Tag Archives: lust

Client Privilege


In the beginning…

You might wonder what makes me any more special than Candy or Blake or any other Dial-A-Whore you might find on the back side of the local entertainment pages next to the ads for sperm banks and penis enlargement pills. To be honest, Candy is gorgeous, and the dickheads down at Winston’s refer to Blake as the “Hoover” when they know she’s not around to kick them in the balls. But have they ever been the Angel of Lust? Think about it- take every carnal desire you’ve ever had, every animalistic sensual hunger, and multiply it times a thousand , or ten million, or a billion, and you wouldn’t even have begun to scratch the surface of the chaste shell of God that’s encasing an eternity of wanton emotions. He gave you those yearnings on purpose; He created me on purpose. Everyone knows God doesn’t make mistakes. Maybe He just realized all that passionate voracity blinds people to almost everything else, so He told a few disciples and prophets it would be best to tell people to restrain themselves a little. Who knows.

Clearly, Charlie didn’t get the memo.

Charlie’s my most loyal customer. You’d think he was in his twenties, if you based his age on the amount of money he’s paid me in the last few years. Luckily, his twenty-two year old libido is matched up to his fifty-two year old perfectly- practiced gift for fucking. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do him for free.

He was here earlier. Normally, I don’t accept clients at my own place, but Charlie, well, he’s Charlie. Of course, he couldn’t teach me anything I wasn’t already designed to know, but after I knew Charlie for awhile, I kinda started wondering if Charlie wasn’t God’s male duplicate of me. Or maybe he’s just sexed his way through enough women that he’s got nothing else to learn. Thus his captivation with me.

When he gave his habitual rhythmic knock on my door, I was applying my Urban Decay lipstick in F-Bomb (my favorite). He opened the door without waiting for me to reply, and leaned against it after he closed it, just watching me. It’s my job to unnerve people, and I’m still not sure how Charlie can do it, but I watched him watching me in my mirror, and his intense ice-blue stare made me on edge enough that my lipstick slid right off my bottom lip.

“Fuck!” I whispered under my breath, hoping Charlie hadn’t seen, but knowing he had.

Before I had a chance to wipe it off, Charlie pushed his tall body off of the door and he strolled over to where I was standing. He said not a word, but continued to watch me in the mirror. His eyes never left mine as I felt the soft pad of his thumb trace my jawline before running along the outline of my lip, wiping the red stain away. Even with my peacock blue, five-inch heels on, he was a good nine inches taller than me, and I watched in the mirror as his hand slid from my face, down my neck, and under the neckline of my silk dress. Before his hand even touched my left breast, I felt it all the way south of my belly button, and I couldn’t stop the sound that escaped my rouged lips.

Ok, so let me explain a little bit about Charlie. He’s been married, numerous times, in fact, has enough money that he never has to work, and gets off on getting women off. A lot of guys don’t give one shit about whether their woman is turned on before they stick their dick in them, and couldn’t care less whether she orgasms or not, and probably wouldn’t be able to tell either way. Charlie is not one of those guys. I’m convinced he wouldn’t even be able to get a hard-on unless the woman he intended to fuck was dripping wet. Don’t ask me why he pays for sex, because even after all these years, he won’t tell me.

When he heard that sound, his fingertips squeezed my nipple, and my eyes slid shut, relishing the tingle that was running down my body. I leaned back against him, his toned body taking my weight easily, and ran my hand up his tailored pants, rubbing his cock through the fabric. As I did so, his hand enveloped my breast, squeezing just hard enough that it hurt. Another little squeal escaped me, and his grip tightened even more. My eyelids flew open, and my gaze met his in the mirror; his eyes had never left my face. His breath was on my neck, on my ear, and sent little shivers of pleasure across my skin. I looked into his eyes as he ran his free hand up my leg and under my skirt, and I noticed his dimpled smirk when he realized I wasn’t wearing any panties. His face in the mirror looked like a young man’s- a young man with a dirty secret- as his experienced fingers explored my most intimate places, as he discovered what his fingers and his eyes and his breath on me had done. I was encircled in his grip, and couldn’t move as he moved his fingertips achingly slow  in and out of me, in and out, in, and then out before bringing them up and sliding them between my F-Bomb-ed lips. He watched as I tasted the salty musk of myself, and broke his trance-like stare when I ran my tongue over and around his fingertips, and then sucked ever so gently.

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A Valediction to Chris Meloni


My pulchritudinous Christopher,

I have come to the heartbreaking conclusion that this shall be the last letter I shall ever compose to you.

