blckjcksprrw
Virgin
- Joined
- Aug 17, 2007
- Posts
- 1
"Black Jack!"... "Black Jack!"
I could hear her, but had decided long before this moment that the next time she called, I wouldn't answer. Her insatiable lust, and my pure ambivalence toward her combined to make me resent the fact that she was to have me on so short a leash for such a long time. This morning I was angry enough to do something about it.
"Black Jack! I know you're here. The front door's still locked." "Damn it!” I said under my breath, "How dumb... My first chance to not have to perform that ghastly service and I blow it..." Dumb Black Jack. At least that's how she saw me, for I had a tendency to speak little and rarely. It had nothing to do with a lack of intelligence, just a desire to spare my words for people who were worthy to receive the musings and flights of fancy of my renegade PhD mind. A little conceited? I think not.
I'm an academic. At least I was, in my former life. It came upon me one day, quite suddenly, the realization that I could both enjoy the company of intelligent women and have the greatest sex imaginable, if I could have sex with beautiful,intelligent women. Simple? Not when you consider the ways of 'nature', that opposites attract and that, left to themselves, intelligent women will gravitate towards not-so-intelligent men, and not so intelligent men will woo and win intelligent women; that the beautiful will go for the plain and the plain woo and win the beautiful; that the most beautiful women are rarely as intelligent as they are beautiful, and that the proportion of women who are both beautiful and intelligent is very low. My conclusion, that I could provide a unique service to the beautiful and intelligent women who had gotten bored with the life they had chosen in the way of nature, when their men became 'unsatisfactory' and proved unable to ravage both their bodies and their minds. I mused and mused. i lectured. I taught.
I turned my back on talking about life, and decided instead to live it.
I abandoned academia for the simple life of a male gigolo, purely out of enlightened self-interest, and in order to bring pleasure to some of the most intelligent and beautiful women on the planet-- seeing as nature seems to have dictated that the brute will mate with the beauty and the geek with the not so intellectually endowed-- I made it my life's mission to seek out and copulate with women who, having lost all delusions of the 'balance of nature', which led them to couple with less intelligent, clumsy illiterates, were ready to be ravaged- body, soul and mind-- by an equal, or in some cases by a man whose intellect could hold them rapt in awe. The mind of woman, that fascinating, scintillating wonderland, where the deepest insights lie, where the most curious proclivities find their home. That was my playground... And the bodies? An added bonus.
"Black Jack! Show yourself... you know the rules of the game." I did. And she knew she could appeal to my sense of obligation to ‘the rules’. They were fixed. Had been since the night I first got here. "He'll be at your beck and call for six weeks", I had heard a familiar voice say. “ Jack?”
Muriel. That was her name. It’s not that she was hideous or unattractive. I mean, I did manage to assuage my lust and leave her utterly speechless when I ravaged her in three consecutive hour-long sessions on the first night I got here, merely by allowing the animal in me to loose itself upon her well-formed, ultra-feminine features and ride the wave of physical attraction. She came a total of five times; the most, she said, she had ever experienced in one night. Proud of myself, I lay down, staring at the ceiling as she instantaneously fell asleep."Muriel. Curious name", I thought.
Bang, bang. She was at the bedroom door now, which, to her irritation, she found locked. She decided to change strategies. "Jack", she was almost whispering. "You know I want you. You know I can't go for two hours without you... You created this monster. You awakened this desire. Now this fire in my sex must be quenched. Come and take me." She slumped to the floor.
"Why is it so hard to get you to do anything to me?" She was crying now. And she wasn't pretending. I'd been around enough crying women to know when it was being faked. "Why? ...Why?" She said between sobs. I knew the answer, but wasn't about to start explaining myself to her. I was bored. Plain and simple. Behind the door, I heard her weep... I also felt a stirring in my loins. She ached for me. She wanted me. And her desire was creating desire in me, too. But would that be enough? I didn't want another mechanical pounding. If I couldn't connect with her in truth, if our spirits could not entwine, if our minds could not be satisfied by the union, why do it? A philosophical gigolo? I caught myself giggling at the absurdity of the oxymoron. What I was doing here, I'm sure you'd like to know; and how, if I seem so sure of what I want, I found myself in this situation.
