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Shefaali - Blog Posts
Pristine White
There are instances which while I am not particularly proud of to boast, did present a mix of intense pleasure, a bit of pain and valuable experience.
Without getting into too much of details, let’s just say that the ‘gentleman’ I report to in my office enjoys a lot of "consented"-privileges on me. It wasn’t a willful decision on my part at the beginning, rather a Hobson’s choice. Having said that however, I also must add that over a period of time of getting to know each other ‘very closely’ while deriving pleasure, a level of fondness did develop and what started as a coerced submission eventually paved its way into willful enthusiasm in full consent. That although didn’t mellow him, he knew he won’t have to struggle to enjoy his rights at his will.
A time came when he knew about his ‘ownership’ status on my physical being and being personally very satisfied, it was then extended to his very close friends and few men whose decisions mattered a lot on the scope of new business to be won. It was on one of these ‘extended privileges’ that I found myself in a position similar to the image here, which reminded me of it. I was summoned into his office on one of the days and I found one of his friends sitting in his cabin, someone who had been close to me a few times at my boss’ home. Something told me the mood prevailing inside the room wasn’t a very upbeat one. “You have an assignment”, my boss told me very matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to send you for this one, but then I trust only you to handle this. He will tell you of the rest while you will be on your way in the car this evening”, he said, pointing me towards his friend. He then turned towards his friend and told him, “you need to assure that she is safely escorted out after the ‘assignment’ is over and faces no difficulty in reaching home. You need to be present yourself there and not through one of you other employees. I will not risk her at all. You need to assure me of that”. His friend responded with a complete assurance and his physical presence at all times permitted. “Call me once you are out upon completion of the task and have reached home. I will be anxious about your return”, he told me.
While in the car on my way to a really posh hotel that evening, his friend explained. A really big decision is awaited from a political leader of a western country. Apparently he would be leaving India in the coming week and by then would have formed his mind about the decision which will have a direct impact on the business that this friend is engaged into. So far, he feels that the decision would be in his favour. However he has been privately ‘requested’ by this leader that while in India, he was desirous of trying out everything Indian to satisfy himself as to if he should sign the document in favour of a businessman in India. He wanted to be with someone Indian to show him around the city on the next day in case he liked her company today. He paused and looked at me and the implications of ‘everything Indian’ sunk into me. Hence is his need to borrow my presence from my boss for the evening.
He made a call to the people in the hotel to ensure that I am not made to wait in the lobby under any circumstances and be escorted to the appointed suite immediately. He told me that this leader made it very clear that no compromise to be made on the quality and thus only someone with a recommendation be allowed to come inside his room. Definitely not someone who is available for a price. And so, I am from this moment on be known as his best-friend’s wife, someone who he had to coax and persuade a lot, a lot to her agreement to come over for a while today and show him around the city for the rest of his stay here.
We reached the hotel. The organization was flawless, I was forthwith escorted by my “husband’s best-friend” to the floor where the suite was. When he knocked, the door was opened by a gentleman who greeted both of us with a big welcome. We came inside and the door was locked behind us. Our host said he was very pleased that I could come to spend some time with him today and maybe over the next few days to show him around. I smiled and pointed to my companion and said, I came only because he and my husband are best-friends and…”, I paused and added, “and he really really persuaded me to meet you”. I guess my mention about my exclusivity impressed our host and he invited the two of us to have a drink. My boss’ friend quickly mentioned that he had to attend to some very important calls and would rather be there. He requested our host to call him so that he could come to pick me up once our host is ready. He rose and left.
My host poured me a glass of wine and asked if I wanted to have a small dance with him. I said I am not very good in it but probably can try. Gulping down a few quick ones, he put on a nice waltz and beckoned to me to join him. The dim yellow lights really played on with our moods. I adjusted my saree and offered my hand to him to lead me into the dance. He pulled me closer and pretty soon his hand was pressing down on my waist while pulling my torso firmly against him as we waltzed around. There were smiles and giggles and touches and feels all over me. Somewhere between the drinks and the dances I realized I was in the process of losing my saree and the petticoat. He paused for a moment to look at me. I think he felt satisfied savouring the sight of everything Indian in a dusky brown complexion which was a stark contrast against his fairness. I saw him loosen his belt and unbuttoning his trousers which fell to the ground as he stepped out of it. I saw him pulling the elastic of his underwear down till his lower body was in nude. He stepped closer and a push backwards landed me on the soft, smooth, pristine white linen on the big bed. A combination of several rapid movements made me realize I was pinned down on the soft, white bed while his entire fair-skinned physique with hairy chest hovered all over me, pausing to feel specific places before moving on to the next. Despite his urge, he exercised good control over myself to ensure I get into the mood too instead of just submitting. It felt good and I allowed him to keep playing. A while later, I don't know how long was it after, I realized he was trying to align himself with me to engage in coitus while pinning me down under his huge frame. A momentary sensation of a robust erection trying to find its way inside me was followed by the feeling of a 'void' inside me which got gradually filled. There were a few seconds of rest while he rejoiced in the successful breaching of the castle door and then he assumed his primal masculine form to begin the process to summon his seeds. The thrusts were powerful enough to jerk my entire body upwards even while being under his enormous masculine weight.
It may sound funny now, but the last thought that flashed through my mind before the pleasure of his maleness numbed the consciousness out of me was that the pristine-white bedsheets won’t be as white tomorrow morning after they dry.
Your place? or mine?
A thought-sharing on the proverbial ‘place’.
There have been a variety of places that I get taken to when ‘picked up’ (or hunted, if you wanted to use that word) by a bull. Very few actually takes me to their home.
Some who were married, took me to their single friend’s house where he convinced the friend to step out of his house and leave us in private for a while. Some even didn’t do that and just took me inside one of the bedrooms while the friend waited patiently outside. The bull would deliberately get noisy, maybe just to let his friend outside know of how much he is enjoying doing whatever he is doing to me, and at times despite me trying consciously to be as silent as possible, my physical resistance would break and even I would get noisy in the flow of things. It was then kind of embarrassing to step out to the living room where his friend would be waiting after the bull would have finished doing his things to me. The sight of us emerging out of the room with his shirt hanging out of his trousers and our partially disheveled hair and crushed clothes, faces shining in sweat, would often result in an exchange of shy smiles laden with embarrassment, sometimes a silly giggle which conveyed to each other about ‘I know what you did there in the last few minutes’ and ‘I know that you know’; in some cases a total avoidance or acknowledgement of each other and just being in a hurry to step out of the house; or, in some rare instances, being offered a cup of tea with our host, getting to know him better and a polite request from the bull to give our gracious host my companionship, which in a way meant vanishing inside the room again, this time with the host, and staying over at his house longer than it was initially planned.
