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Thursday, January 28, 2010

Panserhistory, part 2: Rachel

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y' THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 2: Rachel

My sophomore year at college, I had gotten hooked (along with much of the rest of my dorm) on a precursor to today's MMORPGs. This one was text-based, and played over a telnet connection to a server hosted by another university. The acronym for it at the time was MUD -- Multiple User Domain (or Dungeon), and it was a sort of Dungeons and Dragons world, but programmed by regular people, college students mostly. This particular one was really cool not just for the extremely imaginative worlds that had been created by those who ran it, but also by the social aspect of things. As I discovered rather quickly, you can get to know some very interesting people by talking to them over the Internets. Except it wasn't called "the Internet" yet -- most people were still using 300 baud modems for home connections to BBSs. Much easier, as we did, to use a university's T1 lines for higher bandwidth. I kept my university email address and access to their telnet system for almost a decade after I graduated, upon which they finally retired that system....but I digress.

Anyway, I got hooked on playing this MUD, as I said, and most evenings could find me in the dorm's computer lab, typing away. I had already been a speedy typist but all the interactions and conversations I was having in this medium ramped it way up until I was over the 100 wpm mark. It's stuck with me to this day, which is very handy for instant message conversations or emails. Or trying to get one of these musings written quickly when I have limited time....but again I digress.

Back to the game. I had made lots of friends via this medium, if you could call someone a friend when you had never met them face to face. And sometimes more than friends -- several relationships blossomed between friends of mine and people they had met in the game world. I had one myself, actually, and even had some fun times experimenting with cybersex with "her" -- until I found out from a mutual friend that that person was actually a guy. Embarrassing! Dropped that one in a hurry when I found out, you can be sure. :) On the other hand, some of the relationships got quite serious -- in fact a friend of mine actually started dating one of the other players, who it turned out was just playing from a nearby dorm. They may still be together, for all I know.

Anyway, one of these relationships got serious enough for the girl to fly out and visit the guy in my dorm who was chasing her. I didn't know him well, but I'd talked with her plenty in-game, and considered her to be a pretty good friend. He'd invited everybody in our local "group" to come hang out when she showed up. I dropped by and saw most of the people in our local group hanging out and talking with him. Where was she, though? I craned my neck and looked around a bit for a strange face -- and there she was, sitting on the couch and looking a bit abandoned. So I wandered over and said hi, and she introduced herself as Rachel.

It turned out that the attraction he'd claimed he had for her had pretty much dissolved when he first saw her because she didn't meet his standards of physical beauty. This puzzled me then and puzzles me to this day -- she wasn't conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but she had a withdrawn, mousy librarian chic thing going that I personally found very attractive. And she had lovely soft lips and truly beautiful eyes, and sweet-smelling long hair.

Oops. I'm getting ahead of myself. At the time, I just hung out and talked with her, because after all she wasn't there to visit me. The guy she was there to visit wound up mostly ignoring her, but I saw her a few times over the next few days, and then she went back home. After that, we got to be a lot closer, both online and off. Over the next few months we would spend lots of time talking via the MUD, sending emails when neither of us was there, or sending real, actual letters when neither of us had online access. Things grew, and developed, and we got to be closer and closer, several times talking about the attraction we felt and a few times even fooling around with cybersex, all the while talking about how we wished it were the real thing.....and by spring break of that year we had decided it was time for me to come visit her. So I flew out to see her, planning to spend a week with her, expecting nothing more than friendship but hoping for more.

And holy hell, did I get it.

When she met me at the gate, we embraced like long lost lovers (which I suppose we were, in a manner of speaking). We went back to her place and talked while I unpacked my stuff, then she had to go to work. I went with her (she worked in a mall, so I had plenty to keep me occupied for a few hours), then we had some dinner after she got off work, and then we got back to her place....and then we moved to her bedroom, where we began kissing. Gently at first, then more forcefully. We kissed, and kissed, and hands began exploring, and clothes began coming off slowly, and then I began giving her a backrub, massaging her, and eventually, by the glow of warm candles spaced around her bedroom, we made love, for the first of what would prove to be a great many times over the next week.

