A Pumpkinless Spiced Weekend

In pursuit of wanting to have her story looked over and possibly shared here on The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, a long time silent follower decided her experience this past weekend just might spark the interests of me but also all of the regular readers. I will give you a background on Eve and then let her story begin. Eve is a very shy young lady, at the age of 22 she is an off and on college student, as the funds permit, and once she left being an unhappy employee at a well known and popular coffee shop she found herself working the overnight shift at an adult clothing boutique. She was in charge of placing new displays and keeping the window as appealing as possible to the passing public. After five months of working there she was feeling as if she had found a home. She was having fun, the work wasn’t bad, and she always got to meet some truly interesting people nightly. Which is where her story begins and I shut up.

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I check out your blog a couple times a week, reading when I have the time, and realized I just had what might qualify in your terms as a Magic Weekend. I guess we’ll see how much you like it if I see it posted or not. Either way, here goes.

I had just finished up the new displays in the front window when things got kinda strange for me. This older gentleman came into the store after thoroughly checking out my new displays, he wandered around a bit, not really looking at anything, but I noticed he kept looking in my direction. Soon enough he slowly approached the check out counter where I asked him if I could help him decide on anything special. His face lit up, he took a deep breath, and then he asked if employees modeled the outfits for their customers. I played off the question but in my head I’m wondering if this fucking man has lost his mind or something. If I can, let take a break from the story and myself to you because I really consider myself to be highly average in my body type and looks. I’m 5’7″, around 130 pounds, toned but not muscular, and living in the midwest I have a moderate fake and bake tan, natural dark dirty blonde hair, and measure up at 34C-25-33 body. I wear jeans and t-shirts to work, don’t wear makeup, and 99% of the time my hair is pulled back in a tight pony tail. As I said, I find myself looking average. He went ahead and asked me again if I could model an outfit for him since I have basically the same body as his girlfriend and about the same age of her as well. He looks to be in his late forties, pushing fifty if I had to guess. Now I’m a bit embarrassed because he is being so polite about it and I feel bad saying no.

Playing his game a bit, I asked him what he had in mind and after a few moments of thought he points to the outfit in the window. He wants to see what the barista uniform looks like on a living breathing female. Seeing in my face I wasn’t going to do it he offers me $500 for a quick show. I’m trying to figure this out, he will pay me $500 to try on a $69 outfit. I tell him I’m not for sale. He shot straight back with a $1000 offer. Being a smart ass I ask, “cash up front and before”? He laid ten $100 bills on the counter. I asked what he wants in return and he says he wants to watch me change, he wants a ten minute parade which needs to include bending over, stretching up high, walking around, and squatting down. He only asks for one picture that I can choose for him and he will take pictures only using my personal cell phone. Seems like an interesting proposal with minimal effort on my part. Plus, I have a really old phone so they will be crappy pictures anyhow. I tell him if he is truly serious about all this to come back in 30 minutes and I will have an answer for him. He complied, leaving the money in my care. The money would come in very handy is all I can think about. So, before he returned I got the outfit out in my size.

In precisely 30 minutes he returned and asked what I decided. Decided? Well, in reality I haven’t fully decided yet. This is all still kind of fucked up if you ask me. Screw it, if he is willing to drop a grand for ten minutes of costume modeling then I’m game. I dug my phone out of my back pocket, switched on the camera, and handed it to him. I decided to just do this entire thing at the register counter. With one final deep breath I began kicking off my shoes, peeling my socks off, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down while I faced away from him. It was at this point I here the camera making it’s fake clicking noise so I slowly lift my shirt over my head and then remove my bra as well. There I stood naked for this guy to fucking see. I don’t know what he expected now but I started putting on the costume. When I squatted down to get the costume I could see through the glass counter that his rock hard dick was poking through his dress slacks. I won’t lie, it was impressive, and it made me blush a bit because it was all because of me, except I wasn’t really doing anything except flirting around a bit. I got dressed slowly, it was a bit challenging because I didn’t have a mirror to look into, closest thing I had was a reflection in the glass. Fortunately for me I keep an eye on his huge erection. The costume didn’t cover very well at all anywhere, which I guess is the point, and I started getting into this performance much more. I walked around slowly in the store, bending and squatting often, and he just followed me, watching me, and taking pictures.

