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Mating Rights – Photographer

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Female Ejaculation

All characters are over eighteen. This is set in an alternate version of society where it is socially acceptable for a woman to offer mating rights in exchange for something of value. While there are other stories in this setting, it is completely standalone.

Please try to leave feedback in the comments section. Constructive criticism is invaluable to every author. I encourage everyone to vote and leave ideas for future stories as well. Finally, I would like to thank kenjisato for his time and help.

*****

As a highly sought-after photographer, I was used to flying. Being reimbursed for all expenses makes it much more pleasant since I get to fly first-class and stay in five-star hotels while traveling the globe. It helped that ever since my parents moved from Chicago to Alabama after retirement (and my advice that Florida was becoming unaffordable thanks to skyrocketing insurance rates), I didn’t have a place I really thought of as home.

None of that meant I didn’t hate delays as much as everyone else. When I saw my flight was delayed once I landed in O’Hare for a stopover, I joined the collective moan echoing throughout the gate. Passengers hate delays. Pilots hate delays. Even air traffic controllers hate delays. Why couldn’t God hate them too?

Several passengers were bitching at the poor airline employees, as if they somehow had the power to reopen a different airport. I moved away and started flipping through hotel options on my phone.

Most of the good ones were already booked. I started brainstorming if there was anything in Chicago I hadn’t seen in a while. If all else failed, I could always check into one of the crappy two-star hotels downtown and pass the time revisiting some of my favorite places. Natural History Museum. Shedd. MCA. MSI.

“Cynthia?”

I looked up and saw a face I hadn’t seen in over ten years. “Mark!?”

Once I got over my surprise, I gave my old childhood friend a hug. Mark and I had known each other since we were kids. We both lived in one of the Chicago suburbs a few miles away and attended the same school, where we were both known for being shy and studious.

“It’s been way too long,” I said after we finished.

“I know,” he said. “Everyone misses you at class reunions.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. My schedule just doesn’t allow it, especially since that’s one of my peak demand seasons.”

“I’ll bet. The school says you’re one of the most successful members of our class.”

“Thanks,” I said. “What about you? Are you arriving or departing?”

“Arriving,” he answered. “I was just on my way to baggage claim. What about you?”

“My flight just got delayed. I’m stuck here until tomorrow.”

“Ouch. That sucks.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It looks like all the best hotels nearby are booked.”

“Why don’t you stay with me?” he offered.

“Really?”

“Sure. Let’s just grab our bags, and I’ll show you my house. I’d love to catch up some more.”

I didn’t need much convincing. Mark had definitely grown up since I last saw him. He was taller, for one thing. He was also wearing some dark pants and a white business shirt that, combined with his smoothly combed hair, made him look much more mature than the high school boy of my memory. One look into his now hypnotic blue eyes told me he was a full-grown man, something I had grown to respect in my travels.

“You look good,” I said as we waited for the carousel to start.

Mark made a skeptical sound. “I’m nothing. Just look at you.”

I tried and failed to avoid smirking. As much as Mark had changed, I’d changed even more. When we were kids, I was just an average-looking girl with better grades than looks. Then, in the last year and a half of high school, I suddenly became very popular. My entire body started growing voluptuous. My hair and face had cleaned up, and my tits had grown enough to make the homecoming queen jealous. Overnight, people were telling me to go into modeling instead of photography.

All of those trends had only accelerated once I left. I now had a pair of big tits that could get me all the male company I wanted. My face was described as “angelic,” especially with my long dark hair falling past my shoulders, and every square inch of my body was covered in curves that sexual partners loved to run their hands over.

I’d learned how to use those assets, too. My beauty had helped me countless times in my career, and I wasn’t above using it even when not on the job. Sex had long been one of my favorite stress-relieving activities, and I’d become quite adept at using my body. I was no longer a girl. I was an experienced, worldly woman.

“Thanks,” I said modestly.

Twenty minutes later, we both had our bags. “All right,” he said as we each held our large suitcases on wheels. “Follow me.”