Some bulls, who are unmarried and had their own house available would take me there, make me feel comfortable at the new settings, pleasure both of us and then drop me back once the needs are adequately fulfilled.
Yet some, who are well ‘connected’, had their friends working in hotels would manage to get a room without having to go through the formality of having id checks etc. I found there are so many hotels that allow a ‘willing’ couple some privacy and in a way I think they are god-sent. So I often find myself in some not-so-good hotels where the linens are stained and at times in really posh ones which has wall-to-wall mirrors on the wardrobes. While the soft, diffused light and the soft, white linen is definitely something I love, the mirror isn’t particularly much of a turn on for me though its presence made a difference in the mood. But I realized it is a really strong aphrodisiac for my bull (men in general) to be able to observe himself as a third person, how he is getting me done…synonymous to watching a live show of a couple indulging in sex where he controls and sees what the male does to the female and thus trying to do all that he wanted to see getting done on screen. Men are very visual creatures and I love them for being that.
And yet, there have been those instances, triggered by the sense of his urgency coupled with lack of the proverbial ‘place’ where he drove me in his car to somewhere secluded enough which afforded us the privacy in the darkness of the evening/night to pleasure each other inside the cramped back seat, before he drove us back to the city again. It was far from the relaxed and comfortable setting of a bedroom, but had its own charm of giving in to his primal desire to copulate.
Cheap
[Cheap; Low in price, especially in relation to similar items or services; Inexpensive because of inferior quality.]
It was a cheap hotel. One that he found on the fly. One that he knew will not ask too many questions or proof of identity from either of us. One that wasn’t in either of our locations and one where once we came out of it, nobody will question and (hopefully) wouldn’t know where we came from or where we are headed towards. One where the ‘management’ knew the purpose of the rooms being let out, sometimes only at an hourly rate because it was often uncertain for the guests to decide beforehand the time that would spend indoor. One with a dim yellow bulb inside it which barely about let the couple see each other. One where the room had the bare essentials, a bed (double bed; they knew single rooms were useless for their purpose) with sheets which often are not exactly the cleanest, but also acceptable enough to use for the brief period while we were there, a small bedside table to keep the various ‘items’ which are typically involved, wall hooks and cheap plastic hangers to rest our clothes when they are not being used (which is about the most part of the time that we’re there), and a bathroom which had a shower which sprinkled just about the water required to ‘remove traces’ and be ‘civilized’ when we would step out of the room. One where the rickety wooden bed squeaked and creaked in the rhythm of the violent movements it so often endured. One where a passer by outside the room can hear the noise and voices and expressions of pain & pleasure (unless the inmates are completely muffled and stifled) and will still not bother because he/she would be more eager to get inside their own room (the irony being it is to remove the muffles and shackles from one’s mind that one has entered upon those premises in the first place). One where the rooms had that typical smell of being used for a certain purpose. One that would upon entering it, or even approaching it through the passage, would remind one of the purpose for which couples enter inside. One that will imprint on the memory that we are not the same anymore when we exit the room.
He took me there because the place we both are from, there exists a strong social/financial-status bias. While neither he nor me cared about the bias, we knew once “it” is over we would need to return to our respective neighbourhoods. And the bias would have raised questions if I were to invite him to my house…and his wife being a homemaker, his house was out of bounds. Thus was the need for him to identify the hotel.
I knew that I was fascinated by his ruggedness and coarse behaviour, and strange as it may sound the use of his words which were ‘absolutely unacceptable’ in the so-called society I belong to, and yet words, which instigated in me an uncontrollable desire to be his personally owned whore, to let him have his way around (and on) me. He was a bull, who I selected for myself, someone I knew for a brief while from before and developed the need to be together. For him, it was getting a high-society ‘housewife’ free for his personal use, which motivated him to spare the money on the hotel room. It didn’t take him a moment’s shyness to get rid of his own clothes, but did take some cajoling and maybe a slight exertion of force to tear the inner clothes off me despite our mutual knowledge that that’s why we were there, so he would ensure he gets his return from paying for the room rentals. It came naturally to him to get on top of me and move himself, but it took some convincing by him to get me on top of him to have myself so exposed as opposed to when under him, his body would keep me shadowed underneath it, that too with the lights on. He did had to pay extra because we used the room for a while longer than he estimated initially. I suppose he liked it more than he thought he would.
Losing oneself
Men are sweet, men are funny and men are really cute.
I love to see how the men, irrespective of their ownership status with respect to me, i.e. be it any of the several capacities in which I (as a woman) am related to the men in my life, transform into the various degrees of being cute with passage of time.
At the onset of sex it would be more look and feel and touch and grope and tease and torture and smiles and giggles. As time passes and he ensures that he has established complete ownership over me, he starts settling down and the usage of his hands and mouth are relatively lesser and his waist and hips take over gradually to initiate the primal pleasurable motion.
Once he starts getting into the groove eventually he stops using all his facilities except for his hips that pistons his swollen erection in and out of my vagina. He goes into a state of trance and all the other parts of me that attracted him till literally a few moments earlier, now takes a back seat. His body remains laid on top of mine, my breasts crushed under his huge chest, sometimes his face remains lifted and his eyes fixated with mine though they are more in a trance-like state being immersed in the pleasure of sex, or their face is placed next to mine on the pillow. His entire body remains motionless except his hips that keeps intensifying the thrusting motion, sending me shudders of intense pleasure while I try to grab and hold him as tightly as I can, often scratching his back unknowingly in the process till I die a mini death in my own orgasm or he spills his precious seeds all inside me marking the end of that session of our copulation.
Having transferred his seeds to me, he, all of a sudden would regain his control over all the other facilities that he had lost, i.e. his hands that would cuddle me again and feel my breasts, his smile, his mouth as he would kiss me again, before slumping down in exhaustion to recover while rejoicing in the aftermath of pleasure (…till he started the whole process again).
