Saturday, March 14, 2009


I just wanna die..

Sorry, dear readers. My pain is beyond words...When I am sane and sober, I shall write about it...

Have a great Saturday, y'all.

Monday, March 9, 2009


I have seen it happen to other people and often wondered how it would be like, wondered if a mistress is ever truly loved...

* * * * *

I have become not just someone's sex slave but also his mistress. When he asked me if I was comfortable being his other woman, I just laughed and agreed to my fate without hesitation. There is no remorse in my heart for his wife. Yet. I hope it doesn't come at all. I regret only that by believing in the pretense of a relationship and agreeing be the other woman, I am further away from finding someone to truly love and be mine completely and closer to stolen moments of pagan passion, clandestine encounters and dreams meant never to be fulfilled. Being his mistress might not be so bad. Just when I think my life couldn't get any more complicated, apart from being mistress, we are planning on an open relationship. It's the perfect concoction for sexual adventure and the consequent heartache.

"What are the benefits to being a mistress?" I asked him as we were lying on the bed, my head on his chest, my fingers toying with his chest hair. It was so sexy on him. Eduardo is a mestizo-- a white boy of mixed Spanish-Filipino descent-- but it was strange at first to hear someone who looked Caucasian talking in Tagalog. We never spoke to each other in the native tongue, though. Call it conditioning or deception but if you've been reading my blog, you know I prefer not to date Filipinos. Now, here is a guy who has the proclivities of a sweet and charming Filipino but the features and sexually liberal attitude to be expected from Europeans. And he's 39 years old. I got lucky.

He didn't answer my question. "Does she get flowers, too?" I volunteered. He nodded his head and smiled. I smiled back, thinking about the last time I got flowers from a suitor, my memory failing me yet again.

He gathered me in his arms, my naked, child-like body molding into his, arousing my incestuous fantasies. It is only our first night together. The chemistry is undeniably strong, the conversation had been nothing short of intellectually stimulating and the rare moments of silence between us was not awkward. We looked into each other's eyes for what seemed like a very long time, searching, waiting for that moment when one of us will pull away. Neither of us did. We kissed again and with every kiss, every smile, every touch, I started to abandon my plan to fuck him tonight and leave him when morning comes.

I rolled on top of him. Holding my face with both his hands, he planted a gentle kiss on my lips. I kissed him back, parting my lips, offering my tongue to him. He sucked on it, offered me his in return. I kissed his neck, his chest, kissing my way to his already hard cock. I rubbed my lips against his cockhead, kissed it as a sign of my appreciation for making me cum intensely just a few moments ago.

I took his tool in my hand and stroked the head, gently, slowly. He sighed when my tongue slithered up and down his shaft. I let a good amount of saliva fall slowly from my tongue to his cockhead. He liked to watch me doing that. "Get it nice and wet", he urged. I wrapped my lips around his cockhead, licking it, one hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it and the other touching his testicles.

Engulfing his cock in my mouth, I allowed the engorged cockhead to hit the back of my throat very briefly. A moan ensued from his lips from that brief contact. Releasing his cock from my mouth, I went back to just sucking on the cockhead, slobbering it with more saliva. He threaded his fingers around my hair and pushed down in a calculated force so that the swollen head of his penis hit the back of my throat again. He stiffened, and held my head still for a few seconds fighting the urge to push deeper or thrust harder. I sucked his dick enthusiastically, greedily, my eyes on his. His fingers tightened around my hair again and he thrust his cock deeper in my mouth, fucking it with deep, slow strokes, groaning loudly everytime he buried his cockhead in my throat.

Grabbing me by the hair, he forced me to sit up and kneel in front of him. "That's how you suck cock, you slut." He hissed at me. "Open your mouth." It was a command but the lust in his eyes betrayed his harsh tone. He held his stiff cock with one hand and pulled my head forward with the other, pushing the cockhead between my pursed lips. I resisted a little, but it was all just a show. I opened my lips, welcomed his dick inside my mouth again. Hearing him moan and hiss between his teeth was all I needed to know that I was a good cocksucker.

He reached for my nipples, pinched it softly at first, just to tease. That he had a taste for pain and dominance was not unknown to me. He was just holding back, testing to see how much pain I can take. The next time he pinched my nipples, he was anything but gentle. I screamed inaudibly because his cock was still lodged between my throat. He pinched my nipples again and again, each one more intense than the other so that I stopped sucking on his cock and screamed loudly. His face didn't show any mercy. He touched my pussy and the wetness of my slit told him I was enjoying the pain. He will give me more pain.

He told me to stand up and face the mirror, my hands on the table for support. He knelt down behind me, hands on my butt cheeks, spreading them apart. I pushed my ass back, spread my legs apart further for his easy access. My pussy leaked with cunt juice and when his tongue touched my clit, my lips quivered violently--a first for me. No one has ever had that effect on me. Sure, a guy can make me cum with his tongue. But my lips have never trembled this way before.