He kept track of time as well, he told me my ten minutes were up, it could have been 30 minutes for all I knew. But I wasn’t done playing yet, I walked over, turned my back to him, and began rubbing my as on this man’s erection, it feels good sliding between my cheeks, I pressed hard against it, at this point I wanted that big dick right now. But wait, snap the fuck out of it right now, you are not fucking this guy, not now, not never. But I need to see it so I unzip his pants and hold it firmly in my hand, it was hot and throbbing, looking like it could just explode at any moment. I needed to be done tho, so I politely kiss the tip of this throbbing meat and walked away slowly. Behind the counter again I went ahead and changed back into my clothes. When I bent down to gather the costume I noticed that the panties were all but soaked, I was a little horny I think. Asking him what he thinks he tells me it was perfectly executed, very nicely done, and he will buy the one I was wearing as a souvenir of his visit. When he pays he leaves his business card, telling me if I ever wanted to model for him again he would be right over, just give him a call. I hated seeing him go, I wasn’t actually done with him yet, but he walked out as quietly as he walked in.

The rest of my night was quiet, not another customer came in. The shit part is that when I went in to work the next night I was terminated for “gross inappropriate behavior with a customer”. Seems the hidden cameras in the store caught it all on tape. The owner wasn’t real happy with me, but he is a fucking sleaze anyway, he never tried anything, but he just creeped me out in general. On the plus side, I got my final paycheck which includes my commission in that last sale. I’m thinking about calling Robert tonight, see if he wants to help me celebrate my recent unemployment.

Interesting story, it fits right in to the parameters of The Magic Weekend because it was sexual without the sex and money because of it. I don’t know, I’ll just let y’all, the readers, be the judge. So, what about the rest of y’all? What did your Magic Weekend involve? Don’t be shy, send your story in today!

Time For Your Magic Weekend Stories!

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But wait! What’s the hurry? What’s the big deal? Sit back a moment and I will explain to y’all why the weekend being here is such a big deal. Don’t freak out if y’all have submitted before and it was published, I really love you repeat offenders and I will post for you again.  As y’all can see, here at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, I’m pretty open minded as to what I post myself. Anyway, your information can be as private or as public as you want it to be. Upon request I also add your blog so others may find you as they grope around the internet in the dark. I also provide the donating party of the story and pictures a link to place on their blog to use as they see desirable. Want more information or want to just see what has been posted before? Just search The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog for “Magic Weekend” and enjoy.

So, that’s why I’m here today. It’s time for y’all to tell your fantastic stories about your weekend for the “world” to see. So what did your Magic Weekend involve? Sex, Jail, Blood, Money, or Fame? Got questions? Just ask me. Fair enough? Great, lets GO! Be sure to include your pictures with your story!

Submit your stories & pictures to:

thestingofthescorpion@gmail.com

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The Night I Don’t Remember

 

As we know, I do my best to share the stories of my readers. This one really has no direct category to be placed in, but I will add it to the collection of great stripper and strip bar stories. The reader who submitted this story asked to remain unidentified for professional reasons. No, I don’t know what is meant by that, but I always abide by requests and people see it when they read stuff here. I have seen this happen in real life more than once, like every day. One would be amazed what people leave at a strip bar. One would be surprised the efforts people go through to get their stuff back. And, yes, unfortunately it is kinda like talking with a giggly five year old when you call a strip bar, its always been that way because she is never hired for her people skills on the phone, she is hired to be the first thing you see when you walk thru the doors so you go DAMN! let me in. When one enters a strip bar it is like walking through the portal to an alternate universe, often one needs to pinch themselves because the world is cruel outside the doors. So, allot of weird shit happens in a strip bar, but then again a strippers job is to separate a visitor from as much of his/her money in the shortest amount of time, every time. With that being said, read the email.

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Begin email———————

I went to the strip club the other night…allegedly.  I’m not sure it counts though because I don’t remember being there, much less remember driving home.  “Oh the humanity Grayson, the humanity,” I hear the voices saying.  “How dare you drive home black-out drunk; you could have killed someone!”  Shut thefuck up right now and let me finish you interrupting ass-hag!  I didn’t quite drive home drunk and I do specifically remember one incident from the night…being woken at 3:30am by a security guard(?) while passed out in my truck in some establishment’s parking lot.  Whose parking lot it was…I was totally and completely unsure of.  After that, I am wholly unaware of the events except for the fact that I slept for the next 26 hours straight, missing work and occasionally waking up from some pretty twisted dreams of disembodied heads, parallel universes and ex-girlfriends wanting to “give it another shot”…again; then dumping me and shitting – both figuratively and literally – on me and my life.  I mean, this heartless cheating cunt had the audacity to…wait, what the fuck was I talking about?  Oh yeah, right…blacking out at a strip club and not remembering; I’m the good guy.  Anyway, it was like the movie The Hangover, minus the ‘wolf-pack’ and a whole lot more depressing.  Like our lovable characters from the film, I was (possibly) drugged with GHB and had to follow vague clues I’d unknowingly left myself in order to find, not a lost friend and groom for an imminent wedding the following morning, but my debit card and driver’s license.  So yeah, a completely sad version of the now classic comedy.

