Putting the Madge in Danna
By mia_erotica
Posted: 01 Feb 2010
Blog: PUTTING THE MADGE IN DANNA by Dannika Elinopoulous
JULY 16, 2009 8:30am
Madonna and I are on stage. We are performing a choreographed song and dance to "Vogue". We look super-duper sexy wearing matching bustiers that lace tightly to our tiny waistlines and hold up fishnet stockings. Our nipsey-russells are covered with titty ta-ta tassels and it feels very comfortable to move around in the retro Vivienne Westwood 5" stilettos. We face each other and I notice her bare pussy. Mine is the regular way; a tidy trimmed dark cunt cover.
Suddenly I feel compelled to fall to my knees and offer her bare mons a kiss. She holds my head against her hungry hooey and I lick it. I feel like I am licking the oracle of a deity. I worship her.
"Just get to it... Vogue," she raps.
Just get to it, I think. Lick the deep recesses of the hoo-ha and it will give you knowledge. I threw my tongue into its dark and dirty corridor, hoping to unleash its secrets. It is a powerful and seductive orifice, one that has seen a lot of action, one that probably knows how to accept any and all cock, tongue, kink, and fetish.
"Strike a pose," she says.
I drop down on my hands and knees, and wait like the bitch that I want to be.
"Teach me," I say, "Teach me how to be a better fucker."
Madonna dances around me as the audience applauds. I watch her sidle by. She is buckling on a belt of some sort, changing costumes I think. I look up. It is a leather belt with a gy-normous black rubber dildo attached.
"Everywhere you look it's heartache," she sings.
She stands behind me. She grabs the microphone snuggled behind my ear and slaps my ass with it. She starts a count and gets the fans involved.
"One... two... three... four... five... six!"
Her voice is loud and fills the venue. She shoves the mic inside my wet and juicy pinkie pinkerson. I hope I don't get electrocuted. No, electrified is more like it. Madonna has just presented me with a gift and I feel her fingers twiddling around before she dislodges them.
"Six fuckers. Get your fuck on, and then be free to live your life," she says.
"Tell me how, Madonna. Give me a kick in the ass."
Madonna kneels behind me and sticks it to me. The dildo is slick, slippery with lubricant that smells of patchouli oil. It bobs against my rose bud, tickling the tight opening, forcing it to open its anal gate. It hurts, but nothing in this world is easy, right? I only want Madonna's wisdom and it's coming into my back end. The bulbous head drives forward now and stretches the doorway for the rest.
"Open wide," she says, "and get the treatment reserved only for my special love. It's what I used to do to Guy, to all my guys."
I gasp as the fake cock fills my anal cavity and meets my rectum. It fills me up and makes me cry out.
"Madonna, Madonna!"
The strap-on pushes in deeper with Madonna's impressive thrust. It ekes out and it sounds like a giant fart. Mortified, I move my ass up a little higher, shifting so that my shoulders lay on the stage. My hands fumble with the tassels on my titty-titty-bang- bangs. I then shift my right hand to my clit and begin to masturbate. Now another thrust comes, and another, and soon I'm being fucked in the ass just like it's my hooey. My idol is giving me the kick in the ass I desire, the fuck I need.
"Who's the deity now? Me or Zeus?"
"You are Madonna," I say.
Madonna says, "Six fucks. That's all you'll need."
Last night I fucked Madonna. And then I woke up.
Comments: 0
JULY 17, 2009 9:00am
My name is Danna and I live in Schenectady, NY. I got the idea for this blog from that one about Julia Child and all that French cooking. Really? Women like to cook? No Greek woman with a father in the restaurant business bothers with that. Or cleaning for that matter. My future in-laws own a cleaning business. I know. I'm one lucky lady-bitch who will never cook or clean. That or I'm living in Fantasyland, I'm not sure which.
I do like the idea of following in my celebrity idol's footsteps. So, I decided to channel Madonna. Madonna's sex life to be exact. The dream convinced me. You see, Zeus is in Japan on business. He works for an engineering firm. He'll be away for six weeks. And in that time I plan to replicate sex acts with partners who parallel the significant men in Madonna's life.
I will blog each week to share with you strangers every lurid detail of what I hope will be an educational summer. I need this. I'm only twenty-three and I'm getting married at the end of August. Sunday, August 30th, 2009 to be exact. Mom seems to think that marriage is the beginning of my life, but come on! Everyone knows it's the end. The beginning of the end. I'll get fat. I'll get preggers and have an ungrateful baby. And if it's a boy he will get spoiled and turn into every other misogynist Greek man on the planet Earth.
Maybe not. Madonna has a son. A daughter, and a son, and a little black one to boot. I want to learn from her, to learn to be a better person, you know, a humanitarian and such. But most of all I want to learn to be a better fucker. I love Madonna. I know all the words to all of her songs. (I love to sing. In elementary school, my music teacher, Miss Lanu, said I had perfect pitch). And we have loads in common. O.K. so I'm not Italian but my old country is only a hop, skip and a jump from hers. I have brown hair that I have highlighted, and blue eyes when I wear my colored contacts. I exercise a lot (a little?). Oh, and like I said, my name is Dannika Elinopoulous. They call me Danna. Get it? Like Donna, and that's pretty close to Madonna, isn't it?
I've done a little research into Madonna's love/sex life and I've come up with a list of types of people I'll need to find, and fuck. Madonna moved to NYC right after high school to become a dancer. Somehow or other she ended up playing drums in a band. That led to some singing and songwriting and then into the arms of a record producer. I can't remember his name. But I'm pretty sure it's true. My heroine must have slept her way to the top, right? So I need to find myself a record producer and I actually know one. (More on that later).
Madonna had a highly publicized affair with Dennis Rodman, that big, black, tatted basketball star who had that freaky meltdown recently on "Celebrity Apprentice". Rodman once famously said that Madonna wanted to have his baby. Madonna also fucked her personal trainer, Carlos Leon, and produced Lourdes out of that union. So I'm pretty sure they were both important to her. Sandra Burnhardt, did she or didn't she? I'm not sure if I want to go gay in this blog, but what the hell; I did it in my dream, right? And what's good for Madonna can only make me stronger. Is that the saying?
I'm wondering if Madonna tried out the BDSM lifestyle. Those snapshots in that famous Sex picture book she sold looked kind of realistic, didn't they? And you know what? I'm getting married and I'm pretty sure I won't see any of that type of action if I don't seek it out Madonna style. Zeus might be named for the Greek God, but keep in mind he was raised with Eastern Orthodox conservatism.
Madonna was married twice, to Sean Penn, an actor, and Guy Ritchie, a director. But I can't do both. It's either one or the other, or someone who's both. Then that whole A-Rod thing... I don't know. Baseball's not really my sport. I get that it's all American and apple pie and all but, you know, those guys look fat in their dorky costumes. We'll see. If there's time.
O.K. I'm doing this whether you follow along or not, bloggers. I'm committed. But shush O.K.? Don't tell anybody because this is all on the down low. Fucking like Madonna? Now that's a blog.
Comments: 0
JULY 18, 2009 10:20am
O.K. so I've mapped out a list of types and I'm working on finding real men (and a woman) to be facsimiles to Madonna's lovers. The types are as follows:
1. the record producer
2. the black basketball star
3. the personal trainer
4. the lesbian
5. the Dom
6. the actor/director
Six weeks, six fucks. Am I up to the challenge? You bet!
Comments: 0
JULY 20, 2009 9:30am
Chad Mavis' band played at my high school prom senior year. It was the Chad Mavis Band. We all thought he would become wildly successful. He was hot, kind of like an American Mick Jagger circa 1968 -- lean, longish dark hair and a mouth that could swallow a cunt.
His career tanked. My guess is drugs and such. It's a shame he gave up so soon. I've only been out of high school for like five years. He obviously didn't believe in self-efficacy. Well, now he runs a tiny recording studio in Albany. It's mostly for vanity CDs, people willing to pay top dollar because in their minds they are the next American Idol. I suspect that Chad is a little like that himself. I'm sure he'd be flattered to have a groupie like me, right?
I have an appointment this Friday to meet with him. I'm using my wedding as a cover. You know, I'll say I'm thinking of having CDs made with our favorite music. Let the seduction begin.
Comments: 1
I'm an actor. Please fuck me.