Men are sweet, men are funny and men are really cute.
Unprotected
A while ago, someone who chose to remain anonymous, asked me a question on my Tumblr blog. I was asked, whether I feel the urge to indulge in sex without condoms and if yes, how I feel when the man attains his climax.
It is a very common phenomenon to experience the urge to let nature take over. If you observe nature, the way an intercourse was designed to conclude was with the man ejaculating his seeds inside the willing woman. This is the original and primal design. Anything else were the results of innovation and convenience created by the humans, or at least in my personal opinion.
I am not above nature. Once in a while, I have met men who have been able to instigate that primal desire in me where despite knowing fully the risks involved in having unprotected sex, I have gone ahead and submitted to nature. Such occurrences are rare and very few men have been able to light that fire in me, but yes it does happen. Not necessarily they were men who were known to me. There have been instances where the man involved was someone I was meeting for the first time in a most unplanned way. Maybe I was in the shopping mall (I will write about that someday) or at the bank (already written about it), or somewhere which was far removed from the agenda of having sex, and then out of nowhere a man appears who lights that fire in me and I feel the utmost desire to be with him in private and just let him do whatever he wanted to.
From my limited observation I have come to the conclusion that if all the men on Earth had only ONE SINGLE point on which they have a full consensus, it is about their universal hatred towards the innocent condom. These men who I met, are no exceptions and unless I urged him to use one, he wouldn't voluntarily want to. And like I mentioned, once in a while comes a man who lights that primal fire in me where I do not even feel like asking him to use a condom.
A condom, for me, is primarily a means of avoiding infections. Birth control is not the main agenda, I have safeguarded myself through other means to ensure that happening. What that means is that even when I am involved in an unprotected (well, protection of a condom to be precise) coitus, I am still safeguarding myself from unwanted pregnancy. Yes, the risk of infection is still there. Maybe I have been extremely privileged so far that I didn't fall a prey to them yet.
Coming to the second part of the question, of the feelings I experience when the man actually unloads himself, from a purely physiological perspective, nothing can be 'felt' inside when the jets shoot out. The difference is rather entirely psychological. The knowledge that a potent, virile man is engaged inside me and is depositing his very essence, the very core of him which can potentially (subject to other factors conducive to it) create a new life that will contain his characteristics, is an ecstasy for me.
Yes, I can know when a man is going to ejaculate a few moments before he actually does, because a man's body sends out distinct signals that it is about to release the precious seeds. Mostly it is through the increased speed of his thrusting, coupled with very deep guttural grunts, the tightened grip on me as if trying to stabilize a moving prey to be able to hunt it without failing, the increase in the force of the thrusts as if trying to make the last possible best efforts to deposit the seeds as much inside as possible to maximize the probability of his making me pregnant with his baby, pressing really down with his hips in each forward thrust, thus trying to push the opening on his erection reach as deep as possible, an almost imperceptible vibration that takes over the entire erection to ensure the seeds are 'flung' even further deeper, which can be felt by the woman who has learnt how to recognize them; so yes, it can be known a few moments before the actual ejaculation happens.
And once it is known, it makes me realize that this man is now in that intimate position where he can actually put a baby, a mini him, to grow inside me, that the man is making his best efforts to maximize the chances of impregnating me by releasing millions of his seeds deep inside me and that just ONE SINGLE of these seeds are sufficiently potent to actually create a new 'him' inside me, that this man is at this moment having only the single agenda of releasing his seeds, that right now my insides are flooded with the actual seeds of a man, that right now I am being one with nature, that even after he leaves and I put my saree back on and return home, I will still be carrying his essence with me, that knowledge is what drives me ecstatic.
I am not sure if I have been able to answer the question but submitting my two cents on the subject.
Actually it's a feeling. As u know that I had physical relations with a friends wife I actually wanted to have sex with her bareback and ejaculate inside her which I eventually did. Do you ever have such feeling of having sex bareback with your lover.
And if you had any such feeling did you actually allow your lover to have sex with you without condom and ejaculate inside you? What was the feeling when he actually ejaculated inside you if it happened?
I know this may sound personnel so it's up to you to answer these questions or not.
Dear Anonymous (I really dont know why people choose this ID, I personally find this extremely irritating, but it's ok),
I have tried to contribute my thoughts through the latest post, 'Unprotected'. Do take a look at it if you wish to.
A Midsummer Afternoon's Reality
Part 2
Contd from Part 1...
This was not one of those swanky, high-end malls in the heart of the city, rather a quieter one. It still had all the trendy brands that one would find in the bigger malls, particularly one chain that I had been thinking about in the past to visit to buy a certain item of which there was a large choice offered there. It is frequented mostly by the localites. As an acknowledgement to the 'attentive' cabbie, I smiled generously at him while alighting. He smiled back too. To stop any further speculation, this really was the last that I saw of him.
As I alighted the cab and climbed the white marbled steps, the glass doors slid open and a powerful whiff of cool air intermingled with a lot of fragrances engulfed me. The doors closed behind me, I looked around at the familiar set of showrooms. I have been here so many times before. But I am sure the next time I would be here, there would be a fond memory that will get attached to my life and I shall not look at this place as the same again. This however was not something I was still aware, but time would be teaching it to me soon. There was only one thing that I required and i was mentally prepared to do only window shopping for the rest. The AC mall with the nice, soft fragrances made me momentarily forget the hot, sweaty summer sun outside. A few more minutes and I felt the cooler than usual sensation at my underarms and along the neckline of my blouse. I realized it's the impact of the cool environment on the sweaty patches. I ran a finger along the edge of the deep-maroon blouse to get a slight relief from that condensing sensation. Being a hot summer noon, the mall was by and large empty, although i was sure that by the evening it will record more footfall. I headed towards the ladies washrooms to set myself right before exploring the mall.
