The Dogging Diaries Questions With The Author III
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The Dogging Diaries - III free porn video
Looking back, it is apparent to me that by this point I was in the early
stages of becoming a full blown party girl. I wanted my kicks as fast
as they could cum. I wanted it all - cocks, cum, coke ... and most of all
I wanted to be a pinup slut. I dreamed of people typing my name into
Google and racing to click the Images button, where picture after
picture of me wearing next to nothing would appear before them so they
could jerk their cocks. I wanted to be wanted to my very core, to be
the baddest bitch in the land. You want to fuck this tight hole? Beg
me for it. Fawn all over me. Ply me with your drugs, buy me those
delicious drinks because my tiny miniskirt rides up my legs and exposes
my thigh highs when I delicately sit down and seductively cross my nylon
encased legs. You cannot resist this. Feed me your delicious coke and
then I will drop to my knees like the slut I am and take your sword all
the way down my throat. I'll take it to the hilt in my ass and leave
you spent, covered in glitter, your dick wrecked from that dirty whore
you did so well. Go home to wifey and try to explain it away. You
can't because my delicious vanilla body scent is all over you, my
strawberry infused fuckhole is still dancing on your dick and my
glitter, the way I mark my territory, is all over you. You've just
fucked me and I love it and now you're fucked and I love that too.
That was the way I felt. Part of me still feels that way. But I didn't
execute it right. I was easily led. And I loved the drinks and the
drugs and giving it up so much that I was never quite hot-bitchy enough
back then to top these guys from the bottom like that. I let them use
me because I wanted what they had more than I wanted to control them.
Actions dictate priorities and my priorities were all about filling my
soul and my holes with as much cock and coke as I could find.
Diary Entry: January 2007
Happy New Year! It's going to be such a great one, I can feel it. At
the New Year's Party at John's last night, something special happened.
I ended up getting fucked by Cory, who was not my first choice, but
turned out to be an incredible lover. God he fucked me so good and in
the process, my pussy truly came for the first time! I don't know
exactly what happened, so I'm just going to describe it in case it
happens again. I had heard of this kind of thing but always thought it
was bullshit. An ass can't cum. Au contraire.
So he was inside of me doggie, giving it to me good, so good that I
guess some people could hear me screaming at his onslaught, which I
love, since I know there were guys in that house that heard my screams
of ecstasy and thought about fucking me. Anyway, I could feel a drip or
two, but I thought it was pre-cum from my clitty and it very well may
have been, but as Cory wailed away at me and my prostate, I could feel
something growing and building inside of me. At first, and this is
gross, I thought that maybe he was fucking me so hard that something was
going to happen in a bad way back there, but then it built and built and
built and the sensation overtook me. My head swam and I cried out and
rode the wave. As I did, I looked down and several drops of sticky milk
were being fucked out of my clitty with each of Cory's thrusts. It
wasn't pee or pre-cum, it was the real thing and even better than the
two-on-one a week ago. It started slowly, just a series of drips, but
about 30 seconds later the sensation came back with even greater power
and then my eyes involuntarily closed as my release took hold and
several ropes of my divine honey exploded from my flaccid cockette. It
was glorious. A tidal wave of emotions.
It ended up happening three times and each time was more powerful than
the last. The bedspread Cory fucked me on was soaked and my ass was
soaked even before he came. I could feel the lubrication, again, scared
that it was something else, but it wasn't. I was the clean honeypot
I've always been when I get fucked. I was just simply soaked from our
cum, from my cum. I cannot believe this has happened and I am psyched
to try it on my own so I can learn my body and what it reacts to so I
can feel this feeling again and again. God, I fucking need it.
End Diary Entry
Diary Entry: January 2007
I can't do this anymore. The more I think about my family and my job
the more I realize how much of a liar I am by keeping my real feelings
and real self from them. I feel terrible about it. It's bogging me
down and filling me with dread. How am I supposed to have that
conversation?
End Diary Entry
This was a really confusing time for me. I remember it like yesterday
and it was one of those periods in my life where the highs were very
high and the lows felt really low. I was all over the map at times; one
day feeling so good about myself, the next feeling like a fat cow/guy in
a dress, the next day being in control of my emotions, the day after
being a wreck. It was troubling. Growth I suppose. I was growing,
wrestling with issues and emotions I wasn't completely understanding. I
get it now for the most part, but back then I was just a baby. I love
my next entry - I go from worrying about telling my parents to ...
