Monday, October 15, 2018

Always (Masturbation Monday #215 & Wicked Wednesday #333)

Erotic horror really isn't my thing, but in honor of the spooky-themed Masturbation Mondays for October, I thought I'd try something a little different. It's more haunting than scary, but hopefully hot. I managed to incorporate this week's "spiderweb" prompt as well as Wicked Wednesday's "purple" prompt. There's also a little musical inspiration below courtesy of Adele that I thought captured the mood of the piece.

Please click on the badges below to read all the other amazing blog posts.

Hope you enjoy,
Ria ;)
Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

Warning: Domination/submission and spanking.

By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2018. All rights reserved.

Their bed had always been a place of solace, tenderness, and passion. Now, it was this cold empty thing she dreaded every night. Because he was no longer there.

Like so many nights lately, she finally fell into a fitful sleep, clutching his pillow. The barest trace of his scent still clung to it. She could almost imagine she was wrapped around him, nuzzling his neck like she often had. It wasn't even close to the real thing, but the illusion was enough that she eventually slipped into semi-consciousness.

She drifted there, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, in a vast dark nothingness. It was the same thing every night in his absence—unending hopelessness. Not even a dream of him and the way they were.

Then something changed.

Warmth slowly enveloped her, so subtly she thought it was wishful thinking. But it grew more and more intense, along with his unforgettable scent, until the heat of his presence suffused every cell in her body. Gripping the pillow tighter, she almost wept with relief.

I've missed you.

Hearing his honeyed voice wrenched a sob from deep in her chest. "I've missed you, too. So much."

She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, not daring to open them. Because then she'd have to face the brutal truth. That this was just some grief-induced delusion. That he was gone for good, never to return. That she'd never see his handsome face again, never really hear his voice, or feel his touch.

The unmistakable feel of his calloused fingers lightly caressing her cheek made her gasp.

Be a good girl and let me see your pretty eyes.

She'd disobeyed him before, but usually playfully, to provoke a punishment. This time, she was afraid to obey. She didn't want to risk losing him again.

Do you trust me?


Her response was immediate and unwavering. It was herself she didn't trust—and her sanity. But she'd rather wallow in her delusions if she got to be with him, even in this ephemeral way.

Then trust me now. Open your eyes.

She'd always trusted him with her body and soul, so she did as she was told, having faith that he wouldn't be cruelly snatched away from her.

Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes to see his apparition shimmering in the moonlight. Scrambling to sit up, she gaped at him reclining on his side of the bed.

See, I'm really here.

He was the strangest, most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. His mouth didn't move, but she could hear him in her head. His translucent presence looked just as he did in life. He only wore the ghostly embodiment of his favorite threadbare jeans and his trademark lopsided smile.

Unable to resist, she reached out and touched his bare chest. Her hand didn't pass through him like she'd imagined, but it wasn't like touching flesh and bone either. There was definitely something there, though—an energy that created a tingling sensation on her skin.

He took her hand in both of his, brought it up to his mouth, and placed a tender kiss on her palm. To her amazement, it felt the same as it always did—his large, warm hands surrounding hers, his soft lips, even his breath teasing her hand.

"How?" It was all she could get out as overwhelming emotion clogged her throat.

His smile turned wry. I never could stay away from you.

And she could never stay away from him. Gratitude and elation flooded her that even death couldn't keep them apart.

Are you still mine?


Come, I know what you need.

He led her out of their bedroom down the hall to the door leading up to the attic they'd converted into a playroom. She hadn't been up there in a while, because it hurt too much. But now, she eagerly followed him, curious and excited to see what his dirty mind had in store for her.

The full moon flooding through the custom stained-glass windows illuminated the space in a rich purple hue. Purple because she'd always found the color comforting. The abstract cobweb design was a private joke about her being caught in his web.

They easily made their way between the various cloth-covered apparatus, only leaving one set of footprints in the light dust coating the floor. He stopped beside an object she knew all too well and her heartbeat speed up in anticipation.

He whipped off the dust cloth, tossing it aside to reveal a spanking bench that resembled a kinky church pew. It was wholly appropriate in this place where they worshiped each other, where she often knelt in supplication, and where he provided guidance and enlightenment to the many wonders her body could experience.

Arousal wasn't something she'd experienced in a while—not since he left her—so it was a joy to feel it unfurling within her, hardening her nipples, flooding her cunt with liquid desire.

Want to be my naught girl?


He didn't need to tell her what to do. She quickly stripped off her night clothes and got down onto the padded bench. Bending over, she relished the feel of the supple leather against her breasts. It was always thrilling having her ass up in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable to him—her lover, her Master.