Inside the washroom brightly lit with shaded yellow LED lights, I walked to the mirrors on top of the basins. i was the only one there. I looked at myself as my mind wandered. I felt that despite giving birth to three kids, I have maintained myself not entirely bad. Men still flirt with me, some of the members at my swimming club are always proposing 'dates' to me, I get a hundred Good Morning messages on my WhatsApp every morning from men who seek my companionship, visiting the pubs inevitably meant being asked for a dance and more afterwards, I get invited to my boss' home in the evenings and sometimes on the weekend because he loves to have me over there to relax and unwind, my Uber driver had kept stealing looks at me during which I consciously looked away so that he can continue having his view, my swimming trainer on who I have a big crush on keeps giving me those electrifying 'accidental' touches when we swim in the evenings. I have continued my exercises of running, swimming and practicing yoga very diligently. I felt good as I looked at myself in the mirror. i saw that one drop of sweat hanging on the last edge of my arching left eyebrow, my face looking flushed because of the sweat and heat. I flicked the drop off with my left index finger and pulled a couple of napkins to dab my face dry. I straightened my open hair once more. Was I smiling? I don’t know, but probably a man would say there was a smile in my steps. It felt good...it felt good. I clicked the washroom door open and stepped back into the mall.
To be continued...
Antony Micallef - Study of an embrace, charcoal on paper.
A Midsummer Afternoon's Reality
Part 1
I have not been able to find the time or energy to chronicle in the recent past. So many things happened and I was very engaged in different fronts thus not be able to spare the effort to record it.
This is something that happened shortly before the pandemic triggered the lock-down in India. Do bear in mind that some of the dialogue here are recreated because I do not remember the exact words that were spoken. But I will try my best to keep it as close to reality as possible to reflect the mood of the event as it happened.
It was a rather uncomfortably hot and humid summer weekend and my office was closed. After the morning chores were over at home, I thought of taking a break for myself and indulge in a bit of window shopping at a mall which is a short travel in a cab from my home and almost adjacent to a rather plush international chain of luxury hotels. I asked the nanny of my kids to be there for them as I left home.
As I waited for my Uber to arrive, I realized how stiflingly hot and humid the day was despite a clear blue sky. There was an element of happiness in the air despite the high temperature. Because I am of duskier complexion, I have often been told that I look attractive in darker shades. I had chosen for that day, a brown chiffon saree with a deep maroon sleeveless blouse with liberal cuts in it to make it bearable to stay dressed in the summer. For an extra kick to myself, I had a black brassiere to go with it. I was gifted a bottle of Miss Dior by a very close friend of mine and I dabbed it lightly. It is one of my most favourite perfumes and I loved the whiffs I kept catching off me. I maintained my makeup to the minimum to avoid getting more suffocating, but did carry my favourite lipstick with me. I have often been complimented on my hair which reaches almost up to the parting of my hips and I decided to flaunt it by leaving it untied and open. I love to dress myself traditionally and I applied a strip of vermilion at the parting of my hair and a deep-red bindi on my forehead. I was never a heavy jewelry person and I decided to keep just my ring, my two bangles, my nose-pin, a single anklet that I wear around my left ankle and a gold chain on. I know it sounds a lot, but if you look up traditional Indian women's jewelry, this is actually minimalist. I cannot deny, I loved myself in that dress for that day and it generated a sense of happiness in me.
However dark shades and high temperature have an alliance between them and they work together to get me sweaty quickly unless I am in an AC environment. To top it all, I have a natural tendency to sweat much more than the average. I could sense that in spite of just having taken a bath before starting, sweat was accumulating in my underarms and back, beginning to make wet patches form at those places. Fortunately, my Uber arrived shortly and it was a big relief to get inside the AC cab as I headed for the mall with my small, black clutch resting on the seat next to me. The cool air from the vents blowing across my skin, wet from the sweat, generated a nice feeling. It was a break I was taking for myself after quite some time and I was enjoying the escape from the routine. Through the lightly tinted glasses of my cab, I saw the clear sky and sparsely populated streets as we drove. Nobody was mad to step out in this hot afternoon sun on a weekend. For one brief moment I looked at the rear-view mirror to check my hair. To my surprise, pleasant I suppose, I found my cab driver trying to steal glances at me through the mirror. I ignored his efforts, but deep inside i could feel a happiness bubble forming at the thought that it was actually a compliment to me as I have been found attractive to a man. A fifteen minute drive brought me to main gate of the mall.
To be continued...
This is a repost after i discovered that the Tumblr Gods who permit everything here, still took offence at my text.
May I spend on/’in’ you?
Men love to splurge their women with money, gifts, affection. Men also absolutely love to spend themselves in their women. One of the most common questions I am asked when being “interviewed” by a prospective client is if I swallow.
From my experience of being with men, I think the universal desire in men, irrespective of their age or virility, is to see their precious seeds not being wasted. And by wasted I mean not having to just wash it away or spill it on the floor, or fill the condom up (condoms are another universal hatred from my experience with men). From what I have observed, the flow of choices may be best described as the L-S-S-S-F Ladder. Don’t bother to look it up on Google. It is a term I made up. Make note, that the L-S-S-S-F ladder comes into play only in those situations where one of these five elements is not the natural desire of the bull/client. Husbands and boyfriends anyways enjoy special privileges, so they are out of scope of this discussion.
The topmost preference for the majority is to dump it inside (or Load i.e. L) and keep the vagina sealed till he goes soft. Once it gets softer, the ‘union’ breaks off on its own without him having to undertake the pain of pulling himself out. I feel it gives them a very high satisfaction of breeding the woman. In most cases it is difficult to find a woman willing to let her get loaded to avoid the pregnancy scares. Thus, though it ranks highest in the desire table, it is also one of the most difficult situations to fulfill.
That brings us to the next S (or Swallow). This depends on the degree of flexibility of the woman. If she swallows, then the obvious choice is to pull out before the fountain springs, and stick it inside her mouth and keep her gagged till the spasms have subsided and she has swallowed the entire production. Naturally the deciding factor is the prior experience of the woman to the taste of a man’s seed, which again can vary very widely from bitter-sweet to ultra bitter to outright acidic.
In the event the above S is ruled out, pops the second S in the equation, i.e.Spit. “Is it ok if I dump in your mouth? You can then spit it out.” a very common question asked. The deciding factor once again is the preference of the woman to receive the load inside the mouth, which also means getting to taste it. Unless the woman is flexible enough to try new things, or, have grown used to the taste of semen, this doesn’t get fulfilled either. The taste of semen, like wine, is an acquired taste. The first time I tasted it, I felt like puking. I however wanted to make my boyfriend happy and decided to acquire the taste of his semen. As time passed my range of getting used to the entire spectrum of tastes grew, till it reached where it is today, where I cherish the flavour and texture and viscosity. I have by now, to the delight of most of the bulls, answer affirmatively to the question asked in the interview.
