Deviantdeb's Blog

Making Men do what I want

deviantdeb — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 11:33:41 +0000

My god, it seems like every day I discover something new about myself. In this new life I’ve created I’m a pretty pliant woman. Believe it or not it’s kind of easy to get me to do what you want. I tell everyone which buttons to push. I want them to know. I am a woman who LOVES to have her buttons pushed. But lately something funny has been going on. I mean, this is a choice that I made, you know what I mean? It’s one of those things that nobody in my life would have thought was the right choice for me. I did and went with it and it’s been nothing but right. I’ve totally reclaimed myself. I am no longer a kept woman. I am my own woman, goddamnit. And I’m finding that that’s the way I like it. Because, you know, I’ve also discovered that it’s easy to make MEN do what I want. It makes you wonder that a woman would ever get married. I mean, I have men now jumping for the chance to shower gifts and money on me. It’s incredible. You think that’s not empowering? You’re damn straight it is. I have more money, more sex and more attention than I ever had before. Ever since I began, I’ve been thinking, if anything, why didn’t I do this before? Still no use crying over spilt milk…so to speak. (I’ve seen more ‘milk’ spilt in the past two months than I had in the previous ten years!) MILF? Ha. They should change it into MINF. Mother In Need of Fucking. I need action. I want action. And now I’m getting action. And one thing I’ve learned is that this new life has given me a new sense of myself. Now I tell men what I want. And they listen. So call me big boy…and listen.

My Husband Suspects something

deviantdeb — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:39:40 +0000

I think my husband suspects something. He has been starting to ask probing questions. He wonders where I’m going or what I’m doing on a given night. He makes comments about the way I’m dressed when I go out. He’s been overly sweet to me. Out of nowhere he’s buying me flowers, bringing me breakfast in bed. It’s too late. I’m a ruined woman. I’m naughty now. I crave dirty, raunchy, nasty sex with strangers in sordid hotel rooms. Besides, I don’t believe him. If he meant it he would give me this kind of attention when I was good. If he had I might never have taken the trip down the dark path that I have taken. But now, see, now I have you. All of those things I used to go to my husband for, I now cum – er – come to you for. You make me feel special. You make me feel wanted. You make me feel like a natural woman and there’s something to be said for that. That’s why I’m addicted. That’s why I keep coming back for more. It’s all because of you. I’m here for you. Because you let me know that I’m just the MILF you’ve been waiting for. Because these full breasts and these river hips and this mouth are just what you’ve waiting for. Because I know this I can never just go back to the way things were before. The cat’s out of the bag, the sin is out of the box…so to speak. Do you think that makes me bad? Of course you do. That’s how you like me. That’s not the right question is it? Does it make you respect me less? Is that what you want, too? You don’t want to respect me. You want to have your way with me. Well, do it. Call me. Have your way with me. Make me your slut.

Don’t Make Me Beg

deviantdeb — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:42:38 +0000

What are you waiting for? Are you going to make me beg? Don’t sugar. Don’t make me beg. You know I want you. Yes, you. I want you to take me by the hair and show me who is boss. I want you to rip off my clothes and just take what you want. I want you to remind me what it means to be a woman in a man’s world. Not any man’s world, mind you, not every man’s world certainly just your world. You are the only one who’s got what I need. You are the only one who can fill my aching vagina to capacity and will know how to hit that exact spot once you get in there. I want to sweat at your behest. I want to moan uncontrollably. I want you to bite my breasts, knead my breasts, slap my ass, fuck me senseless. I want to climb the fucking walls, I know, I know. Please call me sugar. I’m not begging. I’m just you know, I just need you, that’s all. You know how to treat a woman and god knows, I’m a woman through and through. It’s not that I can’t have another man, I can. I can have literally hundreds of men. But hundreds of men aren’t good enough, lover. Hundreds of men aren’t you. You are what I want. You give me what I need. You make me feel like a queen. You shower me with gifts and money because you know a queen needs to be spoiled. And then you bring it all home with a thick, hard dick. My god, just thinking about you gives me goosebumps and makes my nipples hard. Please don’t make me ask again. Make me say your name, sugar, make me say your name.

Out on the Prowl

deviantdeb — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 04:43:20 +0000

So, I finally got my husband’s attention last night. Oh yes. I went out. He came into the bedroom after eating his dinner and I was getting dressed…sort of. I’m wearing a sheer blouse and a mini-skirt. I’m wearing come-fuck-me-pumps and I mean it. My hair is up. I look ten years younger and twice as horny. He looked at me and stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth was literally hanging open, I shit you not. I almost laughed. I’m glad I didn’t. He asked me where I was going. I told him I was going bowling.

