Your Place? Or Mine?

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.