The entire night started with an innocent trip to a bar, not to drink, but to sit way back in a corner booth with my notebook (actual paper-type book you write in with pens; not a computer…I ain’t fuckin’ rich folks).  Yes, I said that shit with my nose in the air like some pretentious hipster at Star Bucks; feel free to punch me if you ever see me.  Anyway, how I got from said bar to, what I later found out to be Cabaret East, I have no fucking idea; but I figured my notebook might have a clue, since I’m always leaving myself notes.  I had 20 pages of some seriously fucked up and twisted shit written in there that I am proud to say I loved, and don’t actually know when I wrote it that night.  When I got done high-fiving myself and making mental notes to write shit-faced drunk (or drugged) more often, I noticed 2 phone numbers on the last page of writing.  One had the name of a tattoo parlor and the other was for a person named Corrin.  Intrigued, I picked up my cell phone ready to dial her(?) number until I came to the sudden realization that I had to have used my GPS since I surely had no idea how to get where I went or how to get home.  Sure enough, my GPS was the last app I used that night.  I searched the ‘recent addresses’, plugged that shit into Google Search and voila, Cabaret East.  I got the phone number, called that bitch up and what follows is the conversation, verbatim, I had with the receptionist…as much as I can recall days later anyway:

Girl – Cabaret East

Me – Yeah, hi.  I believe I visited your fine establishment Sunday night, and whether I left by my own accord or was forcibly removed, I’m not sure, but I believe ya’ll might be in possession of my ID and debit card.

Girl – Um…what?

Me – I think I walked my tab.  Do you have my debit card?

Girl – Uh…I dunno.

(Silence for ten seconds)

Me – (irritated at this point) Can you…I dunno…look?!

Girl – Oh yeah (giggles), sure, one sec.

Me – Wait wait wait!

Girl – What?

Me – Don’t you need my name?!

Girl – (giggles again) Oh yeah…of course!

After talking to this brick wall of human intelligence for what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to extract from her that, yes, they did indeed have possession of my shit.  I hung up the phone, triumphant that I CSI’d the shit out of my situation,  while also ashamed-beyond-words at the same time because I still don’t know how my shit got there in the first place. I will be fucked until my literal day of recollection.

Later Tuesday evening, I went up to the titty club to retrieve my shit and was met by a big, burly, black mother fucker who looked like he’d choke me with my own intestines; who also happened to remember both, helping me to my truck as I vomited along the way AND waking me up at 3:30 in the AM to send my hobo-ass packing.  I thanked him for telling me about such obviously proud moments in my life, then  I swore to him that I’d been drugged; in return he handed me a bill with a smile…for just under $350.  I fought back maniacal fits of laughter, tears and the intense urge to vomit.

I wasn’t sure if I was playing out my fantasy of a poor man’s Hank Moody from Californication or if I was literally just fucked up enough to get myself into such shenanigans; because I don’t generally share much about my actual personal life other than the intense anger that I feel in general towards society, but I’m pretty sure some people at this point would consider a negative bank account due to a – for all intents-and-purposes – fake night of debauchery, as rock bottom; for me…it’s just another Sunday night.

As for Corrin…she is a stripper, who had as much recollection of me as I had for her; we will not be in touch.

End email————————–

I like this man’s references to movies and life in general. I have the answer he seeks. It wasn’t drugs, it’s deeper than that, its more mental than that, it was out his normal element if you ask me. Plus, writers are fucking out there in their own world anyway, no offense to y’all writers, but it’s true. People often overthink shit too, which is death to our brains, then add in strippers, titties, alcohol, a strip bar, blacking out, and one can see where the imagination just goes ape shit. Not to mention the movie reference, because those were some pretty fucked up movies. Neither here nor there, he solved his dilemma. Too bad he doesn’t remember what went down. Or does he? Maybe its his mind blocking shit that isn’t in his norm or his mind knows that if he recalls anything that he will be in mental disarray. Who knows.

