Break

When I started this blog, I told myself I'd take a break, once I hit Christmas. Well, it's pretty much Christmas.

Originally, I wanted 25 stories finished by Christmas. 25 stories by the 25th day of December... It has a symmetry, doesn't it? Alas, poor health, the conference, and, well... life, got in the way. I still managed to get 18 or 19 short stories written. They're not long, and not all particularly good, but I've done as much writing in the last couple months as I have in the last couple years. That thought is pleasing, only because it reinforces my belief that I can actually find the time to do more writing, I just need the motivation.

And having people read the stories has been gratifying. I've received a nice batch of e-mails and comments over the last few months, ranging from "That's hot" to "I like your stories" to "You need an editor", all of which have been appreciated. Really.

So, thanks for that.

I'm going to be shutting down for the rest of the holidays, barring an occasional post or two between now and January. I need to recharge the mental battery, plus I've got some personal stuff planned that's going to keep me busy.

When I come back, I'm hoping to write a little differently. I've spent the last 2.5 months chugging pieces out, aiming for quantity, instead of quality. As a result, most of my stories still feel like 1st or 2nd drafts. I think I've found a way to write, so that they come off more polished. I can't expect perfection (no matter how much my perfectionist side whines otherwise) but I think I can write better.

I'm hoping to play with some multi-media ideas I have floating in my head, and I'm thinking of taking a stab at some serialized fiction. I have this odd story floating in my head, based on a book I bought back in 1990.

I'm off to finish my Christmas shopping. I have to buy one last gift for my hairdresser. Heh. I love that woman.

Thanks for everything, and I wish everyone a safe, sexy and Happy Holidays.

Don't try too be hard to be good.

-The Still Kinky Bastard.

Thanks

I'm pretty much back to normal health, thanks for the e-mails. Medicine plus sleep makes a Happy Bastard.

I should have a story up by X-mas.

So. How ya doin'?

-The Healthier Bastard.

Kill me

Still sick.

If this keeps up, I'm going to be going to the doctor's office for the 2nd time in 2 weeks.

I hate dealing with Doctor's offices and hospitals. Why else do you go to these places, except to get bad news?

Bah.

--The Miserable, Chest-wheezing Bastard.

Gah.

Been ill the last couple days. Sore throat, bad cough, chest pain... the usual nonsense.

It hasn't improved my mood, but some porn has helped. A little.

In other news, they announced the winners of the X-mas contest over at Literotica, and I didn't win. The other stories were pretty good (didn't read the "gay male" entry that won first place), but when I looked at the totals, I figured out that if one more person had voted a '5' for one of my stories, I would've won.

... I hate being good with numbers. That just bugs me.

C'est la vie, I suppose.

I should have a new story up here tomorrow or Monday.

-- The Tired and Cranky Bastard

Eh

I've been in an odd mood for the last week or so. I think it's best described as "melancholy".

My brain finds this odd, because I love Christmas. It's probably my favorite time of year. The problem is that after the holidays... Well, that's my least favorite time of year. January through mid-April (tax day and my birthday are back-to-back).

The roads are wet and snowy, It gets dark WAYYYY too early (even though we're working back towards turning the clocks ahead... back... whichever) and it's just dreary and miserable.

I hate it.

For some reason, I've been focusing more on the post-holidays, than on the holidays themselves.

It's been affecting my writing, which bugs me even more. I've barely been "in the mood" at all in the last couple weeks. Now THAT'S very strange. I usually have a day or two a month when I can't be bothered to masturbate. And even then, not every month.

But I've been in a funk.

I was at a used bookstore today, with a list of stuff to buy. One of the items on the list was Laurel Hamilton, who writes the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series. Yeah, sounds like gaudy trash, but the covers are incredibly hot. So, I figured I'd find the first novel for a couple bucks, try it out, and see if it's any good.

I picked it up in my hand, started to read the back, and put it down.

Not in the mood.

The sexual over tones were very obvious, but I just couldn't be bothered.

Weird.