*****

It turned out Mark lived in one of the suburbs accessible from the Blue Line. One train ride from the airport and a ten-minute Uber later, we arrived at his house without a hint of the infamous Chicago istanbul travesti traffic.

I was immediately struck by how modern the neighborhood was. The architecture was unmistakably Chicagoan, but the minimal footprint reminded me of the medium-density housing style I saw in many European cities.

“Come in,” he invited.

Mark’s home was big enough for a pond and a hot tub out back, I noted with envy. What really stayed with me wasn’t the luxuries so much as how it felt like a real home. For me, residences had long since ceased to have any meaning. I moved from place to place, picking whatever seemed like the most convenient hub at the time. Staying with Mark, I felt relaxed and at ease in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

He left to grab some wine from a nearby store while I settled in and confirmed everything was on track for the next day. Once he got back, we shared some glasses and caught up on old times and our jobs.

It wasn’t long before I could feel the wine loosening me up. Besides making the talk with Mark much more enriching, it also gave me the extra bit of courage I needed to consider my next move.

“This is a nice place you got here,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “I admit it is a bit bigger and more expensive than I planned for, but housing in this area tends to sell fast. My job is pretty remote-friendly, so I’ve been trying to use my vacations for travel more. This place offers the perfect combination of space, convenience, and quiet. I think the reduced stress is worth retiring a year or two later.”

I shifted to make myself more comfortable. “Mark, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Would you be willing to let me stay with you in exchange for mating rights?”

My old friend’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. “You’d really be willing to do that?”

I nodded. “Right now, I don’t have a place I think of as home. This place would be perfect for me. I’d be willing to have your child if you gave me a place to raise it.”

Mark’s eyes glazed over as he considered my offer. I could tell from his expression it only took him one second to reach the same conclusion as me: he’d love to mix his DNA with mine and raise the offspring resulting from our coupling.

I grinned as he transitioned from deliberation to examining my body. The lustful look that appeared on his face confirmed he liked what he saw: a white long-sleeve that exposed my navel and a pair of stylish jeans, combined with an open jacket I wore on the flight. When his gaze lingered on my tits, I knew what his would be answer.

“Absolutely, Cynthia,” he said.

With my chest suddenly heavy (and my panties rapidly dampening), I leaned in and pressed my lips against Mark’s for the first time. It took less than a second before my hunger grew to the point where I was pulling his head and kissing him aggressively.

I’d kissed countless men during my travels, but my kiss with Mark felt different because he knew me. Our relationship in high school had never been physical, but there was still enough familiarity to provide a degree of comfort and tenderness as we settled into a pattern.

Without releasing his head, my hand drifted down to massage the corner of his pants hiding his manhood. He moaned deeply in response as I made circular motions for several seconds, applying just enough pressure to make him hard.

I pulled back only to slip out of my jacket. It didn’t leave me any more exposed than I was before, but Mark was staring at me as if I was already naked. I basked in the familiar rush of power I felt before flexing myself, torturing him with the movement of my chest. Any worries he had about me going painfully slow were dispelled when I immediately tugged my shirt free and exposed my white-bra-enclosed tits.

Under different circumstances, I might’ve teased him until he reached his breaking point and manhandled me to the ground or his bed. Sadly, we didn’t have much time before my flight, and my cunt was begging to be filled. Mark was such a respectful chap when I knew him that it could’ve taken hours before he finally snapped.

Before he could finish processing how big my tits were, I moved to unzip my pants. I pushed them down my long, smooth legs before kicking them aside and posing for my mate’s benefit.

I waited patiently before he finally exclaimed, “Woah!”

Satisfied with his response, I kissed him again as I undid his shirt. He caught on to what I was doing and helped me remove it so I could run my delicate hand down his hard chest.

“Would you like me to suck your cock, Mark?” I asked as I fiddled with his pants.

He drew me by the chin to kiss me. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. All those times we were studying in the library or doing after-school activities, I never thought I’d hear you asking to suck my cock.”

