We bonded over a mutual love for cock sucking. Her love of sucking cock and my love of getting my cock sucked, to be specific.

I am one of those rare girls that could get off from someone sucking my strap-on, but I had rather specific desires. Strapped between my legs, a cock became a weapon of destruction. I didn’t want someone to daintily slurp on my dick, I wanted to own the back of their throat.

I wanted to make people choke and gasp and flail about, eyes streaming, made even better if they were wearing massive amounts of eyeliner so that they ended up looking like a sad-eyed panda on the end of my dick. I wanted to shove my cock so deeply down someone’s mouth hole that every molecule of oxygen in their lungs was only there because I permitted it to be so. I wanted to face fuck someone until they vomited and then use their puke as lube to continue the face fucking. I wanted to destroy people with my dick, unraveling them to the very core of their being until they were an undone puddle of flesh at my feet.

With needs like this, it was not often that I met someone that could take it at the level I liked to dish it out at. This all changed when I met Juliette. She was a cock sucker with such fevered dedication it boarded on the manic. Her religion was blowjobs. She could take everything single thing I dished out and come crawling back for more. When we played she would look up at me with bloodshot eyes and croak between puffy lips, “You could kill me with your dick you know. I wouldn’t mind”. And I knew she meant it with every fiber of her body. To have that much power over someone else? It was intoxicating.

When our friend Mike West invited the two of us to do a performance piece at his annual Black Christmas party, Juliette and I could think of only one act we would want to do: Xtreme Cocksucking. Not that we were going to put on an act of any sort, we were simply going to do what we did on a regular basis behind closed doors. Putting it on stage wasn’t going to change a thing.

The night of the party was crisp and cold as only a San Francisco winter could be, but Mike’s house was packed to the rafters with various perverts and the combined body heat of so many people made the place muggy and overly moist. Juliette and I killed time before our set watching the various other acts and bondage suspension performances. There was a lot of rope and people being hit-fairly standard San Francisco party fare. When it was our turn to go on, I placed out some towels in a “splash circle” over the rubber mats that covered most of the wooden floor, then led Juliette onto the center of the towels. Turning to the sea of upturned faces, I announced “This is going to be a demonstration of edge play. Everything you are about to see is completely consensual. If vomit or breath play makes you uncomfortable, you are are free to leave.” Nobody made a motion to stir. “Alrighty then.” I said.

I pounced. There was no warm-up, no grace period. My strap-on was abruptly and forcefully sheathed to the hilt down Juliette’s cranked open mouth. She struggled and gasped, her thin limbs thrashing about uselessly. Her eyes watered and her makeup slowly shifted from “pretty party princess” to “mental disturbed with epilepsy hands”. Whenever makeup runs into cock, cock wins every single time. The drool flowed and thick viscous back of the throat slime ran down off her chin, coating her breasts. Whenever she would slide limply off my dick and onto the floor I would haul her back up by her increasingly disheveled hair and pop her back onto my cock. She looked like she had been hit by a truck. The cock truck.

Then the vomit started. I didn’t let it slow my pace. It wasn’t her fault. Anyone in Juliette’s circumstances would be puking. With each deep thrust of my dick vomit would spurt around the sides of my strap-on and mix with the sticky throat slime slathered over her breasts and body. Her eyes rolled back into her skull until only the whites showed. Vomit ended up covering my hands and I used Juliette’s matted hair as a convenient towel to wipe them clean. Well, cleaner. The smell of bile rose up thickly in the warm room and people began to gag. It was a triggering effect, as the more people started to gag, the more gagging there was.

The sharp smell of hot puke and gagging noises finally succeeded in penetrating my cock drunk haze and I looked at the chaos around me. The towels I had placed down as puke protection were a complete fail, as she had thrashed off of them in the first 30 seconds. Vomit and drool was all over the floor mats. Juliette was a crumpled mess on the floor and we were both covered head to toe with multiple bodily fluids. It was time to wrap it up.

The downside of having vast amounts of fun is the cleanup needed after the fact. MAKING messes? Ever so much fun. CLEANING up the mess? Not nearly as much. I ended up spending the rest of the party crouching naked in Mike’s bathtub while scrubbing vomit off the many floor mats, as the party swirled about me. Juliette was in no shape to stand upright, much less scrub puke. It was a price I was willing to pay, but I must admit it was a rather anti-climatic ending.