I did end up buy a couple hardcovers I'd been looking for (I'm a hardcover fiend), and found an old Arthur C. Clarke pulp-style story that a friend had recommended. I'm fairly certain it was serialized at some point, but it was only one dollar. A small book for a dollar, how can you go wrong?

Anyways.

Weird mood.

--The Bastard

G-mail Invites

I've got 6. Anyone want 'em?

E-mail me at

the.kinky.bastard@gmail.com

put "G-Mail Invite" in the header, and a sweet message in the... um, message.

I'll get 'em out to you tomorrow.

--The Bastard.

What I'm Reading

I've caught a number of bloggers writing some fun stuff in the last couple weeks. Anyone looking for something to read should try these posts:

- Slippery Sweet talks at length about her decision to seek a dom for a casual relationship. She's written some hot fiction and non-fiction on her blog before, and the article is a well-thought piece on her thoughts and feelings on the matter.

- As noted in an earlier post, Sexkitten is getting screwed all over the place. Interestingly enough, her relationship with "B." came off as quiet and normal, but the guy has turned into a kinky bastard. Obviously, I approve. The most recent entry may not be for everyone. It involved sex during a period.

- I am so easily entranced by women of all shapes and sizes, but this photo just made my jaw drop. No reason why, as I usually don't go for that hair combo, and I have yet to see a photo of MissX smiling, but what a wonderful creature.

- Alexa is still doing her Carnival of Sin every Monday or so at A New York Escorts Confessions. 48 new blogs, some sexual, some not. It's very sweet of her to do that, especially as every blogger likes hits. So, if you've got downtime (in-between shopping and all that) try reading a few.

- I love what and how Vikki writes. She doesn't post as frequently as others, but when she does, she has such a great way of using words. The writing is tight, concise, and very erotic. Her last two entries have been about control, and are really fantastic. Limits, especially. Wow. That got my head spinning about borders and control. It was a topic I had never given much thought to. Anyone at all, who likes sexual power games, should go read those.

--The Bastard

Fiction - X.14 - Reflection

Her ass, already red, slid down slowly, then paused. My head perched up against a pillow, I looked across the room, watching her face in the mirror.

Red cheeks and half-open concentrated eyes foretold but one emotion: Pure, wanton lust. My hand snaked around her chest, as I felt her slide down my shaft again. I felt juice dripping onto my thigh, as my fingers found her breast and squeezed.

She moaned. Her hand clasped over mine, tightening on her chest. She pushed up with her knees, and sank down onto me, crevice swallowing me whole.

In the reflection, I stared at her, as she rose up and down, riding me intently. My fingers scratched over her breast gingerly, as she moved one hand in-between her legs.

I watched, mesmerized, as her fingers slid over her clit, rubbing fervently. Her head rolled onto her shoulders, as her body sank onto my cock, and rotated around my hips. Her body squeezed and tightened on my shaft, finger sliding up and down.

She moaned, as I stared. Her hips rose slightly, then pushed down quickly onto my body, as my back arched in frustration. I could feel my shaft throbbing inside her, as her hand began moving faster.

Her head snapped back, moan getting louder, as she began humping me quickly. Her body pushed up off her knees a few inches, and then down again rapidly, while sweat ran down her chest.

I reached up and grabbed her ass, pushing up and down, as her fingers excited her clit. My hands raised her ass up higher each time, allowing her to impale herself with each fall.

She cried out in ecstasy, as her body slumped downwards, and her pussy spasmed. Ripples of flesh surrounded my dick as she erupted, juices dribbling onto my crotch.

I dug my nails into her hips, as she exploded on top of me. She leaned forward, breasts scratched and sweaty, breathing rapidly.

I sat up slightly, and moved my hand in-between her legs. She tensed, then relaxed, as I started rubbing her spot again.

"May I?" I chuckled.

"Yessss." She purred.

--The Bastard

Now you know

I changed the name of the blog to Kinky Bastard. Although the link is the same, I just wasn't grooving on the "Upstate" thing.

