DudeThrill.com
What does Stephi like?
What is actually "Pleasure" for Stephi?
Stimulating and exciting questions to which I have never tried to give an articulate, thought out answer.
I'll try to do it now, here.
If you're curious follow me, just give me a brief introduction:
I think it's appropriate to explain why I write about Stephi and his way of experiencing Pleasure in the third person.
I write about Stephi in the third person because I am Stefano; I am Stephi's guest.
Stephi exists, he is real but he shares my flesh and occupies a corner of my brain.
I don't mind, in fact, I like Stephi, even if sometimes I am ashamed of it and I try to avoid that whoever has something to do with it, knows about Stefano, about me.
Stephi is my feminine side, a female Trojan in the perverse and erotic sense of the term, which despite itself occupies the flesh of a man, my flesh.
Flesh that however I let her use because the pleasure that Stephi manages to draw from this flesh is also my pleasure.
For now I am still the one who exercises ultimate control over Stephi, even though I realize that the more time passes the more Stephi expands.
By now Stephi has had several experiences and each time he goes a little bit further, in search of new pleasures of the flesh.
As I was saying, I am actually ashamed of Stephi and often, when I realize that I am losing control of her, I try to push her back into her corner and let myself be overwhelmed by guilt towards my family for having betrayed her with Stephi, for having lingered too long in leaving her free to follow her carnal instincts; so I make "good intentions" and try to ignore that part of me that hosts her.
Sometimes I succeed and for many months Stephi remains good in her corner but then, inevitably, she wakes up, rebels and wants to come out again and I can no longer hold her back and let her re-emerge and take one step further.
But I like Stephi, very much; my only fear, however, is to lose control over her, for all sorts of reasons, from banal distraction to senile dementia.
What follows is the story of Stephi told by his guest, that is, by me.
Enjoy your reading.
Stephi is therefore a woman, or perhaps better a "female" in the animal sense of the term; a 58 year old female of generous dimensions (in some areas of Africa where the opulence of the female forms is appreciated as a sign of well-being and fertility we would say a female of "taraditional" physique).
One metre tall and eighty, she has been weighing about one hundred and thirty kilos of soft, warm and quivering flesh for many years now, well distributed between thighs, buttocks, abdomen and tits.
The breast in particular is perhaps a little bit scarce if put in relation to the rest of the body, but in any case it is enough to be manipulated and able to give both Stephi and his occasional lovers great satisfaction. The right boob is only slightly less developed, but both have small, very reactive nipples that can provoke, when "stimulated" in the right way, intense discharges of a sexual pleasure that comes from the pain.
Stephi has a very developed clitoris, but not completely able to function like a real bird, either for size, age or for the "soma" within which, over the time, it has been incorporated, it is hardly able to satisfy the needs of a full penetration. There are, however, many ways to use it to draw from it and to give pleasure.
Stephi would like to be always smooth, shaved and sometimes he also manages to get the necessary (minimum) to be really Trojan even to the eye, but I do not always allow him to do so, also because I would not want that some detail of his could put at risk (more than he already does, I am aware of it) my reputation.
So here we are, the pleasure.
Pleasure for Stephi starts from sensory stimuli: sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, but in the end it's the brain that removes a little bit at a time all the inhibitory brakes of reason, triggers the libidine lust, letting it fall into the abyss of the pleasures of the flesh, where Stephi is very well.
View
A beautiful naked body, the billboard of a model in sexy lingerie, the close-up of a big, long, straight dick with a turgid, shiny chapel, a big, plentiful bottom sheathed in a pair of leggings that let you know the bottom is struggling to contain it by creeping into the gap between the buttocks, a pair of wedge sandals that let you glimpse the fingers of the feet enameled in a beautiful bright green, a fleeting glance exchanged with the elderly gentleman with a dry and tanned physique that crosses while walking the little dog ...
These are all stimuli that the brain immediately transforms into images of sweaty, violent intercourse.
A small yellowish puddle on the ground is interpreted as the trace of a fleeting, irrepressible and liberating pee left by the old lady dressed in a light and summery dress that leaves uncovered thighs still nervous and shoulders that still testify a past as a swimmer, puddle through which Stephi would gladly walk barefoot to get excited by the warmth of the golden liquid.
A used condom abandoned behind the bush of a suburban parking lot turns on the thought of an old fat, half-naked gentleman who gets impaled by the dark, straight prick of a sexting Nigerian who penetrates it with almost violent force thinking of a woman who hasn't got laid in months, maybe years.
The sight of a used handkerchief that probably served to clean up the hot cum splashes left at the peak of a clandestine intercourse.
The vision of ecstasy in the eyes of the lover gives the subtle pleasure of satisfaction in having managed to give the partner the same intense pleasure.
These are all visual stimuli that Stephi's perverse mind transforms into pleasant visions of bestial intercourse.
