Milking the Mercenary
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Milking the Mercenary

 

Saturday through mid Monday morning’s debauchery, which ultimately led to discontentment with X had unraveled me. I was irked. In the town car that had shuttled me back to my hotel room, I sat there contemplating all I could do to redeem my crushed ego. As irritated as my vag jay-jay was I was emotionally more so. What could I possible do to piss him off more than he had me? Of course now that I am processing my anger I cannot even recall why I was so upset, typical me. I am egocentric and have been known to have a certain pompous attitude towards everything. If I do believe I am right and without a doubt, I will take full swing and never back down.

I dragged myself into the hotel lobby. Ugh! I hate how big these casino/ hotels can be sometimes, I just want to be back in the familiarity of my room. Random face-less blurs watching, pointing, staring as I scurry past them and towards the elevators. Once I retreated back into my room, I am instantaneously reassured by my precious (my preeee-cious) objects and garments scattered in disarray. I am obtuse and disorganized and it comforts me. I care not of your need to meticulously place things in certain order. This IS order for me. Dishevel and scattered; chaotically is how I live my life and chaos is comfort.

I immediately undress and draw a hot bath. Recharge my phone and play “hollow dolls” on audible and immerse my self-hate, sorrow, and unreasonable anger into the bath. My thoughts slowly drowning, my emotions melting away while sentences after paragraphs overtake my cognition with imaginative, drug-filled, sex enraged scenes. I am particularly fond of dysfunctional novels. They give me a sense of security, a notion my life is of normalcy. When the part with main character high on ecstasy, pleasures and defiles her best friend with a strap-on, I become consumed with lust and desire. Quick use of the interchangeable shower-head, an extremely lewd and salacious orgasm later, I am up and out of the bath.

8:30pm- Checked a few emails, IM’ed a few lewd-ers, gracefully glamorized my garments and after I did “my harrre” I skipped a-loo to Marquee. The crowd was combative and “anxiety” ridden. I spot a familiar face (Klist) working the front door tonight and jostled through the relentless crowd. Klist greeted and ushered me into the club. He then proceeded to give me a (V)ery (I)mportant (P)ussy type tour of the club. I have been to Marquee a few times but never had the “back door” access he (r-am)plified. After accompanying me for a quick drink the demands of being a VIP Director of blah-sy blah blah was a-calling. I took a few more shots and intoxicated my purrrring puss persona emerged. The lingering scent of Klist’s cologne trailed my sex kitten into a dark, debauched, dungeon of demonized desires. An obnoxious group of douche bags interrupted my fantasy with the usual lame ass pick-up lines. Although they DID have a Scottish accent that pestered at the puss, I wasn’t too impressed by their drunkenly strode and ill mannered temperament, thus curtsied and vanished into the crowd. Benny Benassi had DJ’d that night and the club was dense and the usual crowded mosh pit formed circling me straight out the door.

As I reached the outside patio/pool area I head straight for the bar. Flirted up a few gents, gaze-fucked a few eye-candid beauties and 6 shots of patron later I was undoubtedly wasted. I attempted an awkwardly drunk booty grind with some HOT ASS chicks. I most likely locked lips with one, or was it two? Oh shit! Yes! I engaged in a three way kiss, whilst trying to look luscious and photo-ready for the flashing cameras. (I wonder where THAT will end up…)

About 3:20am-ish I was tipsy and toddling back to the bar, almost falling into the pool before a tall, copper burnt, hazel eyed ravishing mercenary caught my fall. Only sweet baby Jesus knows what vision raping demon possessed me that night cause my beer goggles deceived me. I chatted up my heroic hunk and invited him back to my suite for a night-cap.

The events that took place after our departure from Marquee into the next morning transpired in this manner:

Indecently boisterous and rambunctious arm in arm we skipped, hopped, and skedaddled onto the elevators and up to my room.

Once I slide my key card and unlock the door he pranced on me like a wild baboon.

Mouth completely covering mines, deep throating his very bitter tongue with an immense amount of saliva. (I only pictured baboons lice picking and laughed)

He took that as a cue to rip; I mean the bastard literally tore off my brand spanking new Marc Jacobs baby-doll. I had to use my sewing machine for this 9 inch tear!

I was clearly annoyed, yet EARTH to Seth…wait was it Simon? Seth, yeah Seth still didn’t get the social cues and that is fucking hard to grasp since my cognition was developed WITHOUT those norms.

Still the baboon managed to “monkey” his way on top of me after shoving me with his almighty baboon force and climb on top of me.

I suppose I should have tossed his miniaturized banana and barbaric ass out then and there, yet a sadistic thought played in my mind.

I wrestled the fucker until I was able to straddle him. I teased him and grabbed my fuzzy hand cuffs and continued to cuff him to the bed. (just a bit difficult without bedpost)

I used my very posh, dark silk scarf and blindfolded him. I undressed him slowly and seductively. Banana nuts was rock hard and still it had been punitively pathetic.

I then leaped over to my twisted treasure chest, grabbed it warming lube and The Hulking— Oh yes she abso-fucking-lutely did!

Still completely out of my fucking mind drunk and my domineering alter-ego “Desiree” dictating. I strap-on, lubricated graciously and turned on the vibration gently rubbing the tip of Hulking around his genitals, whist conversing in the most raunchiest dialogue not even Satan himself would convey.

Balls tickled, taint rubbing then slowly down to his anus. Round and round and round the tip of Hulk rubs and the baboon is whoo-hoo ha-haing for some sort of simulation, I kept at this for another few minutes before I asked him if he wanted it, he panted and nodded with eager covet. So I gave him what he wanted.

I suppose I learned this from the 120+ volunteer hours at a spinal cord and brain trauma rehab, or somewhere along the medical courses. Who knows?! But I managed to milk the menacing monkey and that was satisfactory for me.

I fell asleep for a moment and got up at 5am and he was STILL in my room. I checked the blog and IM’ed a few friends just waiting for the poor fuck to awaken and leave. I fell asleep on my couch and when I woke up there was room service ordered and sprawled across my table with a dressed, cocked grimaced, horridly faced, short man sitting beside it. Withal, I tried to be hospitable and join him for breakfast but he HAD to open is fucking trap and moon over what a connection we had, how happy he was to finally have a real girlfriend and some bullshit about meeting his folks? Yeah HELL no! I kicked his ass out, called housekeeping for turnover service and crawling into bed and knocked the fuck out.

Two rules: 1) I don’t do breakfast. 2) I don’t do clingy and OMFG at least pay for room service NOT charge it to my room!!

 

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Jayde Onyx Lei

Blogger/Writer at Raw, Lewd & Indecent
Http://rawlewdindecent.com/about
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