Kinky Bastard sounds better. And you don't need to know where I live in NY. Just as long as it ain't NYC.

--

I updated all of the stories I've written here on the blog. I haven't made it clear that it's all fiction, so I renamed all of them (adding "Fiction" to the title) and updated the links on the side.

So, now you know, SK8-RN.

Heh.

--

On Wednesday night, ABC is replaying the 2-hour season premiere of LOST. If you're not watching it, you're foolish. Really.

Hell, it's got one of the hobbits in it. How can you not love the hobbits?

--

I added some X-mas cheer to the site. Don't call me a grinch.

--The Bastard

Perfect.

In the summer of '97, I had a job that allowed me to travel. Actually, I was required to travel, but, whatever.

I was in Florida, on the panhandle. It was probably mid-June or so. In the 4 weeks since taking the job, I had thrown up several times, tried "bar-b-q" (the cause of one of the yak sessions, incidentally), seen a 10-gallon hat and a 10-foot cross all in the same house, been tortured with hours and hours of Circus Music (which I didn't know existed), and was fired and re-hired(5 states away from home).

It was an experience, to say the least.

But on this day, in Florida, I had the Perfect Long Island Iced Tea. There is no greater drink, and this was perfection.

--

Me and my buddy woke up in the morning, and made plans for the day. We had only two objectives: To Drink and To Screw. Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend(s) were 10 states away. So, the Screwing was up to me.

We were staying with a host family. I remember them easily. They were retired, one Italian, one Irish. The husband was the only man to ever take me down. At the time, I was at the height of my obnoxious/bitter stage (yes, I'm mellow now), and was cracking wise at every opportunity.

But this guy... he had decades on me. And my buddy just sat and watched as I got creamed for three days straight. He laughed, and laughed and laughed. He thought it was the most uproarious thing.

Him: "This guy is like a smarter, mouthier version of you."

Me: "Fuck off. I'll get one in."

Old Man: "I doubt it, you little shit."

Him: "BWAHAHAHA."

It was never-ending.

As we had finished our job obligations the day before, we had all day free, before moving on to our next city in Florida (Ft. something, I think).

So, we decided to hit the beach. Being on the panhandle, near a bunch of small islands, we had a number of choices. We called around, seeing what everyone was doing, and made plans. I made an effort to get ahold of a young lady from town I had met the night before. She had already managed to let me know she was single and had her own apartment.

Heh.

I couldn't get ahold of her, but one of the other guys we were planning with was certain he knew how to get ahold of her. And right here, I made my first mistake.

I let him get ahold of her, instead of tracking her down myself, to let her know where we were going to be.

So, we told the host family we were hitting the beach. They were kind enough to throw some beer our way. My buddy was happy, he loves the beer. At the time, I was a liquor snob. Only mixed drinks and shots for me, thanks.

(Side note: A week or two later, we were in one of the Carolinas - I can't recall which one - and I tried to order a LIIT, only to find that liquor comes in these two-shot bottles, and they'd have to make me a huge drink, using all the liquor from each bottle. Price? $12-15. I passed.)

Since I loved to read, they offered to let me browse through their small fiction collection. I found a book that sounded like your typical "end-of-the-world" kinda thing. Literary Fantasy, it screamed to me.

Cool. Sounds different. I'll try it.

The author's name, though, rang a couple bells in my head. Pat Robertson... Pat Robertson.... Damn. Where had I heard that name before?

I shrugged, tossed the book in the bag with the blanket, sunscreen, and all that crap, and we headed out.

The plans we made with our co-workers was to have some drinks at the beach, and hook up later. And of course, to Screw. Hmmm. Screwing.

So we got to the beach, and hit the beer. I forced myself to drink a few beers, and because it was a: Hot and b: 11:30 am, we found ourselves getting a nice buzz on. We were pleased.

I started reading, and very quickly, alarm bells starting going off on my head. I don't remember the title of the book now, but there was quite a bit of Bible quotes, Christian proverbs, and talking about Armageddon/End of Days scenario. I looked more closely at the dustjacket and cursed.

