Post subject: Re: ╚☆ ANNA SUVARI'S EROTICA: My fantasies laid bare!
Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 2:35 pm
Joined: Sat Aug 01, 2009 2:43 pm Posts: 799 Location: northwest of Boston Ma
Am I missing something? Has Anna posted a new story I can't find?
_________________ In Heaven, all the interesting people are missing - Friedrich Nietzsche The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good thing for the first time. - Friedrich Nietzsche “Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Post subject: Re: ╚☆ ANNA SUVARI'S EROTICA: My fantasies laid bare!
Posted: Sun Dec 11, 2011 6:34 pm
Joined: Wed Dec 07, 2011 6:11 pm Posts: 11
╚☆ Anna Suvari wrote:
Many of you know that I love to write erotica. Being at the BunnyRanch inspires a lot of it, as you might imagine! Blending fantasy with reality is what I do, and you will find plenty of both in the words that follow.
Enjoy my latest installments -- tell me what you think! -- and be sure to check back periodically for new entries.
NO PINK SLIP, BUT PINK APLENTY
After dozens of message board exchanges and private e-mails, I know you better than some girlfriends you’ve had. I never tell you how thrilling that is. I don’t have to.
A sense of mystery is very appealing in a man. So appealing, in fact, that I have purposefully declined your offers to send me photographs in advance of our first encounter at the Moonlite BunnyRanch. I’m delaying gratification, you see; for now I am content to let my mind paint the picture, and it rarely lets me down. I’ve already confessed to having touched myself, awash in thoughts of you -- what I know of you, and what I don’t. You never tell me how thrilling that is. You don’t have to.
At last, the day we’ve been waiting for arrives. I awaken to the familiar chime of a lineup bell and the clickety-clack of platform heels hurriedly making their way toward the parlor. Mine won’t be among them. My shift doesn’t start for two more hours, and I’m going to spend them doing what I always do, a futile effort to forget that this is anything but a typical morning.
I wash my face, brush my teeth, slip on my robe and shimmy down the hallway toward the kitchen. There, I visit with a few scantily clad friends, prepare a small bowl of fruit for breakfast and try to think about something, anything, unrelated to the party I have planned for you. Anyone who knows me knows I love sunshine. On this day, though, the sun can’t go down fast enough.
A late-morning workout later, I’m in the shower. It will be my first of three on this day. I grab a razor and seize the opportunity to carefully touch up my most delicate region, leaving it as silky smooth as it is soft and inviting. Twelve hours from now, you’re going to mumble something about how delicious it is, but I’m not going to understand. My velvety grip on your tongue makes enunciation difficult, you see.
I emerge from the shower, brush my teeth again, dry my hair and select my outfit for the afternoon: a simple, black bra-and-panty set known more for comfort than for speed. Understated is my game. Light on the perfume, lighter on the makeup, simple black heels. It’ll do ‘til you get here.
An hour passes. Two hours. Five. Having nothing else lined up on this day, I spend much of it reviewing the specifics of our e-mails. E-mails such as this one:
From: ******** Date: Friday, March 19, 2010 8:43 PM To: Anna Suvari <firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: Re: Our outdate/overnighter
Anna, dear, if it is not too much to ask, I would like you to greet me in something comfortable yet sinfully elegant when you avail yourself to me in the parlor. All I ask is that there be only sheer panties underneath. Don’t care what shade, but breathable and fully accessible.
And this one:
From: ******** Date: Sunday, March 21, 2010 3:22 PM To: Anna Suvari <email@example.com> Subject: Re: Our outdate/overnighter
My boss called me into her office today. She was wearing a business suit similar to the one you’re wearing in one of your photos. She’s nowhere near the sight you are, but it got me thinking that we need to put that suit of yours to good use during our date. I want you to play the role of my boss. Threaten to fire me, but give me the option to save my skin.
Is a business suit comfortable yet sinfully elegant? I guess it could be, but this is not what I will be greeting you in. I’m not going to greet and fire you in the same outfit.
Two more hours pass. They feel like an eternity. As the clock strikes 7 p.m., I surmise that you’re at about the midway point of your journey from Sacramento. One of our sexy secretaries confirms this, having just received an update from you by phone.