Rob, NY, NY
JULY 24, 2009 6:00pm
I made first contact with Chad Mavis. (He looked the same, only now he has a goatee mustache combo and he's about twenty pounds heavier). I laid it on really thick. It started with my cover story, you know, about the music for my wedding. He showed me a sample of a tape he'd put together for some Russian couple. I think he had it in his head that all foreigners are interchangeable.
I said, "I'd like some Madonna for my processional, the older stuff, like "Crazy for You". Then I started singing it, a cappella. I looked into his eyes and just belted it out.
He said, "You sound amazing. Have you thought about singing it yourself?"
I said, "I don't know, isn't that kind of tacky?"
He said, "Why don't we lay a track down, see how you like it? I have an opening tomorrow."
I said, "Will that cost a lot?"
He said, "Maybe we can negotiate something that works for the both of us."
I said, "Do you take cunt currency?"
And that my friends, was that. We kissed. He kind of did this slobbering thing, like he was too excited or something. I let him fondle my titty-titty bang bangs a little, and then I said I had another appointment and I'd see him tomorrow. I need to groom up.
I am on my way.
Comments: 3
Why you are using Dannika's name for this vulgar writing? She is good girl.
Aunt Sofia, Toronto, Ont. Canada
Call me. I'm your guy, your actor guy. This isn't a joke.
Rob, NY, NY
I believe Madonna's record producer friend was Mark Kamins, who sent a copy of "Everybody" to Seymour Stein at Sire Records thus launching her career. She didn't fuck him as far as I know.
Antoinette, Little Rock, AK
JULY 25, 2009 8:00pm
You might want to have an Ouzo first before you read this entry, because liquor is the only thing that helped me after it happened.
My appointment with Chad Mavis was scheduled for noon today. But it was very difficult to shake Mrs. Zepkos, Zeus' mom. She wanted me to meet her at Zepkos Cleaners and then take me out shopping for sheets and towels. She kept me on the phone for hours. I promised to meet her tomorrow, which will give me time to wash the fuck off my other face.
I had barely enough time to dress for my first Madonna-like tryst. I wore the La Perla white lace bra with matching thong from my wedding trousseau, and strappy stone encrusted wedding shoes (hey, I have to break in my Jimmy Choos if I'm to do hours of folk dancing at my wedding, right?) The Kors sundress with the halter straps didn't cover the bra straps but that was the idea. I was my own version of "Like a Virgin".
I met Chad at 12:20pm. He looked like he was packing up for the day. I guess he'd thought I was just a tease.
I said, "Hi. Sorry I'm late, wedding stuff, you know."
He said, "You sure you want to get married? My wife and I barely have sex anymore."
I said, "Why not? Is there something wrong with your cock?"
He said, "Uh, no, she just lost interest." I thought, TMI alert. Should I abort the mission? There was an awkward silence as I digested his words.
Then he said, "So, do you want to try that song? I have the instrumental track set up. All you have to do is put on the headphones and then sing into the microphone."
I said, "O.K."
I tried to get comfortable on the stool he had there. I hiked up my dress so that my bare ass cheeks landed on the hard wood of the stool (he, he, get it? Hard wood?) I sang the song twice, which, I must admit, seemed kind of boring. I thought, why would anyone want to sing in rerun all the time? It's like -- sing, songbird, sing -- and you're supposed to hit the notes perfectly or get boo-ed off the stage. Madonna's been doing it for thirty years or so, longer than I have been alive. Wow. She's a real trouper.
I watched Chad manipulate the gadgets on the recording equipment. I couldn't tell if he liked my singing or not. Perhaps he'd created a poker face from years of pretending that he liked his client's singing. It's a living I guess.
I said, "You know, I bet I could hit the high note a little better if you came over here and tweaked my clit. I heard that was part of Madonna's regimen when she trained her voice for her role in 'Evita'."
Gee, I thought, he seemed so easily persuaded. I was obviously making that up. I'm not even sure he set the record button because he dashed over lickity-split. But, fuck, I wasn't really there to sing, right?
He came into the little recording booth and approached me from behind. I tried to pretend he wasn't there. I kept singing the ballad like I would if I was singing in the shower, I guess, because I wasn't really thinking about the lovely-dovey words. I knew them by heart. Chad put his arms around my waist and then his hands found my nips. He tried squeezing them but my halter-top kind of reined them in too much, you know? I reached for the left side zipper and started to undress myself. Too forward? WWMD, right?
Chad helped me lose the dress and I couldn't tell if he liked what he saw. But please! A twenty-three-year-old pseudo virgin in white lace and heels? I'm not bragging, but I could go toe-to-toe with Madonna (if only I had her work ethic, that is). I have a bit of a jiggle, but jiggle is good. It gives a guy some leverage. At least that's what my gyno, Martha Quirk, said once.
She also said, "Never say no. You never know when Tom Jones will be walking into your neighborhood (She's old, O.K.? Because I don't even know who Tom Jones is).
I love having my titty-ta-tas tweaked. (Tweaking in general is always a good thing). It sends like a telegraphic message to my uterus that an army is approaching and I need to send the secretion troops out to intercept and defend the Egg Queen.
Chad whispered into my ear, "Baby, you are hot." I was a little off-put. I didn't want his voice showing up on my recording. If my song was truly any good, I might actually play it at my wedding reception.
He moved his hands down my waist. He slid my thong aside and used his fingers to clamp my hoo-ha open, and simultaneously my voice hit that note. I've never sung so well. He rubbed me out and now it really felt like shower singing because I always did that to myself in there. And Zeus always complains that I'm using too much hot water. He's so practical.
Chad moved around to face me. He squatted down and kind of took in the whiff of sex emanating from my hooey. It was like one of those wine experts who sniff the liquor and then announce the fragrance -- fruity, nutty, etc. What would Chad say about my smell? I haven't been eating meat lately because I read that a cunt smells more lady-like on veggies alone. Would he say I smelled fresh or pungent? Hmm, he didn't say.
There was something so provocative about singing the words "I'm crazy for you -- you know it's true" while being prodded by a relative stranger. It made me think about Madonna again. Could she separate sex from emotion, like a guy could? I thought, then I could do it too.
Now, once I'd finished my third rendition of "Crazy for You", Chad rose and lifted me off the stool. Maybe he had weak knees or something because he didn't carry me around like Zeus does. He immediately put me down and I spread-eagled on the carpeted floor. I was so like a virgin circa Madonna 1980s at the VMAs!
He placed his pubic style goatee on my tidy mons and used his tongue to dart about my pink tunnel (Dr. Quirk says it's the pinkiest she's ever seen). He worked like he was getting paid to do it, sucking my lab lips and reaching deep inside. I was wrong. Chad didn't have a Mick Jagger face, it was more of a Steven Tyler thing, like the mouth you enter in the tunnel of love ride at the fair, you know? His tongue thrusted deep inside me, practically licking me dry I believe, like a tongue cock. I thought, doesn't his wife like this? It's pretty fucking great!
Once I was at the precipice of orgasm I decided to go after his cock. Because to me sex isn't sex without the presence of a clean healthy schlong. I jimmied my way to his zipper and slid it open. And I found that Chad's cock was only slightly erect. I touched it to pump it up a bit and then I pulled him down on top of me. He penetrated me and then he turned Mr. Softee. It felt like melted butter. Definitely weird, my friends. I forced it to go in again. I saw him frantically trying to slap it into form. He was doing this insane masturbating thing. But it was a no go.
I said, "Don't you like me?"
He said, "You're beautiful, Dannika."
I said, "Does this happen often?"
He said, "Not exactly... well... sometimes."
I said, "Well try harder. I need a cock to finish me off."
Then and this is where it gets weird, bloggers, he started crying! Like a pussy. I have known Zeus since church school when we were both eight years old, and I've never seen him cry.
Chad said, "I can't please you. I'm sorry." While he was bawling I got up and casually wiggled back into my dress.
I said, "Hey, no. It's totally cool. This was great. Thanks for the opportunity to cut the record. You did me a favor, not the other way around. Don't sweat it."
I gave him a pity kiss. I let him slobber my lips with my own cunt-drenched juices that were lingering on his. I tasted like robust sugary koulurakia cookies. After I left, I hoped it had been an amiable parting in his mind. I wouldn't want him to take a drug overdose, you know, off himself over it.
Tomorrow I'm headed to my future mother-in-law's. I should probably buy some cream colored towels when she takes me to Macy's. Something that hides cunt residue. I sure do leak a lot.