Having been unsuccessful in the above ladder of preference, comes the third S, or Spray. “Is it ok if I spray it on your face/breasts/hair/belly/pelvis/hips or back (if in doggy position)?” Note, there are some men who actually are fond of this activity itself. For them, it is not the fourth alternative. It is the desired result for them. I am not counting that section here for this table. Because for me usually most bulls get their flow completed at the first S, it never usually comes down to this one except for the aforementioned class where this is the desired outcome.
The inevitable F comes in the last position, F, as in to Fill up (the condom). This is where all the prior steps in the ladder has been negated and what remains is to have the precious nectar accumulated inside the condom. Most common behaviour is to have it taken off and closely inspected to feel proud of the volume produced as seen deposited in the dangling ‘teat’ of the condom’s closed end.
Why this lecture? The reaction of the woman reminded me of the first few times when I was acquiring the taste of human semen.
One ploy that worked to "sell" the idea to a "prospective" was for my bull to handover the phone to him and ask him to browse through the vacation photos while sneaking a few of the more revealing photos of me in various stages of dress (& undress) in between them that he'll come across as he slides the screens. The longer pauses on some of the photos and the facial expressions were enough to tell that he has come across those photos. And after taking the phone back while pretending to have not noticed anything, politely ask if he'd want to dine at our house this evening, or this weekend.
So far the invites have not been turned down.
Hi... Will u write my story in ur words.... I love reading ur articles
Hello Friend,
I apologize that I can write only of my own experiences. It is my memory which i dump into the pages. Hope you understand.
Hi Shefaali,
Thanks for sharing your stories here and as I saw others posting, I am glad you came back as well ;)
Your writing style is very engaging and I love reading your blogs and you are a very good writer (even if you just dump your thoughts :p).
And I just wanted to ask if you enjoy being the center of attention for multiple men together? :)
Hello,
I really do not know if I ever got to answer this ask. I am thankful to you for the kind words. There have been times (not very frequent though) when I was fortunate to be the centre of attention of more than just one man.
Oh it has always been you and you and you.
“Mention a friend who haa been with you in your hard times and thank them.”
— Unknown
do you have any other blog ???? no new updates from you ??
No. I have just this one. I haven't been able to manage myself well against the time to be able to write. I hope to be able to do soon again
What really does being a courtesan imply for you? And what might a courtesan arrangement be?
i was sure I had posted about this. But when I looked through my posts, I find it missing now. So my assumption is that the Tumblr Gods removed it. Maybe I will write about it again sometime. It will not be an exact answer to your ask, but will provide you with an indication.
You once mentioned transcending class boundaries under the spell of a man's manliness... sounds like an interesting story, tell us more?
I thought I had already written about it, or maybe I didn't. Not sure. If not, maybe will write about it someday.
What I mean is a continuation of what I've been telling. My being with men isn't necessarily always out of romantic interest. In most cases they have been out of the primal urge. For that urge to be generated, all that matters is the right mix of hormones from the two partners. It doesn't depend on the financial or societal or any other attributes.
And that happened with me too when I met someone and just like that the hormones in me mixed to be just right to feel drawn to him and be with him.
Maybe someday will write about it when I get the right feel to.
Damn lady, you should write erotica! Autobiographical or not. If you want to stay anonymous, well, Belle de Jour did it before.
Nyaah, I think the only reason people read my posts are because of the photos that I reblog alongwith. And yeah, writing is serious stuff. What I do is thought-dumping of my experiences.
Btw, I actually had to Google to find out about BdJ.
Did you ever have any issues with jilted lovers?
Fortunately not. Maybe because most men who've come into my life were very aware that I wasn't seeking a lover, nor were they expected to behave likewise.
The separation that happened from the few 'lovers' that I had, had mostly been due to reasons which we both knew and reconciled with, for eg relocation. So I've never had to get too concerned about jilted lovers. Yes, there have been proposals that I refused but there have been no repercussions. In some rare instances my refusal was the not accepted and his persistence made me reconsider my decisions. But again, mostly been lucky that there have been no after-effects.
Dear Shefali, Glad you’ve starting posting again. You think your husband noticed another man’s presence when ever or if you allowed him to drop his seeds . In your mind did you ever compare the two men in their techniques of making love ?
My interactions with ‘other’ men were very limited when my husband was here. So the probability of what you mentioned was very low, though not absent. About comparing two men, I do not think it is ever possible to do so. No two mean are alike in their approach, touch, feel, grips, noise, clutches, use of force. So with my limited knowledge, I consider it unwise to even try to compare a man with anyone else. They are all an experience by themselves and attempting to even draw a comparison is not prudent, that’s what I feel.
And yes, you misspellt my name :-)
Your husband obviously bred you often but how did you feel when you felt your second husband fill you up for breeding his child..
We had to plan a lot for it because my husband stays abroad and if I conceived at the improper time, the facts of the matter would have been exposed very easily. Obviously, I couldn’t afford that. So while the decision by ‘us’ was made to make a baby together quite early on, we had to wait for the time to ‘make it happen’ to coincide with my husband’s visit here. It was a long wait, particularly when both of ‘us’ knew that we were ready to make it happen and still couldn’t because of practicalities.
‘We’ had been meeting very frequently and be very eager to pleasure each other every time we met. And yet, it would be frustrating at times, more for him than me, to be right there and still not be there. He was wonderfully patient still and I kept reassuring him that I would not change my mind by the time my husband returns.
Eventually when the time came and my husband’s travel to India was announced, I told ‘him’ to go ahead and do it. He was extremely passionate and I ensured that I met him as often as I could to ensure beyond doubt that it would be one of his seeds that I would grow and nurture inside me. During these visits he would go out of his way to provide pleasure to me and I kept praying that he would plant his seeds firmly each time. I felt the closest to him and he would hold me tightly while loving me; I felt like I would merge inside his big chest completely. It felt particularly satisfying during the moments when he would be releasing his seeds inside me and in my mind’s eye I could visualize the millions of those powerful seeds entering deeper and deeper inside me. I could sense the passion with which he would push himself as much inside me as possible to ensure not a drop is wasted, and I would try to position myself so that there is no spillage of the precious seeds for which I have been waiting this long. Knowing his very essence was entering inside me and I would be the custodian of his genes and the very man that he is, would make me feel euphoric. We would stay ‘joined’ for a short while even after he had put his seeds inside me to prevent any spillover. Once we would be rested and our bodies would have ‘un-joined’, we would caress and comfort each other a lot and reassure ourselves of the success of our union to bear the most desired fruit.