Religious Fiction.

Fuck.

That is so very much not my kind-of thing. So, the book was a wash.

Me: "Hey."

Him: *grunt*

Me: "Wake up, fucker. We should go eat something."

Him: "What's wrong, book-boy. Don't like what you're reading?"

Me: "You knew, didn't you?"

Him: "BWAHAHAHAHA."

We walked up to the bar, ordered a burger, and I got a drink.

A Long Island Iced Tea.

Now, you have to understand, that it's very easy to fuck up a LIIT. Too much tequila or gin, usually ruins the flavor. That said, it's hard to make a Great LIIT. But to make one Perfect? Never happens.

Only, it did. It was smooth, yet not light. It was strong, yet not overpowering. You could taste the liquor, but not too much.

It was glorious.

And after one... I was smashed. Completely obliterated. The heat, humidity, and beers already in my stomach turned me into a drooling basket-case.

So, I had another one. It wasn't as good, but Perfection rolls around only a couple times in a lifetime.

Now, remember the plan was To Drink and To Screw. For the Drinking, we were Successful.

The Screwing... ah, this is where things went to shit. The beach was miles long, and there were multiple restaurants. We not only couldn't remember which restaurant to go to, but the cell phone reception was non-existant.

And we were too drunk to figure out a better way to get ahold of anyone.

So, we sat on the beach, drinking more beer, passing out, waking up, taking a piss, and then starting all over again. By late afternoon, we were hammered, and tired.

Time to go back. Only...

Who was going to drive?

You have to understand the area of Florida we were in; It was an area of small islands, connected by bridges. And we had a cargo van - that was rented - with out-of-state plates.

And we were trashed.

I told him to drive. He told me I had to drive.

He drove.

And it was an entirely unpleasant experience. Well, not really, because we were laughing the entire time. Especially as we went over the bridges.

The beach was thirty minutes away from the house we were staying in, but it became readily apparent that we would need to find a place to sober up, and piss.

Fast.

The night before, we had gone to a party thrown by one of the locals. He was nice. And fucking rich. So, we decided to stop by, uninvited. We didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

And the guy, he was great about it. Welcomed us in, offered us drinks (no thanks!) and talked to us by the pool for a bit. This guy, he had been a little worried, and was glad we stopped by.

He was a big-game hunter. He went to Africa and shot elephants and lions and whatever else they had down there. Then, he stuffed the heads, and shipped it back up to his house. Where he had a "game room", full of stuffed animals.

He told us a story about how some left-wing, anti-hunting, journalist convinced him to do a story on his hunting, and then wrote an article blasting him. So, he was nervous about letting people into his game room.

One of the girls we worked with, was a straight-up, no holds-barred vegan. She was a great chick, really, but she wouldn't touch meat. And she had mistakenly walked into the game room the night before, and almost lost her shit.

So, the rich guy was worried about her making a stink, but we calmed him down, while we sobered up in his whirlpool.

Meanwhile, the guys we were supposed to hang out with, were drinking heavily, and hitting on the chick I was supposed to bang. Sadly, none of them got with her, and she kept asking where I was.

5 drunk islands away, sweetheart.

Me and my buddy sobered up enough to finish the drive back to our host house, and promptly passed out. We left town the next day, and I still don't remember the girl's name.

That drink, though... damn.

--The Bastard.

Quick question

Anyone know how to get blogger to correctly list my "# of posts" and "words typed" information in the profile correctly? It's been stuck on 16 posts for weeks now, and I know I have quite a few more than that.

I'm more curious in the word count, frankly.

S.

Power

I love sexual power games. If you've read most of my stories, you've probably picked up on that. It's not too hard to miss.

For me, it's like a drug, pounding through my veins. It's laced with my fervent need to always be right, to always win. I have been known to admit defeat gracefully, but only rarely.

I have a tendency to get too hamstrung on the "dom" and "sub" archetypes of bdsm. That comes from my black-and-white view of the world. It's easier, in my mind, to settle on extremes. Because the gray area in-between gets too confusing.