Diary Entry: January 2007
I am a cummer. A squirter even, dare I say. I spent the night
literally fucking myself with a new 12" vibrator that I bought. It
brought me that place again and yes, the lubrication in my ass is truly
cum or something like it. It wasn't the lube, it came from inside of
me. Even better, the cums out my cockette are the real thing too. I
brought myself off four times tonight and again, each one was stronger
than the last and the streams of cum, without any touching of my clit
with my hand, came roping out of me. This is bad news in an ironic way.
I loved cock so much before and now this. Jesus, I can only imagine what
the lure of this will do to my psyche, and, if I may be so vain, my
reputation on the street. Once guys get wind that I can truly cum, I
could be immense.
End Diary Entry
Just some fucked up stuff. "What am I going to do? Should I tell my
parents? What should I say? Cry, cry ... oh look at this vibrator, its
pink, I love it, tee-hee!! Let me fuck myself silly with it for an
hour." Reading this I am left with one conclusion - I am a bimbo :)
The World's Oldest Profession OR I Don't Like The Drugs But The Drugs
Like Me
Diary Entry: January 2007
I need-need-need tits. Big ones. I've been doing the hormone thing for
a long time now. The results have been OK, but not what I want. I have
some nice, fuckable hips. My waist continues to slim - thank goodness
for running, but I need bigger boobs. I see these girls on the internet
and they have these impossibly large breasts - and they reshape their
entire body. Everything up top is incredibly tight, their nipples
always seem to be on display and their cleavage is beyond stunning.
When I think of the amount of cock I could get with bigger tits, my head
spins. I need them. I need to feel myself spilling out of some too-
tight baby tee or a fire engine red cocktail dress. I need it with
every ounce of my being. That'll be the end of me at work though. Not
sure if I'll get let go - I suppose in theory they can't fire me, but
I've already been put into the phone role so they don't have to put me
in front of the client anymore. If I walk in looking like a big-titted
sex bomb, they're either going to fuck me or fire me. I don't care.
I'll figure something out.
End Diary Entry
Diary Entry: February 2007
I cannot believe I am writing these words: I took money for sex. Fuck!
End Diary Entry
Diary Entry: February 2007
I need to write in my journal to clarify yesterday's entry and try to
make some sense of how all of this happened. Where to begin? Jack.
Fucking Jack. I'm trying to be good about drinking and driving. I
realize that late nights clubbing and drinking and god knows what else
are only going to add up to trouble at some point. So, I figure that if
I can't/shouldn't go to the party all the time, I should have the party
come to me. I've been running ads on Craigslist "advertising" as a
party girl. What I'm offering is this: if a guy brings cocaine and
wine to my house, we'll party it up and he can fuck me. It's pretty
straightforward. It's worked for me twice so far in the past two weeks
and hasn't worked a few other times. Craigslist is pretty fucking
spotty. But, the third time it worked I met Jack.
Turns out he lives a couple of miles from my apartment and seemingly has
coke all the time. Fucking jackpot. Kind of. So he comes over,
actually on time which is nice because these guys are always late. And
he walks in with a 12 pack of beer, an 8 ball of cocaine and his beyond
laid back attitude.
One of the things I always enjoy when I meet someone from online is
their reaction to me in the flesh. Every single one drools over me in
person. That is, before Jack, who when he met me and I asked him what
he thought, told me I looked a little older and a little heavier than my
pictures. I'm 30 years old and I weigh 135 pounds for heaven's sake and
I am 5'9" at least! The nerve.
But he does keep on coming back. He was over Monday with his 8 ball and
over Tuesday with a couple of grams and I saw him again Friday of this
week which I will get to in a second.
Monday he walks in on time with his 8-ball of cocaine and the beer.
He's a pretty decent looking guy. About 5'11" and maybe 170 pounds,
dark, wavy hair that is graying a little on the sides, nice dark eyes
and strong hands. He's not ripped, but he's definitely in shape.
