightened too, fresh cum glistening on his chest, dripping silently down his still erect shaft and gently onto the floor. He looked cautiously in my direction and I froze, trying not to whimper. Suddenly, without warning, a girl’s voice spoke with authority and sexiness. “That was quite a show. I’m glad I had a ringside seat.”

“Oh my God!” He raced to shut off the PC a reflex action but there was really no point. All had been voyeured, secrets had already been stolen.

“This gets you off does it, lover? How very interesting.” His look of fright didn’t diminish, but her dress dropped briskly to the floor and she strode confidently in her lingerie towards him. “Looks like you need some help with this mess you’ve made.” He thought momentarily that he was off the hook for his actions and had missed what in hindsight was the obvious part of her performance. She glanced across mischievously to the dark place in which I hid and beckoned me towards the light.

“I think all three of us have secrets, don’t we? Come on boys, let’s have some fun together.”

We both looked at her. She was beautiful. She sat on the edge of the bed with a playful look and began to touch herself. Our dark dissipated and our cocks grew monstrously hard.

 

Why Do Straight Women Enjoy Watching Lesbian Porn?

This question has been buzzing like crazy in my brain all day, demanding an answer I was worried that I’d never be able to give it. My inner bisexual knew what I wanted the answer to be. “theyreallylikewomentheyreallylikewomentheyreallylikewomen.” It would be more evidence to me that we are, after all, existing on a sexual scale of preference, rather than fixed to a straight/gay binary.

But that felt like an easy answer. It doesn’t seem quite that straightforward. Straight men, for instance, do not watch gay porn. They just don’t. They need some girl-flesh to get off to and watching men do things to men generally makes them squirm, or die inside or something. I’ve been told by men of the world that “guy on guy sex is just “unnatural”, whereas girl on girl is part of the way of the world – because men like to watch it DUH! And so do straight women, apparently. So if the answer is simply that “we’re all a little bit bi, then girls are clearly a little bit more bi than boys; a conclusion that makes very little logical sense.

It’s fairly obvious that men are anxious about their masculinity, and that so much as daring to watch Brokeback Mountain can be perceived as a gay, anti-male threat in many circles. There’s simply no reason for a manly straight man to watch gay porn if he isn’t immediately aroused by it.  And if he is, then then the instant conclusion is, of course, that it’s because he’s a repressed gay(not bi). On the other hand, straight porn is a harder sell to women because representationally it’s … pretty horrible mostly. In terms of power dynamics it’s not only all male fantasy, it more often than not features male dominance and displays of power over women.  Women in porn are mostly fuck toys.  As a woman, it’s not easy to get into a space/frame of mind for being aroused when the person on-screen you identify with is being objectified and shown as dehumanised or subservient.  

If we consider lesbian porn, instead, it’s entirely different. Of course, lesbian porn isn’t actually made for either straight or gay women to enjoy, it’s still a male fantasy game, but no matter how tawdry the onscreen dynamic is still entirely different. Instead of watching a male figure dominating and subduing women, two (or more) women are meeting for sex and pleasuring one another on rather more equal power- terms. How much easier to switch off and feel arousal if there’s at least something onscreen that the woman can identify with  How much more enjoyable. The male in straight porn is so often a little bit threatening, but in lesbian porn that figure has gone.  It may not be that all women are fantasising about fucking the woman onscreen as men are when they watch straight porn.  They may be using the sexual scenario as a way to fuel their own, more abstract, fantasies.