I grinned from ear to ear. “Good point, but Mark?” I said, waiting until I had his full attention while I got down on my knees between his legs. istanbul travestileri “I don’t want you to think of me as the math and science whiz you knew back in high school, or the professional photographer you’ve heard about after college. Tonight, I’m nothing but your fertile, big-tittied slut!”

Carefully timing my actions, I yanked his pants down, where a rapidly growing bulge confirmed my words had the desired effect. Carefully holding it in my fingers, I slowly moved my tongue until I was close enough to lick from the base of the shaft all the way to the tip. Mark moaned, closed his eyes, and fell back onto the couch as my first touch overwhelmed him, a familiar sight owing to the tricks I’d picked up.

Back when Mark had known me, I’d been shy about sex. It was while I was building my career that I’d learned to view sleeping with men as just another form of stress relief. Mark was the first time in years my heart felt involved, which directly translated into a desire to please him and show him what I was capable of.

I continued my vertical sweeps of his fully hard cock, drawing a choir of sharp breaths until I switched to deepthroating him. He was too thick for me to swallow entirely, but his deep moans and weak grip on my hair suggested he was quite satisfied with my performance. I still succeeded in my primary goal of getting most of his shaft well lubricated, which allowed me to finish the bottom part with my tongue before I leaned back.

His wide eyes made my pussy dripping wet as I released my bra, tossing it aside and exposing my large bust. I couldn’t help cupping and gently playing with them with my hands, just to show how soft and malleable they were.

“You like my girls?” I asked in a schoolgirl tone before gripping them and planting Mark’s hard cock between them and pressing them together.

He nodded wordlessly as I smothered him with my warm flesh. He especially liked it when I started jerking him up and down.

“Would you like to play with them while I ride your cock?”

“Yes!” he moaned.

“Good,” I smiled as I climbed up and straddled him. “Fertile sluts need big, hard cocks to ride.”

Rather than immediately impale myself, I allowed Mark to feel how wet I was, silently sharing how eager I was to have him inside me. He responded by pulling me in for another deep kiss. Seeing how he was just as close to the limit of his patience as I was, I held him to the entrance of my pussy and pushed back.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned as we engaged in the most intimate act a man and a woman could take part in. His very rigid and enthusiastic cock sliced my pussy lips open and pushed deep into my core, filling me with his warmth.

“Mmph,” I groaned in breathless agreement as I settled on his lap. From the moment I felt his head touching my pussy, I knew this sex would be different. Knowing I was fertile made all the difference in the world. It gave me an extra thrill that just couldn’t be accomplished when I was using pills or condoms.

Smiling down at my friend-turned-lover, I began riding him. It wasn’t long before I was gripping his shoulders for support as I took him into my ravenous cunt while enjoying the natural warmth of our bodies pressed together.

“What do you think?” I inquired. “Do you like having a fertile slut bouncing up and down on your cock?”

“Yes,” he said, his hands gripping my hips to help raise and lower me. “Do you usually go bareback?”

“Nope,” I peeped cheerfully, relishing the sight, sound, and feeling of my hips slamming down to meet his.

“Seems pretty reckless for a slut,” he noted without objection.

I grinned and rewarded him by pressing my lips to his, thanking him for playing along and allowing me to be the dominant one. The more I fell into my role of forgetting everything I was and focusing only on filling my pussy, the stronger my urge to set him off and feel him flooding my unprotected womb became.

I felt like the lioness I’d seen on a safari: powerful, invincible, and indifferent. Master of all but one thing: my hunger, a craving that drove everything I did. It made me ride him harder, draw his cock in deeper as I strove to finish him, to overwhelm him with the pleasure of my pussy until he had no choice but to fill it.

“Isn’t that what you want?” I asked. “To cum inside me? I can feel how hard you are.”

“Kinda hard not to be hard with a slut riding my cock,” Mark joked. We both knew that wasn’t answering the question.

“Sluts have to earn their keep somehow. Whether it’s by fucking a man or giving him a cute baby.”