I'll be talking to a girl, and in the back of mind I start thinking... "What's her favorite position? Does she like getting her clothes ripped off(in some cases literally)? Does she like to be spanked? Does she like to be tied up? Does she want to tie ME up? Or doesn't she know at all?"

It's easier to read women in the their 20's and mid-30's. Talking to women who get older than that, it starts to get tricky. It's a game, because that's all it is to me. Unless I'm out drinking and in the mood to start trouble. Then it becomes... fun.

I don't know why so many things seem to come back to the topic of power. I was talking to a friend of mine recently, and he remarked that his fiancee confessed that one of the things that attracted her to him, was his confidence. Not only that, but he's a fantastic musician. She would get turned on just watching him play.

In my case, it's my confidence tinged with arrogance. Or so I'm told by ex-girlfriends.

Anyways.

I can't ever imagine being tied up. I'd get bored, real fast. Tying someone up, though... ah. So much fun. It's that feeling of being able to do whatever I want to do, in my own time.

Yum.

It's the greatest thrill in the world, power. I don't completely understand my fascination with it, but I'm not too bothered by it, either. It's all part of the game, I guess.

--The Bastard.

Review

I caught Ocean's Twelve last night with the boys. We managed to catch an early showing, so as to avoid the rush of stupid people. I generally wait until Monday or Tuesday nights to watch movies in the theatre (or better yet, the DVD) but I'm a huge fan of Ocean's Eleven (the remake, not the original)

Anyways, it was a fun movie. Full of plot holes, none-to-little character development, and a script that felt more like a second draft than a finished product, O12 was still enjoyable because it's so rare that you see a group of movie stars having so much fun with what they do.

I mean, I can't really blame them for taking on this project. They knew they'd party like rock stars, make a butt-load of money, and have a good time in the process. Who wouldn't want to do that?

The jokes and overall good humor of the movie still made it fun to watch. They tried to pull off a "Usual Suspects" kinda thing (and you really won't see it coming, so I'm not spoiling anyone) which was the worst idea ever. And some of the great supporting cast - Elliot Gould and Bernie Mac, to name two - were pretty much ignored, which is sad.

Still, it's a good time, and a fun romp. If you're looking for a holiday diversion, you could see it. Or just watch Ocean's Eleven. Much better film. Great Suits. Tight script.

Next, I want to see Closer; supposed to be quite steamy.

--The Bastard

Fiction - X.17 - Sweet

Anxiously, we waited for the inevitable 'ding'. I looked over at her, as she licked her lips playfully..

"Not. Fair." I murmured, as a metallic sound signified the arrival of the elevator. Metal doors opened, an elderly couple strolling into the hallway.

We walked quickly into the elevator, hands randomly touching. Her face was flushed from the wine, mine from the wine and the erection sticking straight up inside my pants. I hit the button for my floor, and leaned against the wall.

I watched as she slid in front of me, and pressed her ass directly into my crotch. Her leather mini-skirt rubbed against my crotch, swaying up and down, then moving from side-to-side. She flipped her head around, dark brown hair framing lusty eyes.

I put my hand on her mini-skirt and lifted upwards. She eagerly pressed her bare flesh back into me. My hands moved up and down her legs, as she lifted her hair, and rested her head on my shoulder.

My hands reached up to her chest, bravely playing with her large breasts through her sweater. She moaned in approval, head turning into my neck. My fingers pressed into her breasts, pulling and playing with them, as the elevator 'dinged'.

But not for our floor.

I let go of her breasts slowly, as the door opened. She straightened up, and pushed her skirt-down. Her flushed face panted, as the elderly couple walked in, smiled naively in our direction, and pressed the button for another floor.

The doors closed, as their backs turned away from us. My crotch pushed forward, pressing into her ass. Her body tensed, then pressed back. The elevator was silent, except for our conspicuous breathing.

The elderly man turned around, and stared at me. I looked at him briefly, and smirked. He smiled back broadly.