If this is close to correct, does that make straight women free from the potential, horrific curse of being labelled bisexual – are they still being honest with themselves if they call themselves straight? Well, I guess this depends on how one views sex/arousal; I doubt that most women who say this are actually lying, but I think that their language of sexuality and our culture of anti bisexuality suggests to them that the straight box is the one they should fit into. Does saying “I like watching women onscreen, but I wouldn’t go out and have sex with one” mean that you are definitely straight? For me, whatever the reason you’re doing it, surely the fact is that if watching two women having sex arouses you, takes you to a place in which you have erotic thoughts and desires, then you’re aroused by the thought of your own sex.(Do you have to actually have sex with a woman to consider yourself a bisexual woman?) In my mind, that’s still a strong indication that sexuality exists on a continuum, and that what we call ourselves, straight, gay, bi, pan or whatever, we still have the possibility to break free from the constrictions of our language and the boxes it tries to put is in and consider that sex and desire is flexible and more than a little unpredictable. 

Clara’s Dream

Clara's Dream

Clara’s Dream

“How did I get here? I don’t know where I am.”

Clara closed her eyes and gently floated away into an uncertain alcoholic euphoria. She could just hear the gentle ticking of a windup clock marking out every single beat of time; marked out as every gentle beat of her heart marked out a beat of her pleasure; marked out every bead of sweat that gently formed and then trickled down her delicate naked back, down over her soft pleasant round buttocks and slowly dripped cool wet patches, unnoticed onto the floor.

Smells of Clara’s perfume and stale, long forgotten vodka hung in the air, mingling together eccentrically in Clara’s dark place, a sensuous chanel tinged opium. The hot, sweet sweat of sex consumed her, leading her ever onwards into heavier indulgence.

Clara closed her eyes; in the dark she could not see, just feel and drink and taste. Her tiny nude body, on its knees, straddled face down across a hard bed, held roughly round the hips by strong masculine hands, was dripping with thick honeyed oils. The man’s thick tool thrust violently inside of her in time to the gentle ticking of the clock and the warm, pulsating beat of her heart. Ankles bound tight, hands cuffed firmly behind her back Clara could not move but for the sharp thud of her body smacking into the firm bed, and the thrusting of her tight oily glistening ass backwards and upwards into the air.

Clara felt helpless, and her thoughts, thoughts of how she got there, thoughts of where she was going to, drifted ever upwards into a cloudy, constricted helpless dream.

As Clara closed her eyes and drifted into that helpless dark she opened up her mouth and licked the cherry lips covered in vodka and lipstick. Alcohol tinged her breath, sugar sweetened her lips. She opened up her mouth wide and invited them to enter into her, even though bound and taken there was no other choice. Two impressive members belonging to two succulent young men were playing together and kissing one another in all imaginable places, taking lustful pleasure in one another’s erections, readying themselves for Clara’s taking. They lightly rubbed their cocks across one another’s and together they slid them into Clara’s beckoning hole.

Clara’s body trembled as her heart pounded faster and faster; and faster it beat as the thickness swelled and throbbed in her mouth, the thrusting in her dripping pussy about to erupt into thick sticky pleasures. The clock ticked faster, beads of sweat multiplied and flooded in cavalcades down her back, the rhythmic ache in her cunt intensified into a blistering heat. Clara’s petite frame tightened, clenched, and her alcoholic haze lifted her towards the heavens. The clock chimed the hour and two throbbing cocks together burst, releasing their heady substances into her waiting mouth. Clara clenched, choked, plunged forward; her heart stopped beating. Thick, sticky ooze formed inside of her two hot warm places. Drops of cum dripped slowly, unnoticed, out of her cunt and formed cool wet patches on the floor. Streams of liquid gushed down her throat, remaining there, the rest thickly coating the dual cocks that still slipped in and out of her mouth, searching for one last taste of Clara’s sweet sugar.

Cries and moans drowned out the sound of the clock. Clara’s faint heart beat again, slowly and irregularly, no longer marking the time as Clara’s sudden orgasms rushed her to another pleasureworld. Vodka, oil, sweat and sperm mingled together with Clara and her Chanel No.5. She moaned and lost her other senses.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here,” she muttered inaudibly, still sucking excitedly on the cum drenched cocks. “But I don’t think that I ever want to leave.” She closed her eyes again.