How to describe having sex for the first time? Even more difficult, how to describe making love, really making love, with somebody that you feel a huge emotional connection with? More difficult still, how to describe the warmth and caring and patience she showed me? Inexperienced and virgin as I was, I was nonetheless possessed of a hugely active imagination, and I'd done plenty of reading and seen lots of porn, so I knew the basic mechanics, but putting everything into place isn't always as easy, I discovered, as "tab A into slot B". But Rachel was a fantastic lover -- patient, helpful with me, guiding me, telling me what worked for her, how she liked to be touched and tasted and mmm, yesss, like that.

I couldn't believe how exciting it was to be lying in bed, stark naked, erection pointing at the ceiling, caressing an also-nude woman who said (and demonstrated quite ably!) that she wanted me. How soft her breasts were. How sweet her hair smelled. How her lips tasted, so hungry, so fresh. How soaking wet her pussy was, and how sharp its aroma, so piercing, such evidence of arousal.

I made love to her with hands, lips, teeth, tongue, caressing and licking every inch of her body, and spending a good 30 minutes worshiping her orally (she told me later that she came three times) before I even considered entering her. If I was going to do this, I thought, I was going to do it right. Finally I sheathed my aching cock in a condom and crawled on top of her. I asked her if she was sure she wanted this (apparently still in shock), and she responded with a grin, reaching down between us and guiding me home into her warm, wet pussy.

I groaned as I slid in. Oh, gods, this was so much better than I'd ever dreamed. We started a slow rhythm; I braced myself on hands above her, our bodies wet with sweat, sliding back and forth in delicious friction. I gazed into her eyes as we made love, holding each other close, breathing in tandem. It was all soft sighs and gentle murmurs and quiet endearments, and when I stiffened a few minutes later and flooded the condom, it was one of the most exquisite sensations I'd ever felt.

We made love over and over for the next week, whenever we had spare time and she was not working. She rarely initiated things, but she was always receptive to my advances -- or if she wasn't in the mood, she never showed it and would indulge me anyway. When she was too sore too fuck, we would lie there nude, caressing and touching each other, snuggling close, kissing and fondling. We did it mostly in missionary position, but played some with doggy-style and once with her on top. We played with mutual masturbation. I was a kid let loose in a playground and she, it seemed, was equally willing, even if not quite as enthusiastic. And it was so good, so very good, to hear that despite my inexperience I was apparently "fucking fantastic" in bed. There was enough self-confidence from that to carry me through some very bad years, and it gave a huge boost to my self-image.

And when we weren't making love, we were snuggling, holding each other close, talking about anything and everything. She told me things she'd never told anyone else, and I shared secrets with her that I haven't told anyone since. We spoke of our childhoods, our fears, hopes and dreams, the things that hurt us, the things that made us cry in the dead of night. We were balm for each others' troubled souls.

And when we weren't making love, or snuggling, or emotionally bonding, we were out exploring her town. Wandering across campus. Seeing cult films at the campus theater. Eating at the great local restaurants. Hanging out with local friends of hers (some of whom were also regulars on the MUD we frequented, and ALL of those gave us very, very knowing looks when they saw us holding hands). And generally making the most of the time we had together.

When we parted, we both knew, I think, that we were far too different (and much, much too far apart) to ever make things work on a permanent basis. But, as she said as she kissed me goodbye with a tear in her eye, "we'll always have Paris, eh?" And I smiled sadly, and agreed, and gave her a long slow kiss and a long tight hug, and waved goodbye until I couldn't see her anymore, and returned home, feeling emotionally and physically wrung out.

I did keep in touch with Rachel. We still saw each other in-game, and emailed frequently, and sent letters when (inevitably) we drifted away from the MUD, which really had gotten to take over too much of our lives. At least we never got obsessed to the point where it affected our grades, as had happened with some of our colleagues! Still, we kept writing each other, and eventually she met a local guy who treated her fantastically well, and she wrote less after that, with good reason. I heard from her a year or two after that; she said that they were getting married and she was moving to Canada with him. I sent back a delighted reply, and that, sadly, was the last I've heard of her.