With his tongue, he pleasured my asshole, two fingers were inside my pussy and his other hand caressed my clitoris. I admired myself in the mirror--hair tousled, skin flushed, breasts red from his merciless pinching, lips pressed together to muffle my screams of delight. It was an erotic sight. His tongue's expert ministration on my clit and asshole was incredible. My hips jerked forward and backward convulsively. He growled a command to be still but I couldn't no matter how hard I tried.

I begged him to let me feel his cock inside me. He grabbed me by the wrist and led me to the bed, pushing me down so that I was on my hands and knees. He stood at the side of the bed, stroking his cock. I looked back at him, begged to be fucked.

He brought an open hand down on my ass cheek with more force than I had anticipated, the loud crack echoing against the walls of our hotel room. "Please, make it hurt," I coaxed him though he didn't need any encouragement. Another sharp blow. I bit my lip, whimpering in pleasure. He brought down each strike with a resounding crack, pausing a few moments to let the pain remind me of his dominance before striking again.

He traced my pussy slit with his cockhead, his thumb rubbing my asshole. I played with my breasts, rolling my nipples between my forefinger and thumb. The sharp pain on my nipples reminded me of his abuse. He guided his cock to the entrance of my wet, hot cunt and just before he pushed all the way in, he wrapped his big hand around my neck then pulled me back towards him, choking me.

His one hand around my neck and the other on my hip, my back arched, his lips against my cheek, he fucked me with an intensity and speed that was so painful and yet surprisingly pleasurable. I couldn't stop screaming in pleasure and I couldn't give a damn about the next door occupants who had earlier complained that we were too noisy. His cock felt so wonderful inside me and for a moment I didn't realize that his strong hand started to tighten around my frail neck. He could break me so easily if he lost control. I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for my breath to leave my lips temporarily and my orgasm to wash over me.

I bucked and struggled against him, feeling light-headed, a strong orgasm building up inside me. He held me tightly as I came, kissing my shoulders, my cheek and my ear as I reveled in the intensity of my orgasm.

Breathless, I slumped forward on the bed. He was on top of me in an instant, spreading my legs with his knees. I felt the tip of his cock pushing against my tight asshole. I was so wet that the entire length of his cock slipped so easily inside. He pressed his lips against my cheek and I cocked my head to the side so I can take his lips while he humped me from behind. We kissed deeply while he fucked my asshole.

It didn't take long for him to cum. He moaned and sighed against my lips when his orgasm swept over him.

* * * * * *

Kissing, touching, our eyes communicating, there was little need for words as I melted into his arms again after our lovemaking. This was only our first night together and already I know I will sleep with him again and again. I can't get enough of him. There is more to say, more stories to tell.

I am his mistress. And mistresses have all the benefits that a wife doesn't have. I am wanted, needed, lusted for. There is a thin line between a fuck buddy and a mistress. I am somewhere in between. I do not live under the false pretense that he will leave his wife and marry me. I know only that between now and the end of our relationship, he will either break my heart or I will break his.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Portrait of An Open Relationship

At 26, I think I am scarred beyond repair, a paradox of sorts, several women in one body, women who can't make up their minds.

I start a relationship convinced that it will end, sooner rather than later. I embrace that eventuality. I prepare myself for the end even if I am still at the beginning. When it does end, despite how prepared I think I am for it, I still want to cry. I still punish myself. I still want to go through the entire cycle of loving, losing, crying and then getting over it. It makes me feel like a normal person. I enjoy the ride, knowing nothing lasts, that I will fall in love now and tomorrow, that love will be gone.

I know nothing lasts...

Yet, I still hanker for a love that will.

I know that I can never be in a monogamous relationship. With this knowledge and understanding of myself, I seek out the men who will be interested in sharing me with other men and women. I want to be loved by someone who will unselfishly feed my fantasies and enjoy it,too.

But when I find a man who will share me, I don't know how I will feel about seeing him fuck someone else in my presence.

Will I be able to sleep knowing the man I love is fucking other women?

* * * * * * * * * *

Francis knew from the beginning that I might fall in love with him. He knew how vulnerable I was then. In between relationships that never last and a reliance on sleeping pills to help me out of my depression, I gravitated to him and started needing him. We have never met yet but in my state, I can fall easily for anyone. We chatted for hours on the internet. We texted each other the whole day. We were having sex on cam. I would come home right after work to see him on cam. It was a pathetic situation to be in--to need someone you haven't met or know if he's what he claims to be.