Comments: 5
The lesbian friend of Madonna's, Sandra Bernhard, did indeed have a relationship with Madonna. I bet you can't guess who was the top and who the bottom?
Shae Stewart, Long Beach, CA
Dannika, I'll be waiting for you at the Marriott in Times Square. August 29th. I'll give you the ride of your life. And you won't see a flaccid penis.
Rob, NY, NY
You may be a feisty Greek goddess but sexy you ain't!
Boxman, Inside-a-cunt, IL
This is all lies. May you get a gypsy curse for stealing my niece's identity!
Aunt Sofia, Toronto, Ont., Canada
When are you going to fuck the black guy? I'm on stand-by if you need me.
Tyrone, Atlanta, GA
JULY 26, 2009
Mrs. Zepkos does think I'm a virgin. I knew it. She made a weird comment while we were out buying sheets that we needed white sheets to "capture the essence of my chastity". What does she think Zeus and I have been doing for the last six months? We practically live together in my apartment. Technically, he lives with his parents. I guess he has them fooled.
Please don't misunderstand readers. Even though, you're probably thinking ZZ, Zeus Zepkos. Like he probably sleeps a lot because of the all the Zs. He doesn't, really. I love Zeus, I mean, this isn't about him, because he can get it up, no worries there. I've known him forever and, you know, our families have been close for generations. We look a lot alike: same big brown eyes, brown hair, same exotic Mediterranean flavor I guess. I wouldn't be surprised if we were related somehow. Crete is a relatively small island, right? I'll probably end up with one of those deformed incestuous style babies, missing forearms and such. Oh, I'll do the right thing and eventually get pregnant. The Zepkoses don't want me to just have a baby though; it must be a baby boy. They can be very demanding.
Oh, you guessed right. I'm not using birth control. Madonna wanted a United Colors of Benetton family way back when she fucked Dennis Rodman without birth control. And wasn't Carlos Leon a Latino? I wouldn't mind creating a mutt baby, aren't mutts healthier than purebreds anyhow? But I won't get pregnant, right? Gina at work can't seem to get pregnant and is going in for fertility treatments next week. It's not that easy to put a bun in the oven these days. And I seriously doubt that Mr. Softee was a threat, do you?
Later today, I'm driving up to the new health club that just opened in Rome, NY. It's a bit far but they are offering free training sessions. I'm sure I can find myself a suitable personal trainer (wink, wink).
Oh, yeah. And the linen department salesgirl at Macy's triggered my gaydar. I didn't really like those Martha Stewart sheets we picked. They didn't scream sexy newlyweds, and it's hard to wash cum off white sheets (these sheets had a do not use bleach label). Maybe I'll return them?
Comments: 3
Only an idiot wouldn't use birth control.
Dr. Nancy Godwin, M.D., Pittsburgh, PA
Don't be a fool, Pinkie. Use a condom.
Dr. Martha Quirk, Schenectady, NY
Room 1021 has been booked for August 29th. I will act as your lover, Dani.
Rob, NY, NY
JULY 31, 2009 11:30pm
I'm sorry I haven't blogged. I've been really busy with wedding plans. I had a bunch of thank you notes to write for all the gifts Zeus and I received at the bridal shower last month, and I had appointments with the florist, and I'm still working at the travel agency too...sorry, this is a sex blog not a bridezilla blog. I'm getting married in less than a month, and I still have five strangers to fuck before that happens.
I signed on for a free week at that health club, The Weight Loss Depot. I met Zeke Feathertoe. He's an Oneida Indian, a personal trainer, and part owner of the gym. I told him about my jiggle, said I wanted it reduced before my wedding. You and I both know I like my jiggle the way it is, right?
Zeke has a nice smile. He's got that long silky black hair and matching dark almond shaped eyes. He's in good shape. He plays lacrosse in an Indian league and they play without helmets. I think, like Carlos Leon, he is the perfect exercise man fuck. He's only twenty years old so it gives me the added bonus of being a cougar (meow!). I am so much like Madonna it is scary.
I've met Zeke every night this week. I don't get there until 8:00pm and since the gym closes at 9:00pm we have been alone in there after hours twice so far. Nothing has happened, just a little flirty-flirt. He seems really interested in my wedding plans and even more interested in my fascination with Madonna. He showed me a bunch of things I could do for my abs so that they could look more like Madonna's. Like earlier this evening, I was hanging off this bar with my armpits shoved into stinky fabric rings, and I had to lift my lower half up so that my body formed an L-shape. He made me do this like twenty-five times, I mean three sets of twenty-five. I was huffing, puffing, and then - and let me say thank God that no one else was there to see it - I had an orgasm!
I moaned loudly the way I do when I'm with Zeus, because he's so quiet that sometimes I think he's deaf.
Zeke said, "The equipment likes you too."
I said, "Funny." I could hardly be witty at a time like that.
He said, "Now you won't need your fiancé to take care of your sweaty little dreamcatcher."
I said, "Zeus is out of town. He's in Japan."
He said, "You're engaged to a deity?"
I said, "I guess, right?"
He said, "You know the name Feathertoe represents a long line of spiritual shaman."
I said, "What can you teach me, oh great one?" I know. Hey, what do you expect? I just had an orgasm for fuck's sake. But anyway, it worked. He's taking me to a local beach tomorrow night so that we can sit American Indian style... and fuck.
Comments: 5
Native Americans like a girl who can suck cock.
Bluejay Hawk, New York
Be careful, Danna, because Madonna got pregnant fucking her gym rat.
Julia Czardzinski, Minneapolis, MN
What is this foolishness? I call police. Identity theft is crime. Dannika good girl is.
Aunt Sofia, Toronto, Ont., Canada
Where's the brother fuck? Call me!
Tyrone, Atlanta, GA
It's no act. Aug. 29th. Marriott Hotel. Room 1021.
Rob, NY, NY
August 1, 2009 3:00am
I met Zeke at the gym at around 8:45pm. I was supposed to be there at 8:00pm but Zeus called from Japan. He said he wanted to hear my voice. He wanted to know what I was "up to". Naturally, I said I was up to no good and also up to my ears in wedding planning. I told him the G-rated version of my Madonna inspired recording-studio visit. And how I've lost five pounds from all the exercise I've been doing. He told me to go get another dress fitting, just in case my weight loss turned out to be significant. He also said something really funny. He called me Madannika! I really love him, despite what you may think. I am trying to be a better fucker for him. I don't want to be like Chad's wife, who no longer worships the cock she made for better and for worse vows with. I want to be as worldly as Madonna before I enter my union and that is why I fucked Zeke.
When Zeke saw me he said, "I thought you chickened out."
I said, "Why would I do that? I'm grateful that you are taking time out of your busy schedule to spend time with me. To pump me with your sufficient and all-powerful Indian lore. I want to catch your dreams."
I thought we were going to go to the beach, so I wore a gray cotton jersey sundress with my honeymoon bikini on underneath. It is an Ed Hardy design, red spandex with heart tatts sprinkled on the bra cups. I love tatts on my titty ta-tas. I said I thought we were headed for the beach because we didn't actually get there. The gym closed at 8:00pm on Saturday night, and so we were alone, and... .
Zeke said, "Are you going to use your dreamcatcher to catch my dreams, bride-girl? Because I want you to use your mouth as the vessel."
Zeke began to kiss me. He seemed to be sucking the life's blood out of me. I find it so fascinating how something as simple as a kiss can be so extremely... well different. I don't know how else to say it. When Zeus kisses me, I smell spearmint mostly, because he always chews gum. But sometimes his breath smells like roasted red peppers or baklava, you know, yummy things. Zeke's breath smelled like a cinnamon and tobacco combo. His kisses were dry but powerful, kind of like a soap opera kiss where the actors don't venture into French territory.
He led me over to the leg press and I sat in the reclined seat. He straddled me. Then he yanked off his warm-ups, the kind with the snaps on the sides, and they gave way. I mean it was like something I saw at the Chippendales show in Atlantic City during Gina's bachlorette party. His cock was throbbing, all dark and engorged. His dark skin and veiny manhood with its massive length had no girth. I mean zero girth. Is that weird? Maybe he hasn't grown into it yet? He's only twenty. I don't really know how that works.