The guy doesn't do coke, but he has it all the time, which is awesomely
twisted on so many levels. So I'm doing my lines and drinking a beer
with him and having a cigarette and it's a hoot. It's Monday after all.
Why I am partying on a Monday is a question I will need to ask myself at
some point. Now is not the time. He got there around 8 and now it's 10
and I am getting pretty fucked up and very horny. God I love coke.
I've already done plenty by now and my association between drugs and sex
is starting to kick in. I'm horny and ready for action. But he's not
interested.
He's not fucking interested in fucking me. Me! The girl who can suck a
dick like a porn star. The girl who will open her baby-doll soft and
sexy legs for anyone. The girl with the strawberry flavored pussy.
Total mind screw. He doesn't want to fuck me? What the hell is he
doing here?
He does, however, want to see me naked, which is odd. So I strip for
this guy, this weird, nice, seemingly polite, smart drug dealer guy.
And there I am in all of my naked glory, just wearing the cincher, black
thigh highs and heels I had on under my skirt and blouse - minus the bra
and panties that I seductively took off for him. He looks me up and
down, taking the time to lift my very little, hormone and coke reduced
cock, to spread my ass cheeks and to fondle my breasts a little bit. He
had me bend over at the waist and run my fingers through my ass crack -
and then he was done.
He was done.
I needed something, something to fill my soul, so I essentially begged
him to let me blow him, which he allowed. I did another line of cocaine
and then gave him a long, lingering blowjob, making sure to look up at
him from my knees as I did until he blew his creamy load down my throat.
I swallowed it all. Then he left me to my coke (his coke that he gave
me? WTF?) and walked out of my door.
I was somehow able to function at work the next day. I'm not sure how.
Everyone asked if I had a cold because my nose was so stuffed from all
the candy I was snorting up it the night before.
I checked my personal account during the day and Jack had emailed asking
if I was going to be around that night. I said yes and we set it up for
the same drill.
I raced home from work and hit the door by 5:30, giving me over two
hours to get ready for my "date." I showered and shaved and primped and
finally got dressed - my auburn hair flowing over my shoulders, my most
seductive, catlike look on my eyes with heavy, heavy glitter, bronzer
and blush on my cheeks, delicious pink lipstick with a brick red liner
and more glitter on my lips. Then I put on my purple metallic full
length bustier, a short black skirt, black fishnet thigh highs and 4"
black fuck me pumps. I was not going down without a fight.
At 8:00PM there was Jack at my door with more beer and a couple of grams
of coke. Given that there was no way I could do a whole 8-ball by
myself from the night prior, I now had a small hill of cocaine on my
kitchen table.
We smoked and drank and I blew some lines and we talked about my
transition and my desire for bigger breasts and that's when he pitched
me. Or pimped me.
"Kristy, do you really want to spend most of your savings on larger
breasts if you don't have to?"
"No, of course not."
"Well, here's what I have in mind. You clearly love sex and have told
me repeatedly how much you love having men fawning all over you. So,
here's what we do. I'll provide the place, the drinks, the coke and the
guys. You provide the schedule and, well, your ass. I figure we can
get somewhere between $100 and $200 bucks a shot. I take half until you
pay for half of the room and then I take 25%. For that, all you need to
do is tell me when you're available and I'll provide the room and make
sure it's got a line of guys coming to it. They'll all be clean and
I'll be there to make sure it all goes smoothly. It'll basically be
exactly like this right now, us just hanging out, only we'll have to
stop sometimes so you can get fucked. Then the guy will leave, we'll
settle the money and we can go back to hanging out."
I was speechless ... for a second.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!?! I'm not a whore, Jack." I was
furious.
He just stared at me.
"I mean, what the fuck do you take me for? Just some simple fucking
chick that you can pimp out to your fucking friends? Just some dumb
fucking cokehead, fucking cokewhore? I'm not that, OK? I'm not."
He kept looking at me as I rambled on and I could see what he was doing
with his eyes, moving them in a triangle to the open coke, the wine and
my tits, which were as on display as my little Bs can be.
"Come over here," he beckoned.
"What? What the fuck do you want?" I challenged.
"Come over here," he repeated. He patted to his lap. "Sit down."
"No," I protested.