The reminder of what we were doing made him groan, but it put a big dent in my walls as well. Knowing his child would be inside me soon fanned my existing flames with pure oxygen. Every time I slammed down, savoring the feeling of our hips rubbing while my tits bounced wildly, I was reminded of his shaft inside me and what it was capable of.

“Oh fuck” I moaned. “I’m gonna cum.”

“I like Travesti istanbul seeing sluts cum on my cock,” Mark wheezed.

His words propelled me to let go of what little control I had left. Normally my orgasms, when they happened at all, were at my own pace. Knowing this was Mark and I could trust him enough to let my defenses down helped the explosion building inside me reach its full destructive power.

“Fuck!” I cried. “Fuck me!”

Using the last of my energy to kiss him a final time, I allowed my voluptuous body to do what it wanted. Before the flood overwhelmed me, I felt the familiar instinct to restrain myself, to limit my upcoming orgasm so it would be a pleasurable experience but not an Earth-shattering one. Instead, I released every lock and bolt and welcomed the tsunami of heat.

I let loose every profanity in every language I knew as my nerves exploded with an electrical current they had no idea how to handle. The only thing I could feel was Mark: his arms wrapped around my back, his chest supporting the weight of my body, and, above all, his rock-hard cock inside me, my one anchor point of sanity.

It was realizing what that meant that jolted me back to awareness. If Mark was still hard, my cum-fuzzy brain eventually pieced together, that meant he hadn’t cum yet, and it was a prime directive of the highest order that I make him do so.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a kiss. “But you know what would be even hotter? Cumming inside me.”

Mark let a prolonged groan out as my hips resumed moving. I no longer had the energy to raise myself, but I was more than capable of drawing him into my waiting cunt and squeezing him.

“Just you, letting go, filling my bare pussy with your cock, planting your seed in me, knocking me up with your baby.”

He sounded like a man being tortured. Grinning, I continued to tease him.

“Me, flying around the world with your offspring. All those men wishing they could’ve been the ones to put it in me. Always coming back here where we can relive making it any time we want. Watching my tummy grow bigger and bigger every month until I’m ready to be a sexy, unwed mommy.”

The image I painted with my words was enough to overwhelm even Mark. Grabbing my hips, he immediately took over and started fucking me as hard as physically possible. He didn’t waste any time warming up: he just started thrusting up and driving his cock into my well-lubricated womanhood.

“That’s it, baby,” I moaned, summoning the energy to shift myself so he could better see my tits bouncing from the force of his relentless pounding. “Use my pussy however you want. As much as I love being a slut, I want to feel you cum inside me even more.”

Mark groaned and closed his eyes as he came close to losing control. I looked down at the sight of our hips, his cock repeatedly pushing inside me. He’d seen me fall apart, and I was eager to see what he looked like when he surrendered to his urges.

“You’re cute when you’re trying not to cum,” I teased. “But it’s not going to work. We both know you want to cum in my pussy.”

Another deep moan.

“Isn’t that what you want? To make me into a mommy for your baby?”

He held back answering but for only a second. “Yes,” he admitted.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” I kissed him again. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but don’t you think we’d make a smart baby together?”

His affirmative ‘yes’ was barely distinguishable beneath his groan.

After another kiss, I pulled back to look him in the eye. “I know I’m looking forward to being a mother. Are you looking forward to being a father?”

“Yes,” he panted.

I smiled. “Then do it, Mark. Cum inside me and give me your baby.”

My begging proved too much for him. With a triumphant roar, he slammed my hips down, fully impaling me as the dam burst.

At the last moment, his eyes drifted down to my body. I think he was memorizing what I looked like before he changed me forever. I could see in his eyes he was trying to picture the changes he would force on me: my curves stretching as my womb expanded, my posture altering with my new center of gravity, and the indescribable glow of a pregnant woman he’d give me. Even after his baby left me, I would always carry the signs that he had claimed me.

With a series of groans, he gave me the most delectable creampie. Our lifelong friendship cultivated in our genes mixing inside me as my body became home for a new life that was part me and part Mark. Every lust-infused twitch of his cock increased the probability that he would succeed in what countless other men would’ve loved to do.