“I asked him if he wanted to speak with you,” the secretary tells me, shrugging. “He said he wanted to hear your voice for the first time in person.”
Smiling, I thank the secretary and retire to my room to make final preparations for your arrival. Off goes the bra-and-panty set, and into the shower I go yet again. I find myself dancing as I towel off, bouncing around my room like it’s prom night and my date is the homecoming king. Unlike prom night, though, I fully intend to get lucky.
As I’m applying a smattering of soft red lipstick, a voice comes over the intercom: “Anna, your date has arrived.” I check the clock. Five minutes early, but I’m ready. Are you?
I purse my lips in the mirror, lean forward, run my hands over my hips and wiggle. I hope you like what I’m wearing.
A long walk down the hallway is rewarded when I find you, unmistakably you, standing near the bar with your hands in your pockets and wearing a wide, welcoming grin. You’re well groomed and manicured, quite handsome in the cream-colored dress shirt and dark slacks you’re wearing -- a bit taller than I pictured, but no less intriguing. I smile back and we embrace, a moment several long weeks in the making. You let go just long enough to trace your eyes along the long, black, strapless evening gown I bought for the occasion.
“You like?” I say, turning slowly so you can take me in.
“I can’t speak,” you respond, still grinning.
It’s OK. You don’t have to.
I take you by the hand and introduce you to a few of my friends. Dennis, jovial as ever, offers to buy you a drink, but you politely decline, as a dinner reservation at Duke’s Steak House awaits us. After a brief tour of the BunnyRanch grounds, we quickly take care of formalities and are on our way.
I remember little about the meal. It was great, no doubt -- Duke’s always is. What I remember is sitting next to you, hip to hip, your hand on my knee under the table, gently stroking it. I remember you telling me that you were the envy of every other man in the room. I remember you whispering something in my ear about my sweet fragrance. I remember thinking you have no idea how sweet it is. Yet.
Soon we’re back on the road. As the ranch nears, I reach over and massage your thigh, brushing a very hard bulge in your slacks with my pinkie.
“Excited, are we?” I playfully say, eliciting laughter.
Moments later, we’re strolling hand-in-hand to the private bungalow I’ve arranged for us behind the BunnyRanch. Once inside, I tell you to make yourself comfortable. I pour each of us a glass of wine and cozy up next to you on the couch, where we begin lightly petting and kissing. Oh, your kiss!
“I have something for you,” I whisper in your ear.
I take your hand and guide it to my leg, through the slit in my gown and along the inside of my thigh. Your rhythmic squeezes along the way threaten to hypnotize me, and the tender pecks you trace along my neck aren’t helping.
“Keep going,” I assure you, undulating against your touch. “Just a little farther.”
Yes, that’s the spot.
“Sheer panties,” I stammer between kisses. “Just as you asked.”
Your breathing intensifies as my sweet fragrance -- yes, that fragrance -- fills the air. A sturdy finger yanks my panties aside and strokes the wet patch you’ve coaxed from my depths.
Suddenly I feel a finger penetrate me, just the tip, eliciting an excited whimper. Then another. Twisting about an inch inside me, I show my approval by clamping down and holding you in place. You place a third finger at my entrance, but I’m not ready to let it in.
I grab your wrist and release, pulling your hand out from my gown and to your lips, where I slide your glistening fingers between them and into your eager mouth.
“Lick them clean,” I whisper, and you do as you are told. A deep, passionate kiss is your reward, and I take the opportunity to savor every trace of my scent.
Suddenly I stand. You try to do the same, but I give you a playful shove back onto the couch and tell you to wait. I have another surprise. As I slowly walk back toward the bedroom, I delight in watching you study the deliberate movements of my hips.
A few minutes later I show you who’s boss, emerging in the doorway wearing the business attire you once professed to be so fond of -- skirt, suit, sheer stockings, black heels. You manage a breathless “Wow!” before I beckon you with my finger.
“Step into my office,” I say, smiling slyly.
Like any good employee, you don’t have to be asked twice.
Shutting the door behind you, I tell you it’s time for your performance evaluation.
With that, I sit on the bed and lean back on my elbows, hiking up my skirt just enough to make it clear that the first step in your evaluation is between my damp thighs. Kneeling at the edge of the bed, you lift my skirt the rest of the way and plant soft, slow kisses from the insides of my knees all the way up to my waiting, pulsing mound.
