Confessions of a Smut Author Read online

  Until now.

  “You see, I’ve got a pretty big cock, but it’s not quite as big as that ten inch rubber fucker you were buying the other night. When I fuck you like this, it probably feels like ten inches, doesn’t it?” he grunted.

  I was bent over the couch, he was behind me, and one of his legs was stretched over my back. His foot was stepping on my head, pressing it into the couch. Certainly not something I would have ever guessed to enjoyable, but it was very enjoyable. Something about having him pin my face down with his foot, in itself, was quite sensual. The fact he was able to get another inch of his cock inside of me while he did it made it that much better. As I felt his inner thigh against the top of my ass, I grunted into the cushion of the couch.

  He pressed harder with his foot. His cock felt like it was in my chest. Although he had made fun of the large rubber cocks in the store, his wasn’t far from being the size of the over-sized arm like appendages they sold. His cock might not have been as thick as his wrist, but it was certainly as thick as mine.

  As he continued to pound himself into me, I felt myself coming to yet another climax. I attempted to arch my back as I growled into the cushion.

  “Oh, fuck yes. I like that little tight pussy of yours, Cheryl. Fuck yes,” he yelled into the open apartment as he pounded himself into my pussy.

  He worked his cock in and out of me like he was mad. His inner thigh pressed down on my ass with each out stroke, and his foot smashed down on my head. With each in strike, his knee bent and his foot let up pressure slightly, providing a little relief. It worked out quite well for maximum penetration. At this particular moment, I really didn’t care to ever be fucked in any other fashion than what he described as head-steppin’. As far as I was concerned, having my head stepped on while he fucked me was my number one priority. As I felt his fingers against the crack of my ass, I began to squeal into the cushion.

  He forced his fingers inside of my pussy along the top side of his cock. Now, with his cock filling me, his foot on my head, and his fingers lifting up on the inner wall of my pussy, his cock was plowing into me as if it were a foot long. With each stroke, I felt his fingers curling upward, pressing the back side of my pussy almost to my ass hole. His thumb, as he fingered my pussy and fucked me savagely, pressed against my ass. The feeling was unlike anything I had ever felt. Similar, I suppose, to being penetrated by two cocks at once.

  I opened my mouth and bit the couch cushion as I climaxed into what I expected would be my last orgasm of the night. As his fingers released my pussy, I felt his cock slide from inside of me. My cum was all over my thighs, ass, and legs. Relieved, I exhaled as he lifted his foot from my head. I stayed bent over the couch and attempted to regain my composure and catch my breath.

  As I opened my eyes and attempted to focus, I felt the tip of his cock against my ass.

  “Slow, take it slow…” I whined.

  I felt slightly more pressure.

  “Easy…” I begged.

  As he began to penetrate me, I bit my lip. As he slowly pressed himself deeper, I exhaled. Now balls deep into my ass, he slowly began to fuck me. My eyes still opened, they slowly rolled back in my head as I almost immediately reached orgasm.

  This was the second time Shawn and I had been sexual, and both times he had fucked me into an absolute pile of worthlessness. The first time I was almost incapable of walking to the car afterward. This time had gone on fractionally longer, and it didn’t appear he was done yet. Something about being completely and utterly exhausted made the sex far more enjoyable. I suspected after the first time he exhausted me that my relaxed state allowed me to enjoy the sex physically and mentally, as I was incapable of providing any form of resistance either way.

  While his cock methodically worked in and out of my ass, I reached back to finger my clit. As soon as he noticed my hand, he slapped it out of the way, and pushed his thumb into my wetness. Now thumb fucking me, with the web of his hand pressing against my clit, his cock continued to slowly work its way in and out of my ass. A few more seconds of this and I’d be…

  “Oh God, Shawn, I’m going…”

  I felt his chest begin to press against my back.

  “To…”

  I could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck.

  “Fucking do it, you little sexy bitch, do it. Cum all over my hand,” he grunted into my ear.