So beautiful. So perfect.

His fingers lightly trailed down her spine to her ass. He cupped one cheek, kneading it with his strong hand, then move on to the other. Craving more, she arched her back, lifting her backside higher, pressing herself more firmly into his hand, silently begging for one of the many things she'd been missing.

Are you mine to do with as I please?


The first smack made her gasp, but not really in pain. It was just a warm-up. No, it was the almost forgotten pleasure wracking her body that shocked her. He slapped the other cheek, making her sigh, her muscles relaxing, her entire being practically melting into the bench.

He continued spanking her, alternating sides, getting progressively harder—from a slight sting, to a deep burning ache, to a sharp knifing pain that chipped away everything she'd been bottling up. All the tension, all the agony, all the longing, all the grief. It all came rushing out. Tears streaming down her face soon turned into wrenching sobs until there was nothing left but the physical pain that was a welcome relief.

That's it. Let it all out. I’m here.

When she finally quieted, lost in that blissful place only he could create, he stopped and gently stroked down her back, murmuring soothing words of appreciation. She flinched slightly when he carefully massaged her sore backside, but then moaned when he dipped lower, exploring her slick folds.

Mmmm, always so ready.

She pressed back against his questing fingers. "Please."

Please, what, babygirl?

"Please, fuck me. Hard."

And he did, ramming himself deep inside her. As always, he knew exactly what she needed. Right then, more than anything, she wanted him to reclaim her, to possess her body as thoroughly as he possessed her soul. She didn't need sweet words professing his undying love. She wanted him to use her, to make her his once again and forever.

He gave her all that and more. She felt his warm body curve over hers as he pounded her needy cunt. One hand gripped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. His familiar growl teased her ear.



Come for me!

This time she obeyed him immediately, the pleasure rocking her body so intensely she passed out. When she came back to earth, she was in their bed, lying on her side. She was relieved to see his radiant presence lying beside her, smiling down at her.

"Will you stay with me?"


Monday, October 8, 2018

Prelude to Round Two (Masturbation Monday #214 , Wicked Wednesday #332 , & Friday Flash #26)

This post is mostly inspired by this week's Friday Flash prompt with a little Wicked Wednesday thrown in. But I'm also linking it to Masturbation Monday, because it's still Monday and it does involve masturbation of a sort. I know the post doesn't have to fit the prompt, but I think it's more fun that way. Never fear, though, I have a paranormal post in the works that I can hopefully make fit next week's prompt—or not. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Please click on the badges below to read all the other amazing blog posts.

All the best,
Ria ;)
Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

Prelude to Round Two
By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2018. All rights reserved.

"Why an octopus?"

Perched on his finely toned ass, she lightly traced the elaborated tattoo on his back. It really was a work of art—just like the rest of him.

His shoulder lifted slightly, but he otherwise remained silent. Seemingly content from their recent lovemaking, he lay on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms.

A tropical breeze from the bungalow's open French doors stirred the humid air, caressing her bare, heated flesh. The setting sun painted their private beachside paradise in golden shadows. This was their break from harsh reality, a chance to get to know each other better, so she wasn't letting him off easy. Not like the other times.

"Tell me, or I'll have to guess."

His eyes remained closed, but the corner of his mouth curved upward. "Go for it."

Her finger continued stroking his smooth, stained skin. "It symbolizes the eight women who broke your heart."

Laughter vibrated his body, creating ripples of pleasure in her still messy cunt.

"Not hardly that many." His amusement died gradually, his body tensing. "A buddy in the Teams was into them. When he was killed, we all got the same tattoo."

She knew he didn't like talking about it and she didn't need to hear any more. That he endured the pain for such a large, intricate memorial said it all. To soothe him, she did what she did best—made him forget the darkness for a while.

"You know what it reminds me of?"


"That Bond movie. Octopussy."

He chuckled, his muscles already relaxing. "Were you even alive when that came out?"

"Yes, but I was a kid."

Sliding down into the groove at the small of his back, she ground her slick sex into his spine, then giggled.

Looking back at her, he raised a brow. "What's funny, naughty girl?"

"I'm rubbing my pussy against your pussy."

He groaned, but smiled.

Moving further up his back, she leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of his. "Remember when I told you I wasn't into girls?"


"This is the closest you'll get to seeing me fuck another pussy."

His breathing quickened as she rocked her hips, rubbing her clit against him again and again.

