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The Cozy Spot

4 posts categorized "Phantasy"

March 31, 2008

When Sex Fantasy Becomes Public

Move over Eliot Spitzer. Spitzer's recent scandal is like a Teddy Bear's picnic compared to the following.3003_orgy_03

Domination and submission has made the news in the form of a sex scandal involving Formula One boss Max Mosley. This entire situation begs the question: Aren't people safe with their sexual fantasies? The camera placement makes one wonder who was behind the expose: the sex workers or the newspaper?

This story first appeared in News of the World, to be picked up by the Sydney Morning Herald. Once something happens, it is world-wide syndication. The invasion of privacy is obvious. Even though the acts aren't criminal, it appears that sexual salaciousness is the order of the day in most news media. It must be a terrible shock to pay sex workers a hefty fee, and then become front page news. There are many issues here.

  • If the supposed investigators gained access to the premises, how did they gain access and isn't such access illegal?
  • The placement of cameras (the very camera angle) is ideal, capturing most of the action to enable distinct imagery. Who planted the cameras?
  • Is it possible that there was a breach of confidentiality concerning the sex workers, and if such a breach did occur, what does this mean for other high profile people who seek professional sex services?
  • If (big hypothetical here) the sex workers in this scenario were involved in some way, to expose this man for extra cash, then it raises the question about codes of conduct among sex workers. I am not entirely sure about prostitution in the UK, whether there are sex worker associations or unions, but situations like this do raise a lot of questions. This is no different to a customer service nightmare where the terms of service are breached on some level.

The most disturbing thing about this entire scenario isn't about the alleged family history, there were many high profile people who supported Adolf Hitler way back when, but the breach of privacy and how something like this makes the news with imagery. Is it even legal for newspapers to print this without being liable in some way?

July 17, 2007


I’m in bed, doing things I shouldn’t be doing in a bed like blow smoke rings toward the ceiling. My masseter and temporomandibular joint work away, producing silver-gray rings. The muscle and joint are also responsible for…blowjobs.

I think of nothing, or minor things, like the way he invokes pleasurable images. I think about the texture of his skin and I take a leap, explore his obsidian-like rod between his legs. The image shifts, he has an erection and he’s planning a blitzkrieg. I’m the target, of course, with a pink painted bulls eye across my pubis.

The target can be round, or painted like a love heart. I can be his biological Valentine card, complete with a jagged pulse. Each undulation alarms, twists me into a tight helix. The muscle is beastly, powering at high speed. 7 Horsepower; a stampeding wildebeest powers through my chest until my flesh tears open and slick innards coat the pastel walls; blood arcs in the air. We’re talking 200/180, for my blood to slide down until my bewitched eyes throb. Gravity is an elegant dancer, affecting everything, including my roving fingers and arm. Smooth, rhythmic and fluid. A dynamic that is taken for granted; what would Galileo think? I’m not playing with balls, I’m playing with myself and like Copernicus, gaze toward the distant star -Penis Centauri. He’s such a fine specimen, and I’m a mere cosmonaut. I float briefly, to come like a supernova, disappearing further into a black hole, like…


June 08, 2007

Into a Man...

"It’s not that you’re not, but many of you aren’t. I look at you, your sidelong glance and it brings apprehension to mind. If it were your last day on this planet it would be laughable. Pathetic, almost, and in spite of my physical admiration, Jung’s animus arises, like a battered phoenix. You’re fortunate to inspire such thoughts in me. Few do…

Nonetheless, I need to turn you into a man. You need the hunt. Good exercise, my dearest. You give a furtive smile, as your eyes rapidly change gear like a paralyzed, spotlit rabbit and although you tower over me, this minor tremor transforms you into a midget. My images, images that see me bloody my nails tearing your clothes off dissolve into the never-never, when you coast along in your wakeful narcolepsy. Is there such a thing?

Habitat. Do you see my habitat? Have you inhaled my scent?

If you care to glance around, you’d see the little glossy tube. It’s the one I use to coat my lips, and I guess it’s too much to ask, but if I prod you a little further, then you’d associate this oral ritual with the silky glide that you may experience, except it’s very difficult to realise when you border on sexual pacifism, and contain yourself. Aloof to the primal instinct, you coast along…like a seafarer without a compass, or a pirate without a sword.