The Big Lights In The Big City

I’ve yet to use all the stories in my little black notebook, but I have to take pause from it on occasion since I still receive great email entries to my Bartender Stories in my email inbox on a pretty regular basis. Sometimes, I get intrigued enough to skip the newest ones to the head of the line. Today is your lucky day, today you get a treat, y’all haven’t had a Bartender Story in a long while, so today that is what you get. However, even though this will be a Bartender Story entry for the purpose of tracking and filing, it also has a Magic Weekend scenario as well which is twisted into the story quite aggressively. The story will actually begins with the Magic Weekend portion and quite rapidly turns into a Bartender Story. Oddly enough, I am still finding out that I’m still part of the “network” of friends of friends of friends who I knew in a past life. This particular story comes from an 18 year old young lady who had just graduated high school and was, or so she thought, faced with the difficult choices of what to do with her life now. Sure, she would like college to be her next step, but is faced with paying for what she wants. She also has friends of friends of friends, as she finds out one night at a party she was attending for her on and off again boyfriend. She soon found out she was invited, but unfortunately not as a date, but by co-friends of the boyfriend that she still hung out with. And I suppose that is a good place to begin, the couple of days prior when she got the invite. I will be telling this story in third party orientation, meaning, I will tell it in my “voice”, but bear in mind that it is after reading her email, and continuously referring to it, it will just be easier this way.
So, three days prior to the party Adrienne received a text from one of her friends in an expansive circle of friends, inviting her to a birthday party of her time and again boyfriend that she didn’t know if she had got from him or not. Well, she hasn’t got any invite from him, in fact its been a while now since she has heard from him, she has pretty much dismissed him as someone in her past now. But, she will go to the party. She knows she will be the youngest person there, as she would go to these same kind of parties since she was sixteen. She replied, and said she would probably be there, not to see him, but to just get out and have some fun. She finished getting ready for her job, a job that pays the bills, but not a job she wants much longer. She mentions that she grew up in the southern suburbs of Houston, and has found that there aren’t too many jobs for an eighteen year old female with only a high school diploma and no real skills to speak of. She would love to be able to get an instructor position at her local yoga facility, yoga is what she really knows, that and dancing, she loves both. But, can’t figure out the economics of making either of those work out for her financially. So for now, she works at Twin Peaks, where she makes nice money in tips if she is willing to work on the weekends when the other girls want off to go party. She always is available, but not for this coming Saturday, she just hopes the party and break will be just that, a break and a great party. She worries most about the drama, if there will be drama, and she will regret the night altogether, she has talked herself out of going a dozen times or so, but has finally decided she will go, get fucked up, get laid, and have a good time. Now she has a mission, next is to figure out who her next victim will be, she uses the word “victim” loosely, but reminds me that she just needs the hard sex, not another drama filled “relationship”. As the week has now passed, she woke up Saturday morning wanting to hit the mall, she wanted to do a little shopping to get her something new, something that just might attract a little too much attention, something that will get her what she wants.
She shopped for a few hours, did some heavy flirting with some heavy, heavy petting at this one store, she decided that the little skirt and top would do just fine, that sixteen year old boy begged her for her number, he wasn’t quite done, everyone got all worked up in the changing room and she just walked away, she got the reaction she was looking for. Once she leaves the mail she decides to go ahead and spend the extra money at the salon, get her hair done, get her nails done, and get her toenails done. She wants to be presentable, she wants to draw attention, she wants to go the extra mile, not leaving one thing not done. When she gets home she wants to try on her new clothes and shoes where she notices its been a while since she have passed a razor across her body and new that needed to be her next step, nothing worse that being felt up when he notices she brought sasquatch to the party. Then again….. no, the blonde sasquatch has got to go. What good is it being smooth from shoulder to toe if we don’t lotion from shoulder to toe as well. She decided a sparkling lotion she bought at Victoria’s Secret as a gift for someone but decided to keep would be just perfect. As she sat in her robe doing her makeup she couldn’t stop thinking she was already ready for the end of the night, the grand finally, when she is sprawled out on the bed wet, used, and left to dry all by her self. She looked forward to the moment she laid there and her the door shut behind the nameless guy who had a wife or girlfriend to attend to. But, she is at home, in her robe that needs to be washed, finishing up her makeup. As she stands, she lets her robe slide down her back, across her ass, and finally hit the floor, she walked out to the kitchen with the cool feel as the air the air passes across her nude body, a feeling she will soon heat up. She pulls a shot glass out of the cabinet, a bottle of Patron from the freezer, and has herself three or four quick shots. She likes the smooth cool burn of tequila as it goes down her throat and finally finds a resting place in her stomach.  Maybe just one more. She moves to the living room, flips on the DVD player and the television, feeling that she needs to do a little stretching, work out any kinks, getting her muscles heated up, get stretched, and do a little meditation. Nothing worse than having body slamming sweaty sex with a mind that is wandering and wondering what the rest of the world is doing, one needs focus, one needs commitment, and one does not need to worry about getting that weird cramp in between the shoulder blades when the back is arched back to brush your hair in his face doing the reverse cowgirl. Who needs that shit, preparation is key, get relaxed, get in the zone, and then anything is possible, anything. He might be like a Lays potato chip and cant have just one, maybe she can get lucky two or three times, what a way to ruin a Sunday, to worn out to do a damn thing, she can think of no way better to have her Sunday ruined.