"You'd love to watch that, wouldn't you?" Panting in his ear, she increased the pressure on her needy cunt. "I'd be filled with your come just like I am now, grinding my snatch against another pussy until we both came so fucking hard."

He moaned. "Fuck yeah."

"Then I'd lick her clean, lapping up her come, my come, your come. Just for you. Only for you."

She shuddered as her orgasm overtook her, collapsing on his back.

Before she knew it, he flipped them both over, her body under his, pinning her arms above her head.

Grinning down at her, he prodded her opening with his impossibly hard cock. Then he slammed himself deep inside her, claiming her once again. "Time for round two, dirty girl."

"Yes, please!"

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Her Only Master (Friday Flash #25)

Oh, you had to know I wouldn't be able to resist this week's Friday Flash challenge by Beatrix B.! I really did try for fifty-five, but I just couldn't do what I wanted in so few words. But I did manage to get it done in only a hundred. I bow down to anyone who did manage it in fifty-five words. Please take a look at the glorious inspirational painting and click the badge below to read all the other Friday Flashers!

All the best
Ria ;)
Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

Her Only Master
By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2018. All rights reserved.

I know what you crave…

Finger hovering over delete, she stared at the "unknown" text. Just a sales gimmick. Couldn't be him. He'd abandoned her long ago.

Same time. Same place.

Heart racing, she knew her choice.

His stately home unchanged, she let herself in, then followed the familiar routine: stripping down to bra and panties, clothes neatly placed on the entryway chair.

Soundlessly on bare feet, she went to the parlor and slid the doors open.

He lounged in his favorite chair, his devastating smile greeting her.

"Want to try again, pet?"

Kneeling at his feet was her answer.

Monday, September 24, 2018

Why I Didn't Tell

I wasn't planning to link this to any of the weekly writing prompts, because it didn't seem appropriate. However, when I saw the Wicked Wednesday prompt was "Heal," I thought this might fit nicely.

Before I go any further, I'm not writing this because I'm angling for sympathy. I'm not. Seriously. Many women have experienced so much worse than I have. I'm writing this because I'm sick and tired of ignorant idiots—of both genders—saying women should report sexual assault immediately when it happens. And if they didn't, well, it must not have been that bad. Or maybe they really wanted it. Or maybe they were just pissed off because the guy spurned them. Or maybe they had it coming because they were acting irresponsibly. Or too bad for you, guess you should have reported it then.

Of course, women should report sexual assault when it happens, no matter the circumstance. But I understand why they don’t, because it happened to me and I never reported it.

Unfortunately, most women have a story. Well, here's mine…

When I was in high school, maybe sixteen or seventeen, I participated in numerous extracurricular activities. I was quiet, nerdy, sheltered, and sexually repressed. I was a virgin and never really had a boyfriend.

One day, I was doing something after school with the service club I belonged to. I had to go upstairs to my locker to get something. The school had five enclosed stairwells spaced along the building and one large open staircase at one end of the building. Needless to say, I used the closest stairwell, which was one of the enclosed ones.

I'd just reached the second-floor landing and was about to open the door, when someone grabbed my breast from behind. I think I was frozen in shock for a moment, because when I turned around, there was no one there. I looked over the railing down below, but couldn't see anyone around.

Completely freaked out, I got out of there and went to my locker, looking over my shoulder the whole time. After I got what I needed, I went back downstairs, taking the long way so I could use the open staircase. When I rejoined my club (mostly other girls), I was still unnerved, but I didn't say anything. What could I say really? Someone grabbed my breast, but I didn't see who? For a shy girl like me, that was unthinkable.

Sometime later, I realized I'd forgotten something in my locker that I really needed before I went home. Suddenly, something that I hadn't thought twice about before—going to my locker—became a complex issue. Did I really need what I'd forgotten? Should I go the long way or take the chance of using the closest stairwell again?

Finally, I decided that I was being ridiculous. Whoever it was wouldn't still be hanging around in the stairwell. He was probably long gone. So I took the same stairwell as before. I practically ran up the stairs to the second floor. But once again, just as I reached for the door, someone grabbed my breast from behind.

My reaction was faster this time, or maybe he hung on a little too long. Regardless, I spun around and shoved with everything I had. The guy stumbled backward down the stairs to the middle landing, half falling against the wall. He was small, maybe my height (5'5''), slight of build, about my age, and Caucasian with shaggy brown hair. He wasn't anyone I'd ever seen before.