Hearing
A rhythmic and "wet" sound of two loaded testicles hanging under the rod of a huge and hard cock sucking the flabby ass of a fat naked sheep on the hood of his old Fiat, the vulgar words screamed by the voice choked by the orgasm of a sexting chubby woman who gets banged by two classmates on a blanket lying behind the bushes by the river, the peremptory orders of an old lady who with her hands presses the head of a thin sexting man in fishnet stockings and lace thong crouched between her still vigorous things with her groin, vulgar words whispered sweetly by her craving lover into the ear of her occasional stallion, the snaps of the cat with nine tails that the torturer sheathed in latex overalls on dizzying stiletto heels whip the slave's tits tied to a bench with electraut clamps that torture her nipples now tumid, the noise of the head of the bed against the wall of the room, the laughter of the lovers who have been fucking for over an hour on the bed in the next room in the sleazy suburban motel, the cry of pain of the fifty-year-old gentleman naked, prone and obscenely wide open at the moment when the chapel of his muscular lover breaks his sphincter with violence, screams that prelude to the perverse pleasure of sodomy.
The sighs and screams of the lover who enjoys, give Stephi the most intimate pleasure in the confirmation of having been Troy enough to bring him to orgasm.
Sounds, voices, noises in which Stephi would like to be the protagonist.
Touch
The rough surface of the bark of the tree to which the hands cling to hold on to the beastly penetration of a group of strangers in the pine forest, the hard but at the same time pulsating and wet texture of the shaft of a hardening cock, the soft and mellow texture of two breasts whose nipples are hardening between the thumb and forefinger, the hairy surface of the skin of a pair of athletic calves, the feeling of the hands caressing the shaved head of the lover with whom the tongues are exchanging saliva, the intense and humid heat of the inner walls of the pulsating rectum and the turgid consistency of the cervix inside a pussy now flooded with moods, the pleasure in the pain of nipples squeezed with violence by greedy fingers, the sense of fullness of the warm and pulsating rod that violates the rectum, the sense of perdition of the hands that run and explore every fold of the skin of the buttocks of a woman now flushed by cellulite but still ferociously craving, the tickle of pubic hair during cunnilingus, the rough sensation of the hair on the lips at the base of the shaft that has now disappeared inside the mouth dripping saliva from the corners.
The marks left on her body by the strong tightness, scratches, whips and ties, are as many decorations to the value of the Trojan.
They are all chills, almost electric shocks that have the power to cancel any will and any brake and deliver Stephi to total abandonment in the pleasure of the flesh.
Smell
The scent left by the passage of the furry lady walking on dizzying stiletto heels and who could be completely naked under the soft mantle inside which hides her already seasoned but still burning with lust, the pungent smell of the vulva still damp of the warm and golden liquid that has just watered her, the animal scent that springs from the sweaty armpits of the mighty male that Stephi is licking with greed, the intoxicating scent that releases the turgid bird that slips out of his panties just above his nose just above the mouth ready to welcome him down his throat, the smell of menstruation or the smell of cum that has just impaled the face, those particular miasmas that would usually be revolting but that in the moment of sexual infoiamento become powerful aphrodisiacs and that come from the anal orifice that the tongue is greedily exploring, the melange of animal effluents from the intimate moods that mingle in the sweaty intercourse and that has the subtle power to reach the brain like a discharge and that stuns and leaves it to any will of the lover, the infinite variety of smells that stimulate the brain by exploring the skin of the lover from the toes to behind the ears.
The smells that define the identity of the lover and indelibly fix their memory in the memory. Memory and the pleasure of feeling and knowing more and more Troy,
Taste
Thousands are the flavors of sex and Stephi is a glutton for sex. The taste of cock freshly dipped in a jar of nutella or mayonnaise, the taste of passing the tongue between two soft buttocks stuffed with strawberry jam but also the taste of cock extracted from the rectum just smashed and that must be carefully sucked, licked and cleaned from the remains that he has unintentionally extracted, the brackish taste of the vulva now full of moods to suggest as a tropical fruit and the equally intoxicating taste of the piss that just watered her face or the cum that filled her mouth, are foods that Stephi is greedy, in savouring greedily which she finds pleasure in her intimate unbridled slut.
So we're back to Pleasure again.
The intense pleasure given by each of these sensations and a thousand others that I cannot describe, the one given by their sum, overlapping and contemporary mixing, together with that of being able to give as much pleasure to her lover or all her lovers, one at a time or all at once, are the abyss (or even at the summit) in which Stephi loves to get lost and cancel himself in enjoyment.
The subtle pleasure of being object and subject, the sublime contradiction of pleasure given by pain or humiliation which is at the same time exaltation of the pleasure of her lovers who can be her sublime tormentors.
This intense and contradictory pleasure is what Stehi dreams of, what Stephi fears, what Stephi exists for.