"Come over here," he repeatedly calmly. Then he smiled. I got up and
walked around the table to where he was sitting. He patted his lap
again and I sat down. I shouldn't have. I never should have given in
to him. He rubbed my hips and my sides and then kissed the back of my
neck. I fucking love it when guys do that and I swooned, still trying
to resist his touch. His hot breath gave me goosebumps.
"It's OK," he said. "It's OK."
He kept kissing my neck as he reached around me and laid out two more
lines.
"Do these, you'll feel better."
Still swooning, I leaned forward, careful to ensure I was grinding my
fuckable ass into his crotch as I lifted the straw and put it to my
nose. I did both lines quickly, taking one in each nostril. My head
swam and I sat back as he picked up a wine glass full of Chardonnay and
put it to my lips.
"Drink."
I did, letting the buttery coolness fill my mouth and throat as he
rubbed my thighs. The he chopped out two more lines and I did those as
well. God he could have taken me right there. What is wrong with me?
I should have fought.
"Stand up."
I got off of him and before I could protest he was delicately putting my
short, black Cinzia overcoat on me. Then he grabbed the wine glass and
told me to follow him.
We got into his Acura and before I knew it we were speeding into Boston.
I asked him a couple of times where we were going but all he kept
telling me was that it was a surprise. I had another glass and a half
of wine and few bumps from his coke stash on the way and before long we
were in the Chinatown area of Boston. He guided the Acura down a side
street and stopped the car.
"This should do. Leg me see those legs, girl."
I leaned back and put my heels up on the dash, my feet twelve inches
apart, bunching what little of my skirt existed at my waist so he could
see the curvature of my thighs to my knees to my calves all heavenly
encased in fishnet stockings.
"Gorgeous, baby. Such great legs."
"Thanks honey, they'd look so much better wrapped around your waist," I
cooed.
"Take your coat off, love."
"It's cold out, Jack."
"Take it off, Kristy, trust me."
I did as he asked, thankful for the warm car as I sat in my bare
shouldered bustier, tiny miniskirt, fishnets and heels.
"Now put on some more lipstick, baby and glitter them up real nice."
"Jack, what's this all about?" I asked.
"Trust me - and do it."
I reached into my purse and redid my lips, adding glitter to them when I
was done. Jack handed me the wine glass and I took another large sip.
"Look at me." I did as he asked. "You look perfect."
"Thank you," was all I could come up with. What the fuck was this all
about?
"Now listen. We're going to have some fun tonight, OK? Some fun.
Around the corner from here is a bar, the Mandarin Gardens - I want you
to go in there and grab a seat at the bar and I'll join you in a
minute."
"What the," I stammered. "Where are you going?"
"I'll be in in a minute. Don't worry about it. Just go in and order a
drink."
This was getting weird. "Whatever, just give me my coat."
"No coat. It's right around the corner. Just shimmy that pretty ass in
there and I'll be right there."
I didn't like this. I was dressed provocatively and was pretty sure the
extra attention was going to get me made. That had happened before, but
this time I'd be alone and not in a place I knew. I didn't like it.
Plus it was one of the coldest nights of the year. I was dressed for a
hard dick in my bedroom, not walking around downtown on a 5 degree
night.
"It'll be fun. Trust me," was all he said. Then he put the small spoon
to my nose and I did another bump of cocaine. "One last thing," he said
as he reached around my neck, flipped up my hair and began to attach a
velvet dog collar to me.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. This was a different side of him. "Are
you going to lead me around on a leash, Jack? Make me your bitch?"
"Maybe. All in good fun," he smiled and adjusted the collar. It fit
well, tight but not outrageously so. I checked myself in the overhead
mirror. I had to admit, it looked sexy.
"Fine, fuck it," I sniffed, and reached for the door handle.
The walk was freezing, on a frozen sidewalk with a stiff wind blowing.
By the time I made around the corner to the Mandarin my teeth were
chattering.
I could feel the eyes on me as I made my way over to the Mandarin
lounge. In the middle of February, I was in 4" fuck me heels, fishnet
stockings with the tops not concealed at all by my 8" miniskirt, a
bustier and my new friend, the dog collar. My ass was barely covered.