I get emails all the time from guys that feel it is their destiny to grace the world with the awesomness that is their magic penis. These guys want to be in porn and think that somehow I can help them with that. Generally they have a fairly large dick, and are excessively pleased with the fuckstick that a random roll of DNA gave them.
Newflash: Doing porn has fuckall to do with the size of your dick.

So you want to be a porn star.
*You like to fuck
*You like to fuck hot girls
*You think you are so great in bed that you should get PAID to fuck hot girls
Porn is the obvious step for you. You are amazing and the world would be PRIVILEGED to see your nutsack bouncing to and fro.

Not so fast hotshot. Let me lay it out for you before you write me any more half-cocked emails about how great you are at the porn.

THIS is what porn is about, not the size of your dick. Get hard. Rock hard! Right now. It doesn’t matter that there are 6 to 10 other people in the room you have never met before. Stay hard! There are a ton of lights and the room is really hot. It doesn’t matter. Don’t overheat. Stay hard. The girl you have to fuck is a complete bitch and everything about her grates on you. Doesn’t matter. Stay hard! There is some guy you have never met and he has a video camera 6 inches from your bouncing balls. Don’t whap him in the forehead with your testicles. Stay hard. It has been hours of stop and go filming. 5 minutes of fucking, then 30 minutes of moving lights. Stay hard. Now cum! Right now. We need a pop shot. Why haven’t you cum yet? 10 people are in the room, trying not to stare at you, but nobody can go home until you cum. Where is that pop shot? No pressure, but hurry it up kid….

THAT is what shooting porn is really like. Still want to be a porn star?

I had always known that I liked the ladies. Sure, almost all young girls play “Doctor” and fool around with each other, but it is an experimental phase that is quickly outgrown in favor of boys. I never outgrew it. Perhaps it helped that I grew up in the incredibly liberal Bay Area, where discrimination is practically non-existent, and I was never made to feel guilty for liking girls “in that way”. I thought girls were beautiful and smooth, shaped so nicely and curved in all the right ways, lacking that harsh boy smell of sweat and macho. When I finally got a chance to act on the urges I had had brewing in me since my childhood doctor games, I did it properly. I had an orgy in the janitor’s broom closet at my high school with 3 of my girl friends.

Leslie, Amy, Susan and I were all 16 and juniors at our local high school. With the vast amounts of free time that teenagers always seem to have on their hands, we were hanging out at school even though it had let out hours ago. While most teenagers would flee school the second the final bell rang, we had stuck around, mostly because we couldn’t think of anything else to do at the time. We were exploring the empty hallways and outbuildings, marveling in how different it seemed when it wasn’t packed full of milling teenagers. It was Susan that found the unlocked door. We were testing all the doorknobs as who knows, a door might lead to something exciting! In this case, the unlocked door led to a somewhat cramped janitor’s closet full of brooms, mobs and various cleaning supplies. Not as exciting as we had hoped.

Not to be stymied, I quickly hatched a plan to make the closet more exciting. Like most of my plans, it naturally involved sex. Before Leslie, Susan and Amy even knew what had hit them, I had shoved all 3 of them inside and closed the door mostly shut, allowing only a thin sliver of fading afternoon light to poke through. The closet was dark, but we had enough light to vaguely see each other. I was going for romantic mood light. Or as romantic as I could possibly make a closet full of dirty mops be. There was some giggling and shuffling about as everyone tried to adjust to the cramped dark quarters. Seizing my opportunity, I grabbed onto the nearest body and locked my mouth onto her’s.

There was no resistance. Her lips were warm and full, and her mouth melted into mine with a taste of grape bubblegum. With a free hand, I grabbed onto the firm breast of another body standing next to me. Within seconds, the closet had dissolved into a flurry of entangled limbs and young firm breasts and half-shed clothing. I would see slivers of a face as one person or another was pushed through the ray of light by the pulsing pile of shifting flesh, but it was mostly dark and warm and mysterious. The only sounds I could hear were small moans and whimpers of pleasure combined with soft giggles and the “smooch” of lips on skin. Pants were unzipped and cotton panties slid aside as fingers sought that inner heat. The smell of sex filled the air, distractingly mixed with that grape gum.

I don’t know how long it lasted. I lost track of time.We all did. At a certain point we started to regain our senses, and the “sex buzz” began to wear off. We slowed down, fumbled more and bras were hooked back in place. Panties were adjusted, zippers zipped back up, and hair combed back into roughly place with sticky fingers. Then the four of us spilled through the door back out into the real world with red and flushed faces, none of us quite daring to make eye contact with each other. I was hooked. I wanted more.