Gairik and I (part 5)
Contd from part 4...
Gairik stepped out of the car. I heard the door shut with a gentle thud. The cold air swept inside the car from the brief moments that he had the door opened. Outside I could see the narrow lane with not many houses that have still been completed, mostly dark and silent. The neon of the pharmacy lighted up the adjacent area to an extent. Looking at the dark uninhabited houses my mind wandered (or may have raced) back to the earlier moments where Gairik touched me in the darkness. I kept playing back in my mind his coming closer to me, his warm breath on my face, his hands which were trying to pull me closer to him, my own eager self that wanted to be pulled closest to him. I jolted back to reality hearing the click of him opening the door from outside as he returned from the pharmacy. He held a small brown paper packet in his hand.
"Ato ghamcho kano? AC switch-on korbo?" (Why are you sweating so much? Shall I switch the AC on?), he asked as he got inside the car and closed the door. "seat belt ta khule boste parte to, bhalo lagto" (you could've unlocked the seat belt while you waited, would've felt better).
I realized I actually was sweating. Despite the cold outside, I was surprised to find my brows and face had sweat on them, so were my palms. A sensation of heat was emanating from within me, almost making me feel that only if I explode, will I get some peace. I quickly reached for a napkin from the box kept on the dashboard. I wiped myself and muttered, "na na, nothing wrong, I am fine".
I am fine? I am fine? No, I am not fine. I have not been 'fine' ever since I knew Gairik loves me, ever since he touched and held me closely against him for those brief moments. My mind screamed, "pull me close again", while my face just smiled at him. Gairik handed me the packet and said, "please eta bag-er modye rekhe dao" (please keep it inside your bag). I extended my hand to receive the packet, and kept it inside my handbag.
"Gairik?" "Yes Shefaali?", he answered while locking his seat-belt and starting the car. "Amra bari kokhon pouchobo?" (how long before we reach home?)
I think I saw Gairik smile. He said, "Arekta jaigay jete hobe amader, tarporei amra bari pouchobo, khub taratari, promise" (we must visit one more place and then we 'll reach home, very soon, promise).
He reached out and held my sweaty palm in his and drove on. I clasped my fingers over his palm. A short drive in silence brought us to a stationery shop. "Come with me, I need your help here", he said. We got off the car and went inside the store.
A nice and cheerful store it was. Gairik seemed to search for something along the aisles. Finally he reached a section and stopped. "Pradiptaa loves to paint, doesn't she", he asked. Pradiptaa is my daughter's name.
"Yes, she loves and can spend hours doing it". "Great, so does Durba. This will keep them occupied". "Pradiptaa is very fond of drawing and painting and it is difficult to divert her once she is engrosses in her activity. She would participate in all the sit & draw competitions in school. She is...", and I suddenly stopped. The full implication of 'keeping them occupied' and diverted sunk in. I blushed upon my late realization and I think Gairik saw my face turn red, and smiled.
"You are a beautiful and wonderful mom, Durba keeps telling me how much Pradiptaa talks of you in school", he said. He picked up two sets of drawing and colouring books, pastels and crayons.
"Gairik, these are very expensive, you do not have to get such expensive gifts for them". "Shefaali, I will be borrowing her very precious mother from her to be with me. These mean nothing in return", he replied with a smile. We walked to the cashier and he cleared the dues.
As we stepped out of the warm store, the cold winds hit us. Instinctively I drew myself closer to him. We walked back to the car.
to be continued...
Gairik & I (1st & 2nd part)
Let's call him Gairik.
I had recently started working. I had not worked before and had to take it up under duress. I possessed neither the experience nor degrees to get a high profile job. The dialogues I used here are just indicative and not an exact reproduction of reality. For those who have read my previous posts would know that my husband is deputed abroad and I am here with my children who have just started school. The school operates a bus service that picks and drops the children home. On the rare occasion when the bus service fails, the parents need to go over to collect their wards from the school.
My younger daughter's best friend in school is a nice girl and I know that the two friends genuinely care for each other. My daughter's friend, who, for the sake of this narrative we shall address as Durba (not her real name) does well in her studies and has exceptional behaviour (as opposed to mine, who at one time walked-in on us one night while we were engaged in a coitus...I believe I have written about that before). Durba lives with her father, who is separated from her mother. I could not but appreciate the wonderful upbringing that her father was undertaking. I would meet him (his name starts with G, for the sake of this narration let's call him Gairik) occasionally during the school parent-teacher meets. With the passage of time I had built a nice friendship with Gairik and I knew that he liked me quite a bit. He would often go out of his way to make things easier for me and to drop my daughter home from his house after she and Durba has spent the evening together. I liked G as a parent, and also as a man, and had often wondered what circumstances led to the separation of such a complete man from his wife. Subconsciously, at times I actually used to be on the lookout for him on the evenings when he would come to drop my daughter home, but never expressed it to him because I thought it would constitute behaviour "inappropriate" for a married woman. Sometimes on my request he would stay back a while at my house for a short chit-chat before returning home. He often made very polite requests for us to go somewhere for a cup of coffee; and just so that I didn’t feel uncomfortable he would mention that we can bring our kids along, almost as a guarantor that the parents won't do anything naughty. The wishful request was never fulfilled despite both of us wanting to. Despite the infrequent meets, our friendship grew still and we addressed each other informally enough and banter over phone-calls in the evenings, almost always ending with a promise to 'get-together sometime soon'.
It was one of those days at work, when there was a high-importance agenda meeting to take place in my office, and things were pretty going all topsy-turvy in the preparations therefor, that the school authorities called me. The conversation was on the following lines.
"Mrs. Shefaali, we regret to inform you that the bus service on your route has broken down and you need to come over to collect your daughter". "Oh! But I am about to get into a meeting in another fifteen minutes". "We are really sorry but you need to come over and collect your ward. Or else you need to have someone else collect her from the school". "But I don't have anyone else at home who could come over now". "We understand your inconvenience, but this is an emergency situation. Please reach before xx:xx because the school authorities will not be in office after that. Thank you for your cooperation". And the line was disconnected.