I've tried to find her a few times over the past few years. But she has a very common name, and when she took her husband's last name it was even more common. Google searches and Facebook searches don't help much when they turn up hundreds of thousands of results. So I think about her at odd times, and wish her well, and hope she's as happy as she deserves to be.

Because for a spring break week in 1992, she made me happier than I'd ever been.

Thank you, Rachel. I never said it enough when we were "together", so I'll say it now. I loved you, and part of me always will love you.

-- PB

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Panserhistory, Part 1: Charlotte

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y' THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed. 

Part 1: Charlotte

We'll get the difficult stuff out of the way first. I didn't date at all through middle school and high school, didn't go to my junior or senior prom, never even kissed a girl. It wasn't for lack of interest, but being painfully shy, depressive, and geeky with a low self-image was enough to keep me from even asking anyone out. When I got to college, I at least attempted to grow and venture out a bit, but the first ten girls I asked out in my freshman year all said no or were dating someone already. Repeated rejections on top of an already low self-image was more than I was ready to handle at the time and I was pretty deeply depressed for much of my first year.

So when I finally got my initiation the way I did, it was one hell of a shock.

It was about four months till the end of the school year. In my slack time I was working for the university, a thankless administrative position that mostly had me sitting at a desk and looking up information for people who asked. One day, on my day off, one of my coworkers rang me up and told me to come by when I had some time, somebody -- a GIRL! -- had left a note for me at the desk. Curious, I walked halfway across campus to my work building and stopped by the front desk. My coworker handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it and said "Open it! Maybe it's a proposition for luuuuuuuuuuuuv." I punched him on the shoulder and said "Yeah, as if," but at his urging I did go ahead and open it up anyway.

And read: 

[my name] --

"If there were dreams to sell
Merry and sad to tell
And the crier rang his bell
What would you buy?"
-- S.S. Beddoes

I have wanted to ask you this for some time now. You intrigue me -- something not a lot of people do.

As always, 
Charlotte Richmond

I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. The world swam, literally, in front of my eyes -- everything went all wavery and swimmy. I staggered and almost fell, and had to clap a hand on the counter to steady myself. My coworker wanted to know what the hell was wrong but I could not find a single word to reassure him. I walked out without even thanking him for calling me. My mind was whirling and twirling willy-nilly and I was in a daze all the way back to my dorm.

I ran a quick directory search on her name and discovered that she lived in my own dorm, two floors above me. Emboldened by the note and by the phone number, I was nevertheless terrified, and for hours I tried to pick up the phone and call. Eventually, though, I did, and a warm friendly voice answered. I asked for Charlotte and she said "Speaking". I told her who I was and there was a long silence, which I finally broke. "Hello?"

"Well?" she wanted to know. "Tell me, then -- what would you buy?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, how about I stop by and we talk about it?"

She was smiling, I could tell she was smiling! I'd said the right thing! "That sounds good to me," she said. "I'm in room 617. Stop by anytime."


She was an enchanting vision to me, a small, very beautiful curvy girl with a shy smile, melting brown eyes, and a cloud of straight, light brown hair framing her face. I still remember how stunned I was when she first opened her door and I saw her for the first time. Hell, I remember how stunned my friends were when they saw her holding my arm. Surely, I thought, a girl like her would never really approach ME? But she had. She had a ready wit, a quiet humor that bubbled over only occasionally, but when it did it was like the sun breaking through clouds. We never officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, but from that day we were together at every spare moment we could manage. I was woefully inexperienced, but I did my best to fumble my way through the intricacies of a relationship. I treated her like a princess, which she really was, to me. We wrote poetry to each other. We would lay outside on the grass and watch the clouds. We would go to movies, or restaurants, or concerts -- all the usual stuff for college students. We would go walking across the campus, holding hands, silently communing. We would study together in her room and I would just watch her for long minutes, dust motes drifting in the sunlight between us during those endless spring days. We would talk on the phone when we weren't together -- well, I would talk and she would listen, usually.