As she gets dressed she realizes this will be the perfect night for going commando and the corset style shirt she will be wearing is no place for a bra, and 5″ stilettos to seal the deal. She feels great, feels she looks great, and she grabs her other two bottles of tequila to head off to the party. Perfect, the gas light is blinking, so much for thinking ahead, so the first stop will be the gas station up the block. Finally, on the road, the road which she hopes leads her to some of her fantasies being fulfilled. What is it about driving into the darkness that makes us nervous, gets our anxiety blowing up, and somehow anticipation turns to fear and regret? Fear and regret, before a party, who in the fuck needs that emotional turmoil? The answer, music, loud music, I feel Metallica coming on hard, it plays so loud I can feel the bass vibrations through the driver’s seat, now we are back in the party mood, nothing better on the planet than a seat that proves time and again to provide great vibrations time and time again. Arriving at the party she is greeted with all the fake hellos and greetings, the pecks on the cheek, the grope across the ass, and the mindless chit chat bullshit from people you know could give a fuck less if you were actually there or not. Why can’t she have the movie star actress red carpet entrance? What would be wrong with that? Instead, it is what it is, the preoccupied squaller that is to be expected at all of these parties, one she arrived late to on purpose, she wanted the alcohol flowing thru these young rum pirate studs so most of the work would be done, now that they are drunk they are looking for pussy, anyone’s pussy, as long as it’s warn and wet. Lucky them, that’s a perfect description of what I’m bringing to the fucking party. No signs of the so-called whatever once and again boyfriend, he’s probably hidden away banging some chic who’s name he will soon forget, well happy 21st birthday asshole. As the party rolled on I got to talking with some of the attending girls, after a while two of them drop that they are strippers locally and met these guys and came for the party as well as maybe work in a little work for some extra cash as the night rolls on. They had, held, and remain with my undivided attention. Needless to say, the conversations I had on the couch, how I saw them work a room of horny guys with cash in their pockets, and how it looked like they were living a fantasy life had me very intrigued. I watched them dance, saw the way they effortlessly moved, it was a routine without the routine, it was amazing. She knows she can move like that, she spoke with one of the strippers, and they worked it out where she could dance with them. In the end, she didn’t get laid, not once, but she walked away with $1,900.00 in cash from tips and a business card with a number to call on Monday early afternoon. She drove home, alone, and knew she would never believe herself in the morning when she remembers the nights events.
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Sunday arrives, she wakes up, and amazingly is surprised she remembers the entire night which preceeded. She spent the day cleaning her apartment, doing laundry, and really wondering if she wanted the “life” of a stripper. What does the life of a stripper actually involve? How good or how bad can it really be? She has been looking for a better job, with better money, and doing something she really loves, dancing. But can this be considered real dancing, could it fulfill her dreams, or would it be just another job? In her opinion, there was but one way to find those answers, she would make the call on Monday. The rest of her day didn’t involve much, she had a light dinner, had a long hot bubble bath, which she shared with her bottle of Patron, and then called it a night. She was off Monday, so she had time to hit the grocery store, get her oil changed, and had her car washed, all in hopes it would kill the day that much faster. Guess what, it worked. When she got back home she dug out the business card, dialed the number, and was very surprised when she was actually talking to the girl from the party, who just happens to be the recruiter for the club I was formally a bartender at a few years ago now. She went in that night for an interview, they had her out dancing quite a bit, seeing crown reaction and her interaction with the crowd, really looking into her stamina and how she carried herself dancing in the nude. She was asked to wait at the bar, have a few drinks on the house, and just have a rest for awhile. While at the bar she sees a few of my old posters, drink specials, and on one of the posters behind the bar was a link to my blog, which she killed some time looking at, she just happened to find the sections mentioned earlier, The Magic Weekend and Bartender Stories. She mentions she didn’t realize it at that moment, but found herself a few days later writing me an email. Great news, she did get the job! She did quit her other job. She explained that in the first week she made more in tips than she would have made in three years of being a waitress at the other place. After a few weeks she already had allot to share, but for now she wants to leave it to end right here. She passes on she is happy now, that she never saw this as a career path she would have chose but has no complaints, she is treated well at the club, she has money in her savings account now, and she wonders why she was satisfied with her life just a short month ago. She realizes the newness of the job, the money, the bright lights, and all the different people she meets will soon ware off and wonders if she will still be as excited as she was that first night.
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I know, personally, that no one can answer those questions for her. I also know that unless one has an eventual plan it can seem like one is lost in all the blissfulness that happens every night of the week. She did invite me to come meet her sometime in the near future. Seems like the perfect opportunity to take my future son-in-law for a visit to my old stomping grounds, it will be his first time into a full nude strip club, maybe any strip club, since he just turned 21 a few months ago and my daughter keeps a tight lease on him. But, I have permission to take him out drinking anytime from my daughter and my wife, maybe we will just step it up a notch or seven. Anyway, that’s Adrienne’s story that she wanted to share with everyone. I look forward to hearing more from her, will be interesting to see where her new career takes her as time passes. Let this be a lesson to y’all, I do read my email, I do try to keep up sharing and posting, and I’m always wanting to hear about what happened on your personal Magic Weekend.