For the next few moments I broke into a cold sweat, unable to figure out how to manage both the sides. My phone rang again and I answered it even without checking who the caller was.
"Shefaali, Gairik bolchi" (This is Gairik calling). "Han Gairik, balo" (Yeah, tell me). "Shono, the school called and ..." (Listen...). "Han jani, ki korbo bujhte parchi na, ekhane bhishon important ekta meeting suru hote choleche" (I know, I cant figure out what to do, I have a very important meeting starting in a few min from now). "Shefaali, kono chinta koro na, ami Durba-ke ante jacchi, Prodiptaa (my daughter, not her real name) keo niye aschi. Ora dui bondhu amar kachei thakuk. Tumi nischinte office-er kaaj sesh kore amake call koro, ami eshe tomake office theke pick up kore nebo" (don't worry. I will collect your daughter along with mine and the two friends can stay together at my place. Call me once your work is over and I will come over to collect you from your office). 'Oh Gairik, eta koto boro help tumi nijeo jano na" (Gairik, this is a very big help from you). "Charo to osob formality, jao kaaj koro, edikta ami samle nicchi" (don't be so formal, go and complete your work, I will manage this side).
The meeting went long and still showed no signs of conclusion. When I asked my boss for the permission he was most reluctant to let me go, but the situation was such that he couldn’t refuse. But it came with a warning that this is the first and the last time he is letting me go when there is a VIP client in the meeting.
I called Gairik.
"Gairik?" "Haan Shefaali, bolo? Meeting sesh hoyeche?" (Tell me Shefaali, is your meeting over?) "Haan, I mean sesh hoyni, kintu allow koreche phirte ajker moton" (the meeting isnt over but I have been exempted and allowed to return for today). "Darun khobor. Tumi okhanei thako. Ami aschi tomake pick up korte" (excellent news. Be there and I am coming over to pick you up). "Ami cab niye chole aste pari, tumi keno unneccesarily asbe? tai asbo?" (I can hail a cab and come over. Why do you want to take unneccesary trouble. Should I?) "Shefaali, office theke ek pa-o berobe na. Okhanei darao, ami ekkhooni aschi" (don't take a single step out of the office. I will be right there). "Accha baba. Esho." (Ok, ok. Come), I said, as I smiled and hung up the phone. I don't know what made me smile. Was it because I don't have to take the trouble of getting a transport back home? Was it because my daughter is safe and cared for? or was it because I would get to meet Gairik, just me and him in the car?
to be continued...
Memories (a repost from long ago)
There are thousands of photos blogged and re-blogged here. Once in a while a photo comes which reminds me of a memory. This one was one such (before the Tumblr Gods decided it was not found tasteful and hence they blocked my post.
This is a repost.
It was around the time when my stag (not my husband) had been trying to convert me into a hotwife. If you have read my previous blogs you would have known about his shared-pleasure policy, which I won’t elaborate here ‘coz it’s already written in length previously.
My husband’s posting abroad helped my stag to take liberty to propose me to other men of his choice. A couple of instances of his ‘weekend sharing’ and thereafter meeting a few known bulls later, he was trying to induct me to unknown bulls. Needless to mention his own need of getting his share of pleasure from me was no less and to that end he would at times plan for weekend vacations to nearby coastal towns and resorts. For the most time we would be indoor and he would indulge himself with me while teaching me various ways to attract potential bulls.
It was one of those vacations to a remote resort, quite removed from the nearest town. There were a few other fellow lodgers as well, mostly couples, and in some cases friends out for a good time. He drove me there and pretty soon was doing what he wanted to do to me. We got quite late for dinner that evening because he was in mood to not stop and get dressed. He opted to go down to the restaurant and was dressed in shorts and a tee and allowed me to put on a saree but being him, i wasn’t allowed to wear a bra under my blouse.
We found the restaurant mostly vacant except for two couples who were slightly away and two senior gentlemen close by who appeared to be old friends out for a quiet time away from their family, enjoying their drink in a very civilized manner. My disheveled hair and creased and hurried dress wasn’t unnoticed and I could sense that they realized what my ‘man’ had been doing with me before we came down to dinner. Could almost see their hidden smile and knowing wink to each other about us.
My stag happened to notice their attention as well. He asked me if I am game for a bit of hotwife training right now. I had no idea how he was about to make it happen, but I guessed he really wanted me to be proposed by these two gentlemen who were intrigued by my presence. For the sheer fun of it I consented. He said that he would want to make a bit of public display of affection such that their attention is secured on me. He would then feign a very urgent call and leave the hotel while asking me to stay here itself. I was to act helpless without his presence. He was hopeful of the two gentlemen proposing me after they see me alone and helpless and seek my company for the night.
So he started holding my hand and occasionally bend forward to kiss me while we were seated at the table, or to place his arms across my shoulders pulling me closer. We realized we were being observed by who we wanted to be observed by. While the dinner was being served he received a ‘call’ on his mobile and sounding disturbed and agitated walked out of the restaurant because ‘the mobile signal was too weak inside’. His PDA had already attracted the attention and now his agitated voice further piqued the interest of our proposed bulls. Long story short, as per our arrangement, my stag made a show of urgency and left the hotel while I sat at the dinner table. We ensured that they heard his, “I will be back by mid-day tomorrow”. As we had anticipated, I could see the two of them talking to each other in a hushed tone while i silently ate my dinner. After a while one of them approached me and asked if i was in any trouble because they could see my ‘husband’ leave in a hurry.
I said, ‘I am feeling a bit insecure because we came here to spend the weekend and now there is someone in his family who has fallen critically ill and he had to rush. He said he will be back tomorrow and I am all alone here, feeling a bit lost’. He motioned his friend who then came across and joined us at my table. I told them ‘this is so unexpected as I had come here for a romantic getaway and I never expected it to end so abruptly that too half way through’. They both laughed at my frustrated voice and said that they couldn’t help but see how eager my husband was for the romantic part…and then they added, “why blame him? I would have been as eager too if i had been with a woman like you in this resort”. All three of us laughed and I said, ‘you must be joking. I am sure your wives also miss being with attractive men like you. I know I would have been attracted had i been single’. They laughed at my joke and said, ‘well right now you are’. And we had a laugh…I was happy to see the ice walls being broken between us.