I was his slave. To some of you who haven't experienced it, it meant I can't fuck anyone without his permission. It meant I had to grow my pubic hair even if I don't want to and showing him my pussy so he knows I am following his command. He doesn't like pussy hair but it made him feel in control that I do what he tells me to. It meant not wearing panties or not wearing a bra. It meant he will choose the guy who will fuck me. If he wanted pictures of me fucking myself with a dildo, I will do so. To be dominated by someone you haven't met and follow what he tells you is probably surreal to some of you. It was real to me.

I fall in love easily. He cared about me. Or pretended to. He listened to me talk about my pain, watched me cry, checked on how I was doing constantly. It felt a lot like love to me. I told him I might fall for him. And I did. But he said I shouldn't.

We enjoyed sharing stories of our sexual adventures. Whenever I come home from a night out at a club or drinking myself to paralysis, he would ask me to tell him everything I did, the men I met, the men who propositioned me. He always looked for erotica, sent the stories to me and demanded that I read them. He tells me about the women he has been with, the women he was gonna fuck. He sent me naked pictures of women he fucked. That he gave me permission to say no to a woman he wanted to have sex with gave me some control over him. It felt like a wonderful relationship to be in. We were honest about who we are, what we did. Too much honesty.

Once, he called me up while he was fucking this girl he met online. He made me listen to the girl's moans. You wanna lick my asshole, baby, the girl was saying. I listened to them fucking. I listened to them but all the while I wondered if I could stand seeing him fucking someone else, or if I will be able to share him with a woman and not feel hurt. Or jealous.

He would tell me he loves me. I would tell him I was in love with him, too. Then he tells me Of course you know what I mean when say I love you, right? He meant he loved me the way a master loved an obedient slave and not the kind of love you have for someone you wanted to marry. It was confusing to me. I love you is universal. How can there be another meaning to I love you?

The online relationship went on for some time and culminated when he visited me in my city and we had our strip club adventure. Part of the reason we weren't able to take Hannah the stripper back to our hotel was because I had second thoughts about having sex with him and another woman. I didn't know how I would react if Hannah made his eyeballs roll back to his skull, if Hannah made him moan louder than I could, if Hannah was a better lover than me. Making out with Hannah at the strip club was erotic but taking her home with us so she can please my lover better than I could was something I wasn't prepared for. She was hotter, had more experience with men and even if I knew she was a stripper who does this for the money, knowing Francis got her number for future encounters made me uneasy.

I was falling harder for Francis. He told me if he isn't married by 40, we would get married and we can continue to have sex with other people. Oh, the fun we will have, he told me. It was tempting but he was in his early 30's and it will take a long time for him to realize he is in love with me,too. At the back of my mind, I wanted him to want me, only me, and to love me back intensely, to reassure me the other women were just to satisfy his lust, that I was his number one. I wanted an open relationship, too, but without the assurance of love, how can it last? But if there is love, can I live with an open relationship?

He didn't promise me anything except for an obscure plan to marry when he is left with no other choice. I did wake up. I was disillusioned. It wasn't love I felt for him. I know it now. I cut all my communication with him, changed my number, moved to another house. I decided I was ready to move on--lose him, cry over it and get back in the game with no strings attached, no love involved.

* * * * * * * *

People learn from past mistakes, avoid pain and the situations that would lead to it. I know well enough that sharing more than just your body with someone can eventually lead to a false sense of love. If you share your life, your pain, your thoughts and dreams with someone you sleep with, it could lead to a relationship, one that will eventually lead to more pain.

But here I am again, revisiting my past, clawing at half-healed scars and considering an open relationship with someone new. Like Francis, I haven't met him in person. But unlike him, I can fall in love with this new stranger. I am allowed to. He wants me to fall in love with him--to fall hard and deep--but to do so only after I have fought the feelings strongly enough until I can't control it anymore. I am becoming someone's slave again.

We plan to have sex with other people, to try and get used to having people share our bed. We will do this so we will know if an open relationship suits us. Then, when we know how it will make us feel, we can decide if we should fall in love or continue to just be friends with benefits.

That love has to be reduced to a decision is excruciatingly sad. I want to just fall in love without thinking about it. While I am not yet in love with him, I know I will enjoy having group sex with him. When I fall in love with him, I wonder if I can sit still when he is away, or if I can sleep knowing he is fucking other women.

It is painful to think I can only hold a man's interest as long as he knows I am a slut. When I meet someone new after I lose this new stranger--because I know we will not last even before we have begun--should I try to be a good girl and see if the next guy will love me beyond what my body could offer?

* * * * * * * *

At 26, I also wanna be loved, to be courted like other normal women, to get flowers, love letters, chocolates. I know these gestures lead to sex anyway so why don't I just skip all that courtship crap and jump into bed with the man?

I am a paradox of sorts, a moving, living, breathing body of contradiction. I don't know what I want.

I don't know what true love feels like anymore. I wonder if I did. But I want to feel it again. I might be too scarred to truly love but I am not giving up yet.