Nasty with the Girl

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Why hasn’t dogging caught on in America?

I look at web sites, read real life accounts of these lucky bitches in Brittan, and I can’t believe there’s not some park I can go to here, in Chicago.

So I decided to create my own.

But first:

Last October, I decided to try craigslist.

I started out answering ads. Posts in Casual Encounters seemed a little too dangerous. I want to get fucked, not killed, so I would peruse the Men Seeking Women personals, and I would randomly choose men to which I would send this little response:

Hey there.

I know you’re very sincere in your quest to find Miss Right. I respect that.

But if you’re looking, I bet that means you haven’t gotten your dick wet in a while.

I’d like to come to wherever you are. I’d like you to let me in so I can come in and take off my dress. I’d like to get on all fours on your kitchen floor, have you fuck me there like a doggy. I don’t need to know your name, or anything about you. I’ll leave before your come can run out of whichever hole you decide to use. Then you can get back to your search for True Love.

Respond with an address and a guideline of times when you’ll be home (alone).

I fucked between four and twelve men a week with this system until it got old, about six months. Tall, short, fat, skinny, black, white, asian. Polite, rude, clean, dirty, young, old. Fucked doggy style on I can’t even count how many kitchen floors throughout Chicagoland. Maybe a gallon of semen, teaspoons at a time. It got me through to spring.

Now this, my latest, posted ten days ago in Strictly Platonic (so as to still not get serial killed, and to reach the largest audience possible):

Anonymous Anal- 26 – w4mm

Tonight you will come to the park by my house. There is a bench at the northwest corner, behind the field house. I will be sitting on this bench. You will not speak to me. You will place a nickel in my hand, and that is how we will know one another. Percentages make it unlikely that the nickel you give me will be the first, or the last, of the night.

I will get up and walk to a secluded place by the pond. You will follow. The dress I am planning to wear is long and flowing, and I will be naked underneath it. My asshole will be clean and lubed. If you show me that you want it, I will let you bend me over and fuck my anus until you come. After which, you will still not speak to me. I do not want to know you.

I expect a lot of responses. I will choose randomly who I will meet. Those chosen will receive an email with specific instructions within 24 hours of responding.

I stretch my asshole. Regularly, like when I am at home alone. I watch Frontline and Nova in a fetal position on the couch with a summer squash sticking out of my rectum.

Weekends, I insert an antique steel gynecological speculum into my anus, roll the little wheel between my fingers until each of the three sculpted prongs holds my hole gaped a nasty three inches. I bend over and inspect my perversity in my dressing mirror. I flex my hole to see if I can move the instrument. Then I tiptoe around naked, cleaning the kitchen, sorting laundry, asshole wide open.

I squat and push my pucker onto liquor bottles and candles. I lay in bed at night with four fingers slimed in pussy juice and crammed into my butthole. I drive to the post office, do my grocery shopping, attend the monthly meeting of my condo association, with a light bulb-sized butt plug lodged up my dirt box. I go to the ladies room and climb onto the toilet, place a foot on each side of the seat. I squat and slowly push the plug out into my cupped hand. I shit it out. Then I push it back in. Maybe I do it once, if I’m in a hurry, if someone’s waiting for me. If its just during a shopping trip or after a movie, I might squat there, sucking the plug in and out of my pucker, thumping my clit with my free hand, til I come.

So offering myself up to get anally reamed by who-knows-how-many strangers isn’t the… stretch… you might think. If you’ve been reading me, you know about Daddy Ford and Ray-Ray and all the halfway house guys. There have been six gangbangs now, about one every other month since I’ve known them, and on any one of those occasions, I’ve spent four or five or six hours taking cock after cock up my ass. I think its not exaggerating to say I’ve had days when I’ve been buttfucked thirty or forty times.

How embarrassing, to add it up like that. Though I have a great job, pretty face, hot body, parents who love me, my own home, etc, etc, I still have this idea that there is something deeply wrong with me that I let men do these thing to me, that I get them to do these things to me, even. But I’m philosophical about it. I may be fucked up, but I still like doing it. So I do it. Feeling fucked up and conflicted about it, sometimes ashamed and appalled, is part of what turns me on.

So yeah, this latest Bycasino fucked up thing. An open ad to all comers (ha ha) to come fuck my asshole. I am so excited each night as I pad the block and a half to what I’m now thinking of as The Waiting Bench.