As expected the proposal followed quite quickly that they are willing to give me company either at my room or theirs so that i don’t feel afraid. I made a show of being in two minds as to whether to allow two random men to spend the night with me, and eventually I said, ‘I guess it would be ok if I come over to your room as I don’t want my husband to have any wrong impression by seeing two unknown men in his wife’s room’. They both immediately nodded their agreement.
I went to my room to collect the condoms and put them in my purse before meeting them and being escorted to their cottage which wasn’t a part of the main building. They made me relax and asked me to feel comfortable on their bed as they said they will adjust the three of us somehow. They offered me some drinks to help me relax. We sat on the bed and were talking, me between them. They commented on my not wearing a bra. I feigned surprise and said, oh is that visible from outside? One of them said “how can a virile man not take notice of those lovely breasts that you got and we then saw those ‘tight bullet buttons’ popping out from under the fabric of the blouse and we knew your husband was using his wife’s assets and probably wanted to use them more and so brought her down to dinner without getting the assets covered by the bra”. We laughed and i said, ‘yeah, we both hoped he would do many more things to his wife and then destiny betrayed him and now he’s gone and I have lost all hopes’. The insistence started that I let them see the assets that they have so admired from under the fabric…I knew this is exactly how it was to happen. So after some playful reluctance I unbuttoned my blouse. They saw my stag’s bite marks on them and exclaimed at them. I told them ‘my husband is quite a biter and I was expecting more but then he had to go away’.
I believe it’s easy to understand the next sequence and eventually when they were ready to initiate sex I asked them to use condoms at least. Both said that they weren’t hoping of getting this lucky and had not been carrying any. I said I might have a few in my bag which my husband was to use. I then handed them the condoms.
To draw an end, i ended up staying with them almost till midday being repeatedly shared between the two friends, jointly and individually before I returned to my room and called my stag to say it’s safe for him to return now.
The photo that was here reminded me of them as each took his turn repeatedly while the other watched or took photos.
Inhibitions
It has been universally preached and practiced that a woman’s breasts are erogenous zones and provides pleasure when stimulated. No doubt about that. What they haven’t told however is that, men’s breasts (or if the men have an objection to use of that word, then chest) are probably as erogenous as a woman’s.
It is so common to see a full bodied, hulk-of-a-man cringe, croon and squeal in expression of his pleasure when I have loved his chest or nipples. While a 69 provides more opportunity to make love to them, it is not the only time when I could pleasure my partner on his chest. There are times when I have been mounted by some really powerful, masculine bulls in missionary position and he having started the motion. His wide chest would hover all over my face (usually the bulls would be taller and larger bodied than I am and so would cover my entire body under his), I may have attempted a soft ‘bite & hold’ with my mouth on his chest. Inevitably I would hear him whimper and temporarily freeze his powerful thrusting in a rush of pleasure while i have continued to ‘hold’ his flesh without releasing it. The only simile that comes to my mind is a wild mountain river suddenly freezing for an endless moment, before it regains it’s power and flows again.
Maybe it is the societal pressure that lays down the doctrine that ‘men will pleasure a woman’s breasts’ and shies away from the fact that men derive as much, if not more, pleasure from having their breasts/chests loved by their woman that makes men hesitate to accept this fact. Nipples on men may be redundant from a functional perspective, but I can lay a safe bet that no man would want to miss out on the pleasure of his woman loving his nipples. The inflated male ego dissuades them accepting the fact, but that doesn’t change the truth. It’s time men shake these inhibitions and openly admit to their woman to make love to his chest.
(PS) This is one of my older posts which the angry Tumblr ‘Gods’ blocked because they judged that the adults were not supposed to see nude photographs of other consenting adults. So to appease the Tumblr Gods, here is the text of the post, sans the photo.
I have an idea. To begin with we can try learning grammar together to understand the difference between ‘you’re (you are)’ and ‘your’;
"... Mind turning around?"
(Repost - after Tumblr moral policing)
It is indeed funny to observe a fully grown, quite-masculine a man to show his softer side and request for a permission to use my hips. And mind it, it’s not something that’s apparent only in the men I have known before, but even with most that I have been sent as a courtesan to, or even by the ones I got myself ‘hunted’ down and then taken away with him.
I have observed that most men, feel that the conquest over their woman isn’t complete until they have done something that is drastic enough to either make their efforts to do it look satisfactory, or, they have inflicted (which sometimes may just be a belief) pain on their woman to make her cringe before him and submit. Both of these conditions are satisfied when they receive the consent to do it there, for no matter how experienced one is, it still needs effort to get into the ‘position’ and the inflicted ‘pain’ when the union happens.
In either case, an element of force becomes necessary for him to convey the message to the woman that she is his property, for minutes/hours/days, however temporary the ownership is. The need to establish control has been a fundamental criteria, more with the men who have hunted me and those I have been sent to as a part of my courtesan arrangement. My husbands have been more secure and they know that they don’t need to ask me for my permission to use my hips. They have developed the ability to sense my mood and know the answer even before they would ask. The hunters, on the other hand would feel the need to exert authority and it is often when after they have attained the primary satisfaction, and is in mood to pleasure himself once more, would have popped the question, “mind turning around? really feel like using your hips”…well, that’s actually a much watered down version of the actual words used to convey their desire.
Being asked that question makes me feel proud as a woman. It tells me that he found me attractive enough to want to explore more about me. The element of pain involved in allowing a man to 'use my hips’ is always present, but the satisfaction from knowing that I am being owned by him and he is getting satisfaction from ‘using me’ for that phase is exciting enough for me to usually consent to his request for use.
Thank you!
I am thankful to the 17,600+ members who have been following my posts for their encouragement and compliments.
While I do not desire to either close or log out of this account, I understand Tumblr may be thinking in a different way. It’s an executive decision and whether I agree to it or not is not material. We need to abide by it because we are after all ‘free’ users of the service.
So, once again, a big note of thanks to each of the 17600+ members who considered to follow my posts and encourage me to share more. If my account remains here, we shall meet again, else, this parting is well made.
Auf wiedersehen.