“Dressed like that?” he shouts.

“Yes,” I say, “dressed like this.”

“You can’t dress like that to go bowling!” He’s still shouting. I hate men who shout.

“Oh no” I ask, eyes wide. “Watch me.” I say and I look dead at him. “Everybody else will be.”

And I wouldn’t lie to you hear fellas, I’m looking good. I walk right by him and I sling my purse over my shoulder. He comes running behind me and grabs me by the arm. “You’re my wife.” He says. “You’re right, sweetie,, I’m your wife.” And I yank my arm away. “But I’m my own woman.” And I keep on stepping out the door.

I don’t have to tell you I wasn’t going bowling. I don’t have to tell you I was on the prowl. You already know I was looking for a man, for a woman, anybody and everybody to excite me, to delight me, to take me on a wild, erotic adventure. I don’t always do it like that. I’m not spiteful. Most of the time, I’m much more discreet. Most of the time, I come right here, to my babies, the ones who’ve been taking care of me for the past month. Most of the time, I come to you. So how about it, sugars? Call me. Share.

I am going to FUCK that Boy!!!

deviantdeb — Thu, 28 May 2009 15:03:06 +0000

There’s this boy. He’s so young. He can’t be more than twenty. He works at the local supermarket as a bag boy. I go through whatever line he’s working on just to say hi to him. He always gives me a big smile. He always undresses me with his eyes when he doesn’t think I’m looking. He always turns away suddenly and tries to pretend he was doing something else when I catch him. He always blushes when I wink at him. Every time. It’s like a little ritual we have. Sometimes I ask him to take my groceries to the car. He does. He never speaks but somehow, someway he always manages to find a way to brush up against me. It’s always so “inadvertent”, an accident. This last time, though, earlier today, I didn’t let him get away with it. When the skin of his forearm, or his hip or whatever was going to lightly brush against me I turned suddenly and bumped into him with my breasts…and did not move. He knew and I knew what was going on. I just looked at him and didn’t move. His mouth opened as though he was going to say something. His eyes were so large I could almost fall into them. I let my fingers do the walking up his crotch. He inhaled sharply and didn’t breathe out. His bulge writhed like a snake in his pants. I smiled and pulled away. I could have asked him to do anything in that moment and he would have done it. Little did he know that I was as turned on as he was. I gave him a ten dollar tip and walked around to the driver seat. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You can move now,” I said, “thanks for your help.” I got in and drove off. In the rearview mirror I watched him watching me.

I’m going to fuck that boy.

The Good Housewife

deviantdeb — Sun, 24 May 2009 16:28:23 +0000

I remember the last straw. It’s almost too cliché to even tell someone else. But I was at home, being the good little housewife and the mailman came by. I had been cleaning and I had an old throw away button down shirt on and some cut-off shorts. The door bell rang and I answered it. The mail man was there and I swear, I didn’t even think of myself as being dressed particularly suggestively. But there was no mistaking that look in his eyes or the feeling of those eyes burning up and down my body. I almost wanted to cover myself but I was already covered! All this happened in the space of maybe two seconds but both of us were aware of it. He stammered “C-can you sign for this?” I couldn’t believe how hot my face was as I stammered back, “W-why yes, I can.” The next few seconds took place in complete silence. I held the paper against the door as I signed it and I was so aware of how my ass filled my shorts to capacity. I couldn’t help but feel him undressing me with his eyes. I couldn’t help but notice the rush of excitement that slammed through me like a tidal wave. I know I was red as I tried to nonchalantly give back the form and said, “Thank you.” He smiled very innocuously, there was the most barely perceptible pause and then he left.

All day I thought about that damn mailman. As I cleaned the dishes and separated the whites from the colors and washed the windows I could still feel his eyes on me. I could feel his hands on me. I could feel his cock sliding in and out of my well lubed pussy. Think there’s more? Oh yes, there’s more…

Cum and see me Here

What they don’t tell you

deviantdeb — Mon, 18 May 2009 17:32:52 +0000

It’s all about love, isn’t it? Isn’t that way they tell all of us when we’re little girls? They drive home again and again all of the fairy tales, all of the myths about true love. They tell us that if you’re pretty and you’re good – but don’t forget pretty – that there is someone out there especially for you. That you will meet a man who will fulfill your every need and take you away on his white charger and you will live happily ever after. I don’t even know what happily ever after means. I mean, I’m not against it. If you feel like you have a romance with swelling music and soft screens more power to you. If pretty flowers and boxes of chocolates bring you to your knees, please, by all means have yourself a ball.