I accepted the strange appendage into my mouth. I liked the way he looked at me doing it, like he respected me, you know? It kind of felt like sucking on a fat straw or swallowing a cigar though. I don't know. It wasn't anything like Zeus's cock. Zeke saw me grab the bottom of his shaft. I held it steady so I could give it stimulation while I sucked the head. I licked the native cock and tasted his musky pre-cum. Wow, I didn't think he'd go the distance, him being young and all. He moaned and squeezed his balls. He arched his back and I thought he'd banged it on the machine's footboard. It was like he went into a shaman's trance, like he wasn't even there. He held his eyes shut tightly. I moved my hand from side to side. My palm could hold the whole thickness. My fingers overlapped my thumb. I felt so happy for some reason clutching that skinny thing. It was effortless to suck Zeke off and I seemed to be good at it.
Suddenly he seemed absolutely hypnotized. He began to thrash like an epileptic. Zeke forced his long cock down my throat. It sat in my larynx and I couldn't breath. He swirled a bit and extricated then banged into my throat once again. My mouth wasn't catching dreams but nightmares. The pounding increased. WWMD? I think Madonna generously sucked cock. In none of my research did Madonna's lovers pan her fuck prowess. I took Zeke's cock for all it was worth. It would hardly bruise my jaw, as it looked the size of an extricated tampon, only much longer of course. I'd be fine.
The pounding persisted. I tried to grab hold of his balls and tickle his taint, to calm him, but his violent pumping blinded me and my mouth was gagged so extremely that I couldn't cry out to adjust the pace. I ended up passively accepting the peace pipe and smoked it of its juices. Zeke pulled back, clenched up, took a deep breath, and unloaded thick pus-style globs of cum into my mouth. It jettisoned from his cock like ribbon streamers. It seriously looked like the streamers I saw on-line the other day, the ones that you attach along with the "just married" sign to the back of a car.
I tried to swallow the cum because I read somewhere that it is a sign of respect, but it came at me so quickly, young spermatozoa filled cum, that it spilled out of my mouth and landed wet spots all over my dress. And you know what wet spots look like on gray, right? It looked like gooey sweat.
Zeke moved aside and helped me get up. He looked exhausted, like maybe he needed a nap.
I said, "Let me know when you are ready to launch dreams into my dreamcatcher."
He looked like a track-alete that'd just run the marathon. Breathing heavily, he smiled and started to say something. It was at that moment that a man entered the gym and gave Zeke the evil eye. It was his father.
Zeke went to speak with his older twin and when he returned Zeke said I had to leave. The show was over. Life is a mystery.
Comments: 5
Now I know this is real. I knew it. I told you, didn't I?
Bluejay Hawk, New York
Madonna was in love with Carlos Leon. They had a relationship. He wasn't just a blowjob, you bitch.
Maria-Elena, Brooklyn, NY
If you really want to learn, Dani, you'll meet me. I fucked Madonna and I'll fuck you the same way.
Rob, NY, NY
It wasn't the Chippendales, Danna, it was the Manhattan troupe, remember?
Gina, Schenectady, NY
This is the best blog I've read besides my own. Let the muff diving commence!
Rosie, Miami, FL
August 4, 2009 9:00pm
I went back to Macy's tonight to return the sheets. I thought, for sure I'd see the gay salesgirl there. What was I thinking? It's true that like Madonna, my life's trajectory has been positively successful so I guess I thought my blog-mission would take on this magical voyage type of aura. I had planned to ask her on a girl date, ply her with drinks and get her to lick my cunt, maybe she could strap one on and fuck my hoo-ha silly. Are lesbians as easy to persuade into the sack as guys? I don't know.
I had extra time so instead of waiting until tomorrow night I headed over to Jasmine's for my wedding gown fitting. Jasmine wasn't there. They had apparently just hired a thirty-something blonde from Poland to do the fitting. Margot was thin, pretty, and she spoke in broken English. Since I too speak B.E., I had no problem with it. Many people who attend St. George's are off the boaters, you know? B.E. is a necessity because I'm not exactly bilingual. Greek's hard to learn.
We were in the back of the shop so it wasn't a big deal to slip out of my skinny jeans and designer peasant top. I slipped the Candies leather mules back on my feet. I needed heels for my dress and I forgot to bring the Choos. Since my gown has a built in padded bra I removed my own and stood there in just the mules and a red thong. My nipsey-russells felt the cool breeze of the air conditioning and stood erect. Good girls. Margot brought out my dress. It is an Alexandre, a new designer out of Canada that my aunt knows personally. I could hardly get the kind of dress I really wanted, slinky sleek ivory silk that would look amazing with my olive skin and allow my tit-tats the freedom to nip out all day and night. Instead, the Alexandre gown is white chiffon, with a Schiffli lace bodice padded up, and with a lacing at the bust like a footballer's uniform. There is a lot of Swarovski crystal trim around the seams too. I'm wearing it to please my mother, because my parents are spending loads of money to see their only daughter get married. I'm like their princess and I want them to be proud of me.
Margot helped me into the gown like my lady-in-waiting. She was so careful with it, the opposite of Jasmine. I think it was because Jasmine works with dresses all the time and knows how much the cloth can take, especially a polyester blend. Margot, being new, acted like someone had woven the material of the finest Milanese silk.
She said, "Oh, it is bu-ti-ful. You are most bu-ti-ful bride, Misses Eli-op-plis."
I said, "It's Elinopoulous, Margot, soon to be Zepkos. But call me Danna."
She said, "Danna bu-ti-ful, elegant bride."
I said, "Are you married?"
She said, "I don't like-um man."
I said, "You don't like men? Are you gay?"
She said, "Gay, ya ya, gay I am." Margot proceeded to pin the bodice around my tummy. It was actually a smidgen too loose.
I said, "How do you like it?"
Then I kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like hair, like she didn't wash it everyday. The kiss startled Margot. She jumped and the pin hit my tummy-tum-tum. Yikes, that smarted. No blood drawn, thank God. Margot cocked her head when she looked at me. She was probably, like the others, wondering why I was getting married. She climbed up on the podium so that we were eye to eye. She had pins in her mouth; otherwise, I would have kissed her lips. She continued the adjustments, pinning the cap sleeve a little, making it move with me the way I wanted it before and couldn't get Jasmine to do.
She said, "We finish."
Margot helped me out of the dress, just in case a stray pin actually hit a vein. Blood is hard to wash out of white, blood and cum, as I mentioned before.
I said, "Do you like what you see?" I pinched my girls so they could give a proper greeting. Margot reached to touch them and she reminded me of a poor little girl holding a doll in a store and wishing she could take it home. I was that doll. I began to wonder if Margot would make an acceptable lesbian trophy for my Madonna adventure. Because I needed someone to guide me, not the other way around.
She said, "You come back Friday, and we try dress again, O.K.?"
I said, "O.K., Friday. Should I bring my Choos?"
She said, "I bring everything."
So, you see my friends, Madonna guides me well. I better not fuck this up because my only hoo-ha to hooey experience resides in a dream. What is sex sans cock? I guess I'll find out Friday night.
Comments: 2
Whoo-hoo and what do you know? The Cretan is a lesbo! This trumps crafting any day of the week.
Rosie, Miami, FL
I think I love you. Scratch that. I do love you.
Rob, NY, NY
August 8, 2009 noon
I woke up in someone else's bed this morning. It was disorienting to say the least. I'm quite sure it will take me all day to recover from this hangover. Zeus called, wouldn't you know it? And I wasn't home, and I feel a panic attack coming on thinking I have no way to explain my absence. (I don't carry a cell for the obvious reason that I don't want Mama Zepkos hounding me minute by minute). He left a message, said that his parents are planning a rehearsal dinner on Friday the 28th, so that he can go on with his bachelor party plans in the city on Saturday night. That's fine. I trust Zeus. He has incredible integrity, about as much as my dad does, and that's a lot.
I met Margot at Jasmine's. The Alexandre gown looked spectacular on me, if I do say so myself. Despite my preference for something sexier it is a suitable and appropriate garment for the Orthodox Church and for the reception at Eli's, the banquet hall Dad owns. Margot mentioned one more fitting, set for next Thursday, and then I would take the dress home, that is, home to Mom and Dad's, because that's where I'll be getting dressed for my big fat Greek wedding.
