The Doll Made of Rags
The Pleasure of Intimacy
IX. Interlude:
"Those who are unsatisfied with what they fuck won't be satisfied with what they desire."
Unknown Author
The Rag-Doll was crazy in the most enjoyable way. The time I first saw her will forever be ingrained in my mind.
She entered the Agency, her outside world exploding with eccentricity, causing my jaw to collapse to the floor. Blond hair styled in a classic French bob, a fictional mole perched enticingly on her cheek, and a lace choker added a touch of oddity to her outfit. Strap-on boots, the height of fashion, gave her an air of otherworldliness, while Charleston pants and a man's wool blazer (atop a naked torso if you could imagine) alluded to rebellion and individualism. Yes, indeed, this was the Rag-Doll, an entity of contradictions, a harmony of extravagance, and a never-ending source of curiosity.
She arrived at the Agency to request some marketing services, an undertaking that seemed strangely unusual given her boisterous demeanor. However, her presence was mesmerizing, her conversation a tornado of wit and charisma, and I felt completely captivated by this enigma in human form.
She left, and I stood there for a moment, my thoughts frenzied with perverse sex fantasies about her. Yet, mere seconds after she was gone, I dashed out the door, just in time to catch sight of my father. His hands clutching his head in a gesture of complete despair, his lips silently forming a solitary, emphatic 'No...'. But achieving excellence in intimacy is never the result of chance. It always stems from determined intentions, persistent effort, and intelligent execution.
I caught up with her on the street, my heart pounding like a drum solo in my chest. With a mix of nervousness and resolution, I proposed that she accompany me for a cup of coffee. To my amazement, she agreed, her expression beaming with warmth and curiosity. Our coffee encounter marked the beginning of an enchanting courtship. I sensed that she, too, had been drawn in by my presence, her acceptance of my advances evidence of an attraction that was as irrefutable as it was invigorating.
A few days after these coffee sessions, the two of us found ourselves together once more. It was late at night, December 12th, under the light of a full moon.
We spontaneously decided to slip into the back of the cemetery together. Half past midnight, three-quarters full moon, cold, eerie, forbidden.
Our first sexual encounter was there - her back against a gravestone, one leg bent into the crevice of my arm, and my aroused penis inside her. The wind whistled through the skeletal trees, casting eerie shadows that bounced and whirled around the ancient tombstones. The moonlight, like a phantom spotlight, illuminated the scene with a ghostly glow, creating an atmosphere of mystery and dread. It was here that I vigorously and incessantly thrust into her until I ejaculated, covering her tights and the gravestone with my semen. And as the shrewd Plato said, "You can learn more about a person in one minute of intimacy than in a year of conversation."
Rag-Doll wasn't naturally blonde, her eyebrows were dark, and she was plump with large, soft breasts, and a perfect full bottom. By then, I had finally started to comprehend the basic truth about feminine beauty - if it wobbles, it's beautiful. And there wasn't a single hair on her body. It never ceased to amaze me how she managed to achieve this. On her body, she lacked even the fine down that nearly all humans possess. As if her skin had been rubbed with pumice, like the pampered Roman ladies I had read about.
She was the most valuable sexual discovery an unconventional lover like myself could find. To create the slightest impression on you, I will strive to recount as many anecdotes as I can recall.
She was ready for excitement at every moment of the day. Some evenings, we would venture into a neighborhood known for its unsavory reputation and make passionate love in the car, the looming sense of danger lending an extra thrill to the experience. I recall at least two instances where we abruptly halted intercourse (my penis erect and her vagina dripping) and fled in panic as several individuals approached the vehicle. Their intentions appeared unhealthy.
One magical evening, we decided to embark on an exciting sex adventure on the highway. There, I gave Isabelle my full passion as Rag-Doll performed a refined blowjob on me. Isabelle was a speedy vehicle, and I remember how I squirted in her mouth while the road ahead felt more constricted.
One tranquil afternoon (as swarms of golden butterflies fluttered their delicate wings in a fragrant rose-tinted haze), she sat nude on my sofa, completing one of my masterpieces—a Crepe Suzette. Inspired by the breathtaking surroundings (and not the hash, as you may believe), I told her, 'Isabelle, I feel slightly tense; would you perform oral sex on me to relax?'
She swallowed the final bite of the crepes, licked her lips, and said, 'Sure!'
So, I took out my excited penis from my trousers, and she snatched it up and placed it in her eagerness. She sucked it with pleasure, and when I climaxed, she swallowed the sperm and asked curiously, 'Better now?'
One evening, I had prepared another of my delectable creations—wild bass with baby leeks, morel mushrooms, soaking in chardonnay and butter. After we thoroughly enjoyed this dish (thanks to the exquisite chardonnay pairing), we retired for some porn entertainment. We became enchanted by a captivating anal intercourse performance. Rag-Doll was scrutinizing the actor's every moan and groan. By the time the performance concluded, we were engaged in an animated discussion about the scene. And hence, I casually asked, 'Hey Isabelle, have you contemplated trying anal sex?'
She pondered over the suggestion for a moment and then said, 'Five dollars.'