I glance toward you, and you may as well be a tea cozy, and the pure coincidence of me being seated next to a different male unsettles you a little; it’s not a regular sight, and this shifts your primitive paradigm. I’d call you an ape, but apes know how to survive and mate in the jungle…

Further away, as you sit, I mosey along and adopt an innocent, yet risqué position. With my ass up in the air, surveying the flickering screen before me, I pretend to concentrate, and you think I’m really involved in the on-screen monotony don’t you? Admit it, aside from my slick pussy, you entertain the naughty notion of ass. Imagine squeezing past my anal sphincter until the differing heat strangles your cock, and transplants you to a parallel universe?

Even as you catch a glimpse of your internal cache of Kama Sutras and stances, those that see you carefully position my derriere, that witness you nestle your hips against my glorious rump, one that strums your sexual strings to produce lustful chords of want, agony and pure visceral need, you use the logic of a mathematician to assess the situation. Does an alarm bell sound in your mind, or are you deaf to its sound?

Thus I balance on my forearms, leaning over to rival Pisa. My blossoming buttocks serve as a prop, and even as I laugh from within, I expect your images to unfold. I don’t particularly care to score; I need to rub it in a little, allow you to explore your nascent animal landscape, for you to arrive home with your hands in your pants, ready to extract your curious cock and rub it with more fanfare, rivaling Aladdin, and for the crimson vapor to spiral upward, and morph into a satyr-Jinn who unrolls Sphinx-like riddles and for you to skip past Oedipal scenes, tearing your eyes out as you splutter and come like the human animal that you are.

I’d like for you to fuck me…

But I prefer to fuck you first…inside, out.

Fuck your mind…then, abandon you in a forest for you prove your worth.

Invoke each primal spirit or demon, until you reach a crescendo…

Need to taste blood…


There is no mercy here… as there is no rest for the wicked..

Even though I lower my gaze, like a submissive little lamb, a seasoned hunter lurks within this gaze. It may be to mate, but in your case, it's a sport; who is hunting whom? I'll leave you to ponder it a little longer..."

May 03, 2007

Phantasy: Fragments

Things arrived in short bursts. I couldn't remove my mind away from certain thoughts I've been having lately in relation to a recent 'ooh-la-la' moment, or fascination I've having...


“It’s the type of weave, a thought that unravels and loops through the eye of the internal needle; under, over and between unseen layers, the thread peaks like a choppy wave. In the sea, that’s where I am, and I swim as I look at you through the portal within my mind.

All minor difficulties dissolve. I cut through each minor obstacle, and reanimate you piece by piece. Each piece coalesces, forming a whole and this portion of masculinity heats my wire until its glow irradiates me. You gouge holes through the transitory layer of nonchalance that I’ve fashioned, and I don’t mind…”

“I’d like to run my finger along your arm, trace the ink work on your forearm and watch your eyes follow as I circle your flesh, preparing for my upcoming move. Subtlety is nice, even though I feel like hooking my fingers over your belt. One solid shove; your aroma dances on my lips, and you stumble forward. Don’t break the fall. Obey your inertia, and pummel my torso with your mass…”

“A heated embrace, or as I imagine it to be. Your lips begin their trek. Over my chin, they arrive to my lips and my tongue prepares to paint yours with masterly strokes; color lunges forth to coat your tongue and I can’t avoid the fire within. Fucking your mouth with in an in-an-out tempo heats your flesh until your quadriceps spasm to settle the electrical storm within your groin; your rigidity, and its stubborn dance between my legs, grips my vocal chords. I want it all. It’s too easy to unzip and take care of your business. Friction, my best friend, whispers as my groin adheres to you. Each stroke charms your cock until…”

“I can’t take the strain…”

“I’d like to whisper sweet nothings, the kind that nauseate the masses except I lack the finesse. Words tumble onto the floor, to flee from the unfolding ruckus within my soul. Imbibing your oral delicacies is an arcane pleasure. Lips give way to saliva and a tongue so divine, it paints a masterpiece of lust within my mind, to twist each gentle thought into a tightrope that only a daredevil can conquer…”

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© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008