He cried as he continued to pump load after load into my unprotected cunt. Every gasp and purr I made reflected my own ecstasy as we came close to completing our arrangement, but it was nothing compared to the primal satisfaction Mark felt. He kept my hips fully pressed against his own as he planted his seed as deep as he possibly could.

Our mutual pleasure seemed to go on forever, but when his cock finally finished delivering its payload, Mark twisted to the side so he could lay down. I followed him, feeling him leave the warm confines of my pussy but knowing the evidence of our erotic coupling was still inside me.

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Realization of a Masochist

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On the outside, she was perfectly normal; perhaps well on the positive side of normal. She was a loving daughter, sister and friend. She was loyal and honest in her relationships. She had a steady part time job waiting tables at a restaurant and she also attended college, taking as many credits as possible. She always paid her bills on time and kept her promises. She was fiercely independent. She had a strong work ethic and strong morals and values. Everywhere she went people liked her and wanted to be her friend. She was always happy to oblige.

Really the only odd or seemingly abnormal thing about her, aside from her occasional urge to dress in full gothic attire, was that she had often jumped from bed to bed, never keeping a steady boyfriend. She had enjoyed herself, yes, but she always felt there was something missing; something more that she could be experiencing, but it was always just beyond her reach. Her adventurous nature made her fun and exciting to be around, for she was always willing to try new things. She spent a lot of her time seeking thrills and new experiences, from new roller coasters to bungee jumping, traveling and meeting new people. She had a deep-seated, primal affinity for danger and taking risks. This probably had to do with the fact that every sexual relationship she’d ever had had some elements of danger and risk involved. On a subconscious level, she probably associated those elements with sex. And after all, was thrill seeking not just a search for sexual feelings outside of the act itself?

Sex aside, she always made a point to face her fears head on, by doing things that scared her for no apparent reason – except she privately told herself it was to make her a better, stronger person. Strength was probably the most important thing to her. However, it was a quiet, indirect power that she craved.

One night, she got into one of her famous verbal sparring wars with one of her friends. It turned into a physical, pushing and pinching match, ending with several bites and slaps. It was fairly normal for her to play fight with her friends like that, but this particular one ended a bit more roughly than usual. When she got home and stripped down in the bathroom, she saw the light bruises blushing her skin. She examined them and lightly ran her fingers over them, just enough to coax a little pain out of her nerves. The surge of power she felt as the pain reminded her of the strength she ümraniye escort had shown shot a wave of pleasure through her limbs, making her knees tremble. She ran her hands over the marks again and again, sighing with what even she would have described as a disturbing mix of pleasure and pain.

Her hands drifted to other parts of her body later as she lay between the cool sheets, and as she peaked she made the first all-encompassing connection between pain and pleasure. She continued this for the next couple of nights, until the pain faded with the bruises. Eventually she began to associate orgasm with small doses of pain; not just physical pain. Emotional anguish was also exciting to her, and she would unconsciously think about painful things more than was necessary, to inflict this different type of discomfort onto herself. Discomfort, she believed, was the key to expanding your own personal comfort zone, and therefore gaining strength.

She had never really thought about the term “masochist” until her uncle made a comment one day, over a bowl of his famously spicy chili. “They say that people who love spicy food and eat it all the time are expressing masochistic tendencies. They say they like the pain of it.” That comment really hit home to her, and she began to look at other aspects of her life in a new light. She thought about how when she was a child, in karate lessons, she would look forward to board breaking because of how it proved your strength. She also liked the sting of the skin after breaking one with her bare hand. After working out at the gym she would experience the same type of muscle soreness as everyone else. What she hadn’t realized was that most people do something about it. They take a little medicine, soak in a hot tub, take Epsom salt baths, etc. But she would just endure the dull pain, sometimes pushing herself even harder when she was sore. Even when she had a perfectly legitimate reason, she would shy away from painkillers and drugs that dulled physical and emotional feeling. However, she had somewhat of a weakness for the types that heightened these sensations.