I have lost track of the many lovely ladies I have loved since that day, but you never forget your first time. Particularly if your first time was an orgy with 3 hot sixteen year olds.

When you start out as a model, you quickly learn that photographers fall into 2 camps, legit photogs and GWC aka Guys with Cameras. GWCs have no particular skill, usually no lights, a cheap camera they really don’t know how to use, and they have stumbled across the discovery that if you want a reasonably attractive woman to get buck-assed naked at your command all you have to do is point a camera in their general direction while calling it “erotic art”.

After almost a decade of modeling on and off, I have gotten pretty good at spotting GWCs. I’d like to think my radar is rather finely tuned. This is the story of how I completely fell for one. When a photographer approaches me for work, I do my research. I look at their portfolio, I see what other models they have worked with, I see how long they have been shooting for, I turn down work if it doesn’t feel right. Bruce Randolph passed all the tests. He had profiles on MM & OMP, he had been shooting for over 15 years, he had worked with 4 girls I knew personally, he seemed as legit a photographer as you couldpossibly ask for.

Doing a photo shoot is an all day process. You get up early, do hair and makeup, pack all sorts of wardrobe and props, drive to the location, discuss set up, before the first photo is even snapped you have already committed a hefty chunk of your time.

When I got to Bruce’s house, the first clues I was in a GWC’s lair started to emerge, but I allowed myself to be lulled into denial due to how many other models had worked with him. The “studio” was some black sheets draped over crossbeams in his garage. He didn’t have a website, he was a “private collector”. Private collectors hire fetish models to do “erotic art” which translates to having some girl do the poses you want to add to your collection of spankbank material.

It is actually quite a successful hustle. Cam girls charge $4-8 dollars a minute. $100 won’t last long in a strip club. But for $100 an hr you don’t even have to leave the comforts of your own home and can hire fetish models to stuff all their holes full of dildos under the name of “erotic art” while you hover 2 feet away taking pics for your masturbation collection.

I don’t normally work with private collectors, but I had already committed enough hours of my time I just decided to power through. How bad could it be? I don’t take any shit from anyone. I could make this work. The first pose was a “naughty nun” theme. Which involved me writhing naked on his bed stuffing rosaries in my pussy. He has no lights, no set up, no planning, he just grabs his camera and starts taking a million photos.

This is when my second tip-off appears. This was how his portfolios on MM & OMP managed to look half-way decent. A dirty secret, particularly with digital photography, is that you can be the world’s worst photographer, but if you take 100 pics, one will look ok just by chance. Throw away the 99 crap photos you took, put up the one where everything came together by sheer luck, and BAM, you are a photographer.

At this point I am so over this shoot, but I have already invested enough of my time that I am reluctant to call it off. If I leave now all the gas money, the hour drive to his place, all the time I spent preparing will be for naught. I grit my teeth and we go onto the next set up which is in his garage.

Bruce waited until I was tied up, (I self tied myself and my arms were free. I am not a complete idiot) and then STRIPPED down to a ridiculous loincloth he had had hidden under his clothes. The loincloth was loose and baggy and I could see peeps of ballsack and a little acorn head of cock. Then he set up a self timer, stepped into the photograph and started grabbing my tits.

NO REAL PHOTOGRAPHER GETS NAKED AND GETS IN THE SHOT TO GRAB BREASTS. But GWCs do. And I was deep in GWCland. I was a trophy. He couldn’t get playdates, dude was almost 60 and not in good shape. But he had discovered this marvelous trick to get all the hot naked pussy he wanted to get his paws on. Just wave a camera around. “Ladies! Get naked while I rub up on you! It is ART!”.

I still didn’t quite back out. I was so invested at this point. We were almost done. I just wanted to get paid and leave. The next set up was a fucking machine. He is wandering about naked except for buttfloss in his garage humming contentedly to himself putting together a fucking machine I had zero desire to get near. As he put it together I could see that it had no stand. It was handheld. What the fuck was he going to do, hold it in one hand drilling me while clicking pictures with the other?!

As I looked as his pasty white asscheeks bobbing around, I snapped. I couldn’t do it. Fuck the money, fuck the investment of my time, my dignity was worth more. He could keep his money.

“I will be right back” I mumbled, and fled the garage. I threw everything in my suitcase, hands shaking with rage and ran to my car. I was packed and out of that house in under 2 mins, gone before he even knew what happened.

