Listening To Master: Taboo Erotica E-Book

Bernard Morse

• Herausgeber: Palimpsest Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

"Mmmmmm. That's terrific. Ooooh! Yeah! Pinch the nipples really hard! I love it!" She plunged the vibrator in and out of her now, wrapping her fist around it and mashing her knuckles up against her clit with every probing, circling thrust. I clamped my fingers hard on them as I rolled them back and forth and pulled on them, stretching their aureoles out like short strands of molasses taffy. "Oh yeah, shove that cock up my ass! Do it to me! Do it hard!" The hand that held the vibrator jittered now, rapping like a jackhammer on her clit, and I plowed her ass-hole deep. Every muscle in my body strained rigidly toward that withering blast of satisfaction.

Beads of sweat collected on my brow and my face and chest flushed. It was hard work keeping my cock up her when she caught those constricting bursts, from her clit that tried to wrench her ass-hole closed, but the harder the work, the bigger the prize, and I'd never felt anything at once so demanding and so rejecting, altogether so exciting, as this tit-grabbing, ass-fucking, humping half-rape, with the electric cock-gone-wild pressing the front wall of Shirley's rectum to the top of my cock and saturating it with insane vibrations.
 

Leseprobe

Listening To Master

Bernard Morse

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

You might think, "Hell go back to it someday. They always do. Or at least there'll always be that strong chance. They're like alcoholics."

Well, I suppose everybody's addicted to sex. It's just that some people get hung on it in unfortunate ways. What I mean is, whatever you're hooked on, you're hooked pretty deeply, and if you're hooked on something unfortunate, you're deeply unlucky. So you have to be damned lucky if you're ever going to kick your habit for good. From that point of view it wouldn't be surprising if you didn't believe me.

But I don't mean to convince you by telling you. I mean to convince you by writing this book, which will wrap up the person I used to be. Permanently. What you have to understand-at the end of the book, not the beginning-is how there was a period in my life when I was compelled to do some things that were pretty bad, and there was nothing I could do about it Fantasies struck me and there they were, all laid out with foolproof plans for making them real. It was just as if the woman was already spread out on her back with her panties down and all I had to do was stick it in. And you know how hard it can be to resist at that stage-how pointless it seems-especially when nobody else will ever know it happened. So I was dragged into my fantasies like a bull with a knife edged ring in his nose. I was just along for the ride.

Oh, it was the ride of my life, that's for sure. Your fantasies show what'll do the trick for you every time. But between those times when I was just carried away my conscience whipped me bloody.. . .

And then that period ended.

"Or so he thinks," you say to yourself.

Let me put it this way. You read this book and decide for yourself whether the person who wrote it will go back. But don't say you think I will just because it turns you on to imagine doing the things I've done and you figure, "Hell, if I could get away with that I'd do it." Because then you're not just making a prediction about what I'll do; you're saying I should go back. If you're as clever as I am you probably could get away with it, at least as well as I did, but take it from me. After all, I've been there. Whether you've got a conscience that would whip you bloody or not, you shouldn't, and I shouldn't have either.

I wish I could read this book objectively, the way you can, and see whether I thought the person who'd written it would go back. Right now I know I won't just the way I know that two and two are four, that the earth revolves around the sun, and that there is no God. But it would be so nice to be somebody else and look at me and say, "He's right about himself." Then I'd know even better.

But suppose I could read this book objectively, and suppose I could see that yes, the person who wrote it was deluding himself. That would mean I was deluding myself, and if I started believing I was then I might get lost again.. . .

The way I did to begin with.

It's funny. At the time it seemed to hit me all at once, but really it had been coming for years. It was an attitude toward women that caused it.. . but I don't know whether "caused" is the right word, because without that sudden flash that came by accident it might never have happened.

I'd better take things one at a time.

The attitude toward women started when I was a boy and it dawned on me that I had tremendous sex urges but I was not very attractive and would never be what you'd call handsome or dashing or whatever you have to be to satisfy yourself.

Not that I was what you'd call really ugly to begin with-and I got more respectable looking as I got older. I have a longish face and a sort of prominent Roman nose, thin lips, and I guess I have a weak chin. Back then, when I was growing too fast and was very unhappy, people used to call me Gaunt for a joke. Looking at pictures of myself from junior high I can see what they meant. My cheeks were hollow and my eys looked like they were bugging out. But that was more because I always had a forlorn expression than because I'd been stuck with a really ass face. If you saw a picture of one of my high school classes you wouldn't pick me out as the ugliest boy. Actually you'd probably put me around average or just a little, below on the basis of purely physical appearance. But what made me repulsive to girls was that I had so much sexual energy pent up inside me, and there was no place for it to go. You could tell I was warped from the guts out.

I just didn't know what to do with girls. I wanted a piece of one so bad-I don't mean fucking, at least at first, because it wasn't safe, but, well, you know-and it showed so much that every time I said "Hello" to a girl she looked like she was going to vomit.