The Man From Nantucket

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Anyway, I decided to pass this story on to y’all while I have had time hanging out at three different doctors offices today. I think y’all will enjoy it, especially the fishermen who knows the perils of early morning fishing in a tiny boat. Enjoy.

I never know how to title posts that are sent to me with no title. This is especially hard when entries come in for The Magic Weekend. But, I figured most of us have heard of the tale about the man from Nantucket, so I figured it just might catch someone’s attention. Did it work? Neither here nor there, he sends me a story that covers two of the categories for The Magic Weekend. If you need a moment to get up to speed to see what those are, we’ll wait. Got everyone back? So, Ron is of course from Nantucket Massachusetts where he has lived most of his adult life. Ron states he is in his mid-40s, single, dating, and spends most weekends fishing and drinking. Sounds like I’m writing his single’s ad instead of his story introduction. But, I guess if someone is interested in Ron they can get ahold of me and I will pass your information on to him. Hey, wait just a fucking minute, I’m not pimping for nobody, especially a damned ‘ol yankee. Anyways, this story wasn’t sent in by Ron, it was sent in by one of his lady friends. Hey, I don’t judge. Elizabeth, the lady friend in question, sent this particular story in this past weekend to share her version of their Magic Weekend. She made sure to send me in three decent pictures, two of Ron and one of herself. So, we shall begin with her e-mail now.

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El Scorpion~

Hi! My name is Elizabeth, 23, from the great state of Massachusetts. I’m sorry your not a big fan of us yanks but we’re just people too. I hope this email finds you well and that you will be able to see that even us yankees know how to have a Magic Weekend. I have been a long time stalker of your blog, I can relate to a couple of the stories you posted, but hell, that’s just part of dating I think, shit happens, we laugh, we learn, and we become better people down the road hopefully. Anyhow, I met Ron through a friend of a friend of a friend who thought we needed to hook up. The first time we met was a shock to both of us, the short version was we did allot of shots of tequila, allot, and I ended up bent over the couch with my bikini bottom pulled to one side as he drilled me so hard I though he would surely pound my tonsils out. It was great, I was hooked, and I wanted more, and more, and then more to cap it off. Does this make me greedy? I cant help it he knows how to screw one way, and one way only, to just drill and pound until everything is just a sloppy mess. Ah, memories. I have good pictures of some of these occasions as well, let me know if I should send them to you later. Just kidding, I know you can’t post those on your “Rated G” blog.

