NewRyder's - Strapon Log

She wanted - compiled (The Fiona Files)

Part I - She wanted

She wanted to fuck. Pretty much that was it. Sure, she liked him well enough, but mostly she wanted sex.

He was available, made no secret of it. He was open to anything, said as much in the coffee shop. Drew a map.

Seven miles. Too far to walk? Not really. It was uphill, but the sun was out and hills were green. She never stuck her thumb out or looked up at the cars that slowed and offered a ride. She spent the time thinking about him. About the way his jeans sat on his hips. About the way his shirt hung off his shoulders. He had an easy way, didn’t try to get over on her. Available that’s all. I’m out Old Farm Road. Nope, no phone, but I’ll be home. Cool.

So she walked. Stopped twice to pee and drank all her water. Her pack cut into her shoulder and she had to move it from one side to the other. He would be the first guy she ever topped. There had been girls that she had gotten on, but guys were harder to come by. They all liked that she was Bi, but they were all straight or at least didn’t have an interest in reverse anal - that’s the name she gave it. She was always happy to offer the third hole - but the deal was; you too. Reverse anal. Back at you boy.

She liked it. Liked being a girl. But she liked being in disguise too. Liked being a topper but no one really having any way to know until sex. She had plenty of time to think of it in the miles she walked. Johnny looked like any other good looking guy, but he was a bottom. A top for sure, but a bottom too, like her. She liked that this guy that lived in the hills would be underneath her, that his strong legs would part, that she would settle between them and press into him. Would he kiss her? Moan? Fuck back? What?

She realized she was getting wet. She had a strong desire to lift her hem and touch her pussy. Or to take the dildo out of her pack just to have it in her hand. Something. She was becoming extremely sexed.

The last mile went pretty fast, in fact she could remember none of it.

She saw the house down in the gully. Old brick, worn out, tractors, bikes, rusted cars, nice Chevy 4X4, farm pond and Johnny. Johnny in the garden. Not just a garden though. Crops. Johnny, shirtless and tan, lean and handsome in dirty jeans and barefoot. Nice. Yellow dog.

Yellow dog barking. Barking and charging and wagging.

Dog! Dog!. That’s Fiona. Be cool. Dog!

He’s okay. Hi Dog. Hi Johnny.

Hey. Fiona, you made it.

You live here alone? All this?

I do. Swim?

Johnny got naked. Not much to it really, just unbuttoned his jeans and they dropped. Brown back, white ass, tangle of bush and a nice hang. He dove in and disappeared.

Fiona was next. Kicked off her dirty Nike’s. Dress over her head, roll the panties off and toss them in the grass. Small tits, sweaty bush, hair swaying across bare shoulders. She dove in, swam under water until she found him.

Part II - When Turnabout is not fairplay

“The most curious thing had happened. For the first time that she could remember, she was pursuing a man. He had something she wanted and seemed to know it. The more acute her desire became the more he seemed to relax and draw her in. And he was content to wait, he was in no hurry. Johnny cloaked his desire in a steady stream of gentle brush by’s, sweet arm touches and breezy conversation. He had to have known what he was doing, either that or he was evil or stupid. Never had she thrown so many signals, been so overt. Anytime she had wanted someone she had just moved in and taken, gotten close enough to throw heat, to throw scent and then seduced. For god’s sake, the smell of sex coming from her soaked panties was driving her wild. How could he not seem to notice, not melt?

The more she saw of his ass and his sweet bare feet, the less she knew about herself. She was becoming a puppy, all but yapping at his heels. In the worst way she wanted to just spin him around, pin him to the wall, make him strip from the waist down - show the man her peg and make him her own.

But Johnny threw off her timing, would not come to her song.”

Part III - She took

She took him there by the narrow stair. 

Spun him around, took him down. 

Elbow crash, plaster smash.

Went down hard.

The old house groaned. 

On him fast.

Out of those jeans. 

She took him there at the bottom of the stair.

Where the plaster was broken and the paint was gone.

