1. Little Perversions


    Date: 12/14/2015, Categories: Hardcore, Author: Dancing_Doll, Rating: 31, Source: LushStories

    The city is lonely and my bedside table is in disarray. Cherry cola fizzes in a champagne flute. A ragged copy of Albert Camus’ The Fall holds a position of importance in place of a Bible. It’s bookmarked at Jean-Baptiste’s recollection of that warm autumn night by the River Seine. I like to reread that passage when I can’t sleep. Next to it, there’s a half-smoked joint in a vintage glass ashtray that I stole from an ex-lover’s apartment. I can’t remember his name, but there’s something satisfying about grinding my ashes into it, even after all these years. Chanel’s Black Satin Vernis (the original, that’s impossible to find) is on the tabletop too. I’ve just painstakingly lacquered my toes while stark naked, perched in the red leather club chair that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows in my apartment. Sometimes I feel like I'm in my own little display case, only mine is far more pornographic than pretty. My long blonde hair veils my nipples like an untied scarf, yet I’ve left my cunt on full display. Boredom is setting in, and I stand and place my hands against the glass. I lean my body into it so that I can feel the cool touch against my cheek and the very tip of my clit if I angle my hips just right. I like to watch the traffic below from this vantage point. The cars look like toys, pushed by unseen hands. It’s rush hour in the city streets, but there are still appointments to keep and promises that have been made. Instead of cold hard cash being the motivation at ...
    this hour, the trade-off is usually about pleasure. There are friendly connections to be made, alcohol or drugs to escape the day’s monotony, family bonding that happens only on nights and weekends, and even indiscretions with lovers that don’t really love. Everyone is rushing to find something or someone, some profound little reminder of the blood pumping through our veins. When we get down to it, to the real base of who we are, we’re mainly driven by darker instincts. The sex industry exploits every raw urge a filthy mind can conjure, capitalizing on the fact that most will be satisfied by being voyeurs rather than participants. The ones that insist on taking their piece of the pie usually keep their indiscretions well concealed. Under the safe cloak of night, people feel more comfortable giving in to their desires and kinks and all those little perversions they’d never admit to by the ugly glare of daylight. When the sun goes down, it seems like no one has to pretend anymore. The bankers and lawyers sneak off to underground fetish clubs, married coworkers heat up mini-vans in abandoned parking lots, and schoolteachers are hurrying to hotel rendezvous with Doms that will consensually force them into submission. Countless others are online, sticky fingers tapping on keyboards, chasing orgasms with like-minded strangers. Everyone has a secret worth keeping. And then there’s you and I. I always find myself craving you when the sun slips behind the long horizon of the city’s ...
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