What is actually "Pleasure" for Stephi?
Stimulating and exciting questions to which I have never tried to give an articulate, thought out answer.
I'll try to do it now, here.
If you're curious follow me, just give me a brief introduction:
I think it's appropriate to explain why I write about Stephi and his way of experiencing Pleasure in the third person.
I write about Stephi in the third person because I am Stefano; I am Stephi's guest.
Stephi exists, he is real but he shares my flesh and occupies a corner of my brain.
I don't mind, in fact, I like Stephi, even if sometimes I am ashamed of it and I try to avoid that whoever has something to do with it, knows about Stefano, about me.
Stephi is my feminine side, a female Trojan in the perverse and erotic sense of the term, which despite itself occupies the flesh of a man, my flesh.
Flesh that however I let her use because the pleasure that Stephi manages to draw from this flesh is also my pleasure.
For now I am still the one who exercises ultimate control over Stephi, even though I realize that the more time passes the more Stephi expands.
By now Stephi has had several experiences and each time he goes a little bit further, in search of new pleasures of the flesh.
As I was saying, I am actually ashamed of Stephi and often, when I realize that I am losing control of her, I try to push her back into her corner and let myself be overwhelmed by guilt towards my family for having betrayed her with Stephi, for having lingered too long in leaving her free to follow her carnal instincts; so I make "good intentions" and try to ignore that part of me that hosts her.
Sometimes I succeed and for many months Stephi remains good in her corner but then, inevitably, she wakes up, rebels and wants to come out again and I can no longer hold her back and let her re-emerge and take one step further.
But I like Stephi, very much; my only fear, however, is to lose control over her, for all sorts of reasons, from banal distraction to senile dementia.
What follows is the story of Stephi told by his guest, that is, by me.
Enjoy your reading.
Stephi is therefore a woman, or perhaps better a "female" in the animal sense of the term; a 58 year old female of generous dimensions (in some areas of Africa where the opulence of the female forms is appreciated as a sign of well-being and fertility we would say a female of "taraditional" physique).
One metre tall and eighty, she has been weighing about one hundred and thirty kilos of soft, warm and quivering flesh for many years now, well distributed between thighs, buttocks, abdomen and tits.
The breast in particular is perhaps a little bit scarce if put in relation to the rest of the body, but in any case it is enough to be manipulated and able to give both Stephi and his occasional lovers great satisfaction. The right boob is only slightly less developed, but both have small, very reactive nipples that can provoke, when "stimulated" in the right way, intense discharges of a sexual pleasure that comes from the pain.
Stephi has a very developed clitoris, but not completely able to function like a real bird, either for size, age or for the "soma" within which, over the time, it has been incorporated, it is hardly able to satisfy the needs of a full penetration. There are, however, many ways to use it to draw from it and to give pleasure.
Stephi would like to be always smooth, shaved and sometimes he also manages to get the necessary (minimum) to be really Trojan even to the eye, but I do not always allow him to do so, also because I would not want that some detail of his could put at risk (more than he already does, I am aware of it) my reputation.
So here we are, the pleasure.
Pleasure for Stephi starts from sensory stimuli: sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, but in the end it's the brain that removes a little bit at a time all the inhibitory brakes of reason, triggers the libidine lust, letting it fall into the abyss of the pleasures of the flesh, where Stephi is very well.
View
A beautiful naked body, the billboard of a model in sexy lingerie, the close-up of a big, long, straight dick with a turgid, shiny chapel, a big, plentiful bottom sheathed in a pair of leggings that let you know the bottom is struggling to contain it by creeping into the gap between the buttocks, a pair of wedge sandals that let you glimpse the fingers of the feet enameled in a beautiful bright green, a fleeting glance exchanged with the elderly gentleman with a dry and tanned physique that crosses while walking the little dog ...
These are all stimuli that the brain immediately transforms into images of sweaty, violent intercourse.
A small yellowish puddle on the ground is interpreted as the trace of a fleeting, irrepressible and liberating pee left by the old lady dressed in a light and summery dress that leaves uncovered thighs still nervous and shoulders that still testify a past as a swimmer, puddle through which Stephi would gladly walk barefoot to get excited by the warmth of the golden liquid.
A used condom abandoned behind the bush of a suburban parking lot turns on the thought of an old fat, half-naked gentleman who gets impaled by the dark, straight prick of a sexting Nigerian who penetrates it with almost violent force thinking of a woman who hasn't got laid in months, maybe years.
The sight of a used handkerchief that probably served to clean up the hot cum splashes left at the peak of a clandestine intercourse.
The vision of ecstasy in the eyes of the lover gives the subtle pleasure of satisfaction in having managed to give the partner the same intense pleasure.
These are all visual stimuli that Stephi's perverse mind transforms into pleasant visions of bestial intercourse.