For a second, we were both frozen there, staring back at each other. I'll never forget the look of utter shock on his face. Was he so stunned that he'd gotten caught? That I was faster than him? That I fought back? Or because he'd just stumbled down a flight of stairs. I'll never know, because I didn't hang around long enough to ask. I got the hell out there as fast as I could, grabbed what I needed from my locker, then took the long way back downstairs.

The whole time, I kept looking over my shoulder, hoping he wouldn't come after me. My mind was also racing about what I should do. Whether I should tell someone.

The first thing that came to my mind was another incident that happened to another girl just a week before. The rumor was that she was assaulted while in an abandoned classroom. I'd heard all the whispered mummerings about her being a slut. For a quiet, good girl like me, the possibility that they'd say the same thing about me was sickening.

But then there was the other possibility that seemed so much worse. What if they didn't believe me? What if they thought I was making it up to get attention. After all, who would bother assaulting the painfully shy bookworm who barely opened her mouth in class? It wasn't like I was one of the hot, popular girls. I wore glasses and fairly conservative clothes that didn't show anything. I was even in the math honor society and regularly attended math competitions. I was that much of a geek. So, yeah, I'd have to be making it up, right? Never mind that being that shy guaranteed that the last thing I'd ever do would draw attention to myself, especially like that.

I knew my math teacher and the sponsor of the math club often stayed late after school and was probably still around. I knew he'd probably believe me. But I'd had a secret crush on him and the idea of telling him what happened was beyond humiliating. I didn't even know who the kid was. How could I possibly identify him? So I passed his office and kept walking. I went home and never told my parents. I knew they'd believe me too, but I didn't want them going to the school, making a fuss, and further humiliating me.

In a sick part of my mind, I also thought I might have had it coming. No, I wasn't one of the "slutty" girls, but I'd often fantasized about "being bad." Sex wasn't something that was dealt with in any open, healthy way growing up. It was this secret, forbidden thing that no one talked about. So when I did start masturbating, the pleasure came with a whole lot of shame.

For a time, if anything bad happened, I thought God was punishing me for touching myself. I'd make deals with God, promising never to do "it" again, if He just did (fill in the blank). That never really worked out. For one thing, I could never keep my side of the bargain for long.

To make matters worse, one of my favorite fantasies while masturbating was of being "taken." Kind of like the way a rogue pirate ravishes a helpless, innocent maiden. At the time, I didn't realize that this was perfectly normal and a common fantasy among some women—and submissives, in particular. I didn't even know what it meant to be sexually submissive. I didn't understand that having fantasies like that didn't mean I actually wanted to be raped or assaulted. And I didn't. There was nothing remotely arousing about being touched against my will.

Another time, I was walking in the empty halls at school between classes. I can't remember why, but I was probably doing the bidding of some teacher. This day, another student was hanging around the halls, obviously skipping class. When he saw me, I guess I looked like an easy mark, because he came up beside me and started talking a bunch of trash. I don't remember what he said, just that he was harassing me. Then he reached down and grabbed my crotch. Yes, he literally grabbed me by the pussy. Just like Trump bragged about in the Access Hollywood tape.

I smacked his hand away and all but ran away. Thankfully, he left me alone after that. And that was a good thing, because unlike the guy in the stairwell, this guy was bigger than me and more physically imposing. I didn't know who he was, but I had seen him around school. Once again, I was utterly humiliated, so I didn't tell anyone. And as bad as it was, in my mind, it wasn't as bad as being stalked and accosted in a dimly lit stairwell. There was something so much more ominous about that.

So, let's think about this for a moment. I was sexually assaulted twice in high school while I was a minor. I wasn't drunk and/or at a party I shouldn't have been at—not that that's justification to assault anyone. I was on school grounds, trying to mind my own business, get a good education, and get into the best college I could. And I'm sure that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to girls and sexual assault.

I suspect that both boys were also underage. Does that mean it shouldn't count? That they shouldn't be held responsible for their actions? I don't think either of them was drunk, but would that make a difference? I don't think so. And I don't think anyone who'd ever been assaulted would think so. So imagine my disgust when I saw this interview with several Republican women voters on CNN.

If there's a silver lining in all this, I did become more conscious of my personal security, which is never a bad thing.

When I went to Cornell, my friends lived on the north part of campus, while I lived on West Campus down a very large hill. After spending time with them, I sometimes walked back to my dorm at night alone. I know I should have probably had someone escort me, but I've always been self-reliant to a fault; I'll go a long way to avoid asking anyone for help. So I kept my head on a swivel, had my keys in my hand in case I needed to gouge someone's eyes out, and was conscious of where all the nearest emergency call stations were located.