Muriel won me at the Lion’s Heart Casino, when my beau, Contessa van de Mort, overconfident of her hand, wagered me in a game of poker, sure that she would end up both with Muriel's wagered priceless 16th Century amber amulet and her own good-as-permanent man candy, moi. She was very fond of me. She liked me, perhaps even loved me. She said she did, but I learned many years ago, not to take everything I hear either literally, or too seriously.
We had an understanding. While in her service, I would service both her and a closed clique of her closest friends, who she handpicked. Knowing how boring any regimented approach could get, and being well aware of my disdain for schedules and Filofaxes, she let me decide who, when and where, and only stepped in when there was a conflict of desire between any two of the women, or when they all wanted a quad-some, as they referred to our four-somes. Each of them claimed to love me, and the attention I received more than made up for the detachment that came as a direct consequence of being in this kind of enterprise. This way I could be committed to the many, yet owned by none.And that, only for as long as we all wanted to so remain.
Thursday night, three weeks ago, Contessa had warned me that, owing to her husband's impatience with her lavish spending habits, she "just might have to wager" me, as she knew that Muriel would be bringing an antique amulet to the game that night that she absolutely had to have. As we stepped out of the pearl white limousine outside the entrance to the Lion’s Heart Casino, the eyes of all who witnessed our arrival were fixed on us. Contessa loved the attention. She was radiant, and soaked up the adoring looks and jealous scowls with relish. While we walked toward the door, arm in arm, she leaned in and said, “Don’t worry. If I lose you, it won’t be permanent.”
We were ushered to our table. Marguerite was in attendance. She was my favorite of Contessa’s friends. Pretty, simple, deliciously intelligent, she made all awkwardness melt away as she answered the unspoken questions of curious onlookers, who seemed a little confused at the torrent of kisses, which came naturally as I passed from one to another of the women in our merry little group. “He’s with all of us,” she said. Marguerite took particular pleasure in causing looks of confusion or disgust to appear on the faces of the ‘overly curious voyeuristic hypocrites’, as she called them. She had a way with words, and I absolutely adored her.
Venus (at least that’s what I called her) had the body of a goddess. I liked to take her last, as the sight of her naked body was enough to imbue my over-worked member with renewed vigor and energy. She was a brunette. I have a natural weakness for dark tresses. She was wearing a black, sequined dress, slightly above knee-length. The sight of her tanned, delicately oiled legs momentarily distracted me. She knew it was a turn on, and, in full view of whoever was still watching us after Marguerite’s chiding introduction, took my left hand and slid it up her skirt, where the warmth there found caused an immediate bulging of my slacks. She smiled, as I slowly withdrew my hand.
Olivia liked the shape of my ‘virile member’, as she playfully referred to my instrument. She would spend inordinate amounts of time just stroking it and kissing it. She had never given me oral sex, and, sometimes to the irritation of the others, would ‘hog’ it in between sex acts. She treated my loins like a shrine, always being the first to note the growth of the pubic hair, which she took great exception to being deprived of the honor of shaving. Seeing the bulge in my slacks, she rose to her feet as I approached her, deliberately, though subtly, brushing the top of her blonde head against it as she did. Anyone, seeing her for the first time would not think that she was so sexual a creature. She was a History professor at the local University.
………….
The sobs outside the door had quieted down. Before this, I felt it was not safe to attempt to have a rational discussion with Muriel. I needed to leave. Today. I had to get back to my four girls. Now was the time to do it. It would break the deal, but I was yearning for good sex. I wanted soul communion. Perhaps it would have been easier were the mind of the woman not as vital to the enjoyment of sex to me as it was. Muriel I had plumbed on our first night. I hit rock bottom in minutes of conversing with her. She left my mind un-stimulated, and therefore left my libido unexcited and my sexual response to her ambivalent. I longed for my girls. What could I do?