Ladies, if a full-time model with a high bullshit radar could find herself in this situation, so could you. Real photographers use lights, keep their clothes on and don’t get involved in the shots. Everything happened so slowly and gradually that I was waist-deep in a bad situation before I realized it. Learn from my mistakes and don’t let the same thing happen to you.

And if Bruce Randolph from Concord approaches you for a photo shoot, I suggest you pass. Unless old dudes in banana hammocks drilling you with fucking machines in their garage is your thing, in which case more power to you.

Baby you look amazing! More nipple please

Princess Donna about to cattleprod me for my first time

Getting fisted for the very first time

I had heard of her, naturally. Anyone that was in any way interested in BDSM or fetish things had heard of Princess Donna. Her skill set with Topping, bottoming, directing, handling and rope was legendary and images of her devious self were strewn all over the kinky corners on the internet. But I never figured I would actually get to meet her, much less have the privilege of working with her.

I had been dabbling in fetish modeling off and on for years, nothing particularly serious, and it was on a throw away whim that I put in an application to Kink.com. I wasn’t really expecting to hear back from them, as I knew how many applications they got on a daily basis. Many of my friends had applied and never heard back. I was blown away when Kink.com contacted me less then a week later asking if I wanted to do a Wiredpussy.com shoot with the Princess. I had never done a video shoot before and couldn’t believe she actually wanted to work with me.

“Holy shit, really??? Um, yes please count me in!!!!” was the response I gave.

On the day I was booked to shoot I woke up early, mostly because I was too worked up to sleep properly. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning eagerly awaiting their chance to tear open all their presents in a frenzy of wrapping paper. Despite all the years I have now been doing modeling, I never ended up getting jaded. I still get that “nervous/excited/fluttery” feeling to this very day. Getting completely naked and vulnerable and cumming for the whole world to see and judge is a unique experience that you will never be able to grasp until you have tried it yourself.

Kink.com is located in an actual CASTLE, stretching a quarter of a block, 4 stories high and over a hundred rooms with a small river running through the basement level. It is like no other place in the world. The set department are constantly building and taking down sets so that rooms seem to shift, springing up and then vanishing overnight. Rope and floggers and shackles and ridiculously hot half naked people are everywhere as far as the eye can see. It is a kinky playground of the highest possible level.

I checked in with the talent department and filled out a check list of the activities I was willing to do with the Princess. I don’t think I checked a single “no” box on the list. You don’t say no to Princess Donna. Whatever she wanted to do to me, I was down. After being processed through the makeup and wardrobe departments I was ready to shoot. A friendly-faced PA showed up to take me down to the set where we were filming. I followed her, clad in a tiny white skirt and wearing the most makeup I had ever worn in my entire life.

The room was warm, verging on hot due to the giant lights set up everywhere that mercilessly chased away all shadows. Filming under bright lights on HD cameras gives you nowhere to hide and you can’t get away with skipping on shaving. I was sweating and we hadn’t even started yet. The oddest part of the set was the floor. Even though it looked like wood, it was actually some weird rubber that bounced back at you slightly with every step. And she was there, in black leggings and heels, dramatic smoky makeup and rocking some very impressive cleavage.

Her presence was intimidating, you can’t help but notice her when she is in the room. Even when she is simply standing your eye is drawn to her. She looked thoroughly and completely capable of fucking a bitch UP. We got the mandatory interview out of the way where we established our ground rules and then it was time for the action.

I was limp putty in her hands. It took her all of 2 seconds to establish control. I quickly found myself stripped naked and down on my hands and knees, while the Princess loomed above me, menacingly holding her trademark cattleprod. Cattleprods are terrifying. Anything designed to get a cow’s attention are brutal on significantly smaller human flesh.

“Now Rain”, said Princess Donna as she slid her small hands slowly up and down the length of the prod, “The rules of this game are very simple. I am going to hit you with this prod, and if you move by so much as an inch, this shoot is canceled and I am done with you. Do you understand me?” A slight smirk danced across her features and those hands continued to toy with the menacing red prod, teasing and confident.

“Yes Princess” I moaned as I crouched on the weird rubbery floor, my skinny ass jutting out waiting for the zap of the prod. The anticipation was the worst, not
knowing when it would land, the fear actually making me drool slightly as I concentrated on holding completely still…I wasn’t going to move, I could do this, how hard could it possibly be to hold still?

The jolt of the prod was like being kicked by a horse while being stung simultaneously by bees. I involuntarily lurched forward, pain crackling in all of the nerves in my ass. A short scream escaped my lips. I had failed and moved despite my very best efforts. I heard a disappointed sigh high above me.