“But why, my sweet luscious Sparklebumps?” You ask? (Or more correctly, you so blatantly do NOT ask.)

I must admit, my (or not mine) amazing specimen of a man, that the thought of never again typing up a letter of blatant lust to you has got me a bit misty-eyed, but no- I cannot go on as we have. (Or have not.)

I cannot help but notice that my multiple attempts to gain your attention have, in fact, received no attention at all from you. My birthday post for you HERE and my first confession of love HERE lack the sufficient comments from you necessary for me to continue my unrequited love for you. Despite the numerous offers of boobie squishes I have promised you upon our initial meeting, you remain ever distant- living with that very tall wife of yours and scowling beautifully without any thoughts of me whatsoever. I cannot bear it, Chris.

Though I do not consider myself high-maintenance, I have been assured by a number of the male species that I do, at times, require excessive attention. Since I have received not one iota of attention from you, I do no think that I am being unreasonable in ending our bond; it was doomed from the very start.

I will no longer dream of your strong Stabler arms around me, nor shall I pine to stretch myself to the very max to reach your very kissable lips with my own. (Which would be completely impossible anyway, since I haven’t shoes tall enough to make ME tall enough.) No more shall I imagine you scowling at me in your very Christopher way when I have denied you my delicate lotus-like privates. (Which is also quite incredible, as I would never deny you anything, my dearest Bald Man.)

I hope with this, my last goodbye, you feel anguish at never having experienced my magnificent boobage in all its glory, and contrition over never having donated your sperm to me in such a way that would produce little Mini Mes and Yous. (Our unborn children wail in grief.) It brings me great sadness that your hardened manhood shall never find its way into my mouth, for I surely have wanted to know exactly how many licks it would take….

Know this, my once darling Chris, my future love life shall ever be slightly grim and jaded, even if I have moved my attentions on to Sean Bean.

For Never Yours,

Sparklebumps

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Sinner


Good Friday to you, my Lovelys! So for some reason yesterday- perhaps because I was bored of thinking of saucing and cheesing at work (which I am very excellent at, by the way) I began thinking of the Seven Deadly Sins. I was not raised Catholic; instead, I was raised to believe that no sin is worse than the next. This thinking is still a bit ludicrous, since I believe most people would agree with me that chopping someone’s head off and wearing their skin as an overcoat is bit more dispicable than screaming, “Fuck!” when you stub your toe on the toilet, but who am I to judge? So, this morning I looked up the “deadliest” sins, and was disturbed to see that according to some religions, I belong in all the circles of Hell. I have listed them here for you, (with the Latin terms as well, so you can all be a bit smarter today) and the ways in which I have committed these infractions:

Lust (luxuria): OK, I’m sure you are all thinking that I picked this one to go first, when in fact, it was the first one listed on the Wikipedia. So there. Dante’s definition of this sin was “excessive love of others”, which I admit I am guilty of, though not in a naked way. If we go with the Wikipedia definition- desiring a person outside of marriage– that’s another story. So I guess there’s nothing more to do than tell my Rockstar he’d better marry me to keep me from going to Hell, eh? Of course, there would still be the issue of Chris Meloni…

Gluttony (gula): Wasting of food, either through eating too much food, drink or drugs, misplaced desire for food for its taste, or not giving food to the needy -I assure you, there is no food or alcohol wastage going on in my presence. However, my misplaced desire for McDonald’s french fries may be a sin. My need is assuaged when I make sure to buy myself some, though, so that makes up for the sin, right?

Greed (avaritia): This was describe as wanting more things than a person needs. But at least I USE all my shoes…

Sloth (acedia) : This is one I’m not quite as guilty of. However, I’m quite sure that someone would find a problem with me vegging out in front of the TV watching Sex and the City for 6 hours after my work is done.

Wrath (ira): Inappropriate (not right) feelings of hatred, revenge or even denial– I believe my feelings of anger toward my ex-boss for getting firing are completely appropriate. I have no such explanation for Taylor Swift.

Envy (invidia): I must say, I do not hate people for what they have, because I have more. (Boobs, that is.)

Pride (superbia): Wikipedia’s definition of this was:  A desire to be important or attractive to others or excessive love of self. I’ve been told this is a mental disease known as histrionic personality disorder.  If I were in court, I believe I would be found “not guilty” by reason of mental disease or defect…

So there you have it. Since I have seen fit to confess my sins, that absolves me, doesn’t it?

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