Margot and I went to Tully's because Margot wanted to watch some World Cup soccer game. I used my credit card to buy the drinks, beer for me and seltzer water for Margot. I tend to drink beer at sports bars. Let the venue fit the alcoholic beverage I always say and Tully's wasn't exactly Ouzo country. I got bored. I didn't want to watch a fucking soccer game because that's what I do every piss-fuck Sunday afternoon with Zeus when Zeus isn't actually playing a pick-up game with his college buddies or, you know, in Japan. I got wasted. I plied myself with drinks. Isn't that what gay people did? I mean closeted gays, naturally. I heard they tended to drink a lot due to their extreme shame for liking same sex couplings so much. Or was that just dudes? I don't know. My apologies to any of you closeted gays out there for my ignorance.
Margot helped me into her car. I was borderline pukish. Her little Hyundai sputtered about and almost stalled a couple times. I think she didn't do well with stick shift. I imagine that's because it is a phallic symbol. What do you think? Margot lived in a studio apartment above a bakery. The smell of hot Italian bread soothed my queasy stomach. She had a futon for a bed, a coffee table, and two end tables that looked like they were purchased from a little old lady's estate sale. There was a kitchenette and a sewing table with an old black Singer sewing machine on it, and a stool to sit on. It looked like a drab tenement apartment from 1920s Manhattan, real dreary. I kind of felt sorry for her. It reminded me of the time Madonna did that reality show on VH-1 (I saw it on the Internet) where with cameras in tow she visited a former slum she'd lived in and these poor pathetic people were living there. I felt sorry for them too. Madonna was trying to illustrate how far she'd come while those people were currently nowhere.
I said, "Thank you for sharing a little piece of yourself with me, Margot."
She said, "I thank you for giving me piece of ass."
I said, "Huh?"
Margot pushed me down on the bed and began to investigate my facial orifice with her soft lady's lips. Zeus isn't that hairy, of course, but wow! It felt amazing to kiss lips that were attached to soft skin. There was no shame in this. After all, the Greeks invented lesbians, didn't they? Didn't they come from the Isle of Lesbos? I felt like it was my birthright to take this journey. I came up for air and gazed at my homo-instructor. I never noticed before how much my Polish wife resembled Madonna. The short blonde hair and blue eyes with a hint of wrinkle around them, probably from squinting to see a thread go through the eye of a needle. My seamstress looked at me with a sort of fondness that made me feel good. I was helping her as much as she was helping me.
Thank you, Madonna for guiding me, I thought. I lay like a baby in Margot's arms. She undressed me and began the dance to orgasm. She touched my nip-naps like she was touching herself. Not breast exam like, mind you, but tender and gentle. Her mouth clasped onto the right one. It felt so nice and soft, no beard stubble to scratch them up. She licked like she was searching for the summit, in swirls. Now she tweaked its twin, gathering the nip between thumb and forefinger, which necessitated a gy-normous moan from me. A drivel of pre-cum leaked down the corridor of my waterslide. I hoped that Margot had a second set of sheets because I was going to leave a wet spot for sure. Margot changed positions like a ballerina. She placed a hand on each breast and then stretched out, moving her face to my mons. She nibbled at the loose skin there and I screamed out.
I wanted to get up and leave. It felt like a puppy bite on my privates. But Margot restrained me via vise grips on my titty-ta-tas. I became her prisoner. She began to suckle my cunt in earnest, taunting me with her lady-like tenderness and her poor, pathetic alien in New York passion. We locked lips again with more pressure this time. With my eyes closed, I started to imagine my Madonna dream. Is this what it felt like? In my dream Madonna touched me like a man, rough and tumble and such. But this pseudo Madonna felt yum-yummy. My body felt sensational. I mean I felt new pleasurable tingles in places no tingle has ever lingered. Like she liked to lick the nubby tickly part of my clit, the part I like to touch when I'm in the shower and the part Zeus has yet to discover. But he has plenty of time to learn. My great grandparents are still alive in the old country and so is his yaya. We will have a long life together to understand each other inside and out.
While my mind conjured Zeus, Margot reached into the endtable drawer and pulled out a vibrator. Ew, I thought, she better not use that on me. Is it even clean? But the drunken part of me reminded myself that it is impolite to make demands when you are a guest in another person's home. I passively awaited my fate. Dr. Quirk could handle any gyno emergency. She told me. She's seen it all.
In went the pink device, dissolving into the wetness of my pinkiest pinkerson of a pussy. Oo-la-la! It felt super deluxe good. I've never used a vibrator because my own hand was always sufficient, you know? Plus when a twenty-three-year-old cock sleeps in your bed, you can have sex like five times a night, you know, two short blasts, two of medium duration, and then a long lingering fuck-a-doo, complete with snuggles and I love yous and that ever super delicious looking into each other's googly eyes and saying more I love yous. I know, we are toxic. Oh, I love Zeus so much, I thought, as this strange foreign woman pelted my cunt with thrusts from a fake cock.
Honestly, I don't remember what happened next. I remember laughing a lot. Sex is supposed to be fun, and Zeus and I laugh all the time. But I think Margot thought I was mocking her somehow, because she didn't seem amused. I vaguely remember getting a hold of the pink toy and shoving it into her mouth. I thought she'd like to suck my juices off of it, yum-yum. But I heard her moaning, like maybe she couldn't breathe. All this drunken lesbian sex pooped me out so I turned to the side (I'm a side sleeper) and let the sandman work his magic.
At the time, I thought Margot was singing me a lullaby, but the more I think back on it, the more I think maybe she was screaming at me. It sort of sounded like the combined whine of the adults on the Peanuts cartoons. I woke up with that vibrator plugging about an inch of my asshole. Ew. I farted it out though so no biggie. I hope she cleans it before she uses it again. Margot left me a note.
"Tank you for try to be for sex. Now get marry and be happy."
Three down and three to go, my friends. I know where to find me a black guy, but a Dom? An actor? I really hope this all works out. I'm on a time crunch and I don't want to fail Madonna.
Comments: 3
Madge has been reading your blog. A-Rod was just a friend. And her gay quest was just as experimental as yours.
Rosie, Miami, FL
I am part of the BDSM community and can hook you up.
Ladybelle Mestopheles, Long Island, NY
I sorry you no like sex.
Margot, Rensselaer, NY
August 11, 2009 4:30pm
Irv Goldrodblum is my florist. He does all the Greek weddings. The shop is called Flower Power and is located in Troy, NY. Irv specializes in South American roses but he also grows a lot of his own flowers in the big greenhouse on the other side of the parking lot. In a Greek wedding there is a lot of binding hands together, and puttering around a table, and freakishly horrific candle accidents. All sorts of impending disasters and all to the tune of archaic singsong. I had this idea that I didn't want to carry a bouquet, because it would be in the way. Why pay hundreds of dollars for flowers your first bridesmaid ends up holding? I'm having Irv do a wrist corsage for all the ladies in the wedding party. Mine will have a green orchid with dark red flecks, a rose, and two Gerber daisies. Does that sound pretty or do you think it's tacky? The last time I went to see Irv he and I discussed the designs. He said he would make up samples for the corsages and the boutonnieres.
So today, I took a half-day at work because I needed to see Dr. Quirk too. I arrived at Flower Power on schedule, right after lunch. I love-love-love my corsage! The colors are so summery, all seafoam green, deep red in the orchid, delicate red-orange Gerber daisies, and a cream colored rose that looks like velvet cum. My koumbara's corsage is a smidgen different... . Oops, let me tuck that bridezilla back in.
Like Madonna, Irv is a humanitarian. He and his partner, David, adopted their son, Kai, from an orphanage in Malawi. Kai plays hoops at Siena College. At 6'7", he's one of the taller players. Irv is very proud of Kai. Not only is he a top athlete but he also knows his way around the flower shop. Naturally, I was hoping to see him today. As luck would have it, Irv forgot to prepare the boutonnieres so I'm returning on Thursday, Irv's day off. Kai will be there in his place! Kai has no tatts, he's a Jew after all, but he'll do just fine. Kai Golrodblum, do you see the rod in there, you know, as in Rodman?
Comments: 5
This is so hot baby.
Smitty, Austin, TX
This kid better not be a fruit!
Tyrone, Atlanta, GA
Madannika, take a bow! At don't forget to meet me at the Marriott.
Rob, NY, NY
You are a stupid bitch.
Anonymous
Your flowers sound nice.