I got screwed in the ass by ten strangers a night for a week. And then I did what I always do, I set about writing about it, telling random strangers about it.

That’s part of it for me. Its not enough that I do it. I want to talk about it, tell people. There’s the fucking, the sex act. But then there’s the telling, the recounting. The story-writing, the shocking admissions to strangers in bars and elevators. That’s a sex act too. For me, anyway. Fucking only, and never telling, wouldn’t be enough for me. Neither would just writing stories, or talking dirty. Its a two-part thing. I have more feeling for, more connection to, my stranger-confessors than whatever strangers I’ve let fuck me. And the talking part, I’ve figured out at least this much, that its about getting outside reinforcement that what I do is nasty and bad and degrading and shameful. Using my own judgment only, I would get jaded. Even letting Ray-Ray rent me out in a crack house would eventually get mundane. But I feed off of other people’s shock and dismay. It keeps me aware of what it is that I’m doing.

Last Tuesday I went out on my lunch hour to ride elevators in a couple of office buildings about a mile from where I work. I do this as a sex act. I ride up and down, waiting to be alone with one man, or maybe two, or maybe, more rarely, with a woman I sense has a penchant for debasement like I do. I wait for this situation, and then I say something like I said to the elderly Japanese man who stood near the panel of buttons on the Sheraton Hotel elevator as the doors closed. His back was to me as I spoke.

“Last night I got fucked in the asshole by ten strangers.”

He turns to me, a mildly shocked expression on his face. I smile my Birthday Girl smile.

I say, “Really! I put an ad on craigslist.” I stop smiling. “I got about two hundred responses. I just picked a bunch at random.”

My heart is crashing in my chest the way it does when I’m getting ready to get actually fucked. For me, this is part of it.

This small, tidy man looks at me closely. He sees that I am serious, despite my smile. His expression saddens. In accented English, and to my utter shock, he inquires, “Gwory ho?” Glory hole.

His gaze is discomforting. He sees me as dirty and pathetic, regardless of my Prada bag. I might as well have gobs of come hanging in my hair. I allow shame in my voice as I look down and say, “No, just in a park. In some trees. People could see.”

He says, “You reawwy do?”

I say, “Yes.” My voice is small. I am embarrassed. And wet in my pantyhose.

He says, “Why you do?”

The elevator doors open on the mezzanine. I step out and leave him. Passing, I whisper, “I’m dirty. I like to.”

Last year, when I was consumed with what I was doing with Daddy Ford and Ray-Ray, I found myself alone in the basement ladies room of Macy’s with a college age fat girl, a goth chick. She wasn’t grotesquely fat, just chubby, but wearing clothes too revealing for her form. Leggings and a too-tight t-shirt. She bulged and rippled beneath. Her makeup was heavy and ornate. It screamed both “Look at me!” and “I’m ugly!” In fact, everything about her said Low Self Esteem.

I know the common feminist thought is that letting guys fuck you as a way to shore up your self esteem is not the way to go. But my philosophy is that if guys fucking you and coming all over you makes you feel beautiful, or desirable, or in control, then do it. Use it.

So I’m standing in Macy’s bathroom, washing slime off my hands from a little butt plug break. This pathetic fat girl is applying lipstick by the pound.

I say, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a big fat whore and I bet you are too.”

There is a pause, during which she looks at me in the mirror. Her expression does not change, but she assesses me. I’m sure I look like a sleek, put-together young professional to her. I mean, I am. My suit is navy silk. My bag and shoes are Prada. I smell like Opium and coffee. When she speaks, it is hesitantly, though her eye contact remains bold in the mirror. “What do you mean?”

I finish with the water and turn off the faucet. I return her look.

“If fucking makes you feel good, do it. People are prudes. Nearly everyone’s repressed. Last weekend I spent the day in a halfway house basement getting fucked in all my holes by a dozen ex-cons.”

Her mouth hangs open.

“I met these guys, they wanted to fuck me, I let them, they told their friends. So now I fuck their friends. I let them do whatever they want to me, and they fucking adore me for it.”

She begins, “But…” and doesn’t continue.

I say, “The trick is not to want anything Bycasino giriş but fucking. A hard cock does not equal a loving relationship.” I throw my wad of paper towels in the trash. I turn to her. “Let ’em fuck you. Let ’em come all over you. Hell, let ’em piss on you if they want. Eat it up. Then get up and go home. I promise you, they’ll call.”