Unfortunately, Charlotte was not the best partner for somebody who was as uncertain and inexperienced as me. She was equally reticent, equally inexperienced (from what little I gathered of her over the months we were together) and equally shy -- it was a miracle she'd even reached out to me in the first place. We had some short kissing sessions -- she was the first girl I kissed, and the first girl I ever kissed with tongue -- but never anything more than that, even after a few months of dating. Her roommate was almost always in the room and I was too afraid to invite her back to my room for any privacy. In addition, she had a number of personality quirks I tried to accomodate at first, but became serious issues over time. She was a strict vegetarian while I'm an unabashed meatasaurus; every time we ate somewhere she would express disapproval over my choices. She was very very quiet, and I spent almost all my time with her trying to get her to talk to me and tell me what she was thinking or feeling. In fact, I poured my soul out to her more than once, only to have her simply smile and say that I hadn't told her anything she didn't already know -- but she never, never reciprocated. She rarely told me why she was with me, or complimented me, or gave me any indication at all why she was with me, period. It's hard when things are that one-sided. She liked to keep me off balance by saying things I'd never expect -- once, while we were at my parents' place, visiting, she grabbed my butt and said "You have a nice rear," then smiled at me and went outside before I could say or do anything. She was a true child of chaos -- taking every day as it came and rarely having a plan, which was at odds with my more methodical nature.

But the biggest stumbling block was that she liked to argue with me just for the sake of the argument, just to see how I would express myself and what points I would raise. She admitted freely that she would just start arguments by saying things that she knew I'd disagree with or that she didn't really mean, and then see how I reacted. This grew old very quickly. In fact, it was the cause of our final split.

We had been dating for about seven months (three of those included summer break, during which she went back home and I only talked to her via phone and letters). We had returned to college and were seeing each other again, and the old problems kept coming up. Still, I tried and tried to make it work, but one night things came to a head. One of the many arguments she'd started with me that night grew, and grew, and grew. She kept provoking me, deliberately saying wilder and wilder things that I knew for a fact were completely against her normal beliefs, until I was in a towering rage. I finally told her I had had enough for the night and slammed out the door.

It was three days before I called her again, and when I did I was informed by her roommate that she didn't want to talk to me any more. I was probably expected to fight for the relationship, but the fact is that I had so little spine at the time that I simply took it without a whimper. I did see her two weeks later after a few attempts to contact her, and we had an enormously awkward dinner at a local restaurant during which little was said and absolutely nothing was resolved. She told me that she would call me in two weeks to let me know what she thought and what she felt. And then I never saw her again.

I did hear from her one more time -- that Christmas, she sent me a card, in which she apologized for her behavior and said that no matter what she had said previously, I was a wonderful person -- a little shy and depressive maybe but a true romantic. She told me that she'd be around her apartment during the holidays if I needed a friend, but I never did call her, figuring it was better to leave things be......and that was the end. 

I'll always be grateful to her, though. She may have been withdrawn, enigmatic, quiet, and chaotic, with personality quirks aplenty. She may have driven me absolutely crazy and kept me off balance from start to finish. And things with her ended very poorly. But she was also stunningly beautiful and intelligent, intoxicating, and enormously good for my ego -- not only was she the first girl I'd ever been with, but she approached me, showing me that yes, I could be desirable and interesting to women. She showed me things I'd never had before, and I'll always remember how her body felt against mine. When she was in my arms, it was like a piece of heaven. No one since then has ever felt quite the same.

Thank you, Charlotte, wherever you are today. Almost two decades later, I still have that note you first sent me.

-- PB

(Note: Those of you who're here just for the hot stuff, there will be more sex in other History entries....but Charlotte deserved special mention even if we never did have sex.)

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Across a Crowded Room, part 3

(Please do read part 1, which you can find here, and part 2, which you can find here. My apologies for the delay in finishing this, but I wanted to complete it with a bang, shall we say.)