  That was all it took. I exploded into some orgasmic place on some other planet. As my ears began to ring, I felt his cock erupt into my ass. He continued to grunt into my ear as I felt him cum inside of me. I exhaled into the couch at the thought of pleasing him, and waited for him to pull out of me.

  An immeasurable amount of time passed without me really knowing anything but pleasure. Strangely, I had never really experienced anything like the aftershock of sex with anyone else. With Shawn, I had a feeling this was going to be something I needed to get used to.

  “Come on, follow me to the shower,” he breathed into my neck.

  I blinked my eyes. I attempted to stand. My legs clearly shaking, I collapsed over the arm of the couch. Somewhat embarrassed that he was out-fucking me in all respects, I turned and looked over my shoulder.

  “Give me a minute,” I sighed, “I’m kind of still in recovery.”

  “Where’d you learn that trick? That was awesome,” I breathed.

  “Oh, the head thing? In a book an author friend wrote. Chuck fuckin’ and head steppin’. Good stuff,” he chuckled.

  Chuck fucking? I didn’t even have the energy to ask.

  I felt his arm slip under my stomach. As his other pressed against the backs of my thighs, he picked me from the couch and carried me into the bathroom. Something about having a man carry me into the shower, fuck buddy or not, was almost romantic.

  No, it was romantic.

  As I straightened my legs and attempted to stand, he reached into the shower and turned on the water. After stepping in, he extended his arm and offered me his hand. His body was amazingly sexy, but soaking wet, it was more amazing yet. I sighed, accepted his hand, stepped into the shower, and pressed my chest into his back as he began to lather himself with a loofa. As I turned slightly and leaned into the water, I relaxed slightly at the feeling of the hot pulsing streams against my exhausted muscles. I closed my eyes and sighed. I opened my eyes as he began to rub his soapy hands against my body. I watched in awe of who Shawn really was. Sexually, he was nothing short of an animal. In his home, he was comfortable and without a doubt, in charge. Strangely, in the two times we had been out in public in the last week, he seemed to become a totally different person. When we weren’t having sex, and we were out in public, he was oddly different. He became the silly guy who walked into the display at the Toy Box.

  I liked both of the Shawn’s, each one in their own regard.

  As his hands continued to work their way up and down my thighs, I smiled at the thought of being his muse, as he called it. I wanted to try and convince him to write a book about a girl who got tied up and fucked against her will. Maybe after a few minutes she would give in to the wishes of her assailant, but not admit it.

  As he continued to wash my legs, I took a chance.

  “So, what do you think about writing a story about a girl who gets tied up and used like a little slut? Maybe, I don’t know,” I paused and waited for him to respond.

  He stood up, rotated, and rinsed his body in the stream of water.

  “I’m listening,” he said softly.

  “I don’t know, maybe like raped. Kind of. Something like that,” I shrugged.

  “You like the thought of that?” he asked.

  I nodded my head eagerly.

  He turned to face me, smiled, and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Well, we can start tomorrow, sounds fun,” he said as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair.

  Exhausted, I stood and tried to think of being tied up and fucked aggressively, over and over, as he wrote the scenes for his book. I stared at m
y feet and watched the soapy water wash down the drain. I smiled at the thought of the new book.

  “You sure you’re up for it?” he asked.

  I looked up and grinned.

  “I’ll enjoy it far more than you, I’m afraid,” I admitted.

  “We’ll see about that,” he responded as he turned the water off.

  As he slid the shower curtain open and reached for a towel, I realized he was right.

  We certainly would.

  And I couldn’t wait.

  SHAWN

  Boyd grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled rearward; forcing John to arch his back As John moaned from the pain of Boyd’s brutal behavior, Boyd shoved his cock a little deeper in John’s tight ass.

  John’s eyes widened as Boyd forced himself in and out of his virgin ass.

  “Relax,” Boyd said in a demanding tone.