Drove him like a bus.

She took him there in a pile of clothes.

A pile of clothes all dirty and worn.

Johnny’s a talker or so it seems.

Oh-oh-baby-oh-baby-oh.

Got real quiet when the ride got rough.

Didn’t say much when the big waves hit.

No more oh-baby-oh.

She took him there.

She brought him back.

Took him out, shook him out, wore him out.

She heard him pledge his love.

She took him there with his neck all bent.

Rode him steady and lead him home.

Even and hard til he came like girl.

Full body shakes. 

Eyes all glazed. 

Shakes and shivers.

Balled up fists.

She took him there.  

Watched from above.

Rolled her hips. 

Gave him a bang.

Rocked her body. 

Gave him a boom.

They’re easy to handle.

When there’s no where to go.

What’s not to like.

Good to have a toy. 

She took ‘m down easy but his limbs still shook.

Took ‘m down easy.

He begged and kissed.

Took ‘m down easy now, easy now easy. 

Oh-my-baby-my-baby-oh

Easy now easy, oh-baby-oh.

Easy now.

Oh my-baby-my-baby-oh

Who’s talking now.

Easy now.

Who made who my-baby-oh?

-ryder

When turn about is not fair play.

“The most curious thing had happened. For the first time that she could remember, she was pursuing a man. He had something she wanted and seemed to know it. The more acute her desire became the more he seemed to relax and draw her in. And he was content to wait, he was in no hurry. Johnny cloaked his desire in a steady stream of gentle brush by’s, sweet arm touches and breezy conversation. He had to have known what he was doing, either that or he was evil or stupid. Never had she thrown so many signals, been so overt. Anytime she had wanted someone she had just moved in and taken, gotten close enough to throw heat, to throw scent and then seduced. For god’s sake, the smell of sex coming from her soaked panties was driving her wild. How could he not seem to notice, not melt?

The more she saw of his ass and his sweet bare feet, the less she knew about herself. She was becoming a puppy, all but yapping at his heels. In the worst way she wanted to just spin him around, pin him to the wall, make him strip from the waist down - show the man her peg and make him her own.

But Johnny threw off her timing, would not come to her song.”

From - She Wanted
NewRyder

She wanted.

She wanted to fuck. Pretty much that was it. Sure, she liked him well enough, but mostly she wanted sex.

He was available, made no secret of it. He was open to anything, said as much in the coffee shop. Drew a map.

Seven miles. Too far to walk? Not really. It was uphill, but the sun was out and hills were green. She never stuck her thumb out or looked up at the cars that slowed and offered a ride. She spent the time thinking about him. About the way his jeans sat on his hips. About the way his shirt hung off his shoulders. He had an easy way, didn’t try to get over on her. Available that’s all. I’m out Old Farm Road. Nope, no phone, but I’ll be home. Cool.

So she walked. Stopped twice to pee and drank all her water. Her pack cut into her shoulder and she had to move it from one side to the other. He would be the first guy she ever topped. There had been girls that she had gotten on, but guys were harder to come by. They all liked that she was Bi, but they were all straight or at least didn’t have an interest in reverse anal - that’s the name she gave it. She was always happy to offer the third hole - but the deal was; you too. Reverse anal. Back at you boy.

She liked it. Liked being a girl. But she liked being in disguise too. Liked being a topper but no one really having any way to know until sex. She had plenty of time to think of it in the miles she walked. Johnny looked like any other good looking guy, but he was a bottom. A top for sure, but a bottom too, like her. She liked that this guy that lived in the hills would be underneath her, that his strong legs would part, that she would settle between them and press into him. Would he kiss her? Moan? Fuck back? What?

She realized she was getting wet. She had a strong desire to lift her hem and touch her pussy. Or to take the dildo out of her pack just to have it in her hand. Something. She was becoming extremely sexed.

The last mile went pretty fast, in fact she could remember none of it.