I could hear her, but had decided long before this moment that the next time she called, I wouldn't answer. Her insatiable lust, and my pure ambivalence toward her combined to make me resent the fact that she was to have me on so short a leash for such a long time. This morning I was angry enough to do something about it.
"Black Jack! I know you're here. The front door's still locked." "Damn it!” I said under my breath, "How dumb... My first chance to not have to perform that ghastly service and I blow it..." Dumb Black Jack. At least that's how she saw me, for I had a tendency to speak little and rarely. It had nothing to do with a lack of intelligence, just a desire to spare my words for people who were worthy to receive the musings and flights of fancy of my renegade PhD mind. A little conceited? I think not.
I'm an academic. At least I was, in my former life. It came upon me one day, quite suddenly, the realization that I could both enjoy the company of intelligent women and have the greatest sex imaginable, if I could have sex with beautiful,intelligent women. Simple? Not when you consider the ways of 'nature', that opposites attract and that, left to themselves, intelligent women will gravitate towards not-so-intelligent men, and not so intelligent men will woo and win intelligent women; that the beautiful will go for the plain and the plain woo and win the beautiful; that the most beautiful women are rarely as intelligent as they are beautiful, and that the proportion of women who are both beautiful and intelligent is very low. My conclusion, that I could provide a unique service to the beautiful and intelligent women who had gotten bored with the life they had chosen in the way of nature, when their men became 'unsatisfactory' and proved unable to ravage both their bodies and their minds. I mused and mused. i lectured. I taught.
I turned my back on talking about life, and decided instead to live it.
I abandoned academia for the simple life of a male gigolo, purely out of enlightened self-interest, and in order to bring pleasure to some of the most intelligent and beautiful women on the planet-- seeing as nature seems to have dictated that the brute will mate with the beauty and the geek with the not so intellectually endowed-- I made it my life's mission to seek out and copulate with women who, having lost all delusions of the 'balance of nature', which led them to couple with less intelligent, clumsy illiterates, were ready to be ravaged- body, soul and mind-- by an equal, or in some cases by a man whose intellect could hold them rapt in awe. The mind of woman, that fascinating, scintillating wonderland, where the deepest insights lie, where the most curious proclivities find their home. That was my playground... And the bodies? An added bonus.
"Black Jack! Show yourself... you know the rules of the game." I did. And she knew she could appeal to my sense of obligation to ‘the rules’. They were fixed. Had been since the night I first got here. "He'll be at your beck and call for six weeks", I had heard a familiar voice say. “ Jack?”
Muriel. That was her name. It’s not that she was hideous or unattractive. I mean, I did manage to assuage my lust and leave her utterly speechless when I ravaged her in three consecutive hour-long sessions on the first night I got here, merely by allowing the animal in me to loose itself upon her well-formed, ultra-feminine features and ride the wave of physical attraction. She came a total of five times; the most, she said, she had ever experienced in one night. Proud of myself, I lay down, staring at the ceiling as she instantaneously fell asleep."Muriel. Curious name", I thought.
Bang, bang. She was at the bedroom door now, which, to her irritation, she found locked. She decided to change strategies. "Jack", she was almost whispering. "You know I want you. You know I can't go for two hours without you... You created this monster. You awakened this desire. Now this fire in my sex must be quenched. Come and take me." She slumped to the floor.
"Why is it so hard to get you to do anything to me?" She was crying now. And she wasn't pretending. I'd been around enough crying women to know when it was being faked. "Why? ...Why?" She said between sobs. I knew the answer, but wasn't about to start explaining myself to her. I was bored. Plain and simple. Behind the door, I heard her weep... I also felt a stirring in my loins. She ached for me. She wanted me. And her desire was creating desire in me, too. But would that be enough? I didn't want another mechanical pounding. If I couldn't connect with her in truth, if our spirits could not entwine, if our minds could not be satisfied by the union, why do it? A philosophical gigolo? I caught myself giggling at the absurdity of the oxymoron. What I was doing here, I'm sure you'd like to know; and how, if I seem so sure of what I want, I found myself in this situation.
