Dirty, dark fantasies

I've been doing a yoga breathing workshop all week that requires me to get up each morning at least 2 hours earlier than I normally do. Since I can't go to bed all that much earlier than I usually do, I am running on a deficit of about 10 hours sleep for the week.  It all must sound like torture but I've really wanted to do this and I have had some outstanding bursts of energy and clear thinking along the way. Today, I mentioned it to my regular yoga teacher and she said she did the breathing for 6 months and kept a journal. Apparently, after a few weeks into the breathing she couldn't bear the smell of alcohol or sugar. Her body was insisting on all things clean.

I can't say that sort of effect has kicked in with me, although I haven't even contemplated a glass of wine this week. However, that's not all that unusual for me and just now I have had a few blocks of dark chocolate, my first sugar for the week after an afternoon nap. I'm not entirely pure yet. Quite the contrary has occurred, I am sorry to say.

What I have noticed is that the sexual thoughts are running amuck; very intense, constant and with no end. I fell asleep thinking them and I awoke thinking them. Fundamentally, it is like a pornographic channel running in my head and nobody can find the controller to turn it off. I hesitate to talk about them and yet I feel a need to expunge them somewhat. If I can't talk about them here, then where? I rather doubt the ancient yogis would approve. I don't think this is the sort of benefits they had in mind at all but it is what it is, and here it is...

I'm in a big room. It's quite grand: think Eyes Wide Shut and that's about right. We've been blindfolded, about a dozen of us. We're naked. We've been told to kneel with our legs under us, so that we can pout our backsides and present our holes. (The word present is an extraordinary turn on for me always.)  Of course, our breasts (the men in charge call them our titties) flop on the wooden floor and we are told to hold our mouth cunts open, as if ready to be fucked. We form a circle and that means that when the man who is looking for a plaything  comes to see us, he can see all the holes easily. There are mirrors all over the walls, you see. There is  no place to hide.

The man we know is showing us off, much as a man might show off his horse to a potential owner,  talking up our good points, encouraging the stranger to notice various aspects of our bodies; broad hips here, a wide ass there, a particularly slutty hole there, and the unknown man is inspecting us closely. He looks more than touches the merchandise but he has stopped by me and is asking the man a question. He wants to know what size anal plug I am using at this time. The man goes to a cupboard and produces a plug of the relevant size and this seems to prompt him to want to inspect more closely.

I can feel his slightly cold hands on my buttocks. (As he requested, we've all been well warmed with a leather paddle so any slight coldness was going to be noticed by any of us.) Now, he's stretching my buttocks apart to look at the slutty hole, running his hands over and in my pussy cunt as well. Modesty would like me to be able to say that my pride is incensed by this but it just wouldn't be the truth. I am wet with anticipation of what this man may do to me should he choose me and the touch of his fingers is divine. I am virtually organismic already.

He makes his decision abruptly and within a moment I am hoisted onto a bench and told to rest in the same way as on the floor; kneeling with my legs under me and all holes accessible. Quickly and firmly I am tied to the bench so that any hope I might have of escaping is completely gone. (As if I would...)

The bench is the perfect height so that when the man releases his cock from his pants it can be easily and immediately placed at the entrance of my ass cunt. (The men use these words repeatedly.) As I feel his cock about to penetrate me he reminds me that I an nothing more than his play thing; his toy; just a hole. If this is meant to insult me or incense me, the ploy has backfired because I don't feel any disagreement in my mind. That is indeed what I am. I've been trained to know my purpose.

He enters me and I gasp with shock. He pulls out of me repeatedly only to thrust again and eventually he rhythmically fucks me, seemingly fucking deeper and deeper into my hole. With each thrust my mind and my body is disappearing into a space; a deep, dark hole of pleasure. The sensations are primal; earthy. I feel that my pussy cunt has expanded to be three times it size and from where the orgasms come it is hard to detect. Is it felt in the ass cunt or the pussy cunt or is the overwhelming pleasure coming from a place and a space so unidentifiable that I  no longer exist and have been carried away to some sort of orgasmic heavenly bliss?

My loud moans and groans are no longer wanted and it seems that the man riding me has asked the other man to fill my mouth cunt with his cock to keep me quiet. I accept the gift of his cock with lusty acceptance and I can only hope that this attention will go on and on; that they will not tire or desire to climax too soon.

Eventually, they must and do. I feel the cum filling my two holes and it fills me with satisfaction. This is, after all, the purpose of the two holes. (Here comes the squirmish part...) One of the men retrieve from the cupboard a jug and my ass cunt is milked of cum, leaving enough inside so that when they fill it with a large plug the rest of the cum will leak down my legs for the rest of the evening. (Our training has demanded that our holes are always scrupulously clean and now I understand why this is so.)

I am untied and made to sit on the hard, wooden stool and to place my hands behind my head. Of course, this leaves my breasts free to be tortured and nasty, tight nipple clips now bite at my nipples. It is just more containment for the plaything. It bites to be sure but there is pleasure in the pain; their devilment is her aphrodisiac. (I'm no longer an I. I'm just she at best; more like it, in fact.)

Just as she is about to pass out in a dreamy sort of head space that is unquantifiable they remove the clips. She screams and her mouth is immediately covered with a man's big hand until the desire to scream passes and she is passive; still. The stranger pats her on the head and tells that she has been a good fuck toy, a very pleasurable doll. She has done well. "Good doll," he coos.

This is enough for her. (Who, in fact, is using who here...?). She is returned to the circle and content in her child pose again, she drifts into a near slumber, eternally grateful that to day it was her turn to be used.