'What?' I spluttered, spilling my wine on my chest. 'But Isabelle...'
'If you want anal sex,' she interjected, 'you must pay me five dollars!'
'But Isabelle...' I struggled, '... This seems like paid sex... it's unusual.'
'Five dollars!' She was adamant.
So, with a submissive sigh, I reached for my wallet, located five dollars, and handed it to her. She beamed confidently and lithely turned her enticing bottom towards me. After contemplating that marvel of nature for a while, I gently spread her buttocks apart and there it was: a dainty pink anus. So pristine, it seemed as if no feces had ever exited from there. I could even sense a delicate rose scent coming from it.
Gents, we, as lovers, must dare to be true to ourselves, despite how frightening or peculiar that true self may appear. Thus, following the same drive that governed my life, I kissed her anus. Lady Goddess, she began howling and instantly became moist. So, I greased up my penis with butter (the only available item at hand) and gently entered her tight pink ring. I had my first unforgettable anal sex session due to the illustrious Deirdre, but this incident was much, much better. Unlike Deirdre, who, I remember, was as motionless as a statue, Rag-Doll was actively involved in the intercourse, swaying and tossing and writhing, setting the perfect rhythm. Since then, whenever we dove into the realm of anal sex, regardless of who initiated it, she always requested her five dollars. This is an oddity beyond comprehension.
The sun burnished the torpid summer afternoon, casting lengthy shadows that idly sprawled across the floor. Within the intimate confines of my den, Rag-Doll and I reveled in the aftermath of a delightful midday meal, the remnants of our beach escapade lingering in my mind. I tickled her nipple, my fingers as nimble as a magician's. My other hand tenderly squeezed her plump ass. Suddenly, the phone rang, shattering the moment, and I placed it on speaker. It was my father.
Allow me to inform you about my dearest Father. He was the Last of the Mohicans of his hardworking generation. He devoted his existence to venturing into every business sector, striving to be recognized as a self-made wealthy man. The Beach had captivated my thoughts, so I spied on the unnecessary business distractions. However, my father insisted that women, fine art, and gourmet food—all of which had held considerable allure in my childhood—would not aid much in developing into a decent man. Please refrain from misjudging, I adore my father and respect his laborious efforts and business acumen, but his persistent attempts to transform me into a respectable individual cause a touch of annoyance. As I believe that there is no need to transform someone who is already complete.
"Dad, please reconsider your decision," I pleaded. "First of all, I value and appreciate the role of women in this world; they make it a better place to live in. Secondly, I am certain there's a strong, wise woman out there who can guide us and uplift our spirits. And thirdly, but not least, a woman isn't just a woman. She's a fighter, a survivor, a queen."
In defense of gastronomy, how could I argue with the knowledge of the venerable Aaron? "I love you, food, you make me feel so good."
Rag-Doll giggled to herself and started massaging my testicles.
"After further deliberation," my father conceded, "your mind can be divided into three distinct areas. One part is captivated by the mesmerizing world of women; one is entranced by the symphony of flavors, textures, and aromas that define gourmet food; and the third is enamored with the refined essence of fine wines and spirits."
"But, Dad," I interjected, while trying to insert my index finger into Rag-Doll's vagina. She quickly twisted her body and stood up, out of my reach. "Let me share some profound quotes from philosophical greats about wine and spirits. Firstly, the wise words of Pliny the Elder: 'In wine, there's truth.' Secondly, we should agree with the sage Galileo Galilei: 'Wine is sunlight, held together by water.' And thirdly, the revelation of the legendary Robert Louis Stevenson: 'Wine is bottled poetry.'"
While struggling to provide thoughtful responses, Rag-Doll turned her back on me, bent over, and opened her cheeks apart with her fingers to show an opened anus.
Conceding to my frustration, my father admitted, "Indeed, son, your mind is divided into four unique segments: women, food, wine, and art."
"Well then, Father," I stated, "Here's my interpretation. Art stirs our souls to appreciate its beauty. It speaks to us on a deeper level. And, it washes away the dirtiness of our daily lives. These things—the love for women, food, and art—are way more valuable than any material possessions."
By this point, I found myself pointing my finger to Rag-Doll's anus, but she was still out of reach.
My father spoke with a mix of sadness and sarcasm, "You could be onto something, Charles. Perhaps the mark of a successful life is the cultivation of a sophisticated palate and the pursuit of transcendent experiences. And it's convenient when someone else is there to collect the material wealth needed."
Rag-Doll, still unknowing about my predicament, unexpectedly grasped my finger and began to rub it against her ass.
"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Dad," I declared. "I'll strive to uphold this philosophy throughout my life. Perhaps someday, when money becomes scarce, I'll find a way to monetize my passion for women, food, and art. After all, there's a market for everything, right?"
As I stood there, struggling with internal thoughts, I could feel Rag-Doll's finger still in my ass, and my cock resting between her lips.
In my gloomy state of mind, I thought, "I'm just a helpless puppet, controlled by lustful, debauched women. How can I ever become the responsible, upright man my father desires when they're always demanding sexual satisfaction and emotional support?"