Science fiction writers use terms like n-space and hyperspace to describe methods for moving between dimensions. There must have been something like that in or near your apartment, because I barely blinked and we were inside. Or maybe it was just that there wasn't room in my head for everyday observations, because I was utterly lost in you; your voice, your scent, your presence, all were so overpowering that there was nothing left but She, She who is all women and none, She who is sexuality defined, She who leaves even the goddess Aphrodite behind in beauty and poise and grace.

You drifted ahead of me, sylphlike, down the corridor, through beams of moonlight streaming through windows. "Here," you said quietly, and beckoned to me. I followed, blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light. An enormous window at one end of the bedroom had curtains flung wide; silver shine spilled in, painting the thick, heavy bed in bright bas-relief, strong contrast to the shadows elsewhere in the room. You reached for a lamp switch; moving fast, I took your wrist and prevented you. "No," I said. "Nothing artificial tonight. I want to see you in all your glory without any aids."

In the luminous glow of the moon, you turned to me and turned your face up. I stepped close, bending near you, taking in every line, every curve of your face. Long eyelashes blinked, slow and sultry, waiting. Your lips parted, your tongue ran along your lower lip. I breathed deeply of your scent, reaching down to your waist and placing my hands there, gently.

Closer. I ran my hands up your sides, carefully avoiding the sideswell of your breasts; ran fingers around to your back and up to your shoulders. I played with your curls for a moment and bent closer still, inches away now from your face. You sighed and closed your eyes, lips parting further and pouting. It was long past time....

Taking your face in my hands, I closed the remaining distance and kissed you oh-so-lightly on the lips. Brushing softly against them, tingling touch only. Your mouth soft and inviting, warm and growing warmer. Again I kissed you softly, then with a bit more force. Again. Again. Each touch of our lips was deeper, more intimate. I caressed your face and neck as our mouths merged, melding together now, wet and hungry for more. Your arms went under mine and locked around my waist; with a soft murmur of need you pulled me close. I felt the soft weight of your breasts against me and wanted to crush you in my arms...but that could wait.

Again. We kissed and kissed, our breath coming faster now, soft moans escaping each time we pulled free. There was fire there now; I felt like I was kissing a piece of the clean sun, a sister to the moonlight now bathing us both in its radiance. One of my hands went, involuntarily, to the back of your neck, pulling your head harder against me; the other slid down to the small of your back, pulling your body closer against me there. Our tongues met now, twining together, hot and wet and urgent. My head spun. My mouth burned.

Again. Again. Moaning into each others' mouths now, heads turning in perfect synch as we tried new angles and new variations; still we explored, tasted each other, drank deep from the fountain of lust that was now spraying over us both. My hand on your back slid lower, cupped your ass, squeezed gently; you moved against me and cooed in delight as your belly pressed against my hardness.

We broke then, staring at each other, panting. Seconds passed; blue eyes locked with gray, that silent offer and counteroffer more plain than ever. Then: "More," you sighed. "I want more."

"And so do I," I agreed, bending to kiss you again, just once this time, but a deep, plunging and forceful kiss this time, bending you backward, supporting you with one hand on your head and the other at your back. I felt your arms clutch me convulsively, fingers digging into my back; a bright spear of delight shot through me and I groaned into your mouth. I pulled back and pulled you up, releasing you. Slowly, a panther stalking its prey, I stood back and began to circle you, eyeing you for what you were: the most delicious treat I'd seen in years.

You stood there proudly, offering yourself for my gaze. Your hands ran up your body, from curve of hips to flat stomach to swell of breasts in front; you lifted and cupped them for me, noting with approval how my breath caught and my grin grew. Up your hands went, caressing yourself, painting with desire, lingering here and there, a touch on your nipples, a curl round your chin, sweeping upwards through your hair as you arched your back and tossed your head. You sighed softly as I came to rest behind you; again placing my hands on your waist, I bent close and nipped at the expanse of skin between neck and shoulder. I felt you shiver, and began kissing my way up your neck, nibbling gently, bending forward, arms locked around you now, pressing against your ass insistently so you'd know without a doubt how you were affecting me.