Angela Ballins, Conway, SC
August 14, 2009 9:00am
I had dinner with Mom and Dad on Wednesday night. You should see all the loot we've received, you know, wedding presents that have been delivered to my parents' house. They are arriving from all over the world, Canada, Australia, and Greece and such. Getting married is like being on a game show because you leave with fabulous gifts and prizes. Naturally, the best part is that you picked them out yourself. It is quite a racket I must say. I sorted through some of the stuff, like things I could use right now. My Auntie Thalia actually bought us that plasma television we wanted. Zeus and I only put it on the wedding gift registry for kicks. But Auntie Thalia used to be married to a Hollywood director and she got loads in the divorce settlement. Yee-ha!
Dad grilled lamb shish ka-bobs so you know I didn't eat much, just rice and some of the vegetables. Lamb smells like dirty feet and I don't want my hoo-ha smelling like that, especially not on my wedding night, right?
And speaking of feet... . You know it always amazes me to find out that the most normal looking person in the world could have a quirk, you know? Take Kai for example.
I was late again as usual, late for my Thursday evening appointment at Flower Power. It's getting really busy at the travel agency. Everybody wants to know the hottest locales for honeymoons and we are already booking for 2012, believe it or not, you know, for the end of the world and such. Zeus and I aren't going to Greece because we go there all the time. I got us a deal to spend a week in Grand Cayman. Sweet! I was reconfirming our flight in between dealing with a few irate customers who'd lost their luggage on a cruise I'd booked for them. But Mrs. Ogstasban kept yelling at me and I could feel my hoo-ha moisten from the upset. I finally worked it out, using my very capable broken English, that I would help put her in touch with the cruise line, and was finally able to hang up. Before leaving to meet Kai, I stopped at the bathroom. The moistness in my nether region was my red friend. I got my period.
Kai had the boutonnieres ready. He was standing behind the counter when I walked in.
I said, "Hi, you must be Kai. I'm Dannika Elinopoulous."
He said, "Yeah, I know, I've been waiting for you." He seemed irate too. What was the deal with all this negativity today?
I said, "I'm super-duper collossally sorry, and Toto too."
He said, "What the fuck did you just say?"
I said, "You just said fuck in the presence of a lady."
He said, "Oh, woops."
I said, "Do you want to fuck? And I love the boutonnieres by the way."
He said, "What did you say?"
I said, "I said I-LOVE-THE-BOUTONNIERES." I thought that maybe he was deaf, right?
He said, "No, before that. Did you just offer to fuck me?"
I said, "I sure did."
We looked at each other for a very long period of time. It was like tension in a soap opera when two characters have been separated for ages and they are finally going to be together you think, and you are rooting for them and such. I sure do love my stories. He slid up and over the counter with a basketball star whoosh. He picked me up like a bride to be or a dead baby, I'm not sure which, and whisked me off to the greenhouse at the end of the parking lot.
He set me down on the metal table where Irv cuts the flower stems and readies them for bouquets and such. I was wearing an easy on easy off DVF wrap dress and my trusty Candies mules. The mules slid off my feet because I was letting my legs swing back and forth from excitement. He began to massage my right foot. Boy, he was good at it.
He said, "You like that?"
I just nodded. I swung my other leg up and placed my tootsies up to his nose. It seemed funny and I think sex should be fun. I started laughing the way I do when I'm with Zeus.
He said, "What's the matter?"
I said, "You're tickling me." He was too. He tickled my right foot and I burst into giggles. Then a little more forcefully he grabbed my left foot and shoved my tootsies in his mouth. And he started sucking them. I wondered if they felt like little cock digits in there. He seemed to like my left foot a lot. It was pretty fucking sexy, I must say. He sucked them eeny-meeny-miney-moe style. Did he think I was a tiger? After all, I was a cougar to him. That still makes me laugh, I'm sorry. Catch a cougar by the toe. I literally laughed all the way home.
He's only a giant sized college kid, almost a foot taller than Zeus is. Zeus is only 5' 10" tall but he's really the perfect size for me. We are nearly the same height when I wear my Choos and he fits comfortably in my (soon to be our) bed. Because I like a bed with a headboard and a footboard. I wouldn't want to sleep with a guy whose feet dangled off the edge of the bed like a Lurch.
This tootsie suck lasted a while, that is until he mastered the switch and then my right foot entered his giant African orifice. I was afraid to look at my toes. What if they'd gotten all blue and hickey like? Zeus has given me some pretty impressive hickeys in private spots. Thank God he's not in town this month to muck me up before the wedding, right? I ventured a look-see at my tootsies and they just looked a little wet and shriveled up, no biggie.
I said, "Me like-y."
He continued for like a million years/twenty minutes.
I said, "This feels so good but I need a cock to finish me off. You know, in my hoo-ha."
He said, "Where?"
I said, "You know, My C.U.N.T. My hoo-ha."
Kai spread my legs about a shoulder's width apart. Then he cupped my booty with his giant hands and pulled down the leopard print panties I wore for my cougar adventure. He put nose to the grindstone and then aborted his mission.
He said, "What's this I smell? You on the rag?"
I said, "Indeedy-do. Why, is that a problem for a big, strong man like you?"
He said, "It is, actually. Mini-Kai don't play that."
I said, "What do you mean?" I bent over like a yoga swami to perform my own nasal inspection. It just smelled like wet cookie to me.
He said, "Mini-Kai NO-LIKEY raggy cunt."
I said, "Oh, well, sorry. It's just a part of nature. Zeus loves to blast his cock into my pink playhouse during this time of the month. It's our favorite, mine especially, because it helps with the cramps."
He said, "TMI alert."
I know, right? Ug-a-bug, WWMD?
Comments: 5
You are extremely blunt, young lady.
Sir Isaac Weston, London, UK
Try again. You'll never go back.
Tyrone, Atlanta, GA
I'm going to take you deeper and deeper, my love.
Rob, NY, NY
I love a good toe sucking.
Anonymous
Kai doesn't know what he's bloody missing. I love to put my cock in a tight menstruating pussy.
R. Jeffries, Sherman Oaks, CA
August 16, 2009 4:00am
Madonna and I are sharing the luxurious bathtub in my parents' master bedroom. It is a spa tub with water jets that can make you cum if you position yourself correctly. I am soaping up Madonna's nipsey-russells and she is doing the same to my titty-ta-tas. She looks really good for a woman over fifty. Today is her birthday, you know. She's officially fifty-one. She is a Leo, a lioness, and I am her cougar cubbie. Not really, of course, because Zeus and I are the same age. I'm only a cougar sometimes, when I fuck Madonna-style.
Come to think of it, Madonna looks better than my mom who's only forty-eight. But I think Madonna is a little too skinny. A man wants to see a bit of jiggle in the tummy because it shows that a woman is fertile. I saw that on a sex show on the Discovery Channel. No, really. It's science.
Madonna and I start kissing, and I feel like Brittany Spears and Christina Aguilera all rolled up into one. My nip-naps are turning into conical cones like in a Gaultier bustier from all the manipulation. Hers look exactly the same. Madonna can take the pull. Ooh-la-la, I could cum just from this. I love having my titty-titty bang bangs tweaked!
Her lips are soft but she's a rough and tumble aggressive kisser, like a dude. I slide backwards from the pressure and fall under the bubbles. Madonna pulls me by my just washed hair and rescues me from the deep.
I say, "You saved me, Madonna. You're saving me now."
She says, "You're doing well, only two to go."
I say, "But Madonna, where am I supposed to find a Dom? That's way too kinky for Schenectady. And I don't think I want, you know, to get forty lashes or whatever. That won't look good with a wedding gown."
She says, "I fucked a slew of men in my day. Last night I dreamt of... ."
I interrupt thinking, I'm finishing her sentence. Zeus and I finish each other's sentences all the time.
"San Pedro?"
She says, "I dreamt of Basquiat."
I say, "The artist?"
And then I woke up.
Comments: 1
Madonna likes to fart in the tub.
SP, LA, CA
August 17, 2009 10:00pm
That dream put everything into perspective. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, bloggers. Because I changed my mind. I'm crossing off the kinky Dom experience. It's just too hard and scary, right? Are you with me? I'm going to find somebody else. I'm going to fuck an artist.
Comments: 0
August 18, 2009 1:00pm
I was thinking about getting Zeus a special gift for our wedding. An artsy-fartsy photographer just set up shop in Rye, NY. His name is Ford Jitzu and he specializes in nude portraiture. Yes, I think it's a good idea to have myself photographed in my buffy buffington, right? Because if Zeus has to travel to Japan again or you know, sometimes he heads upstate for those stupid rafting outings on the Pulaski river, and he's gone overnight. He needs that photograph under his pillow so that the sandman can supply him with sexy sexerton dreams of his nudie beloved.
