Archive for February, 2007

Save a Dance for Me

Wednesday, February 7th, 2007

So who is reading? I need to know; I have a slight need for exhibitionism. When I pleasure myself, I have to imagine someone watching. I like being the center of attention.

Do you sneak here when you think no one’s looking? You check here, hungry for my words, praying that I’ll use the words “wet”, “explode”, “pussy”. I know. Those words get me, too. Is there something in particular I can do to raise your blood pressure? Something you need, but aren’t getting? Something you would like to know about?

I like to know my audience. It makes for a more.. fulfilling relationship.

When you get around as much as I do, you often have those moments of panic when you run into someone and realize, “Oh, shit.. I’ve fucked him before.” And you can’t remember his name; instead, all that runs through your head are flashes of sweat and his tongue on your neck. I had one of those instances just tonight, as a matter of fact.

While dining out with someone else, a young man entered and sat not far from our table. Our eyes locked, and he actually blushed. It took a long while of uncomfortable glances before I realized where I knew him from.

He had wandered into the club where I danced, accompianied by a few of his high-school buddies. My club was one of the few dives in town that would let any boys under the age of 21 in, and they usually came in the same way: nervous, zealous, and (most importantly) overloaded with cash. As I slithered down the pole, I saw his friends convincing him to be the first of them to “buy a girl”. I smiled. He was the reason this job was fun for me.

I gathered my profits and my bra and made my way offstage. A young man, shaking, came up to me. “My friend wants a dance with you,” he said. His voice shaking.

I giggled and strolled my fingers down his cheek. “Just your friend, huh?” He was hard as a rock and made no effort to hide it as I trailed my hand down his chest to his belt buckle. Anywhere outside of here, I would’ve been a peer to these boys, not being even a year older. But in here, despite what the feminists say, I was in control. I was in charge.

He trembled beneath my fingers. “Yeah, my friend,” he said, pointing behind him without turning. I could easily break them all tonight.

I slipped my arms through my bra straps and flipped around. “Help me?” I cooed, while holding my auburn curls up on my head. He reluctantly hooked the two hooks and stepped back, admiring. “Thank you. Now let’s go meet your friend.”

Working Nine to Five

Tuesday, February 6th, 2007

He was angry when he wandered in. I looked up from the phone pad in front of me, expecting to hear the worst of it. He glared at me, his blue eyes piercing me. I trembled which, of course, he noticed.

“Ivy,” he gruffed. “In my office. NOW.”

I barely made it through the door before he slammed it shut. I knew today might be bad, with him booked in meetings from dawn until dusk, but I was so careful to make sure everything was to his liking..

He plopped down in his overstuffed chair and took a deep breath. “Ivy,” he said, almost condescendingly, “do you know what kind of a day I’ve had?”

I smiled my most winning smile. After all, we had been placed together for a reason: he was an incredibly brilliant engineer, the smartest in his field, and I was the hot piece of ass that every engineer wanted. He was well-known for his temper, and people often cowered when they heard him approaching. But I knew him a bit better than that..

“Lock the door,” he ordered. This was how it always started.

“You didn’t say please,” I growled. I circled behind his chair and lowered my lips to his ear. “And you didn’t say Mistress.”

Although no one knew the match when we met, not even us, we soon learned another reason we worked well together: behind closed doors, he needed someone else to make all of the decisions. He needed someone else to be in charge. And usually, if not always, he liked to be made to beg.


Monday, February 5th, 2007

So you’re back. I figured you would be.

Let me ask you: why do you come back here? I suppose I can guess. You want me to divulge my innermost fantasies, right? You want to know what turns me on, what makes me wet. You want to know what I dream about.

I don’t blame you. I can’t wait to share with you.

My name is Ivy. I’ve been writing erotica since I was 12 years old. About the time I realized that there was power between my legs and strength in my sexuality, I began to write about it. This led to many exciting encounters through my adolescence, and they never stopped. I’ve used sex to get me many places in life, and I’ve enjoyed it along the way.

I can’t wait to share with you, because I hope that you can teach me something new.

So feel free to introduce yourself.

And let me know what turns you on.

About Between the Sheets

Cock. Hard. Pussy. Wet. Tongue. Throb. Sweat. Impale. Well, you made it so far; you might as well make yourself cozy. Isn't it amazing how all of those words have completely mundane definitions until you link them all together?

Welcome to Between the Sheets, where no aspect of sex is taboo and nothing is sacred. So come in and stretch out. Leave a comment. Browse around. You'll leave either appalled or enthralled, but you'll definitely remember your first time. (And it only gets better AFTER the first time.)

Between the Sheets Author(s)
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