  “Relax and I’ll reach down and jack you off while we do this,” Boyd breathed.

  John exhaled. Although it was slightly more painful than he imagined, he was enjoying it immensely. A little more practice, he thought, and he may begin to really like it. He wasn’t at a point where he felt comfortable telling Boyd he enjoyed it, not just yet, he thought. Maybe he’d admit it later over a beer. For now, he wanted it to end. But he wanted it to end with an orgasm.

  “Jack my cock, Boyd,” he grunted.

  “You got it, bud,” Boyd said as he grasped John’s half hard cock in his hand.

  As Boyd began to stroke John’s cock, his rhythm changed slightly. Now he was jacking and stroking with the same rhythm. Quickly, John got lost in the feeling. Everything changed. As he felt his breathing began to quicken, he spoke in a stern tone.

  “Dude, don’t change a thing. Keep doing just that. It’s,” he paused and closed his eyes.

  “Perfect,” he moaned.

  “Tell me you like it,” Boyd grunted.

  “Fuck my tight ass, Boyd. I love it. Fuck my ass. Shove that cock,” John hesitated and bit his lower lip.

  Feeling somewhat embarrassed about what he was feeling, John almost didn’t finish what he was going to say. He truly felt as if this may be the most erotic orgasm he ever had. He tilted his head down and watched Boyd’s hand working the length of his cock.

  “Shove it deep and hold it, but jack my,” again, he hesitated for a second.

  “Jack it, oh fuck yes,” he moaned.

  At the thought of John reaching climax, Boyd’s cock began to swell. His swelling cock caused John to explode. As John’s swollen cock shot cum all over the tile floor of the kitchen, Boyd pulled his cock from John’s ass and jacked the shaft with his hand twice. On the third stroke, he erupted onto the crack of John’s freshly shaved ass.

  They both collapsed onto the floor.

  “So, we’re still not queers, right?” John huffed.

  “Dude, hell no. Same answer. Hell, our wives know, it’s all good,” Boyd reassured him.

  “Hey, I been meaning to tell you,” John began.

  “Yeah?” Boyd asked.

  “Your wife can flat suck a cock, dude. Good God, did you see her swallow my cock the other day?” John asked.

  Boyd nodded his head as he rose from kneeling to half standing, “I know. She’s a cock sucking beast, isn’t she?”

  “I’m telling ya,” John nodded.

  “And your wife?” Boyd sighed.

  “Yeah?” John asked.

  “Watching her suck my wife’s pussy? Holy shit. Wasn’t her first was it?” Boyd chuckled.

  “What are ya sayin’?” John asked.

  “What do ya mean? I said it. Wasn’t her first, was it?” Boyd repeated.

  “She ain’t a queer, if that’s what you’re askin’,” John responded.

  “No more than we are,” Boyd said flatly.

  “Good point,” John nodded, “You got a good point.”

  I chuckled and sat back in my stool. I had no idea where John and Boyd were going to end up, but they were sure having fun getting there. I picked up my coffee cup, raised it to my lips, and realized it was empty. A quick check of my watch, and I was shocked to find out it was already noon. I pushed myself away from the desk and stood. As I stretched my arms and popped my back, I thought of writing the new novel with Cheryl as my muse. I grinned at the thought of it. I really needed to either finish the one I was working on, or set it aside. I had a sinking feeling once we got started on the new novel, nothing else would matter at all. I picked up my phone and typed a message to Cheryl.

  So, you still wanting to start tonight?

  I pressed send.

  My phone immediately beeped. I looked down.

  Yes sir.

  Cheryl was proving to be good for me. In the two short weeks we had spent time together, I had all but stopped having daily feelings of guilt about my former wife. The release of the feelings, guilt, and remorse was a welcomed change. I typed a response and pressed send.