Teasing me, you trail your tongue in a circle around the perimeter of my pleasure center. I can take no more. I reach down with my left hand, grab a fistful of hair and pull you into me, grinding against you rhythmically. You mumble something between breaths. I pull you in tighter. I throw my head back and ride your face, coating your lips and chin in a thin, savory layer of love nectar.
Just as you peel back and tantalize my throbbing clit, I feel two fingers -- the same two you’d licked clean minutes earlier -- twirl their way inside me, hooking ever so slightly upward and finding my glorious G-spot. Someone taught you well! I relent from smothering your face with my pussy just long enough for you to draw the swollen lips between yours. You give them a tender tug, plunge your tongue back down onto my bud and roll it around, and it’s all I can do to keep from gushing down your cleanly shaven chin.
Yet to break my hold on your hair, I pull you up on top of me, your weight pressing down as we engage in another sweet symphony of kisses. Your breath finds my neck as you fiddle with the buttons on my suit. Success! You yank my white bra down, releasing my soft, round breasts. Your kisses trail down my neck and find my hardening nipples. You lock your lips around one, then the other, and suck forcefully, causing me to gasp. Kissing your way back up my chest and neck, I feel your engorged member brush against my soaking slit. Somehow, while you were pleasuring me I failed to realize that you’d freed your cock from the confines of your slacks. I may be your boss, but that’s my job!
Unable to resist, I catch your gaze, meet your kiss, reach down and cup your ass cheeks in my hands, pulling you into me in one swift movement. I watch as your eyes roll back and you hold yourself in place, lodged inside me to the hilt. I can tell you’re close, and we’ve barely begun! Taking the cue, I loosen my grip just enough to ward off your orgasm. I use the opportunity to unbutton and remove your shirt, but I keep it within arm’s reach. In a few minutes, you’ll discover why.
I run my fingers along your heaving chest and feel your heartbeat race. “I’m ready,” you finally say.
With that I close my eyes, focus on the sensation of your fullness and begin a series of toe-curling contractions, each one seemingly drawing you in deeper. Your thrusts are slow at first, then build quickly. I find myself releasing as you exit, tightening as you enter. This has the effect of prolonging our deed, if only a little, whereas the opposite would finish you in seconds.
Suddenly I whirl you over, place my hands on your chest and begin to ride you forcefully, up and down movements interrupted only by the occasional rotating grind, until I unleash a tidal wave of sticky sex onto your stiff, soaking shaft. Sensing that your orgasm isn’t far behind, I lift myself off of you just long enough to get on my knees. A playful smack of my ass tells you all you need to know.
Mounting me from behind, you are instructed to grab my arms and hold on tight. No more holding back. “F*ck me like your job depends on it!” I urge you.
I told you your shirt would come in handy, didn’t I? I wad it up, bring it to my lips and bite down hard, stifling cries of pleasure that would otherwise echo through the BunnyRanch campus.
With a face full of shirt, my arms pinned behind me and your thrusts becoming frenzied, I release another blissful series of contractions, this time beyond my control. That’s when I feel your body collapse on top of me, your lips on my shoulder as I straighten my legs, closing them even tighter around your shaft.
“Graphhh myair,” you hear me mumble.
I loosen my teeth around your shirt just enough to say it again, this time in a language you can understand.
“GRAB MY HAIR!”
You do just that, running your hands through my golden locks and closing them. I stuff your shirt back into my mouth.
With what little leverage I can muster, I meet your thrusts until you let loose a telltale grunt, followed closely by one last plunge and a massive flood of sweet seed.
You melt onto me and wrap your arms around me, kissing my neck and stroking my hot, satisfied curves. Rest assured, this cuddle isn’t the end of our night. It’s only the beginning.
And I never tell you your job is safe.
I don’t have to.
IF I'M DREAMING, DON'T WAKE ME
The sunlight blazes through the open window, and the fresh morning breeze tantalizes my hot, naked skin as I slowly emerge from a deep sleep. I lift my long, tanned legs over the duvet, and my nostrils fill with the sweet scent of sex. I arch my back in a cat-like stretch, put my hand over my mouth and yawn, trying in vain to shake off the clinging sexual hangover that refuses to let go.