Long moments we stood there, sighing, as I kissed and licked up your neck to your ear. Bending forward a bit more, I licked at your earlobe and heard a soft breathy gasp from you. I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, running one hand up your front to cup and fondle one breast, nipples now standing out very nicely. You arched forward, into my hand, pushing your tits into my caresses. My other hand was busy lower down, running over your belly and down to your thighs, caressing, exploring. You melted against me, reaching one arm back, hand going round my neck and clenching there.

Now both hands were on your tits, stroking and squeezing. Never hard, never aggressive, but fondling and teasing, feeling them tighten underneath my ministrations, nipples poking out so hard they seemed likely to cut through the silk of your dress. Low moans drifted from your lips; you wriggled your ass against my erection, bringing moans from me as well, making me push harder against your softness.

I pulled back, planting a final trail of kisses down the knob of your spine, and reached for the zipper at the rear of your dress. "Oh yes," I heard you sigh, and couldn't have agreed more. Feeling more excited than a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, I pulled the zipper down all the way to its stop just above your ass, an expanse of milky white flesh meeting my hungry gaze. I began planting kisses and licks down your spine, soft sighs from you urging me onward; I felt you shrug your arms free and the dress's front fell downward. Squatting, I planted a kiss on the small of your back, then reached both hands around front to your thighs, caressing, running upwards. The tight silk frustrated me; I couldn't get at the real goodies. I had to get this dress off you all the way.

Other things first, though. I reached for the clasp on your bra, my growing excitement finally betraying me as my fingers fumbled with it. I heard a low glissando giggle from you but you didn't offer to help; instead you stood very still until I slipped the clasp free and peeled the bra off you. Again I stepped close, cupping your breasts in my hands. Soft. So incredibly soft and smooth. You moaned as I lifted them and caressed, palms and thumbs running over your nipples, so very hot and hard. I squeezed one gently and you cried out "yes!"; delighted, I slid my other hand to your other nipple and squeezed that one as well, tweaking and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

Your hips bucked and your ass thudded back against my crotch, reminding me there were further delights to be found. I slid my hands lower and began working the dress free from where it'd bound up around your hips; you undulated from side to side, somehow managing to brush against my cock repeatedly while still "helping" me get the dress off; seconds later it fell free and puddled around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad solely in a pair of spike heels; I rocked back, stunned, realizing your panties hadn't come off in a mass with the dress -- you just weren't wearing any at all.

You turned to face me, gloriously, unbelievably nude. "Do you like what you see?" you asked, licking your lips.

"God, do I," I muttered hoarsely. What a sight you were -- body bathed in moonlight, creamy white skin spattered with freckles here and there; a flush spreading down your face and chest; bright rosy red nipples standing at attention on perfectly-shaped breasts; a tiny, cute navel; intoxicating swell of hips; lovely firm thighs....and oh yes -- a perfectly-kept landing strip pointing the way towards something I wanted very badly to taste by now.

But not yet. I circled you again, touching you here and there, running my hands over your body, caressing, squeezing, inflaming you further. I'd bend to take a nipple in my mouth as I came round the front, or meet your mouth with mine for more deep, wet kissing, or squeeze the cheeks of your ass with my hands and pull you against me, feeling the heat of your skin through my clothes now. So hot. I wanted that fire. I wanted you. I wanted you.

My hands now went to the buttons on my shirt; eagerly, you began helping me, your fingers exploring and questing over my skin as the shirt was spread wide. You played with the few hairs on my chest, pressing your palms against my pectorals; I arched my shoulders as the shirt slipped backwards and off me, and was surprised as you stepped close, capturing both arms behind me, winding the loose bits of the shirt around the wrists for a temporary binding.