Good for you, his eyes said.

You better believe it, mine responded.

Tne elevator reached our floor, and we strode off quickly. I looked behind me, only to see the old man reach behind his wife, and grab her ass. She jumped, and he laughed. He caught my eye, and winked.

Good for you, I chuckled quietly.

My attention returned to the brunette-haired vixen in front of me. I pointed to the right, and we half-walked, half-ran down to my hotel room.

She stood behind me, hand squeezing my arm, as I popped the door open and pulled her inside. I pressed her quickly against the wall, as the door closed behind us. My hands quickly lifted her skirt, as our lips began their mutual feast.

Her skirt bunched around her waist, my fingers pressed against her bare pussy. Digits met wet flesh, as I began stroking her lips.

She reached up, rubbing her hand through my short hair. I moved my knee in-between her legs, as my fingers continued massaging her pussy.

She pulled away from me, dark hair matting her face.

"The bed," She whispered. We turned, and headed towards the middle of the room, as we both quickly shed most of our clothing.

She sat down on the bed, sweater and skirt already on the floor. She looked up at me, as her bra came off. Her eyes travelled down to my waist, where my boxers failed to hide my erection. She reached out with both hands, pulled my dick out, and promptly engulfed it with her mouth.

My hands reached for her hair, as her tongue slid up and down my shaft. Her mouth moved feverishly, attempting to devour me.

I pushed her back on the bed, and laid her down on her back. I laid next to her, while her fingers grabbed my cock and began stroking. She sat up, and crossed over my body, her mouth over my crotch.

I impulsivley grabbed her right leg, and pulled it over my head. I reached up, grabbed her hips and pressed her pussy right against my face.

Her wet flesh rubbed against my face, as she impaled her mouth onto my dick. I licked upwards, tongue tasting wet pussy.

Her lips wrapped around my shaft, as my tongue licked her lips. My hands pulled on her body, as her legs pushed closer to my head. I eagerly slid my tongue inside, her body pulsing on my face.

She moaned into my crotch, as my tongue probed her wet hole. Her legs tightened around my head, thighs pressed against my face, while my tongue slid in and out.

I felt her mouth begin swallowing me, lips pushing down my shaft. The feeling of her warm, wet mouth, sent a shock through my system. I pulled my tongue out, and slid it up to her clit. Her body went rigid, as my tongue flicked her clit several times.

Another moan escpaed her mouth, as she began face-fucking my cock. I slid my fingers up to her lips, and pushed them in without abandon. As her face fucked my dick, my fingers fucked her cunt.

The tempo of her mouth moving up and down increased, as did my fingers. I twisted my head, nad pressed my mouth against her clit, sucking hard. My fingers pumped into her faster, as her body began writhing over my face.

Her cheeks tightened sharply, as she tightened her mouth on my cock. I could feel my balls stir, as her body twisted on top of me. The fingers fucked faster, as her mouth sucked harder. I felt my balls tighten, as my body tensed underneath her.

My hand dug into her hips, as my crotch shot upwards, cock exploding. Her pussy pressed against me, juice leaking, as her moans climaxed, orgasm jolting through her pussy.

Our bodies erupted into each other, as our bodies heaved back and forth. I laid my head back, panting, as her mouth finished swallowing the rest of my cum. My lips, drenched with her sweet
fluids, smiled.

She curled up next to me and yawned.

Seconds later, we passed out.

--The Bastard

- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Fiction - X.13 - Denial

She arrives late. Again. A brusque apology mumbles from her lips, but I know it matters little.

Born from my resentment, a new scene forms in my head. I'm going to use the video camera, but today I will draw something new. A new medium, perhaps? Yes.

No painting today. We'll try something different

I order her to sit cross-legged on the bed, naked.

She glances slightly towards the video camera, but says nothing. Her body flushes slightly, but remains silent.

Excellent.

I sketch quietly for a moment, her body arousing me swiftly. My fingers are covered with charcoal as I inform her that I want her nipples to harden.

