Singing In The Rain

December 6, 2010

All good things must come to an end; and like all big storms, this one started with just one raindrop.

In a moment of weakness I texted The Britt; was his interest in me purely physical or did he wanted more? He’d been sending rather mixed messages for 3 weeks now; never one to play games, I needed to know where we stood. In his ever-evasive English way, rather than answer me, he called and we chatted about everything other than sex. I guess that means he wants more…?

Arriving in Miami was a breath of fresh air. Although I was there for work, it was still a relief from the stress of the past few months of New York grinding. Very unexpectedly The Ex emailed me advising he would be in New York ‘very, very soon’. Lovely, of course I had just left.

Fortunately or unfortunately (no one really knows) I would be returning to the city the same day The Ex was to arrive. Through our classic witty banter I learn he is no longer with his girlfriend… and through chatting with my ever-gossiping Mum, discover he has informed his mother that he is coming to New York is to visit me. Okay…?

Miami had me running from party-to-art show and back again. We’d had no communication but was not lost on me that The Artist must be there somewhere, which is exactly when I received his text. Later that night we crossed paths at The Interview Mag party at The Delano. He looked unbelievably hot and I was dying to get my hands on him. After indulging in a performance by my hero and ground breaking performance artist, Marina Abramovic, where she swam naked in their famous pool I was flying high on the energy from the room.

Apparently he felt the same because at 2AM with ditched our friends for wild sex in his penthouse apartment along the Miami Beach waterfront. The Artist was just as rough as I remembered and even more hungry. His hands and teeth left more than his usual mark, making for slightly awkward poolside tanning the following day. My nipples were seriously bruised and I wasn’t exactly sure how I would explain that to The Britt, should he ever call me again.

Just when I thought that nothing else could possibly arise, I received an email that was long overdue. The Photographer; the first man I’d been with after The Ex and my first ‘friend’ in New York. We’d been through so much, yet nothing at all over the past 2 ½ years. To be honest, I never thought things would have carried on this far.

It was strange to find myself happy reading his thoughtfully crafted note. He may have been more surprised by my response than I was. “I am so proud of you,” pushing the buttons on my blackberry I told him I would always be there for him as his friend.

Since the moment we met I knew he was lost; finally he'd caught up to speed and wanted to do something about it. I only want the best for him, so of course, even though salty tears rolled down my cheeks, I was happy for him. My tears were selfish; I knew we would never really be friends and it broke a tiny piece of my heart to lose him.

Back to The Delano for my last Miami dinner, The Britt called my mobile. Caught off guard and completely surprised, I answered. I think this really could be something after all.

They say there is a calm before the storm; perhaps I was just too busy with the pace of the city to have noticed it. 

Come Quickly

@DCBerotica DCB Erotica

May 10, 2010

There is something so sexual about getting it on in places other than the bedroom. The urgency of not quite making it upstairs gets me very excited; considering I was 2-hours late to meet The Artist it was amazing that we made it through the front door.

I threw my purse down on the couch as he pulled me into the kitchen. The Artist wanted me NOW; he pushed me up against the table sending papers and dishes flying onto the floor. His hands ran up and down my body taking in every inch. He bit my neck and pulled my dress down off my shoulders to reveal my breasts. He kissed them and squeezed my nipples hard.

It was such a turn on seeing how much he loved my body, how sexually aggressive he became by my naked flesh. He was hard and full and I was aching to feel all of him. The artist pulled me off the table turning me around and pushing my upper body face down against the soft wood. He lifted my skirt, loving that I was not wearing anything underneath and devoured my ass with his eyes and his tongue; his hands running over my every curve before pushing himself inside me.

He used me to make himself cum; I loved being his toy. Out of breath we stood silent, my dress around my waist my heels still on. I took his hand and threw him down onto the couch in the next room. He was still hard and I wanted more.

The Artist grabbed my neck squeezing tightly until it became hard to breathe. He lowered me down onto him and let me fuck him, controlling my every move with his hand around my throat. I moved so slowly feeling every sensation fully until I could no longer take it and I had to let go. As I came he spanked me hard, my flesh stinging slightly.