  :)

  I leaned onto the edge of my stool and attempted to count the months since my wife had passed away. One year and seven months. Certainly long enough for any normal man to make some progress in moving forward. I doubt a reasonable man would merely step aside and forget everything, move on, and remarry or have a move in girlfriend within a few months, but progress? I suspected so. A normal man would have made progress.

  I stood and paced the room as I thought of Cheryl and I doing what we were doing. I had never been in a situation where I was having sex with someone I wasn’t in a relationship with, and it seemed awkward. I had written books about characters that did all types of things to women, and didn’t always care about relationships. Eventually, the books ended in a happily ever after, but they didn’t always start that way. Something about fucking Cheryl and not being in a relationship with her was beginning to bother me.

  I had developed a problem with living my life as if I were the character in the book I was writing. My former wife and I would act out the scenes of the book, and she enjoyed the thought of doing so. The thrill of being able to act it out caused me to write in a more explicit manner, and I always tried to maintain some diversity in my sex scenes. They were never a repeat of a scene I had written previously in a book written by me later. Everything remained fresh.

  The thought of using Cheryl as a test subject for my books was exciting and scary at the same time. I had lost my wife as a result of her sexual desires going one step too far, and the thought of something like that happening again, in any manner, scared me. I didn’t want to lose Cheryl, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt her or cause her any level of mental anguish or pain.

  I paced the room and considered my desires. Living as my characters provided me tremendous satisfaction as well. Knowing the scenes I had written were accurate proved to make me a far better writer. Who could write about something like stepping on the head of their respective partner if it was something they weren’t even certain would work or be able to be enjoyed? Doing it proved to be an extremely pleasurable sexual position.

  It’s been said an author writes about what he knows. I had always felt I needed to know about my sexual scenes, and their accuracy. I now was beginning to second guess whether or not all of that made much difference.

  I was beginning to care.

  Not about my writing, but about Cheryl.

  And the thought scared me.

  CHERYL

  “No, I’m fine,” I looked up and attempted to assure him.

  “I just want you to be comfortable with everything,” he said.

  I looked up into his eyes, “It seems like you’ve changed since a few weeks ago. You went from being very demanding and almost over the top to seeming like you care.”

  After I had spoken, I wished I had kept my mouth shut. Afraid that what I said may upset him, I wished I could just take it back and say I didn’t mean to say it. Life, however, didn’t work like that. After I waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to react, he responded.

  “That’s the
problem, I do care. I always have. Sexually, I guess I’m a different person than most. I’m more of a machine than a human. To me, fucking is something that should be enjoyed; from one end of the spectrum to the other. Missionary sex can be as enjoyable as a gang bang. I would depend on the time, the place, and the willingness of the people involved. But engaging in any and all of it doesn’t mean the party or parties participating don’t care. I don’t know,” he paused and raised his hand to his face.

  “I guess I turn off most of my emotions once the sex starts. Most of them anyway,” he sighed.

  “I see,” I nodded.

  Having him admit the fact he cared made me feel all warm inside. I realized we had both agreed to not allowing ourselves to fall into love and desire a relationship, but a girl always wants to feel like someone cares. His admittance was reassuring. I did want to have Shawn use me for sex as much as he desired, and being involved in the sexual acts with him so far had been a guilty pleasure. Having him act in the manner he was acting now was nice. I wanted the aggressive sexual side of him as well, but seeing this more sensitive side of him when we weren’t having sex was very satisfying.

  “And you’re sure of the half-assed script we discussed? You’re completely comfortable with it?”

  I nodded my head, “Yes. Shawn, I think you’ll find although I’m small and, I don’t know, a woman, I’m still very tough. I already told you, my last relationship was nothing short of awful. He beat me, abused me mentally, and none of it really caused me much pain. Hell, once he tied me up and left me in the closet for an entire Saturday. Not all of it was sexual; some of it was just plain mean. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, because once we start, well…you know…”

  “I understand. You’ll turn into someone else. Yes, I want it,” I grinned, “I mean, I really want it. Like bad.”