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So, Ron called me to see if I had any plans a few weeks ago because he wanted me to go fishing with him on some pond called Hummock or something like that. I’m not much into fishing but what the hell, I like to eat fish, drink, and party so I was game. I showed up at his house about 4:30 in the morning dressed for the nice day ahead. He met me on the porch, gave me the once over head to toe, got a dirty grin on his face, and then handed me cooler to carry to his truck. After we got all loaded up we headed out, it was a rather short trip, 15 minutes or so. The area we pulled up to was very pretty, looks like a post card you could find at the drug store or somewhere. I helped put his little boat in the water, we loaded everything into it, and we pushed off. It appears that we truly are in the middle of absolutely nowhere so I spent quite a bit of time fucking with Ron, trying to throw off his fishing game, but, for some reason fishing is what he actually had on his mind. I didn’t want to fish, I wanted to fuck, and I was going to get my way one way or another. As I laid back against the front of the boat, my fingers dangling in the calm water, I watched to sun begin to come up, I could feel its warmth as it moved up my legs, onto my stomach, across my breasts and face, and now I catch Ron checking me out from the corner of his eye. Game on now Ron, game on. Before I knew it I was sliding down my shorts to get comfortable, now I am laid out in nothing but my bikini. The warmth across my body, a perfect time to start lapping on the suntan lotion. Ah, I wanted to be so naughty, I wanted Ron to be done fishing, and I was going to have my way, you just keep on playing with your minnows Ron, I’ll see if I can’t change your mind.

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My bikini top and bottoms just slid right off and it took Ron all of about 33 seconds to realize he was done fishing this morning. And then he turned to me, trying to get out of his shorts, the all I see is Ron with his giant boner coming right at me, now all fuck breaks loose. Ron had slipped, then tripped, and was going down like a falling mighty oak, it seemed as if it were all going in slow motion, then I hear the crash, Ron had landed onto the corner of his open tackle box which shattered into oblivion, slicing his hand open. In all the commotion we ended up flipping the boat over in about 18 feet of water. Everything on the little boat was gone, everything. We ended swimming to the open area by his truck, where I finally was able to take his shirt off of him and bind it around his hand. As luck would have it, and we needed luck, I found the keys to his truck deep in his pocket, finding out that Ron was still peacocking his mighty wood. We headed to his house for clothes for me and a quick change for him. Luckily he wasn’t much of a bleeder or we would have been in grave shit. There was a small clinic not far from his house which is where we ended up. They sewed Ron up real clean as we laughed and joked that we could tell our grand children of this event one day. Afterwards I took Ron home, made him a hot tea and called it a day. Don’t worry, Ron healed up just fine, and a few weeks later we had a couple more dates, we had much unfinished business to attend to. He still calls from time to time, seems this is what our relationship has turned into, just two people too busy to have a dating life. Maybe one day that can change, we’ll see.

Yours truly, your the best, Elizabeth

A New Meaning To Slippery When Wet

So, I’ve mentioned before, my Magic Weekend inbox is overflowing with great stories, some extremely long, and some which are short and sweet. This next one I’m posting is on the short side. Annabel has been a very regular contributor to The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, so when I see she has sent me something new I usually go ahead and check hers out first. Although, this time she was full of surprises, this time she sent in a personal story for the Magic Weekend, and I knew I had to post it right away. Y’all will see, as per a promise I made last month, that I’m going to try to post the pictures sent to me without to much damn censoring, but as you call tell, female anatomy is rather challenging to work with to edit it where one still has an idea of what the pictures are trying to illustrate. I think most of y’all can do the math to see what two plus two equals. If not, there’s absolutely no fucking help for you. So, without further delay, please enjoy her story, I know I did.

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Dear Scorion Sting-

As we both know, I’m a regular sender of information, pictures, and ideas, because I try to carry out my role in The Scorpion Army. I have seen many of my ideas posted in your blog so I thought you might enjoy something not so generic and a little bit more personal. So, I will make this simple because I made a premeditated choice this past Saturday night. It was my 21st birthday and I wanted to get myself something rememberable. I had wanted, since I have been 16, to get my clit pierced, a VCH, a vertical clitorius hood piercing, but never have. For my birthday this year it was going to be my gift to me because nobody else was going to get my kitty fancy jewelry but me. I was ready, I really was, I took extra time shaving, making sure I was so smooth that water beaded up on the skin. Mission accomplished. I put on loose, baggy warm up pants because I was told that one’s clit gets pretty swollen and sore afterwards. In the end I was as ready as I thought I could ever be, and to say I was excited is an understatement, because I’m fucking extatic.