She had a definite thing for spicy foods, and her threshold of heat rivaled those of most men. She could handle the hottest peppers, the most robust Indian and Thai cuisine. As with everything in her life, she would push herself past her limits, knowing that the more she pushed, the more she would be able to handle pendik escort next time around. As far as sex was concerned, she liked to postpone her orgasms as long as possible, almost finding more pleasure in the feeling of build up and suppression than with actual orgasm.

She focused on wanting things just beyond her reach, and this concentration undoubtedly made her aim higher and forge ahead towards her goals, but were all these things just ways of expressing her masochistic tendencies? And if so, what did this mean? Was she a freak? Did she need therapy? Could she indulge herself without harming her everyday life? The one thing that excited her about the fact that she could be a masochist was the idea that if she craved pain, then she was free of one of the most paralyzing fears in humankind. This, in her mind, gave her even more power.

He seemed like a perfectly normal, sweet, gentle kind of person. But of course we know that the ones that seem this way on the outside usually make up for it once you get to know them. For some reason, of which the process is still a mystery, he caught her attention. She had a feeling there was more to him than met the eye. She had a weakness for seeking out the mysteries of men. As usually was the case, it didn’t take her long to begin to uncover his.

When they made love for the first time it was rough and fast, and she had several marks on her body left from it. He seemed to really get into the aggressive aspects, so she didn’t have to do much of anything. She loved that. Sometimes she got tired of pleasing herself – what she really needed was someone to do it for her, because it got exhausting. The next time around the same thing happened, and it, along with her new thoughts on the subject, got her curious. She worked up the nerve to ask if he was “into” that sort of thing. S&M, B&D, etc.

“I had a feeling you would ask me this eventually, I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

There is a certain intuition involved in finding people of like mind, across all different subcultures. S&M is no different, and somehow they recognized each other. She bared her soul to him, telling all the secrets inside her that had been dying to come out. She told him all the little things that pointed her in the direction of Masochist.

He listened quietly with a serene look in his smoldering eyes, and when she finished he kissed her passionately and said, bostancı escort “Don’t worry. You can be comfortable with me, for I will push your limits farther than you could on your own.”

The next time they saw each other, things became a little more structured. He undressed her, ran his hands through her long, raven-black hair and pulled it just hard enough to send a chill down her spine, and a twinge of excitement through her veins. He spanked her, full-handed and hard, with a firm squeeze at the end of it. The force sent her forward to the wall, where she leaned while he did it over and over again. She bit back her moans of pleasure while concentrating on his velvety voice, purring to her about the joys of needing to be possessed and dominated. She liked to rake her nails over his skin, and bite him and he tasted good, but she didn’t get the same surge of excitement and pleasure that she got when he bit, scratched, slapped or squeezed her.

There were so many things she wanted to do for him, but she would only be able to enjoy doing them completely if he forced her to do that which she already desired. The idea of being bound, held down and “forced” into things during sex appealed immensely to her, and he was the first person willing to oblige these desires. The first time he tied her up she felt so vulnerable, yet she trusted him so completely that it gave her an odd sense of power. Knowing that she was in quiet control is what excited her the most. She could completely call the shots. If she wanted him to stop at any moment, he would. But he knew just how far to push her, and he knew when she really meant that she wanted more. He was able to give her everything she had always wanted, but never knew how to ask for.

She became completely addicted to their sessions, more so than any drug could have taken hold of her. She lived for each time they would see each other, and thoughts of their time together invaded her at the most inopportune times. Instead of pushing them out, she would surrender, letting her mind wander and experience him again in her daydreams. She began to lose some of her friends and other close relationships, and she started to care less and less about school. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care.

All she cared about was getting the pleasure she felt she deserved, especially after all the time of going without complete satisfaction. She was sure that others would say she had a problem that needed to be fixed, but in her mind the enjoyment she felt from it far outweighed the problems it caused. She consciously allowed it to consume her life, and eventually she lost herself in her new world of immense pleasure and pain.

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