I collapsed forward onto his shoulder and let my teeth graze his neck along with the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever make it to his bedroom.

The Artist spanked my ass gently. “What was that for?” I asked. He laughed and told me next time not to be late. If he had only known where I had been… 

Plan B

@Raffaele.Marinetti Raffaele Marinetti

April 28, 2010

Nothing is permanent. On any given night in New York one seems to have plans, backup plans and then what they actually end up doing. As I learned early on anything can happen in this city and rather than plan it’s best to sit back, relax and let the night take you away.

I sat across from the massive fireplace inside the Rose Bar, champagne bubbles dancing as they touched my lips. My pistachio colored dress was the perfect accent to my tanned skin; I looked very 1940’s chic seated on the long banquet. He approached me looking shy, which I hate. I don’t know why I had agreed to meet him, he was completely not my type; a sad pathetic little animal that I could chew up and spit out with just a look. 

He sat nervously next to me, not quite able to sit still. He was frightened and I found this wildly amusing. He ordered a soda, mumbling something about saving money and after two sips got up avoiding eye contact and said, “I have to go, you have my number.”

I have had many firsts, but THIS was like nothing I had ever seen. He proceeded to stumble around the table and made a quick exit. I sat their stunned. This had never happened before. Why had he wanted to meet me? After all it had been his idea. Amused and baffled I turned to the two very handsome men sitting next to me. “Did you guys see that?” This was far too funny not to share. 

Six glasses of Veuve later I was zoned into the really hot one, our knees bumping under the small table. His friend excused himself with an obvious yawn and gave us that knowing look. New Guy put his hand on my cheek and leaned in to taste my lips. I couldn’t stop kissing him.

My mobile began to vibrate wildly on the table, The Artist. It was almost midnight and I was to meet him an hour earlier. I hit ignore one more time and told my new friend it was time to get the check. While he settled the bill I slipped The Artist a quick note. New Guy was dying to get me in bed. His hands sliding over my waist and hips as he escorted me through the doors. “I have some great wine at my place,” he seemed sweet, but I didn’t want sweet.

The cab door closed and it was as if New Guy didn’t exist; all I could think about was The Artist. I wanted to be devoured, ripped into a million pieces; taken hard and really fucked. My mobile vibrated as the car came to a stop outside his door. “Two seconds darling and I’m yours…" 

Spank Me. Please?

@psychedelicbreeze

April 20, 2010

Aggression. Simply put, during sex some people get completely captivated. Animalistic instincts take over and alas it is no longer sex it’s pure FUCKING. The Artist is one of those people.

My mobile vibrated in my hand as I paced in front of an unknown address in the East Village. He was late and I was becoming more curious as to exactly where he was taking me. His BMW turned the corner; the sound of the engine in the M series is so sexual and thus the perfect car for The Artist to drive. He kissed my soft lips, sliding his hand around my waist and leading me towards the massive steel door in front of the building. Our destination still unknown I followed willingly.  

It was the most incredible downtown loft I had ever seen. Apparently the Artist had some very good real estate tucked in all the right corners of this fair city. He grabbed my ass and lifted me onto the granite countertop of the island. The stone was cold sending shivers throughout my body. My nipples hardened and ached to be touched.

He was more aggressive than before and I loved it. His hands pulled me close; he grabbed me by the throat squeezing tight. It felt amazing; he felt amazing. I tried to go-down on him, but he refused. He unzipped his pants; he was so full, so thick and hard like a rock. I desperately wanted to taste him. He began to tease me, moving his head along the lines of my panties. With out warning he pushed my panties to the side and thrust himself deep inside of me.

I gasped as he sent waves of pleasure throughout my body. Grabbing my hips he fucked me slow and deep. His breath was heavy and loud, his teeth sunk into my shoulder and neck. He lifted me off the counter, still deep inside me and worked me, lifting me by my ass.

The Artist was so intense. It was as if a whole other side of him had been exposed, the sexual deviant released. He bent me over the counter and spread my legs. I was still in my heels and my skirt was pushed up around my waist. Using his teeth he pulled my sheer Kiki DM thong to the ground, then pushed himself inside me. I was so incredibly moist and when he spanked my ass I could feel myself getting more wet. The harder he spanked, the more wet I became. 