I've made an appointment with Ford Jitzu for Friday morning. Look, my friends, this is all on the down low, mum it, because I'm going to be sick. I can't take any more personal days because it's so close to my wedding, you know? And this is the only appointment I could get. I'm on a tight schedule as you all know.
Comments: 4
You are my ray of light.
Rob, NY, NY
Open your heart to Zeus. He's the only man you need.
Nonni, USA & UK
I spit on you, three times and then it go in your eye.
Aunt Sofia, Toronto, Ont., Canada
It seems to me that you have everything you need in Zeus. Why do you need something else to remember?
Kathy Melinos, Tarpon Springs, FL
August 22, 2009
Evidently, all artists are not created equal. Jean-Michel Basquiat was the son of two normal, middle class parents. But for some reason, he preferred to live in a box instead of a nice house. Yeah, he lived in a fucking box in NYC, back in the 1980s. He became a famous painter and then blew all his money on blow. And then he shot himself up with heroin. Basquiat fucked Madonna and then he died.
Ford Jitzu's studio is located in a dilapidated row of buildings the city plans to renovate and make into artsy-fartsy land. He just relocated from Brooklyn where he lost a battle with his landlord over a rent-controlled apartment. His place out in Rye is basically skank central on the outside but really pristine on the inside. There are no windows and so it feels very private, and that's a good thing because I was about to get nakee-do in there.
He greeted me at the door. Short, balding and about thirty-five years old I was sure I'd seen him somewhere before, and then it hit me. He looked like a Japanese Pillsbury doughboy, only human, you know? I kind of liked that because it made me think of all the yum-yummies I have been avoiding so that I can fit into that Alexandre gown I've had altered a million and three times. But once the wedding is over the losing battle of the bulge will commence, and I will eat any and all Pillsbury treats. I told you that before, bloggers, right, that I'm prepared to get fat.
He said, "What kind of photographs did you have in mind for this photo shoot?"
I said, "Oh, you know, those of the naked variety." I whispered the naked part.
He said, "Yes, that's my specialty. Why don't you look through some of these lookbooks and we can have a better idea of your interests."
I perused his photo books while Ford Jitzu sat next to me on the black leather futon. I got the
of big, hairy, and chunky men dressed as bikers except for their massive thick cocks. Those were exposed save for a large gold ring constricting the poor defenseless pulsating members. I'm using the plural because two enormous black leather portfolios had been filled with cock ring party time. Where were all the women?
I said, "Maybe I should let you decide, since I can see that you are not merely a photographer but a true artist. Here, I'll just take my clothes off so that you can have a look-see."
I continued blabbering while I removed my lucky green gauze mini-dress. I didn't bother wearing undergarments because, you know, I didn't know how sanitary it would be. What if I left them on the futon couch and they picked up some nasty snatch disease or something? I talked about my plan to surprise Zeus with this picture for our wedding and how it would be fun to capture my essence and what not. I talked about a lot of things including my interest in Madonna.
He said, "My aren't we lovely?'
I said, "Thanks. Thank you. I've been working out. What do you think of my ass?" I turned and shoved it in his face. And then I saw a photograph in the open book that captured my attention. It was of a very lean girl wearing a strap-on and it reminded me of my dream.
I said, "Oh, my God, that's it."
A little while later, I was decked out in a black leather motorcycle cap and black over-the-knee boots and wearing thick black eyeliner, false eyelashes, and bright red lipstick. The only other item in my wardrobe was a big, black dildo attached to a leather belt that went around my hips. Ford placed me in front of a sort of "Easy Rider" motif, like a desert type backdrop with a shiny motorcycle prop to kneel on. We listened to retro Madonna from "Ray of Light" while he paparazzoed me from every angle. This continued for nearly an hour. I needed to make a transition to sex, somehow.
I said, "You know I had a dream that I was making love to Madonna like this. Well she was wearing this type of cock contraption and I was getting it in the ass."
He said, "Why don't you show me. You be Madonna, and I'll be you."
I said, "Uh, O.K." That is not how I had envisioned it, my friends.
Ford Jitzu yanked off his khakis and removed his yellow banana hammock. He revealed a hard-on, do you believe it? I know, I'm not gay savvy. I didn't know that the guy that gets it in the ass has a hard-on too. I guess that makes sense though. Plus I was flattered that he got it up for me, right? He went into his back room and retrieved a small bottle of KY.
He said, "Lube me up."
Are you sitting down with a full bottle of ouzo? Good.
I slathered the KY on my whole hand. I clearly did not know what the hell I was doing. Then I popped a finger into his bunghole. Wow, you should have heard him moan! Then I boldly added two more fingers because I didn't think it was greasy enough. I mean, that dildo was a lot bigger in real life than it looked in my dream. I wonder if Kai Goldrodblum's cock is that big. Of course, I didn't get to see it because he was repulsed by my Mother Nature's blood.
It was weirdly erotic watching the dough boys asshole stretch. He could have the biggest fucking bowel movement in America with that thing. I steadied him against my giant man-part and squeegeed inside. At first, it didn't budge. I kind of had to thrust my hips. It was a lot of work and I started feeling empathy for Zeus, especially when we're playing our kinky games where he's an intruder and he's thrown me down on the bed and he's raping me and such. Good times.
I saw a picture in a tabloid of Madonna and Guy Ritchie, and she was holding a recently purchased device like the one I used on Ford. I kept that vision in my mind. Madonna does this, you know? I glided in and used my tummy-tum-tum muscles to withdraw, and then, summoning all my strength I did it again and again. Ford sounded in agony, but I think that was just his style of moaning. Everybody's different I suppose. He masturbated his cock like crazy.
I said, "I'm fucking you in your ass."
That did it. He shot his load and it hit the tripod. Ew.
I said, "I need a cock to finish me off, you know, in my hoo-ha."
He said, "Good luck with that."
Like I said, all artists are not created equal. Madonna found a drugged out hetero one with a functioning cock, and I got to use a rubber shaft. Some seduction.
Comments: 3
Jean-Michel Basquiat was one of the most prolific artists of the 1980s. He was an inspiration to many of his contemporaries including the great Andy Warhol.
Dr. Mark Cole, Ph.D., University College, Rockville, MD
Basquiat was a dear, sweet man.
Nonni, USA & UK
You will live to tell the tale of our tryst at the Marriott Hotel. You won't have to act like you like it. No toys. Just you, me, and hot sex.
Rob, NY, NY
August 23, 2009 3:00pm
I am getting married in exactly one fucking supercalifragilistic week. Zeus will be home on Thursday. Thank you all, for generously commenting on my blog. Your support means a lot. And Rob, I may have to take you up on your offer. I'm running out of time.
Comments: 1
I'll be waiting at 11:30pm to fuck you senseless.
Rob, NY, NY
August 27, 2009 10:30pm
Zeus is home. He doesn't suspect a thing.
Comments: 2
This is so exciting!
Rosie, Miami, FL
Good luck, Danna.
K. Migillicutty, Providence, RI
August 29, 2009 2:00am
We had the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner. One of the best parts of a Greek wedding is that you don't really know what the priest is saying. I prefer this, of course, because then you don't have to get all gooey eyed and emotional, and muck up your make-up for the photos. You just stand there and smile, drink a little wine, throw on some rings, and pouf, an hour later you're married!
Zeus and his friends, and my brothers are heading to Manhattan to party. They will be staying somewhere near 42nd Street I believe. Gina and the girls are taking me to Manhattan too. We're taking a limo to the Marriott Hotel. Everybody knows it's my favorite hotel. Whenever I come to NYC I always enjoy riding the glass elevators. It's free and it's just super-duper colossally fun (and Toto too). You should try it sometime.
Comments: 0
August 30, 2009 1:00pm
We arrived in Manhattan at 3:00pm, exactly twenty-four hours before my wedding. My bridesmaids made me wear a ridiculous white T-shirt with Bride written on the front in rhinestones that glittered up my titty-titty bang bangs. I discovered something I like to call Jägermeister. It tastes a bit like couch syrup and it gave me the spins, but it is my new favorite thing. We drank, and shopped, drank and had dinner, and drank and danced until I called it a night.