Still in a dreamlike state, I softly stumble to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I let the water splash over me, enjoying the sensation as small beads rain down on my stomach, thighs and pussy. Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh and roll each nipple between my middle finger and thumb until they’re erect. I run my hand gently over the contours of my body, taking in the curve of my hips and thighs, then reach farther down until I feel the heat of my tender, sopping vice against the palm of my hand.
Instantly I am transported back to the dream I had just experienced; the dream that comes every night in some fashion and haunts my every waking hour. The man in these dreams is adept at tuning into my every thought and desire. I fear him, yet want him. My desire is at once powerful and unbearable, and he knows it.
No matter what the dreams hold each night, I always recall the sensation of his skin against mine, the unabashed passion in his eyes as he thrusts himself deep inside me. Many nights, I am taken to the edge of sanity as he mercilessly satiates himself ... and me.
He always begins the seduction the same way: with a soft, innocent kiss. Last night was different, though. As I lay there, tossing and turning in the pitch black of my bedroom, I sense he’s there without ever feeling him, heat emanating from his body as he stands over me almost menacingly. His hand finally brushes the hair gently back from my face, unseen but hardly unnoticed. Reflexively, I lean into his touch, moaning softly, my heart throbbing, my legs trembling.
His fingers gently begin to twirl in my hair, gripping it tightly, causing me to catch my breath and tense. He winds his hand tighter yet, reminding me that I am at his mercy. The thought provokes a pooling within my silky, pink folds.
I hear him take a deep breath and exhale with a satisfied growl. My apparent arousal permeates the air as a faint beam of moonlight brings his figure into view. The internal struggle I experience is at once exciting and disconcerting: My mind tells me to flee; my body demands that I not.
His fingers lightly massage my flesh, lingering on my neck before moving to my shoulder. As I close my eyes, an unexpected contentment washes over me. No words are needed. His touch alone reassures me that I am safe. Little by little, my body relaxes beneath his loving, knowing touch.
His hand continues down my back, taking in every inch of my tingling flesh. I quickly lose myself in his comforting strokes and my hips wriggle involuntarily, seeking relief. I secretly hope the movement goes unnoticed, but when I hear a soft chuckle, I know it does not. His hand circles my waist, his fingers spanning my side, almost measuring the fit of his hand against my curve. I hear him utter a long, slow moan I can only interpret as satisfaction, and it makes me smile.
I writhe again, anticipating where his hand will roam next. Once again he tugs my hair, bringing me out of my reverie. He can sense when I’m losing myself, and he’s determined to keep me on the edge, keep me mentally grasping at every physical cue.
Suddenly he pulls me into his arms and brings his lips down on mine in a searing kiss. His tongue shoves its way past my teeth. What little was left of my resistance melts away completely. His large hands massage my back and then, looking into my eyes, he cups both breasts, leaning down to take a tender nipple into his mouth. His lips close over it and he sucks forcefully, eliciting an excited whimper.
My hands weave into his hair, pulling him ever closer. His hand slides down to cup my ass as he feasts on each breast, licking the attentive peaks until they’re as swollen as they are wet. His tongue teases and dances, flicking each nipple lightly.
Arching my back with each brush of the tongue, my need for satisfaction intensifies. I slowly part my legs in invitation, and his hand makes its way down to feel the satin-like skin of my inner thigh. My anticipation gives way to gratification as he skillfully thrusts a finger inside me.
I gasp, my body jerking upward. He places his other hand at the back of my neck and pushes me down harder onto his hand, allowing him to probe deeper. Gathering my hair in his hand, he pulls my head back, runs his tongue down the side of my neck and then covers my mouth with his own. The room seemingly begins to spin as my body gives in to temptation.
His fingers exit me and guide me to my buckling knees. He thrusts his hard cock toward my waiting lips, the tip glistening with moisture. He slowly drags it along my face and smiles.
Looking into his eyes, I plant kisses from the base of his balls up to the bulbous helmet of his manhood, then trail my tongue in slow, sweet circles. Blowing gently on the moisture I leave behind, I hear him groan appreciatively. His hand again finds the back of my head and I take his length in my mouth. As he lodges his way into the back of my eager throat, I gently suck and lick, savoring every move.