I get to the tattoo shop, you can omit the name if you like, but its a place you have mentioned before, I just know you don’t like giving free advertising. Anyway, sitting in front of Magic Needle I found myself growing really impatient, it was time to go, my wait is finally over. Once inside I was asked if I had an artist preference and if I wanted a male or female artist. It doesn’t matter, just as long as their aim is true and straight. After filling out all of the legal release paperwork I was led back to a room, instructed to lay on the table, and to remove my sweats. There I laid, for what seemed like an eternity, on the table with my pants in the chair, getting a slight chill, but flushing with heat because I didn’t know what was about to happen. As the seconds turned to minutes, Ron enters to explain the process, gets his tools ready, and here we go. I only felt his warm fingers, a cold clamp, and a sharp snap of pain. Then it was over, no foreplay, no teasing, just stuck it through. I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life as there has been nothing to ever compare it to so far in my 21 years. Want to talk about making me instantly wet, that did the fucking trick 100 fold!

Then, Ron turned to me and mentioned that they had a special going on, get one piercing and get your next one half off if done in the next seven calendar days. So I told him if he has time I got a nipple he could pierce right now. He smiled, got prepped, I showed him where, and like lightning my nipple was also pierced. You can only imagine the sensations that were going through my entire fucking body, in fact I don’t even think I am capable of explaining it right. But my sensitivity was increased like a billion times over. When I was done I was led up front to pay, this is also where they gave me my care for new piercings literature. Mentioned one shouldn’t touch the areas unless cleaning for 5-7 days, fuck that, I couldn’t stop touching either one the entire ride home. Now I just needed to get fucked hard to seal the night for me. But, no luck, I went home alone. Lucky for me I had a very lonely cucumber which had no prior obligations to handle my immediate needs, so it all worked out for the best if you ask me.

I know you have this stupid rule about using pictures with full nudity but there is no other way to show you what I had done but to just send pictures of myself, plus I know you can make them usable. Now, realize this morning, as I write this email, I’m a little sore, but I know Monday morning I’m off to work, with no one the wiser of my weekend. Glad I wear skirts, going commando for a few days should be interesting, hope nobody at the office gets an eyeful. I think I hit the blood part of your criteria, don’t know if letting a cucumber have its way with me counts as sex, but it did the fucking job for me!

Annabel H., Houston Tx

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I told y’all it was short and sweet, and as much as I wish I could share with y’all her beautiful VCH and horizontal nipple piercing, all the censoring, as you can plainly see, blocks what was so nicely done. I had to salvage at least two of the eleven great pictures she sent in so just deal with it. Yes, I know, all is blocked from view, just imagine a horizontal stainless steel stud pierced through her nipple and a vertical stud through her clitoral hood. Well folks, that’s it for this one. Keep sending in your Magic Weekend stories, keep sending in your pictures, and just keep doing all the crazy shit that y’all do every single weekend.

Y’all Have Clicked These Pictures Allot

When I get super bored I look at the statistics for T.S.O.T.S.B. to see what leads y’all here and to see what links/pictures y’all click the most. Y’all might not know but this particular blog has only been around here on wordpress for 14 months and some changes. In 14 months I have tried my best to have a vast array of different posts, different shares, and a handful of staple regulars. Two of the most popular “features”, as told by the statistics and comments, are the Bartender Stories and The Magic Weekend stories. I shouldn’t find it odd that those two areas of my blog are the most searched and sought after, but I really do. The biggest complaint I get from readers is that I censor some of the pictures I post, I get told I operate using a double standard because I oppose censorship yet I enforce it strictly on my blog. Eventhough I have explained that I wish to keep my blog at a PG rating to a NC17 rating. Plus, I know people, and I know people have a grand enough imagination to put back in what I’ve censored out.

Associated with the above links, I give you the #1 picture that gets “clicked” here, in 14 months y’all clicked the below picture 8892 times.

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The #2 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 6389 times.

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The #3 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 4129 times.

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The #4 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 3956 times.

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The #5 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 3921 times.

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Note to reader, not ALL of these 5 pictures are found on the panel to the right, y’all had to hunt for a couple of them. In the end I’m very happy that my “advertising” interests readers enough to click on the picture. So, I guess the big question I have for y’all is what makes y’all click what y’all are clicking? Also, I would like to add that every single one of the links to the right get very regular daily clicks, which I appreciate y’all looking at my blogging friends as well. It will be interesting to check back in a year to see what the picture statistics look like then. Well, that’s if T.S.O.T.S.B. is still around.