Hearing
A rhythmic and "wet" sound of two loaded testicles hanging under the rod of a huge and hard cock sucking the flabby ass of a fat naked sheep on the hood of his old Fiat, the vulgar words screamed by the voice choked by the orgasm of a sexting chubby woman who gets banged by two classmates on a blanket lying behind the bushes by the river, the peremptory orders of an old lady who with her hands presses the head of a thin sexting man in fishnet stockings and lace thong crouched between her still vigorous things with her groin, vulgar words whispered sweetly by her craving lover into the ear of her occasional stallion, the snaps of the cat with nine tails that the torturer sheathed in latex overalls on dizzying stiletto heels whip the slave's tits tied to a bench with electraut clamps that torture her nipples now tumid, the noise of the head of the bed against the wall of the room, the laughter of the lovers who have been fucking for over an hour on the bed in the next room in the sleazy suburban motel, the cry of pain of the fifty-year-old gentleman naked, prone and obscenely wide open at the moment when the chapel of his muscular lover breaks his sphincter with violence, screams that prelude to the perverse pleasure of sodomy.
The sighs and screams of the lover who enjoys, give Stephi the most intimate pleasure in the confirmation of having been Troy enough to bring him to orgasm.
Sounds, voices, noises in which Stephi would like to be the protagonist.
Touch
The rough surface of the bark of the tree to which the hands cling to hold on to the beastly penetration of a group of strangers in the pine forest, the hard but at the same time pulsating and wet texture of the shaft of a hardening cock, the soft and mellow texture of two breasts whose nipples are hardening between the thumb and forefinger, the hairy surface of the skin of a pair of athletic calves, the feeling of the hands caressing the shaved head of the lover with whom the tongues are exchanging saliva, the intense and humid heat of the inner walls of the pulsating rectum and the turgid consistency of the cervix inside a pussy now flooded with moods, the pleasure in the pain of nipples squeezed with violence by greedy fingers, the sense of fullness of the warm and pulsating rod that violates the rectum, the sense of perdition of the hands that run and explore every fold of the skin of the buttocks of a woman now flushed by cellulite but still ferociously craving, the tickle of pubic hair during cunnilingus, the rough sensation of the hair on the lips at the base of the shaft that has now disappeared inside the mouth dripping saliva from the corners.
The marks left on her body by the strong tightness, scratches, whips and ties, are as many decorations to the value of the Trojan.
They are all chills, almost electric shocks that have the power to cancel any will and any brake and deliver Stephi to total abandonment in the pleasure of the flesh.
Smell
The scent left by the passage of the furry lady walking on dizzying stiletto heels and who could be completely naked under the soft mantle inside which hides her already seasoned but still burning with lust, the pungent smell of the vulva still damp of the warm and golden liquid that has just watered her, the animal scent that springs from the sweaty armpits of the mighty male that Stephi is licking with greed, the intoxicating scent that releases the turgid bird that slips out of his panties just above his nose just above the mouth ready to welcome him down his throat, the smell of menstruation or the smell of cum that has just impaled the face, those particular miasmas that would usually be revolting but that in the moment of sexual infoiamento become powerful aphrodisiacs and that come from the anal orifice that the tongue is greedily exploring, the melange of animal effluents from the intimate moods that mingle in the sweaty intercourse and that has the subtle power to reach the brain like a discharge and that stuns and leaves it to any will of the lover, the infinite variety of smells that stimulate the brain by exploring the skin of the lover from the toes to behind the ears.
The smells that define the identity of the lover and indelibly fix their memory in the memory. Memory and the pleasure of feeling and knowing more and more Troy,
Taste
Thousands are the flavors of sex and Stephi is a glutton for sex. The taste of cock freshly dipped in a jar of nutella or mayonnaise, the taste of passing the tongue between two soft buttocks stuffed with strawberry jam but also the taste of cock extracted from the rectum just smashed and that must be carefully sucked, licked and cleaned from the remains that he has unintentionally extracted, the brackish taste of the vulva now full of moods to suggest as a tropical fruit and the equally intoxicating taste of the piss that just watered her face or the cum that filled her mouth, are foods that Stephi is greedy, in savouring greedily which she finds pleasure in her intimate unbridled slut.
So we're back to Pleasure again.
The intense pleasure given by each of these sensations and a thousand others that I cannot describe, the one given by their sum, overlapping and contemporary mixing, together with that of being able to give as much pleasure to her lover or all her lovers, one at a time or all at once, are the abyss (or even at the summit) in which Stephi loves to get lost and cancel himself in enjoyment.
The subtle pleasure of being object and subject, the sublime contradiction of pleasure given by pain or humiliation which is at the same time exaltation of the pleasure of her lovers who can be her sublime tormentors.
This intense and contradictory pleasure is what Stehi dreams of, what Stephi fears, what Stephi exists for.