Muriel won me at the Lion’s Heart Casino, when my beau, Contessa van de Mort, overconfident of her hand, wagered me in a game of poker, sure that she would end up both with Muriel's wagered priceless 16th Century amber amulet and her own good-as-permanent man candy, moi. She was very fond of me. She liked me, perhaps even loved me. She said she did, but I learned many years ago, not to take everything I hear either literally, or too seriously.
We had an understanding. While in her service, I would service both her and a closed clique of her closest friends, who she handpicked. Knowing how boring any regimented approach could get, and being well aware of my disdain for schedules and Filofaxes, she let me decide who, when and where, and only stepped in when there was a conflict of desire between any two of the women, or when they all wanted a quad-some, as they referred to our four-somes. Each of them claimed to love me, and the attention I received more than made up for the detachment that came as a direct consequence of being in this kind of enterprise. This way I could be committed to the many, yet owned by none.And that, only for as long as we all wanted to so remain.
Thursday night, three weeks ago, Contessa had warned me that, owing to her husband's impatience with her lavish spending habits, she "just might have to wager" me, as she knew that Muriel would be bringing an antique amulet to the game that night that she absolutely had to have. As we stepped out of the pearl white limousine outside the entrance to the Lion’s Heart Casino, the eyes of all who witnessed our arrival were fixed on us. Contessa loved the attention. She was radiant, and soaked up the adoring looks and jealous scowls with relish. While we walked toward the door, arm in arm, she leaned in and said, “Don’t worry. If I lose you, it won’t be permanent.”
We were ushered to our table. Marguerite was in attendance. She was my favorite of Contessa’s friends. Pretty, simple, deliciously intelligent, she made all awkwardness melt away as she answered the unspoken questions of curious onlookers, who seemed a little confused at the torrent of kisses, which came naturally as I passed from one to another of the women in our merry little group. “He’s with all of us,” she said. Marguerite took particular pleasure in causing looks of confusion or disgust to appear on the faces of the ‘overly curious voyeuristic hypocrites’, as she called them. She had a way with words, and I absolutely adored her.
Venus (at least that’s what I called her) had the body of a goddess. I liked to take her last, as the sight of her naked body was enough to imbue my over-worked member with renewed vigor and energy. She was a brunette. I have a natural weakness for dark tresses. She was wearing a black, sequined dress, slightly above knee-length. The sight of her tanned, delicately oiled legs momentarily distracted me. She knew it was a turn on, and, in full view of whoever was still watching us after Marguerite’s chiding introduction, took my left hand and slid it up her skirt, where the warmth there found caused an immediate bulging of my slacks. She smiled, as I slowly withdrew my hand.
Olivia liked the shape of my ‘virile member’, as she playfully referred to my instrument. She would spend inordinate amounts of time just stroking it and kissing it. She had never given me oral sex, and, sometimes to the irritation of the others, would ‘hog’ it in between sex acts. She treated my loins like a shrine, always being the first to note the growth of the pubic hair, which she took great exception to being deprived of the honor of shaving. Seeing the bulge in my slacks, she rose to her feet as I approached her, deliberately, though subtly, brushing the top of her blonde head against it as she did. Anyone, seeing her for the first time would not think that she was so sexual a creature. She was a History professor at the local University.
………….
The sobs outside the door had quieted down. Before this, I felt it was not safe to attempt to have a rational discussion with Muriel. I needed to leave. Today. I had to get back to my four girls. Now was the time to do it. It would break the deal, but I was yearning for good sex. I wanted soul communion. Perhaps it would have been easier were the mind of the woman not as vital to the enjoyment of sex to me as it was. Muriel I had plumbed on our first night. I hit rock bottom in minutes of conversing with her. She left my mind un-stimulated, and therefore left my libido unexcited and my sexual response to her ambivalent. I longed for my girls. What could I do?