I walk over to where she’s still standing, still staring at me in the mirror, even though I’m right beside her now. I flip open my phone and scroll to my pictures. I show her the one of Ray-Ray pissing in a great arc into my open mouth while Daddy and his friend from the Salvation Army shelter dp me. Boudro took the picture for me. I was just looking at it a moment ago while squatted on the toilet and sucking the butt plug in and out of my ass.

“Look at what I let them do to me. I don’t love any of them. And they’re crazy about me.”

As we both stare at the image she whispers, “Do you want me to eat your pussy?”

I whisper back, “Do you want me to love you for it?”

She sighs, and in a normal voice says, “No, I guess not. I’d just do it ’cause we’re both, like you said, big fat whores.”

We are still looking at the picture of me as the fuckable negro toilet. I say, “I’m not really into chicks, but I hate to turn down anybody who offers to eat my pussy.” She is holding her breath. I get the sense that she doesn’t even really want to, but is accustomed to groveling and making herself worthless with easy offers like this. This is why I say yes. Normally all my energy is focused on my own degradation. It is a novel situation for me to be able to, and to want to, orchestrate the degradation of someone else. And how nice, that she will, like me, see the degradation as the sex act, more than the act itself.

She tears herself away from looking at my picture and pulls a strip of paper and a pen from her purse. She scribbles something on the scrap and tries to hand it to me. I don’t even lift my hand. “What is that?”

Embarrassed (good!), she mumbles, “My number. So we can, uh, hook up.”

I take her chin in my hand, gently. I am the mentor here. I make her look at me.

“If you are capable of being the slutty cunt I think you are, you can eat my pussy right here, right now.” I smile, to soften it, because I feel her recoil. I want to push, to make her uncomfortable, but not so much that she flees. Not so much that I don’t get my clit licked.

She is so uncomfortable! Pathetic fat girl turned wooden as I take her by the hand and pull her into the handicapped stall. Her fear is palpable. So is her excitement though.

I tell her to sit, and she’s obedient enough, lowering herself clumsily onto the toilet. I was just in here, shoving the butt plug in and out of my ass.

I strip in a no-nonsense fashion. In less than thirty seconds my expensive silk suit hangs from the steel hook on the metal door. I am standing naked in front of her in my pumps and garter stockings. My pussy is, as always, bald and split. Some girls can keep all their bits tucked away, but my labia are fat and long. They push out my slit. This girl looks, then looks away.

I say, “Look at my cunt, whore.” She is so uncomfortable! I say, “Have you ever even eaten anybody’s pussy before?”

I can barely hear her when she answers, “I did it twice.”

I say, “Did you like it?”

She says, “Not really.” But then, wanting to please, “But I am bisexual.”

But I’ll bet she’s not. Just pathetic. And easy. I’m going to try to teach her something here.

Speaking to her has given her the idea that I won’t make her eat my pussy. She may sense that I have sympathy for her the way I can sense these things about her. I see her relaxing a little. But if she doesn’t eat my pussy, I won’t be able to show her this valuable thing I want to teach her. And also, okay, I’m now getting really hot about the idea of cunnilingus with a nameless girl in the basement ladies room at Macy’s.

“C’mere.” I use my hand to grip her throat, not from the front like I want to choke her, but from the side, a modified Vulcan pinch. There’s no force, no menace, though.

She stands, and at my detailed instruction, lies on the floor, the top of her head about a foot in front of the toilet. She bends her legs and wedges her feet against either side of the metal bracing for the stall door. She is laying there, looking up at me, looking pathetic and willing to please. I stand over her, straddling her shoulders. She can look up the length of my legs and see my pussy, my meaty labia hanging out, glistening.

I squat on her face. I grip the edge of the toilet and tolerate her inept lapping. I’m not going to get off without enhancing this scene.

So first, I rock back and forth on her muzzle. I squish my box against her face and smear it up and down. I fuck myself on her nose. I raise up a little and bounce against her face. My Bycasino deneme bonusu ass and pussy lips make smacking sounds each time I make contact. I rub my whole crack all over her head until I’m sure she’s nice and slimy. Then I stand up, and put a foot on her chest.