But when they’re telling you those lies when you’re little girl they don’t tell you about breasts that are aching to be touched, they don’t tell you about your vagina desperate to be filled. They don’t tell you that sometimes you get married and you wake up one day and you might have a husband but you don’t have a man. On those cold and lonely mornings you can stay in your bed curled up in the fetal position or you can pick yourself up and go do something about it.

I chose the latter. I took my life into my own hands and made some hard decisions. Now the time has come for you to do your part. I need a stiff dick and a bad attitude. I need someone to come along and tell me the things that I don’t think I want to hear…but I do. I need someone to grab me by the hair and make me do the things my husband is too timid to make me do. That’s you cue. Call…

The Best decision ever…

deviantdeb — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 05:39:48 +0000

Wow, where do I begin? This is already turning out to be the best decision of my life — outside of having my kids. There’s nothing like being appreciated. All I want is to be appreciated for what I bring to the table. And you can take one look at me and see what I bring to the table: tits, hips and the mouth of the gods. Oh yeah, I said it. When I’m in the mood I can suck a golf ball through a hundred feet of garden hose. When am I in the mood? When there’s finally a man who will take the time to recognize what a bad, bad girl I am. Is that so much to ask? I mean, you know how it is boys. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here. Do you feel like your wife or your girlfriend takes you for granted? Do you feel like you’re a volcano waiting to explode? Do you feel like as hard as you work, as much time as you put in at the grindstone, it would be nice once in a while to not go home to somebody who can’t wait to nag about where you were, where’s the money for the mortgage, the rent, the bills, the kid? Do you ever think “Shit, just once I would like to get off work and go home and have some hot chick ready to fuck the living shit out of me?” Well, let me tell you something, baby. Sometimes those hot chicks are going through the same agony, and we wish we had a man to come home and give us the respect we deserve. My husband comes home and the first thing he does is turn on the goddamn television. I want someone to come home and the first thing he does is turn me on. See to it, big man. Pick up the phone…

Are you Man enough for ME???

deviantdeb — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 15:30:44 +0000

What are you waiting for? Are you going to make me beg? Is that what you want? Well, you’re not gonna get it. I’m through with begging, pleading, crying for some man to give me what I want. Now I give the orders, now I make the demands. You can take one look and tell that I’ve got the goods. I’m not shy about saying it and I’m not shy about putting them to the test. Maybe you think you’re the one? Really? You know, you’re not the first. Many a man has tried and failed to take me and make me his own. Right now, the man snoring behind me on the bed thinks I’m just his dutiful little housewife looking up recipes to surprise him with. He doesn’t know that I’m on here chomping at the bit, looking for a reason to be bad and a man to do it with. Trust me, if you’re looking for a wife, look elsewhere. If you’re looking for a girlfriend, look elsewhere. If you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on, look elsewhere. I have needs baby, and I want them to be met. I’m through being patient, I’m through being sweet and taking care of everybody else. Now I want someone to be taking care of me. Paying my bills is not nearly enough. Paying my rent is not nearly enough. Frankly, one thing I’m realizing is that if push comes to shove I don’t need a man to do any of that. I just take that because I can. But he’s not nearly man enough for a woman like me. He doesn’t even want to be. Do you? Hm, I can’t tell from here. I’m a show me kind of girl, sugar. Sorry, that’s just the way I was raised. So come on, let’s play a little game of call and tell…

I want you… you know it!!

deviantdeb — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 14:52:01 +0000

I can feel your eyes on me. When I’m brushing my hair at my vanity I see you standing behind me in the mirror. I feel your hands on my neck. I feel your breath in my ear whispering to me. Just the tone of your voice alone tells me everything I need to know about your intentions. I’m blushing. You always make me blush when you sneak up on me like this, when all I’m wearing is a shear see-through nightie. It’s like the only thing between me and adultery is a whisper. Oh no, you can see my nipples grow hard through the thin fabric. You know my head shaking belies the truth the rest of my body is telling you. The goose bumps that appear on my skin at your touch make you laugh quietly with the knowledge of your power. Slowly, stealthily you curl your hand around my long, golden hair. Then, with a sudden show of force you yank my head and my mouth opens in a gasp. I try to scream, to protest but with your tongue down my throat, well, it’s difficult to say the least. Your hands take full liberties with my body, kneading my breasts, working my nipples, sliding down my belly. I try and hold my legs together but I don’t have the leverage with your tongue in my mouth. You are so, so strong. You yank my legs apart and before I can stop you your hand reaches me down there. You feel I’m moist and the truth you knew all along is revealed. I want you. You know it. And now I know you know it and there’s nothing for me to do but to be true to myself. We’re staring at each other through the mirror of my vanity as night gown slides to the floor. Downstairs we hear my husband come in through the front door…