“Rain Rain Rain, you can’t even follow the SIMPLEST instructions, can you? I wasn’t asking for much. Honestly, I can’t work with this. This shoot is over. Get your clothes on and get out. I am done with you.”

Though the pain of my throbbing ass, I realized I was being dismissed. I had NO idea that Kink was that strict with the models they worked with. I had obviously not make the grade. The humiliation of being kicked off set and failing Princess Donna was too much for me, and I started to cry, picking up my clothes and getting dressed with shaking hands. I had no idea what to do, was I supposed to go to the main office and inform them my shoot had been canceled? I walked two steps forward, my head down and eyes swimming with barely checked tears, when firm hands grabbed me by my hair and flung me down hard onto the weird rubbery floor.

“Where do you think you are going? I am not done with you! Get back here!” barked the Princess as she towered above me in her heels.

“I wasn’t dismissed? What was going on? I thought the shoot had just been canceled, I”…all thoughts abruptly left my head as Donna kneeled down and deftly slid one of those small hands into my never-before-fisted pussy, making me her muppet. It happened so quickly, one second I was staggering out of the room in tears, the next second I was impaled on her hand as she ripped an orgasm out of my lungs. I trashed about, grabbing the bouncy floor and screamed out to the rafters as I came all over her fist.

The rest of the shoot passed in a blur. I was zapped, mummified in plastic wrap and strap-on fucked silly. It was like being hit by a train. When I wasn’t cumming I was getting beat. When I wasn’t getting beat I was cumming. I couldn’t stop grinning, drifting in that marvelous floaty space a massive endorphin dump gives you. While I have done many more shoots since then, I will never forget Princess Donna taking my very first shoot cherry or my fisting cherry. I trust her so implicitly that later on in my career I ended up giving her my gangbang cherry and my IR cherry as well. Princess Donna gets ALL the cherries!!

Nancy Drew, George and Bess kidnapped and bound

I don’t take being a kinky person for granted. It isn’t enough for me to say, “Yeah, I am a kinkster, there you go” and leave it at that. I want to know all the whys and the wherefores, I want to unravel the puzzle and figure out what it is that makes me tick the the way I do.

And in thinking about what influences shaped me into the person that I am today, I realize that Nancy Drew actually had a fairly large hand in it. Yes, Nancy Drew. As a child, I *loved* the Nancy Drew series. I read every one of the books I could get my little hands on, and was continually raiding the local library for fresh material. Eventually my mother noticed I was plowing going through 3 or more of them in a single day. “Rain, I had no idea you were such a fast reader!” she would exclaim proudly, certain she had sired some super 8 year old genius child.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was only reading the good part in each book before casting it aside. I would flip open to the table of contents, locate the chapter where Nancy Drew gets kidnapped and tied up and eagerly read that chapter before moving on to the next book. Of course I was easily getting through 3 of them daily.

Nancy Drew seemed to have a hankering for rough trade. That nubile 16 year old girl spent a fair amount of her time getting repeatedly captured, kidnapped, tied up, chloroformed and choked out. This happened in almost every book and I would linger over the chapter, stewing in a muddle of “funny feelings” that my eight year old self couldn’t properly grasp. All I knew was that I really *really* liked that part of the book.

And don’t even get me started on the “Archie” comics. Those things were a training manual for poly relationships. Archie was dating both Betty and Veronica at the same time and I loved it. My favorite issues were the ones where a new girl would enter the picture and Betty and Veronica would join forces to drive her off because they didn’t want someone messing with their “their” man. The idea of sharing a man with another woman brought up those “funny feelings” again.

Looking at the path my life has taken, it all makes sense now. I think about these kind of “warning signs” that were letting me know who I am as a person before I even knew the words for it. Kinky people are BORN kinky, we can no more help it then a gay or transgender person can help being wired the way they are. Sure, a gay person could marry someone of the opposite sex, sire children and go through their life while quietly suffering and denying who they are, but they will always be gay underneath the denial. And a kinky person can put the kink on a shelf, go vanilla and tell themselves it doesn’t really matter.

But it DOES matter. You are denying who you are and will never truly be content in that vanilla situation that you are telling yourself is “good enough”. You will never be content until you accept who you are and how you are wired. I live my life exactly the way I want, with no shame or apologies to anyone, and I couldn’t be happier. Try it, I assure you it is highly recommended!