The way he dominated me was so incredibly hot. I felt like his little toy and I loved it. He came hard. Before he could take a breath I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. I needed him to finish what he had started; I don't take no for an answer.      

Deviant Behavior

@aphrodisiak.fr

March 31, 2010

In the city that doesn’t sleep it is not uncommon to have meetings at all hours. When The Artist invited me to his studio at 11PM to discuss work projects, I didn’t think twice.

I stood on the stoop of his 5-story brownstone wearing grey mary jane 6” high heeled shoes with white ankle socks and my wild coyote fur coat with the giant hood pulled up to block the wind from whipping my face. He opened the door and looked me over, his perfect smile widening.

We began in the kitchen with a glass of wine before the grand tour; he took me one-by-one through each room, which had been expertly designed. When midnight rolled around we were deep in conversation about his work, specifically the overtly deviant sexual undertones. We sat on the low sofa in the living room, he reached over and brushed my leg as he placed his glass on the table. His eyes wandered down my smooth legs stopping at my feet; I think the schoolgirl socks were a turn on.

As we made it to the top floor it was obvious we could barely contain ourselves. A beautiful bench faced a mirror and I sat down, legs crossed waiting for him to join me. He placed his hand on the back of my shoulder and kissed me. He was rough, pulling me towards him, grabbing my breasts and my ass.

The look on his face was one of pure domination. He wanted to tear me apart and I could not wait. He threw me onto his bed and bent me over, grabbing my hips and pulling me to the edge. He sunk his teeth into my ass cheek and I moaned, then without warning he was deep inside me.

He was so big and hard it made me scream with pleasure. I grabbed his wrist and forced him onto the bed. I dragged my nails down his chest as I tasted myself on him. Straddling him I teased him, rubbing him against me to feel just how wet I was until he couldn’t stand it and grabbed me, forcing me down onto him.

After hours of pleasure we both lay there breathless and exhausted. There was an incredible painting that hung on the wall. I had commented that it was one of my favorites he had done. When we finally caught our breath he walked over to the painting and took it down off the wall. “I want you to have this,” he said as he handed it to me.

We made our way back down stairs and I felt satisfied in more ways than one. Not only had I finally conquered The Artist, but I could now display him on my wall for everyone to see.

Winning Is Everything. Always.

March 23, 2010 

When I want something, I make it my mission to get it. I haven’t failed yet, even when minor road bumps stand in my way. The art of seduction is not one that can be well defined. It twists and turns and bends and unfortunately for you, I don’t have a formula to offer; although we both know you’re just aching for one. It’s about being perceptive, reading situations and working them in your favor.

I had my eye on him for quite some time, before we even met. His work, genius with strong sexual undertones that only exist when the creator is a true sexual deviant. A New York playboy through and through, his face always turned up in the local gossip rags from the most exclusive parties. Let’s call him The Artist.

There was something about him and I had to find out what it was. Tracking him down was easy and innocent in appearance; I wanted an interview for a story I had in the works. After weeks of telephone tag and FaceBook messages it seemed as though the game would be over before it started.

Fast-forward 5 months to New York Fashion Week; I had been involved in planning the party for a chic local art and fashion publication. The hotel lounge at Tribeca Grand was packed with all the right people; you know the types, artists, designers, models, musicians and the usual wannabes (or as GAWKER so affectionately coined “FAUXHEMIANS”). I knew he would be there.

In good form The Artist showed his face close to 2 AM. I introduced myself; he was even sexier in person than in photographs, his hair slightly tousled and his chin with just the right amount of stubble. I was dying to pull him into one of the dark booths that surrounded us; craving his hands all over me, pulling at my Marc Jacobs backless chiffon dress. Instead we chatted over champagne while his date kept interjecting her dull opinion. I had him exactly where I wanted him,  it was only a matter of time before I moved in for the kill.

We parted ways, him suggesting drinks later in the week. I could tell by the way his eyes focused in on my mouth that he had no intention of talking work. I was aching to find out just how deviant The Artist really was.