She saw the house down in the gully. Old brick, worn out, tractors, bikes, rusted cars, nice Chevy 4X4, farm pond and Johnny. Johnny in the garden. Not just a garden though. Crops. Johnny, shirtless and tan, lean and handsome in dirty jeans and barefoot. Nice. Yellow dog.

Yellow dog barking. Barking and charging and wagging.

Dog! Dog!. That’s Fiona. Be cool. Dog!

He’s okay. Hi Dog. Hi Johnny.

Hey. Fiona, you made it.

You live here alone? All this?

I do. Swim?

Johnny got naked. Not much to it really, just unbuttoned his jeans and they dropped. Brown back, white ass, tangle of bush and a nice hang. He dove in and disappeared.

Fiona was next. Kicked off her dirty Nike’s. Dress over her head, roll the panties off and toss them in the grass. Small tits, sweaty bush, hair swaying across bare shoulders. She dove in, swam under water until she found him.

-ryder

Fiona - ball up this town (background)

Everyone thought her younger sister who joined the Army was the courageous one. I never bought into that. To me, Fiona was the fierce and the brave. Gretchen was a joiner, she was comfortable with uniforms. From the time she was very young it was Brownie’s, Girl Scouts, soccer, band. Any activity where you had a leader and uniform, there was Gretch, hair brushed and tied back, ready to please. Gretch was comfortable being in a group, that is where she found her freedom, where she found identity and self.
Not Fiona. Fiona was all broken bikes, scrapes and torn clothes. Fiona was dog-eared books and sudden, dark sullen moodiness. Fiona, fought and spit and swore. She wrote endless essays where a single page would do. She was bored and listless in math class until they discovered that for her, math was dimensional, fluid and poetic. It didn’t matter, Fiona was not in school to learn, she was there to survive and get out. Fiona, in an earlier age would have been branded a Seeker. She is a lone wolf. She could not join. Fiona could feel that to join was to give up a part of herself. And besides, how could she give up something that she did not yet possess.
She felt fraudulent. Like the face she presented to the world was not her own. That deep inside, where thoughts dwell there was a truth, but that her body, her face were a lie. The worst was dressing pretty. That got such a positive reaction that it would send her into a rage. Everyone was so relieved to see her all Laura Ashley and finally over whatever it was that was keeping her from being a young lady. Fiona dressed down, blacks and browns and without gender. A disguise. A disguise because that wasn’t who she was either. At least when she dressed moody and looked moody people left her alone. And when she sat on a wall and watched a soccer practice and sketched dark trees and crows, she wasn’t really sketching trees and crows, she was imagining a life. In that life there were colors and luminescence and shifting breezes. And there was someone. Someone who was cozy and quiet. Someone who when they took her in their arms felt like a cure, a final refuge. And when she was done drawing, hands all charcoal black, done sketching black crows sitting in skeleton trees and circling the derelict smoke tower, when she was done and it looked right, she would tear the page, ball it up and throw it away. That was what she would do one day, ball up this town and throw it away.

For me, Fiona was the brave one, the one that had true courage, the courage to imagine a life that no one else had ever lived and to go out and live it. That is Fiona. Not fearless. Courageous.

So one day in the fall, after all the others had boarded buses and planes and crammed into stuffed Volvo’s headed for Universities and Colleges, Fiona tossed a pack over one shoulder, chucked her hair over the other and disappeared around the corner and into America.