Luckily, no one ever accosted me there. Or while I was at FSU in Tallahassee. I'd work shows late into the night. And because parking was hideous, I sometimes had to park some distance away from the theatre building. After a long day of classes and working a show, I didn't feel like waiting around for campus security to walk me to my car. So with my keys splayed between my fingers and an ear-splitting personal alarm attached to my keychain, I went by myself. Again, fortune shined on me, and nothing bad happened.

I find it ironic that given my proclivities and erotica writing that I haven't been in a situation where I experienced something without my willing consent. Well, if you don't count the occasional unsolicited dick pic or pervy come-on, which are both easily blocked. No, I was only ever assaulted in a mostly white, middle-class, suburban high school where, in theory, I should have been perfectly safe.

For my part, I believe Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. I can completely understand why she didn't come forward at the time. No one in their right mind would come forward with allegations like this unless they sincerely wanted to do the right thing. Look at the hell she's going through now. She had to have known she'd be victimized all over again.

And now a second woman has come forward. Does that make Dr. Ford's claim any more credible? Wasn't one assaulted minor enough? Will Republicans now support a thorough investigation into Kavanaugh's background? I sincerely doubt it.

I'd like to think that if I could identify my attackers and I recognized them as candidates for some important office, that I would be brave enough to come forward. But, even now, I don't know if I would.

This might be the height of hypocrisy after everything I've written, but if you have been sexually assaulted, please call the number below.

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

Monday, August 27, 2018

True Love (Masturbation Monday #208, Wicked Wednesday #326, & Friday Flash #20)

As I implied in "Midnight Blue," I thrive on challenges. So much so that I sometimes challenge myself to keep things interesting. When I noticed other writers combining several writing prompts into one post, I thought that was an awesome idea. This week, I challenged myself to come up with a story using the Masturbation Monday, Wicked Wednesday, and Friday Flash prompts.

Please click on the badges below to read the other Masturbation Monday, Wicked Wednesday, and Friday Flash posts!

Hope you enjoy,

Ria ;)
Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

Warning: Contains domination and submission.

True Love
By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2018. All Rights Reserved.

Anticipating this moment all day, she had trouble focusing on daily tasks, often drifting into a sensual fugue imagining his reaction.

Last weekend, they saw a young woman with multiple ear piercings, all different types and styles.

"Isn't that pretty?" she commented.

"Fuck no." He raised an eyebrow, giving her the look that always commanded her attention and ignited desire low in her belly. "If you do that, you'll be in big trouble."

His words echoed in her mind all week until she couldn't resist temptation. She loved pleasing him, but it was her nature to challenge him and test her boundaries.

She didn't hide what she'd done, tying her long brown hair up in a colorful bandana, exposing her neck and ears.

When she heard the front door shut and his approaching footsteps, she pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache in her cunt.

Like always, he came up behind her as she chopped vegetables and placed a tender kiss on her shoulder. Moaning, she dropped the knife and tilted her head just the right way, inviting further exploration. He nibbled up her neck, then latched onto her earlobe.

She knew the moment he saw it, because his teeth sank a little harder into her flesh, creating a sympathetic sensation in her clit.

Growling deep in his chest, he released her earlobe. "You've been a very naughty girl."

"Yes, sir." She panted, wondering what he'd do.

He slammed his hips forward, pinning her to the counter, his blatant erection prodding her backside. "What do you think I should do about that?"

"Whatever sir wishes."

"Good answer."

He yanked up her short skirt, revealing her bare ass.

She sucked in a breath as his hand delved between her legs.

"So fucking wet."

Not touching her enough to give her the pleasure she craved, he coated his fingers with the abundant juices coating her thighs, then smeared the slickness between her ass cheeks.

She stopped breathing when she heard his zipper rasp. His hard, hot length buried in her cleft, he took the silver heart rook piercing between his teeth, tugging it gently while rocking against her ass.

Hissing in pain, she gripped the counter, her cunt clenching with need.

"Who owns this disobedient ass?"

"You do, sir."

To prove the point, he shot a thick messy load of come all over her ass, then pulled her skirt back down.

"No spanking, no whipping, and no coming until further notice." He left her with one light unsatisfying smack on her now sticky ass.

She whimpered and pouted, but accepted the punishment because she deserved it. Besides, when he did finally let her come, she knew it would be mind-blowing.

"We'll get another piercing for the other ear. A spiral, I think."

She faced him. "But you don't like it."

"No, but you do." He gave her that look over his shoulder, almost making her come. "So I should get to pick one, don't you think?"

That was true love.