As she touches herself, my blood races. I am barely able to speak, quietly telling her to pull harder. She appears to be in some pain.

Good. That's what she gets for showing up late.

I finish the first pose, and compose myself. I will not let her get the best of me again. I know what I'm drawing, and I know what she thinks I'm drawing, but they are not necessarily the same thing. To her, this is art, and so it is to myself.

I have her switch positions: Lying down, knees bent and spread, while she plays with her lips. My hands begin drawing faster, as her fingers manipulate and tease her lower region. My fingers continue their work, but it soon becomes apparent that she is wet and in heat.

And so her heat turns me on, too. Damn her. I will deny these feelings, yes.

I finish the piece, and stand up abruptly. Immediately I feel my arousal between my legs. This is what she has done to me... to me?

She notices the bulge in my jeans, which combined with my frustration over my arousal, infuriates me quickly.

Let's see how far Camille is willing to go.

“This last pose may be difficult. If you don’t want to do it, I can get someone else.”

“I can do it.” She responds defiantly.

She moves to her hands and knees, chest pressed against the bed. Her ass sticks outwards, quite attractively. She looks uncomfortable, but it matters little to me.

But her sinful body beckons, and my own wishes cannot be denied; against my better judgement, subject and artist mix. I order her to spread her thighs.

I move closer, fingers sliding easily inside her. My eyes close, as body throbbing slightly. I catch myself panting quietly. Did she hear?

No.

My fingers mindlessly rub her wetness up towards her crack. Her body settles uncomfortably, beckoning almost. I swallow nervously. My near-insatiable need almost eclipses my work.

I must have more. For the art, of course. It's all about the art. But I must have more. Perhaps her fingers?

Yes. Her fingers.

I suck on one finger, tasting her. I inhale strongly, her essence an intoxicant to my already-racing libido. My head spins, reality smacking me in the face.

I have gone too far. And it is all her fault.

I place her finger against her tight hole. A punishment? At first, perhaps. But as I instruct her to push it in to the last knuckle, her body sucking her finger in, I hear her loud breathing betray her; Her body shakes slightly, as she continues her path of self-arousal.

I know what she wants. But she shall be denied.

I return to my work and draw. And draw and draw and draw and... Her body silently cries out to me, while mine own body throbs. In my mind, I see nothing but the art, and her heat. She squirms and twists, self-manipulations taking over. I stop drawing, panting quietly.

I can't... no more.

Damn her.

I stand up, holding my breath, reaching for a rag. I reach into my pants, nervous yet resigned

I have no other choice in the matter.

It takes bare minutes, my hand rigidly shaking forward-and-back. My heart races, pumping so loud I swear she must hear it; My body shakes, as my hips jerk quickly. A series of small breaths escapes my mouth, as I watch her hand attempt to hold still. She can neither see, nor hear me.

And yet, she is wanton.

For me.

It is that thought that sends me over the edge. My hips push outwards, knees weak, as I erupt silently. My jaw drops, eyes close, breath held in my throat. My head shoots back, neck almost cracking, while her thighs tremble mere feet from me.

I sit down slowly, body convulsing in waves. There was nothing I could do, I could not deny my need. Once again, she has disrupted the balance.

Steadying my voice, I inform her that we are done for the day. I walk into the next room, to make a cup of coffee.

Loud moans reach my ears, and do not go unnoticed. So, Camille has also breached the balance point between art and need, after being denied her release. I smile to myself, waiting for the coffee to finish.

Now she knows how it feels.

--The Bastard

--If you go read Rodin pt.3, you can see this story from Camille's point-of-view. Thanks to DTG for letting me play in her sandbox.

Copyright

I registered my site through Creative Commons yesterday. It's a site that copyrights your work to your name. You can see the icon on the right, in one of the sidebars.

Basically, I've just secured my writing. It wasn't a huge issue, but it was something in the back of my mind.

Anyone writing any fiction at blogger, or anywhere else, should consider doing the same.