I look down at her. Her makeup is smeared everywhere. That burgundy color she was painting her lips with when I found her has stained her cheeks and chin and her septum. She’s got my juice all over her face, in her eyebrows even. My voice is kind when I tell her that I am going to talk dirty to her, that I might want to make her cry. I tell her I want her to do what I tell her because right now she eats pussy like a fucking retard. I tell her to look at me when I’m talking to her. She looks at me, glazed and mute.

I say, “You offered, you pig. You asked me if you could eat my pussy. I thought you knew what you were doing. Somebody gets me wet like this–” I reach down and dig fingers from each hand into my slit. I hold my fingers like claws and spread it wide. This is an ugly, obscene gesture. My cunt probably looks distorted and scary. “Somebody gets me wet like this, they better get busy.” I turn around so that I am still straddling her shoulders, but now facing away from the toilet. I squat again, abruptly, but stop just shy of smacking her on the mouth with my pussy hole. I say, “This time, don’t worry about what you’ve seen in the pornos. I’ll come when I’m ready; I’ll tell you just how to do it. Right now, though, I want you to clean out my hole.” I settle my cunt onto her open mouth and reach down and stretch my ass cheeks. Neither of us have mentioned my butt plug, which is clearly visible to anyone eating my pussy. “Lick the hole, piggy.”

She licks the hole. I tell her how. She licks some more. I say, make your tongue fat and round, and she does. I say, make it long and pointy, and she does. I say, suck my lips you nasty fat whore, and she does. Lick the whole outside, run your tongue between my pussy and ass, suck the hole, now suck the clit. Clean me, scrub my snatch with your slutty tongue. After a while I tell her to put the flat base of the butt plug in her mouth. I tell her to bite down on it.

I bounce up and down on her head, fucking myself in the ass with the butt plug she’s holding in her mouth. I am jealous of her vantage point. I want to switch, to stick my plug up her pucker, get up under her so I can suck the base as she fucks her fat ass right over my face. But I’m teaching her something, and it has nothing to do with giving her an orgasm, and everything to do with showing her how to get pleasure out of being disrespected and degraded.

To this end, while she grips the slimy plug in her teeth, I stand, pull my asshole off it and bend over and yank the black leggings she is wearing down to just below her chubby knees. She sits part of the way up and begins to pull them off the rest of the way. I put my foot on her neck and push her back down. “Who told you to move, fatty? You’re just a tongue. Lay there til I give you something to lick.” She lays back down on this public bathroom floor. I have shamed her. She will not look me in the eye right now. I bend over again and rake up her Smiths t-shirt and bra. Her fat, floppy titties sag and spill out like puddles away from her body, towards the floor. She is exposed. She looks like a victim. Now I squat again.

I settle onto the butt plug, lodging it firmly back into place. “Lick my hole again.” I hold my pussy spread, and feel her filling up as much of my hole as she can with her tongue. “Lick it up and down, lick my whole cunt.” I look at her naked body while she eats my cooze.

Frat boys and fat girls always think overweight female bodies are disgusting. I don’t have any preference about how bodies other than mine are shaped or weighted, but I know I can use her own poor image of herself to fuck with her head. I ride her face, balance myself by pulling on her big fat nipples. I can stretch her titties all the way up to my own. I ride this way, a parody of a prim lady’s posture on a horse. “Suck my snatch, you fat bitch.” And so on.

I hold on for as long as I can before coming all over her fucking face. By the time I come, I don’t have to tell her to clean it up, to suck my pussy hole until its dry. She’s an apt pupil.

But still. That sixth sense I have about her, that slut radar I’ve got tells me I could still push her some more, so I do. I give her what will often send me over the edge when I’m with Daddy and Ray-Ray. And I tell her about it before I do it.

When I’m done coming, but still squatting, when she stops slurping and smacking in my cunt hole, I say, “Thanks, ho. Now I want you to lay there and let me urinate on you.”

Before she can consent, or throw me off of her, I begin to tinkle into her open mouth. And I have to say this for her, she was obedient to the end. I pissed slowly, and she drank all of it. The only moisture on the floor when she finally sat up was from her own sweaty flesh.

I peed into her mouth, and smiled as I listened to her gulping. When I finished, I said, “Clean me up good now. Use your tongue like toilet paper. Suck like a piggy. You fat piss-drinker.”

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