Pondering over these thoughts, I erupted in rage and pumped my sperm enthusiastically into Rag-Doll's mouth, forcing her to swiftly swallow. Her eyes shone with wicked delight as she then tweeted triumphantly, "Five bucks if you please! It's considered anal!" and closed her tweet.
Simply put, I'm nothing more than a helpless pawn, a victim of greedy, depraved women who drain me of my energies before I can fully achieve my potential in life.
Do you understand, this is what I've been trying to convey to you all the time. My life is like a tragic play by Shakespeare.
I've realized that you can't change into the people you desire to be because you're too attached to the individuals you have been. That's why I started indulging in my sexual fantasies. To escape the past and improve - you see. One of my desires was to have sex at midnight on New Year's Eve.
On New Year's Eve, a party took place at the luxurious mansion of one of my agency clients. I excused myself from the festivities with sweet anticipation and brought Rag-Doll into a room with a blazing fireplace. There, I slowly removed her clothing, leaving only her stockings and garters for that extra erotic feeling. Then, I smeared the most expensive handmade Belgian chocolate I could find all over her pussy and ass. After that, I devoted a considerable amount of time licking her because a lady should be clean before intercourse, as I'm sure you're aware. After the completion of this delightful task, I carefully slid my urging cock into her steamy, hot pussy and we danced and thrust gently yet passionately, and therefore, I achieved a satisfying orgasm on her breasts amidst the thunderous fireworks.
Another of my deepest longings was my birthday sex fiesta.
When the date drew near, Rag-Doll inquired, full of genuine curiosity, of my plans for such a joyous occasion.
I said, "Doll, darling, I concocted a fantastic plan. To visit a site that possesses unparalleled beauty, to indulge in the finest cuisine and liquor, and to have as much sex as possible."
She laughed and made fun of me shamelessly, "It sounds like every day in our relationship."
"It will be different!" I assured her, despite a small twinge of pain.
Preparing the amuse-bouches took almost two days, and obtaining the perfect drinks wasn't far behind. Once everything was arranged meticulously, we packed coolers, chaise longues, umbrellas, tables, and more into the trunk of one of Jery's 4x4s and set off for a secluded wild beach. The second we arrived at this picture-perfect gem of nature, the first order of business, of course, was to shed our clothes. I'm convinced that if you want to blend seamlessly with the beauty of nature, you must be naked. Then, in a state of comfortable nakedness, we set up our comfy camp and I stretched out my arms towards the sea as if to embrace all of Nature and asked Rag-Doll to cover my entire body with sunscreen. She did it slowly and lovingly, taking extra care on my balls, cock, and ass.
Fellows, it was glorious: naked under the sun on a breathtakingly beautiful deserted beach, caressed tenderly by the sea breeze, and kissed by willing hands... Then I asked her permission to do the same for her. And I did it with the same lustful enthusiasm, highlighting the same significant spots.
Then we settled under the umbrellas, began tasting the delectable hors d'oeuvres, and drank the carefully selected wines. In a state of deep bliss I stood near the sea with outstretched arms, singing the ode for my manhood, "And there it stands!"
Rag-Doll knelt before me, smiling, and gave me the longest blowjob ever, continuing till finally, I came with heartfelt gratitude in her mouth.
Then we continued to the second course, drank the appropriate wines, and smoked some exceptional marijuana. In a state that I cannot describe except as "deliciously coated," I lay on the towel and requested Rag-Doll to sit on my face, facing the opposite direction because I was eager to lick her. However, I threatened her with the most imaginative punishments unless and until she did not touch my penis. Admittedly, I adored licking her like that, with my nose in her ass. She experienced her own orgasm, and we stood on the sand again, where I bent her over and entered her from behind, using all my strength to thrust as hard as possible under the approving warmth of the sun. She had another, remarkable orgasm, and I came happily on that plump, shaking bottom.
Finally, we repose under the shade and reveled in our satisfying sleep. The liberating bliss of sleeping outdoors naked, sated and fucked is something you'll only understand if you've experienced it.
When we awoke rejuvenated, we drank freshly brewed coffee. Obtaining Kopi Luwak is easy, but brewing it properly on a deserted beach was the most challenging aspect of our holiday planning. Then we sampled the decadent desserts - namely, To'ak Chocolate Truffles and Yubari King Melon Sorbet - and drank aged single malt - namely, GlenDronach 21 Year Parliament - while we basked in contented silence.
When I felt the familiar excitement once again, I squeezed her supple body until I had a significant erection and with a generous helping of sunscreen, I penetrated her juicy, pink ass for the final spectacular fuck at the ethereal sunset. History | Paper | Paraphrase tool | Disclaimer |
Isn't that like a fairy tale? I mean, who could've guessed I'd let her slip through my fingers, huh? But, as they say, youth is wasted on the young. See, I was young and reckless, craving more thrill in my life. Boy, was I wrong! She turned out to be a real handful, wildly jealous over the most insignificant things. In the end, I made the unheard-of decision to leave her. It might seem surprising, but in my entire life, I've only ended two relationships.