I didn't know how to play the game. It was like I was playing five-card stud, trying to bluff into a pair of aces with garbage on the board. With a nickel bet in a table stakes game. My eyes said, "I haven't had any cards all night and I'm all but wiped out." I half wanted the aces to fold out of charity, and I half hated myself for begging because taking charity isn't winning. It didn't really matter because I never got any charity and I never won either. I got wiped out. One of the big winners once told me, "The first rule for getting it is to convince the chick it's not really what you're after." But I was too honest to pull that off. It was what I was after, and I couldn't hide it. Girls could see right through me and the way I imagined them, they said to each other, "Jesus Christ, that guy needs it so bad! Whatever you do, don't give it to himl" I used to dream of a woman who'd take one look at me and say, "Good God! What've they done to you?

You'd be a fine man if somebody'd let you take the first step! Look-I've got it. You need it. It's not doing me any good. So take it! Just be gentle, that's all." I would've been so gentle.

But none of them were like that. They were all the other way. Every last one.

It was a conspiracy. At the very least I'd have to fall in love with a woman, pretending that she was all smooth between the legs like a plastic doll. I'd have to marry her and then she'd decide whether I wasn't too repulsive to touch her. Well.. . but how was I going to fall in love with somebody when I couldn't trust her to give me what made her a woman, and what I needed most?

Who knows-maybe at that stage all" I needed was a girl who understood and had sympathy; who said, "Look, I just can't give it to you now, but if I would I could." A girl who'd hold my hand the way your mother does when you're sick, who'd pat me on the head and cuddle up to me. If only I'd had that, maybe after a few minutes I would've grinned and then laughed at myself and jumped up and danced around and said, "Hell with it, then! Let's go bowling!"

But I never had anything like that either.

All through high school I was lucky to get one date in two months. The ones I did get were with the dregs of the class. (I didn't mind that so much. I knew I was a dreg myself.) They came on like whores when I was all they could get to take them to some big, expensive event like a Prom, and then turned into nuns and called me a pig if I tried to put a hand on them afterwards. What could I think? I became a pig to everyone-myself included.

Once after that happened I pnt my fist through the windshield of my car. I cut an artery in my wrist. Blood spurted out like crazy. For a second I loved the pain and I loved the blood's rich, red color, and the sound of the girl screaming. But the blood kept gushing out and I couldn't stop it. We were parked in a Lover's Lane and the girl couldn't drive. She didn't want to go for an ambulance because that way everybody would know she'd gone to the Lover's Lane with me.

Can you imagine? I knew I'd been the biggest pig ever and I could see how it would be bad for the girl if people knew she'd gone to a Lover's Lane with such a pig. I felt sorry for her! So I got a hold of myself. I said, "I know how you feel." This was when blood was already running down into my shoes. I got out of the car and tried to walk to the hospital-four miles away! But I passed out in the dirt two steps from the car.

Then the girl got good and scared. She ran through the woods and found somebody else parked and told them about me. They got me to the hospital just in time.

She didn't even go to the hospital with me. She jumped out of the car in the middle of town. Afterward she made things all right for herself by telling everybody I'd driven her out there against her will and then gone nuts trying to rape her. And she was a real dog whore! She'd gone down for everybody but the real dregs. The only reason her father didn't press charges against me was that he knew that would come out at the trial.

For months after that I wished she'd just run away and left me to die in the dirt.

I guess you can see the attitude Fm talking about. I was bitter as hell. Nature had made me so my cock just had to go into a cunt and then had given the cunt to somebody else who dangled it in front of my face, keeping me on a leash, choking me and getting off on what a pitiful creature I was. Girls didn't need sex and they certainly didn't want it. I was amazed when friends told me about times when it looked like girls really wanted it, but I never believed they did. To me it always looked like, "Is she going to let me?" And I was pretty sure it was the same for all the guys. It was just that for me the answer was always "NO!"

I guess there's not much more you need to know about my high school days. I was an A student and math was my best subject but the girls didn't care if I was smart In my sophomore year I lifted weights and ran a lot and came out with an okay physique but that didn't make any difference either. For a while I was the second tallest guy on the basketball team but I wasn't such a good athlete. I never made it past the third string 'and I gave it up junior year.

My family lived in a rural area about eight miles from town. There were good woods for hunting and I did a lot of that. I loved to bring down that fine feathered quail and pheasant with those loads of hot birdshot. I was a hell of a clever hunter and I had a nice collection of guns. I had a few cool guys who were friends because they could take advantage of that. I was a good fisherman too. I knew where the big rainbows were and I could stick them with the barb every time. I'd watch their colors go dull as they drowned on the bank and then I'd pick up their clammy bodies and slip them into my creel. I liked the quiet of the woods and all that lush green and the sounds of water trickling.

CHAPTER TWO

That bitter attitude toward girls seemed to go away while I was in college and in the army but it just went underground because I gave up chasing girls altogether.

I took ROTC in college and studied math. That took a lot of time, and the rest was filled up with drinking beer, watching TV, playing poker, and going through all the bullshit that my lousy fraternity dreamed up to keep horny guys from going off the wall. It was a rejects frat and everybody knew it

After college I got commissioned as a second lieutenant and ended up in Germany as an accountant. All through that time I kept away from girls. I acted like sex was beneath me. When the guys were out whoring I'd stay in my room and jerk off. I couldn't stand their patronizing crap. "Come on, Bob! Let's go get laid!" They could take it that lightly because they didn't really need the whores. The whores were just a drunken lark for them. They'd come in at four in the morning and wake me up and if they weren't too bombed to talk they'd tell me all about it