-ryder

The Fed

Fiona climbs the stairs. Go slow, observe, nothing fancy, check your back, enter. Second floor, street side. She works the lock, pauses, checks the hall. Enter.
John on the bed, no shirt, no shoes. They don’t speak. John watches Fiona fold her blazer, hang it on a chair, leans into the frig, pulls out a water.
You look good.
Yeah? You too.
It’s the suit.
No, you look good Agent-
Fiona. It’s Fiona.
Fiona. No mam-
Fiona.
Right. It’s not the suit.
Okay.
Fiona walks to the bed. Stands between his legs. Fingers in his hair.  Curly, dark, thick.
Tips his face up.
You have kind eyes.
John’s hands trace her waist, judges her ass.
Verdict says, good.
Fiona releases the clip from her Sig, slides open the drawer. In it goes.
Checks the chamber. Puts the Sig by the lamp. Shield too.
John looks at the shield, the Sig.
He looks at the Fed.
Fiona pulls her shoes off. Socks. Uses him to balance.
Fingers through his hair.
Hands sweep across muscles, the squeeze test.
Nice.
John works her belt. Drops her slacks.
Fingers in the waistband - skin smooth and warm.
Panties slide and drop. Not shaved.
Fiona kicks the slacks away.
Steps back, holster, blouse, bra off.
B-cups stand - for Law and Order. No sag.
You have a nice body.
Did you bring it.
Right here.
Fiona takes the harness, steps in.
Turns left, cinch, cinch, tug.
Good leather. Soft.
Turns right, cinch, cinch, tug.
Dildo?
Here you go.
You, you all set?
Yeah, Agent-
Fiona. You are to call me Fiona.
Yes. Fiona. I’m set. Look, if you aren’t comfortable with me-
Fiona steps up. Smiles down at him. Cock right in his face. Taps his cheek with it, slaps him with it.
Smiles. Strokes his chin.
He stares up at her. He’s hurt.
Look, John. I am a Federal Agent. You are a prostitute. We are not friends. I am here for sex and secrecy. If I need a friend I’ll get a puppy. You heard that one before?
Dildo bumps his chin, teases his mouth. John grabs it.
Stop it. Stop it.
Yeah. A puppy. I’m not a whore, I’m-
John. When I leave here I’m going to leave $150 on the table for services rendered and we won’t be going to a movie. I didn’t call you a whore, so don’t pout. You are a prostitute. Okay? I am sure you are a nice guy and all but I really, really want to get to the fucking and maybe talk later okay?
Yes. I-
Right now I need to you get out of those Levi’s if you don’t mind - please John.
And John?
Fiona?
Suck my dick.

Once he had her dick in his mouth they both calmed down.
John was slow out of the blocks but she was not.
Fiona fucked his skull, John played catch up, fought for air.
Hands roamed his head, pulled his hair.
John took her in his mouth, didn’t gag.
Leaning over him she raked her fingers up his back, grabbed him under the arms and fed him dick.
John’s hand, loosed straps.
Found her pussy and worked it ‘til his fingers were damp.
The Fed kept drilling, leaned back, let him lick, let him gobble, watched him eat cock.
Fucking guy, good looking, handsome even.
Young, hard.
Hard up.
Sucking Fed dick for $150.
Could be worse.
Could be real dick.
She let him work her pussy.
Felt good, real good.
A pro. The kid is a pro.
Rocking, rocking, rolling, warm inside, warm all over.
Dick suck, finger fuck, dick suck, finger fuck, dick-
Out-loud she says - you are good. Really good.
Hands lock his head, push, he swallows dick.
Nose breathing.
Hand works her twat, two fingers, work, work, three fingers, work, work, four fingers.
Shaking, swearing, pulling.
Bang cock. Boom cock. Split lip. Blood, saliva. Gag.
Beyond pain.
Four fingers. Easy, easy, fold the thumb.  
Easy, easy.
Fist.
Freak-out.
Fucking Fed freaks-out.
Swearing, hitting, shaking, scratching.
Fiona clamps shut.
She shakes. She beats his face with her crotch.
Fist.
Easy, easy.
Wrist.
Quiet.
Her tears soak his head.
His tears mix with blood.
Fingers crawl through hair, almost nice.
Fed slumps over. Rock-n-roll baby.
Rock-n-roll.
Wet hand withdraws.
Dick takes a break.
Out-loud. You are good.
Ragged breathing.
Bloody mouth. Chaffed.
Her thumb explores. Swollen, scratched to hell.
Kid took a beating.
Here. Water.
No. You’re not a whore.
No whore could do that.
Out-loud.
On your back.

-ryder