But you know what, I waited a long time in life to be "me" and it's
moments like this that I relish, so I stuck my tits out and worked my
ass back and forth for the whole slow walk over to the bar. I wiggled
my ass onto a barstool, abandoning any hope of smoothing my skirt under
my butt and instead just fluffed it so it fell around me, crossed my
legs and did what any good girl with some boobies in a bar would do - I
pulled my arms back and stuck my perky little Bs out and waited for the
bartender to get me a glass of wine.
I had finished my first glass - and no sign of Jack - when a guy came
over and asked if he could buy me a drink. I said yes and he did and we
chatted for a little while, but I think he made me and politely excused
himself. A short while later a short, stocky, balding guy named Mark
came over and struck up a conversation. He wasn't a bad guy, pretty
articulate and in town on business, fine for a conversation but not for
a fucking. He bought me another drink and made his attentions pretty
clear when I felt his hand on my leg, slowly caressing the tops of my
stockings.
Where the fuck was Jack?
I moved his hand away a couple of times and he kept putting it back on
my leg, going ever higher and casually flicking a finger into the front
of my panties. It was obvious by his reaction that either he now knew I
was a tgirl or that his suspicions were confirmed. Either way, he was
good with it and I didn't really care. I had been felt up in bars
before. I had my wine and I was warm.
Mark and I had another drink and I realized that Jack had been missing
for over an hour now, so I excused myself and dialed his cell - no
answer.
He fucking left me here? Or was planning to leave me here? How the fuck
was I going to get home? I went into my purse and dug out my wallet -
at least I could take a cab back if I needed to. It would probably cost
me over a hundred bucks but at least I had the means if I could find an
ATM machine ... until I looked a little closer and realized all that was
in my wallet were my Macy's card and a few other meaningless pieces of
plastic. Shit.
What a fucking sucker I am. Jack had fucking robbed me and left me
here. I was furious. Just the thought of canceling all my accounts was
a major downer.
Gathering myself, I thought about what to do next. I could call my
friends, someone, somewhere to come and get me. It was after 11:00PM at
this point, would anyone still be up? It was a freaking Tuesday night.
Only one way to find out. I called Shauna, Amber and George, all went
to voicemail. Fuck.
I had another drink with Mark, taking my time to nurse it as long as I
could while I let him continue to rub my leg, which had pretty much
become my inner thighs at this point. I looked around and could see the
few remaining sets of eyes watching him rub me. One guy at a high-top
table about 10 feet away actually winked at me. Jesus, I was looking
loose.
"So," said Mark, "I was thinking that maybe you'd like to have a drink
back at my hotel."
There it was. I had been propositioned before, so that part of it was
no big deal, but the fact that I was alone and didn't particularly want
to go home with chubby Mark and his so-so-looks-at-best was a problem.
I shouldn't have another drink, I thought, because I was already pretty
wined up, I don't want to go home with this guy and I have no ride. How
the hell did I get myself into this?
I called Jack's cell again. Straight to voicemail.
I had made the call from my seat and when I hung up Mark was looking at
me expectantly.
"OK," I said, "let's go get that drink."
His hotel was a few blocks away and my skirt blew up a couple of times
while Mark was trying to hail us a cab. I was shivering by the time we
got to his hotel. As I figured, he just grabbed my hand and whisked me
past the lobby to the elevators; there wasn't going to be any drink.
We got up to his room - Room 319, standard room, two double beds - and
he shut the door and took me in his arms and kissed me. It wasn't a bad
kiss or unexpected really even, but this guy was just not my style and I
wasn't into him at all. I let my body go limp in his arms like all the
guys like and he proceeded to try and give me a seductive French kiss
that ended up being a bad impression and ultimately just stuck his
tongue down my throat. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and I sat
down on the bed (big mistake).
When Mark came out he was completely naked, looking chubby and stocky,
his flaccid dick no more than three inches long. As he stood in front
of me, everything seemed like it was moving in slow motion and I thought
about bailing on this situation long and hard for what seemed liked
minutes. Finally I spit it out.
"I can't have sex with you."
"What?"
I said it again.
"Aren't you a hooker?" Mark asked me.
I was furious. "No," I spat.