Now it was you who was in control, stepping close, rubbing your breasts against my chest, your hand on my ass, pulling me close. You leaned in and planted a line of kisses down my neck and chest; I threw back my head and moaned as your hot lips and tongue scored fiery trails down my skin. Gradually your hand slipped away from the shirt and it fell loose, away. I pulled my wrists out of it and it dropped to the floor. I felt your hands on my slacks now, undoing the fastening but stopping there; your small hands went to the bulge (very prominent now) at the front, rubbing, squeezing gently, running up and down my length. I moaned again. "God, that feels good," I sighed, and you answered "Good," happily, now going to your knees to plant kisses on my cock through my slacks, still caressing it with one hand and squeezing my ass with your other one. The friction was maddening.

A few moments of this delicious torture and you stood again. Hazily, I realized that you'd somehow gotten my shoes and socks off as well while I was busy floating in the clouds; I'd certainly been in no condition to notice. I felt your hands working along my length and then pulling the zipper down; your mouth quirked into an O of surprise when you realized I, too, had worn no underwear and only hot flesh awaited your questing fingertips. And it was hot, very hot, heavy and hard beneath your admiring gaze as you pulled my slacks down. And soon it was beneath your admiring fingers as well. You ran your hand along the shaft, testing its texture; I gasped at the contrast, softness vs. hardness, delicious friction. You took me firmly in hand and pumped me twice, quickly, sharply; I gasped again and felt my balls draw up in pleasure.

And then we were in each others' arms again. Skin on skin, so exquisite. I pulled you against me, firmly but not crushingly, my cock standing up between us, an exclamation point of desire. Our mouths met again for a hungry kiss, opening deeply, devouring, tasting, sucking at tongues and lips. My hands clenched on your ass, your arms locked round my neck, your fingernails dug in hard to my shoulderblades. I felt you wiggle against me, delighting at the way my cock throbbed harder and harder against you, delectable torture.

Now I bore you backward towards the bed and lifted you in my arms. Grinning, you kicked your shoes off and they clattered to the floor, fetching up in a corner. I bent and laid you down upon the coverlet; it looked like black velvet and felt softer still. I stood by the bedside a moment, admiring; the moonlight spilled in rivulets of silver over your curves, shadows pooling in the hollows the moon's caresses couldn't reach. You smiled up at me and beckoned me with one finger. I took the invitation and crawled onto the bed, spreading your legs, and you grinned again, this time in anticipation, as I began kissing my way up your thighs. You arranged yourself on the pillows and settled in for some enjoyment.

Kissing, licking, sucking; I tasted your scent on my lips as I got closer to your pussy. Musky and sweet, maddening and arousing. I breathed deep, filling my head with that aroma, then lapping delicately, oh so delicately, at your folds, opening you with my tongue, spreading your lips with mine. Such a taste -- no gourmand had ever had a variety of flavors like this one, earthy and complex, sweet and spicy all at once. I put one hand under your thigh and moved it outward; the other hand stole upward and began caressing one breast and tweaking your nipple again. I ran my nose along your landing strip, liking the way your scent had lingered there; perhaps you'd been rubbing yourself before I accosted you in the club? But why wonder about that, I wondered, when the real thing's available? And I dove back in, feasting on you with lips and tongue, lapping up your nectar, using the broad side of my tongue to lick you from bottom to top and back again.

Loud moans and cries were my reward as I continued my ministrations. I felt your hips undulating slowly, not bucking hard, not yet. Your thighs and belly were trembling with need. I wanted more, and I took it, teasing your folds open further until your pink pearl glistened in the moonlight. I began to lick slowly all around it, providing gentle pressure on the sides in passing, getting you wet and sticky with my saliva, mixing it with your own juices for a fantastically wet lube. Soon I closed my lips around your clit and squeezed it softly, once, twice. I heard a louder moan and smiled to myself, now licking you in earnest, tasting that nectar that was flowing so freely, getting it all over my face and lips and chin. I loved the wet sounds, the slickness, the liquid-on-liquid tones of pure cunt worship. Which this was -- I wanted nothing more than to stay here for hours, worshiping you, bringing you from mountaintop to mountaintop, whispering endearments as you moaned and thrashed, coming and coming until you couldn't remember your own name.

