Randi's Inferno

Good for the rum.

I would estimate the opening stanza of orgasms to approximate seven. How the hell *did* you come up onto your stomach? When you're laying on your back, that seems nearly impossible. Of course, you also came up my arm. That should have prepared me.

For quite some time now, you've been my dedicated tart. Over the years, you have grown as a Woman, Mother, Wife, and all-around Hot Wench.

Your inhibitions are in tatters. Only the barest shreds remain here and there - perhaps just one thin corner, barely intact, leaving the rest to flap wildly in even the gentlest of breezes. . .

Sever that last corner.

You see, my desire is twofold. First off, the higher your pleasure, the higher my pleasure. I've spoken of this before. When you assumed the position last night, I had a subtle sense that you were even more hungry than usual. A hunger to be taken. A hunger to be fucked. A hunger to be possessed by me and my cock.

I was wrong.

When you bent over the side of the bed, your position was ever so slightly different than ever before. Your pussy was calling me. There have been many, many times that I have been focused on that beautiful pleasure dispenser between your legs. But this time, it wasn't the same. Even though I was in the driver's seat, somehow, some way, your pussy was doing the fucking. It was reaching for me. Pulling me in. Keeping me in. It isn't possible, but it was like your pussy was reaching out from you and collecting my cock, my arousal, my consciousness. Your cunt consumed me last night. I know, because, you see, I was there. When your come squirted out during fucking, it didn't squirt onto me. I swear it squirted around me.

I was wrong, I realized. This time, you did not want to be possessed by me.

It was like I was being inhaled into your pleasure. Osmosing into your vagina, physically, mentally, spiritually. I have never in my life been sexually consumed like that. You were, quite simply, a pleasure predator last night.

This time, you possessed me.

But the main reason I want you to let go is for you. While you were in the throes last night, it was obvious. You were all about your pleasure. More than ever before. I wasn't in charge. Hell, you weren't even in charge. Randi's thirst for an intense, searing, sexual inferno was in charge.

Give in to the Pink side, Randi. I'll do my damnedest to keep up.

Yo Ho Ho. . .

Let's just say that rum and my libido have always been fast friends. Rum is what makes me Randi. There's something about my chemical makeup that embraces rum and turns it into a heady desire for sex, with no regard for consequences.

The first time I tried rum, I found myself in a position where I was ready to fuck the man across the table from me, regardless of the restaurant's other patrons. But not just the man across from me; the man beside me as well. Ever since then, I've known that drinking rum was akin to dancing with the devil, for me.

There's something to be said for dancing with the devil. Sometimes that opens you up to things you might not have felt comfortable trying before. Mostly it just means that you are allowing yourself to blame the devil for something you really wanted to do in the first place.

I had rum tonight, and let me just say, oh dear God, I love sex.

Not that I don't otherwise. No, indeed. I always love sex. Even when I'm not so much in the mood to start with it turns out that I still love sex. But oh, my.

Maybe I could blame it on the gorgeous day we had today. Maybe I could blame it on the fresh air and the great exercise we had before dinner. Maybe I could blame it on Peter's fanstastic food. Or I could just blame it on the rum, which seems the safest bet.

Whatever the case, I was Randi. Even though I'd fallen down on the job and not come up with anything clever for Sunday^3, (which is nice cuz then we still get to look forward to it on Monday) I was Randi. My rocket provided me with a number of juicy orgasms, the number of which I completely lost track. One went on and on and on - I don't even know how many peaks it had. It was literally a chain of unbroken orgasms. And it was bracketed by many more. My pussy was soaked, the towel under me was sopping, there were even juices up on my stomach somehow.

I finally deemed that it was Peter's turn, but let me tell you a secret. I had this desire to get my ass slapped. This is not generally me. At least not a me that I will admit to being, even to myself, so I was mildly surprised when I felt an urge for Peter to smack my ass while fucking me.

Damn!

I've always needed somewhat harsh physical stimuli. When we were kids, my sister liked backrubs but they drove me crazy because they were too tickly for me. Me, I had to have a brushing. A hairbrush, scraped down my back was what felt relaxing to me. Tonight, in my rum-induced Randi wench state, it was an ass-slapping I needed. After my uncounted number of delicious, pussy-drenching orgasms, I sucked Peter's cock a little greedily, before slithering off the bed and bending over it, positioning a pillow under my pelvis and raising my ass high in the air. Peter stood behind me and penetrated my wet pussy easily. I was incrediby aroused and my G-spot very swollen, so each time he slid into me and out again, it was inexplicably delicious. And then he began pumping a little harder.

I have to say that there is something about having Peter's strong hands firmly gripping my hips or waist that drives me wild. Somthing about that posessiveness, strength, and control. But tonight I wanted even more. A little of my brain still held back, but my friend Rum overpowered it and I grabbed Peter's right hand and brought it down on my ass with a nice, firm smack. Oh, it was good. But it wasn't enough. Fortunately Peter got the point immediately and gave me some more firm smacks. Fuck! - even better. A thick, hard cock driving deep into me, and a firm hand slapping me on the ass. Noises of urgency escaped me as Peter kept thrusting. I was worshiping facedwown at the altar of fornication and Peter served me the sacrament shortly thereafter.

My cup runneth over.

A Little Night Imagery

The steely streaks of cold rain were jabbing down the neck of her coat like splinters of ice. Hunching her shoulders up to her ears, she ran a little faster - not much; her heels wouldn't allow it.

"Oh, the hell with it," she growled, and stopped to kick them off. Just those few seconds allowed another wall of rain to sluice down her neck and back.

"Dammit!" she muttered, then, shoes in hand, she began to run in earnest.

She wove among the multitude of suddenly slower strangers blocking her way - each one a sodden pillar of anonymnity looming out of the downpour. Her bare feet slapped the pavement, splashing the puddles up around her knees, onto the people she passed. Heat began to build in her body and the icy rain lost its edge as her breath began to come a little harder, filling her lungs with a cleansing burn. God, how long had it been since she'd run like this? Years. Since she was just a kid. She'd forgotten how free she felt when running flat out - almost like flying. Her lungs hurt, but her legs felt too good to stop.

A large black shape loomed on her left, then moved over her head, and the rain's tune suddenly changed from splattering shower to hollow thrumming. She chanced a quick sidelong glance and saw a pair of eyes looking into her own - deep, dark, almost black, and sparkling with a secret mirth. She turned her face quickly forward to hide an answering grin, and ran on. The umbrella easily kept pace.

One block to her building. One block to think about how this could play out. But maybe he'd disappear before then. Maybe. Something in his eyes, though, made her think not.

Just ahead, a large puddle beckoned and before she'd had time to really think about it, she'd jumped in with both feet at once, soaking no less than 6 passersby with a spectacular wall of water. Dirty looks lasered toward her from all sides. Someone muttered "Crazy Bitch!" But another man stopped dead, sucked in by her gay abandon, wistfully watching this free spirit as she ran on and became lost in the crowd.

Her building loomed ahead now, and a good thing, too, because soon she might not be able to breathe anymore. And yet her self-appointed protector still ran beside her, seemingly effortlessly. She smiled a little secret half-smile to herself. Well, why not?

to be continued. . .

Damn! I Am Teh Pwn!!

Sweet!!

And it's really good, too. :)

Lovely, in fact, I have to say.

But it's Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Lots of sex has come and gone since my last post, and more is in store for me even now. Some people are just going to bed, some people are just getting up, and I'm just getting ready.

Randi out. For now.