I begin to run my nails down the inside of his thighs, my mind consumed by passion, his eyes glazed over in lust. He grabs my head and thrusts again and again, his full shaft swelling in my mouth. I try to pull away to catch my breath, but his grip grows only stronger and he mouth-f*cks me relentlessly. Just as I expect to feel his hot, sweet spurts across my tongue, he withdraws, my lips left disappointed.
His powerful arms coax me into position, my parted legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He steps between them, kneels and sweeps his tongue along my soaking slit, sending a tremor of excitement up my spine. My hips rock against his face as he locks his lips around my throbbing clit. Spasm after spasm rips through me, my knuckles white from tension as I flail at the sheets. One shuddering orgasm blends into another.
Standing, he places the tip of his engorged cock at my steamy entrance and rubs it up and down. Then he begins to shove it in slowly, eliciting the first and only words of the night.
“Ohhhhhhh, my god!” I exclaim.
I pant breathlessly, my body completely out of my control -- not that I care. My walls clench tight against his cock and he savors each quickening stroke, the wonderful wet sounds only adding to the sex-drenched excitement.
He pulls out, reaches down, grabs me, pulls me up and sits on the edge of the bed, prick sticking straight up. Facing away from him, I straddle his legs and slowly lower myself onto his glistening rod, impaling myself with it. He reaches around, grabs my thighs and slowly gyrates against me as I bob up and down, moaning, clenching my teeth.
Riding him like a woman possessed, I let loose an orgasm as powerful as any I’ve ever had. As I rock myself back to consciousness, the hot trickle of cum oozing down my leg is evidence that he’s done the same. We collapse onto the bed and embrace, my head tucked into his shoulder as I drift off, spent and satisfied.
The searing light behind my eyelids becomes the sun's rays streaming through the window. I groan in despair.
Why do I always have to wake up?
IT’S NEVER TOO LATE FOR A GUY TO SCORE
(From "Tails of the BunnyRanch" in HUSTLER Magazine, February 2010)
I had just finished getting ready to retire for the night -- my last at Dennis Hof’s World Famous BunnyRanch before a three-week hiatus -- when a familiar voice came over the intercom.
It was a fitting end to an extended stay that had been equal parts exhilarating and exhausting. There was the delicious threesome with attractive newlyweds from Texas, the romantic outdate to Lake Tahoe with a middle-aged man celebrating his divorce and the submissive Wall Street broker who wanted nothing more than to satiate me with his talented, relentless tongue.
So when an office assistant informed me that a gentleman had requested my presence in the parlor, I wasn’t sure my legs would stop quaking long enough to take me there. And if they did, what a sight I’d be: a walking snooze button wearing nothing more than a football jersey (thanks to old boyfriends, I have a huge collection), no makeup and a frazzled head of hair. Nonetheless, I slipped my aching feet into the nearest pair of heels, soldiered to the door and stumbled down the hallway.
A good-looking young man was standing at the bar, and when he saw me, a nervous smile pierced his lips. He was anything but deterred by my zombielike state. Rather, he explained, it conjured memories of sleepovers he’d had as a teenager. While playing video games in the den with a friend, his buddy’s older sister would emerge from her bedroom sleepy-eyed, scantily clad and undeniably f*ckable, begging them to keep their voices down.
Now an Ivy League graduate who had spent his early 20s getting ahead, the gentleman said he wanted to make up for lost time. Sure, his friend’s flirtatious sister gave him a glorious handjob one day after school, and he advanced as far as third base in college. Any way you look at it, the guy was still a virgin.
An hour or so into his 25th birthday, that changed. First-timers awaken something primal in me, and I felt my inner thighs moisten as I led him by the hand to my spacious suite.
As soon as we stepped inside, I expertly freed the gentleman’s rigid shaft from his slacks. We kissed passionately, eyes locked, and his excited gasps made it clear that foreplay would have to become afterplay. I whirled, arched my back and hastily yanked my football jersey over my head, hearing a soft whimper as my latest virgin inserted his cock and felt a woman’s heavenly clasp for the first time. Five frantic thrusts later the birthday boy blew out his candle, venting a lifetime’s worth of sexual frustration inside me. Touchdown!
Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who stayed up that night!
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