At 11:30pm I went to the front desk a got the card key for room 1021. I was so wasted but, you know, the uninhibited way, not the puker-pukerson way. In the room, there was a manila envelope on the bed. Inside I found one of those black satin sleep-mask blindfolds and a note.
It said, "Get naked and cover your eyes with the blindfold."
Are you excited? I certainly was. Finally, I was going to get laid Madonna style. I hoped that this time I'd get a cock in my pus-pus because so far I'd only had mouth to hoo-ha, cock to mouth, dildo to hooey, and man's ass to dildo. Snore/bore.
I followed the directions. I sat nudey-toons with the blindfold on waiting for some slam and bam. When the door creaked open, I jumped.
I said, "Hello? Rob?"
He said, "Yes, Madannika. It's Rob." I heard a British accent. He sounded a little like Austin Powers.
He said, "Now I'm going to do some things to you and you're going to act like you like it, O.K.? And keep the blindfold on. Otherwise the party's over."
I felt Rob caress my tit-tats and a shiver went through me. He kneeled down on the carpet and shimmied in between my dangling legs. I felt his hands cup my nipseys. Oh-la-la. It felt amazing to finally have a sexual experience worthy of Madonna. He began to lick, lick, and lick like he was feasting on me, like he'd eat my boobies up and I'd have to find a plastic surgeon to replace them with plastic ones. I blindly reached a hand out to touch his face but he pushed me down.
He said, "Let me see. You went to see a record producer and he ate you out. How did he do it Dani? Like this?"
Rob held my thighs apart and slashed my pinkie pinkerson with his giant rough tongue. Marvelous. It was exactly the way I like it, you know manly-man rough, and like Zeus, but with a bit of a girlish fleck like a lesbian's touch. How did Rob learn to please a woman this way? I began wondering how many women he'd pleased.
I said, "Me-likey."
He said, "Oh, you like that do you? How about this?"
He licked into my pink tunnel shoving his nose inside. Did he like the whiff-whiff in there? He sure seemed to. I heard a lot of slurping. His tongue was like a vacuum cleaner, wiping my slate of debris, cleaning me out for my future husband to claim once he moved in, you know? Now he moved toward my rosebud.
He said, "Do you want me to go in there?"
I said, "Uh-huh."
He pushed my legs into the air so that my ass was propped up, like a baby getting her diaper changed. He cupped my ass with tender hands and nuzzled his snoz into my back end. The licks down there felt supercalifragilistically tickly that I started to laugh. He didn't get mad or anything. He seemed fine with it. Then his fingers nestled into my hooey and found their way to my clit. Some fingers twiddled fiddle-dee-dee but his thumb and forefinger on his right hand trapped my nubbin and wiggled it the way I do when I masturbate. I moaned because I was getting it good. While his mouth licked away at my doo-doo factory, his fingers danced me to heaven. I shot my lady load while simultaneously screaming out, "Madonna! Madonna!"
I know, how embarrassing. If you remembered from earlier, I was border line drunken stupor at this point. Now, it takes me a half-hour to make myself cum but I have to say Rob fucked me in twenty. I thought, how did he do it? An actor?
He didn't give me time to recuperate. I moaned as I felt the undulating spasms of glorious fireworks penetrate my entire hoo-ha. Yipee! Rob flipped me over and placed me on his lap. He took my arms, placed them behind my back, and slapped my wrists with handcuffs.
I said, "Hey! What are you doing?"
He said, "I'm your Dom too, didn't I tell you?"
Next he whirled me around like a Cirque Du Soleil performer and positioned me on the bed the way I was when he first walked in. He stood very close. I heard him removing his belt and it jingled with his pants onto the floor. I smelled the delicious aroma of healthy schlong directly under my nose.
He said, "You tried to eat a Native American's cock, I believe. Now you're going to eat this."
I opened wide because I could tell that I would enjoy this feast. I moaned through the cock gag because it nestled inside me like hand to glove. It felt all slippery, warm, powerful, and loving. I wished I had my hands to work it but this felt way sexier. I was a BDSM princess imprisoned by Rob's mastery of cock. Lick, lick, and licorice-lick, I licked around this monster man-part in reciprocation. I retraced Rob's steps in my hoo-ha and found that this method worked for him. He moaned my name and he screamed I love you like a dozen times. I taunted him with my suckling prowess. I wanted to be like Madonna. This man was not going to give me a bad review. The elation I felt when he came into my mouth went beyond satisfaction. I swallowed and thought, I am the happiest enfianced woman in the universe.
He pushed me back and the handcuffs pressed into my back. I thought, these are going to leave marks on my wrists and muck up my wedding photos, but I really didn't care that much due to my Jägermeister haze. I felt his fingers knocking on cunt's door. They twiddle-dee-deed inside, not one or two, but a whole fistful.
He said, "I believe a woman tried to satisfy you without a cock?"
He proceeded to create shadow puppets in my hoo-ha. I began to giggle uncontrollably.
I said, "That one felt like a bunny. Am I right?"
He said, "And this?" He wriggled into a fuck signal.
I said, "Are you flipping me the bird?"
He said, "I'm fucking you." And then it felt like a soaring eagle.
I tried to suppress a giggle, I thought he was laughing too, but then I was laughing so hard that I couldn't really hear him. He kept at his little wicked game. His hand became a handgun pulling the trigger, and when his gun went off another shot of cum juicy-juice spilled out of me. He removed his hand and I started hearing a slurpilishish sound. He was for sure sucking my wetness off of his hand!
I said, "What do I taste like?"
He said, "Grecian goddess."
Now he took his wet, sticky hand to my left foot. He sat down on the bed and yanked my foot up to his mouth, the whole thing. My tootsies became the next course. Now he held both feet in his hands and took turns giving them attention. Oh-la-la. I moaned. I wished I could use my hand to friggy-frig my clit. I wondered how many orgasms I could have in one night, my last night of freedom. Funny, the word freedom, because I wasn't exactly free with a blindfold and handcuffs on.
I said, "I need a cock to finish me off."
He said, "Did the basketball player give you a cock?"
I said, "No, but you can."
And then I got fucked. He flipped me over onto my knees. Because my wrists had been locked up, I leaned on my shoulders with my ass high in the sky. He entered me from behind with a whack whack here and a whack whack there. This was something to remember. The pounding my cunt took felt like a pummeling. It was cock to hoo-ha bliss.
He said, "I love you, Dannika Elinopoulous, soon to be Zepkos."
I said, "And I love this."
He said, "There's just one more thing. I need to give it to you Greek style, to finish you off. Well?"
I said, "Indeedy do. Do it in my doo-doo hole and act like you like it. And Toto too."
He said, "I'll show you Toto. I'll doo-doo that."
And then we both started laughing. Howling laughter. And I knew. I knew I loved him.
I felt the nudging of cock at rosebud gate. It had been soaked in slithery patchouli oil lubrication, ready for its mission.
I said, "God, fuck me."
He slid that perfectly sized throbbing member into my behind and I was made the goddess of Greeks. His man fluid dripped from my girl bung and leaked all over my ass and legs.
He kissed me on the back of the neck the way I like it when we finish making love. And then he lifted me into his arms and pulled the blindfold off my sweaty face. Zeus maneuvered me into his lap again. He lost his Austin Powers voice.
He said, "I'm going to spank you now Dani. Because it's time for your punishment."
I said, "Can't you take the handcuffs off first?"
He said, "No. Now count with me, Madannika."
He slapped my ass hard.
I cried, "One!"
He said, "That's for letting a flaccid man lick your pinkie." He slapped again, harder than the first.
I cried, "Two!"
He said, "And that's for taking a girthless cock into your mouth." Slap!
I cried, "Three!"
He said, "That's for thinking you could have sex without the presence of a clean and healthy schlong." He smacked my ass with full force once more.
I cried, "Four!"
He said, "And for trying to find someone else to punish your hoo-ha during our favorite time of the month." Slaaaap!
I cried, "Five!"
He said, "And that's the spank you're getting for believing that anyone else could give it to you Greek-style."
He kissed my reddened booty.
I said, "What about six?"
Zeus released me from the handcuffs and massaged my wrists.
He said, "I don't think it will justify my love."
Zeus smiled. I smiled. And then we made googly eyes at each other and said I love you-I-love-you-I-love-you all night long until we fell asleep in each other's arms. I know, we're toxic.
We're getting married in two hours. Thank you, Madonna, for making me a better fucker.
Comments: 1
You're welcome.
Nonni, USA & UK