--The Bastard

Between

What a strange couple days I've had.

Between several long nights of drunken revelry; a 5-hour trip to the Emergency Room (Yes, everyone is fine); a 3.5 hour drive that took over 5 hours; catching up with a handful of old colleagues who were all of the mind(as one person put it) that I had "dropped off the face of the earth"; an odd conversation with an old mentor; a fun conversation with a friend's wife; a quiet conversation with a very old friend; an act of singing(which I had sworn never to do again) that really sounded quite horrid; making a new friend; threatening with new friend to go find an exhibitor, bend her over the table in the exhibit hall, smack her ass, fuck her brains out, then jump on the table, screaming "-------- RULES!", then walking away; Laughing hysterically for 15 minutes over the previous idea, then getting another drink...

Between all that, I still managed to almost reserve a first-class, one way ticket to hell, by almost hooking up with a wonderful, blond-haired, drunken woman.

Who was married.

Sorry to say, I was a good boy.

Only because her (also drunk) boss was present and cock-blocked me.

Dammit.

--

Best quote of the last three days:

Her: "Hey!!"

Him: "What?"

Her: "You can't do that!"

Him: "What? Why not?"

Her, points to Me: "Only he's allowed to smack my ass."

Me: "Heh."

She had nice soft lips, too.

Mm, yummy.

Oh well.

Back to the grind.

--The Bastard

Back.

Yeah. The Bastard had returned.

And I am Fucking. Tired.

Equal parts awkward and bittersweet, it was an interesting couple days. Plus, various acts of debauchery made things lively.

More to come.

--The Bastard.

Fiction - X.19 - Talk?

Hey.

...

Hey.

I'm sleeping, woman.

Can we talk?

... please let this be a dream.

I just.. please?

No.

I'll let you touch my breasts.

... Hmm.

Really.

... I don't trust you.

....

....

Better?

Hm. Yes. Talk.

I had a bad day at work.

Mm hmm.

... what are you doing?

Nothing. Continue.

... okay. So, I had a...

...

...

...

You really shouldn't be doing that. I'm trying to talk.

Mm hmm. Do you want me to stop?

I really.... ohh.

Heh.

I'm just... *breathes*

...

God.

*chuckle*

... *whisper* grab them harder.

... like that?

*moan*

Heh. That's what I thought.

Mmm.

Then again, I could...

Oh. oh....*sigh*

Should I stop with...

No.

You sure?

YES.

You're wet.

*moan* Yeah, I don't know how that could've...

Oh, I have an idea. Of course, I could just...

...uh.

What did you want to talk about, now?

... mmm.

No, you had a bad day.

I don't.. it's not... God.

Really. I'm a sensitive 90's man. Talk to me.

Uh It's not the.. uh uh uh uh...

Oh my. I really did think you wanted to talk.

You... you're... horrible...

I know. And you love it.

...

...

God.

That's it, baby.

I... uh... Don't...

...

Oh. Oh. OH!

...

*loud gasp*

...

*Shudder*

...

uh... uh... uh... uh...

...

*collapse*

*quiet chuckle*

You....

That's what you get for waking me up.

--The Bastard

-- I received so much positive feedback on the last story, Crack, that I decided to try the same style again. Plus, I wanted to get another story done before I left. Hoped you liked.

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Oh, and...

In case you need something to read, don't forget that all my stories are listed on the right in the sidebar. That's all the ones that start with 'X'.

Oh, and my literotica stories are here.

I've got two stories in the literotica holiday contest. If you wouldbe so kind, please vote for both.

Specifically, hit me up with some '5''s for Reflections on Lives Passed.

I really really REALLY want that story to win. You vote at the end of the story.

I promise to be a kinky fucker, if ya do. :)

--The Bastard

Out and about

I'm heading out of town for a conference. I'm leaving Thursday morning, and won't be back until Saturday afternoon sometime. This Sunday is an important day to me, so I'll be posting sporadically through Monday, if at all.

I hope to have a new story up wednesday night, but no promises.

--The Bastard