He looked at me for a few minutes. Then his demeanor changed. "You
have to leave." He went to the bathroom to gather up his clothes.
Where was I supposed to go? "I can't. I don't have any place to go." I
called after him.
"Get out. You look like a hooker, you're dressed like a hooker, it's
obvious you've been partying and using me for my drink money like a
hooker. If you're not going to bend over and take it like a hooker then
get the fuck out." He was glaring at me. Irate.
"I can't. Please. I have no ride home, no place to go."
"That's not my problem," he spat back at me. "Ass, cash or grass, and
you've only got ass."
The tears started and I fought them back. I gathered up my purse,
straightened my miniskirt and moved for the door. Mark grabbed my tit
as I walked by past, but I pushed by him and stepped out into the
hallway.
"No fuck, no stay," he sneered as he slammed the door.
I teetered down the hallway on my 4" spikes, completely at a loss for
what to do. I made my way back through the lobby, looking completely
out of place in my next-to-nothing outfit and all alone. I looked
exactly like what everyone thought I was - a whore. I stepped through
the circular door and out onto the street. The air was bitter cold and
snow had begun to fall. I walked a couple of blocks, trying to shield
myself from the wind. The snow felt like needles. A Honda pulled up
and rolled down its window.
"Hey baby, you want a ride?"
I shuffled over to the car. I couldn't really make out the driver's
face. "How much honey?" he asked.
I grimaced and turned and walked on as the tears started to stream down
my face. I shuffled against the wind for a couple of more blocks, my
face flushing red from the wolf whistles and honking of car horns at my
appearance. I walked and walked, aimlessly through the city as it
finished closing up and started to go to sleep. I tried to find a bus
station, a subway station, anything that would give me respite from the
elements. I failed. I was lost, cold and alone.
I was freezing, my body shivering as I finally gave in to the weather
and slumped against a brick wall, hugging myself to keep the wind and
snow off of me. I closed my eyes, hoping that the sounds of the city
would dissipate in my head. I was alone, homeless for a night, without
any means and getting desperate. I searched my brain for a solution,
thinking that maybe I could find an open bar or pub and find someone to
give me shelter for the night. I picked myself up and walked to the
corner just in time to see the lights of a nearby bar go dark. My tears
started again.
I tried to keep moving, to keep the blood flowing and to hopefully
stumble across something or someone that would help me. I was in a
shitty part of town and as I walked I passed two homeless men huddled
into an alley away from the wind and snow. I thought there was a chance
they could help me, guide me to a shelter, something. As I approached
they perked up at the click-clack of my heels. I said hello and one of
them screamed at me, telling me to go away, that my pussy was unclean.
I turned and ran the best I could away from them and some sort of board
or metal object just missed hitting me in the head as I turned out of
the alley. I could still hear one screaming about my unclean pussy a
block away.
Is that what I am to everyone? Unclean? A prostitute? A whore? Am I
a whore? I started to cry and cried the entire way back to the warmth
of the hotel, back to room 319, back to Mark. I knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" Mark called through the door.
"It's me," I stammered through shivering teeth.
I could feel his eye on me through the peephole.
"Why are you here?" he shot back at me.
"Please," I pleaded. "I need a place to stay."
He opened the door, with the chain still on. "Listen," he whispered.
"I want to have a good time with you tonight, bend you over and fuck
that shemale pussy of yours. I have money. You can stay if you ..." he
lowered his voice some more, "....are a hooker."
The words hung in the air like toxic smoke. I could feel tears and
fought them back with all of my might. I reached deep inside and
gathered myself to say the words.
"I am a hooker."
Shortly after Mark was done fucking my ass, my phone rang. It was Jack.
"I'm out front in the car."
I got up off the bed and gathered what little belongings I had - my
phone and my purse. I checked my face in the mirror. I was a mess,
even waterproof mascara runs if you soak it with as many tears as I had
that night.
"Money's on the desk," I heard Mark utter.
I walked over to it and stared at the $100 bill for a few seconds. Then
I took it and put it in my purse.
End Diary Entry
Author's Note: It would be impossible for me to appreciate the feedback
you leave more than I do. It means everything, so please leave me a
little note letting me know what you think!
xoxo
Alexandra
Arisha
- 12.10.2020
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