You had other ideas, though. I felt your hands on my head, pulling upward; I lifted reluctantly from your sweetness, wiping the back of my hand absently across face and chin to dry myself a bit. What I saw in your very direct gaze immediately drove all thoughts of further oral worship out of my head. A look of purest need, a look just on the threshold of begging, a look that reminded me of the growing ache in my balls and the throbbing need of my own cock. It wasn't a want anymore. It was a need. I needed you, and you needed me. "Yes," you sighed, and "Now" I answered.

I slid upward, forward, over you, poised and fluid. Your hands went between us, positioning me, angling me, pointing the way; you spread your legs and raised your hips. Smoothly, effortlessly, I glided up and into you, that electrifying moment of first mergence as always sending a shock right through the deepest pleasure centers of my brain.

We lay there, sweetly enclasped, for long moments. You drew up your legs and locked them around my ass, your hands moving up and down my back. "Yes, yes," you moaned. The animal side of me wanted to fuck you right through the mattress, but instead I began a slow, grinding rhythm, keeping my weight balanced on my palms, my stomach brushing against yours, driving my hardness deeply into your all-enfolding wet tunnel. In and out, in and out, moist sounds drifting, soft cries of pleasure from both of us. There were words there too, but only small phrases: "yes" here, "more" there, "oh, like that"....instructions we followed, feedback we passed back and forth as our pleasure built and built into another incredible feedback loop.

Sensations. Such sensations I'd never felt before. It wasn't just some trick of well-trained muscles, or that you were tighter and hotter than any woman I'd been with before, or that your skin was softer, or your nipples more exquisitely hard-tipped -- although all of those things were true. Maybe the moon was lending its magic here, but I began to realize as our rhythm picked up that windows were going to break from the screams when we came. Groaning, balancing on one palm, I reached the other arm around to lift and spread you further, spearing deeper and harder into you with each thrust. "Yes, yes," you urged me on. "Harder. Oh, god, like that. Right there." Your "right there" was perfectly in agreement with my own; delicious friction built and built and built all around me with every stroke I took. Our fit was exquisite, our movements effortlessly synched, every straining urge pulling us closer to a pure mergence.

Our gazes locked again and this time the eye contact was searing. I felt a dazzling shock go through us both, and knew by the shuddering gasps we were both making that we were right on the edge. "Can I?" I wanted to know, almost begging, and you threw back your head, crying out "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me now!" And I did, bucking against you, screaming "oh FUCK yes!". I thrust hard twice more, then fountained urgently, still screaming, feeling your pussy clenching around me almost unbearably tightly, seeming to shape and direct each blast, aiming my spurts so there was no part of you left unfilled by my hot cream. And you were coming too, crying out your own pleasure in keening wails, banshee howls, drawn out and out and out until I wondered how you still had breath left to scream. But I only wondered it dimly -- I was busy, still thrusting, still spurting, my hands clenching your ass.

A short time later I collapsed on top of you, still buried balls deep inside. I felt you stroking my back, and turned my head to nuzzle at the hollow of your throat, planting soft kisses, feeling your pulse beating at my lips. I heard you humming quietly, a sleepy tune I couldn't recognize, and with some effort I lifted up to gaze at your face, wreathed in a goofy grin that must have mirrored my own.

"So," I asked softly, "does this mean I finally get to find out your name?"

And you smiled.......

-- PB

Friday, January 15, 2010

Flash Fiction Friday #21: "S-M BDSM"

Mary Jane hung, splayed, in the alleyway. The rain, so warm and inviting after that first kiss, was cold and sharp now. Her nipples were crinkled painfully hard, and each new droplet splatting on her back stabbed her skin like tiny nails. Water ran in rivulets down her arms and legs, streamed into her ears, got up her nose, made her damp mane heavier still. Her neck was starting to hurt.

She stretched and flexed again, testing her bonds once more. Webbing at her ankles, webbing at her hands, webbing round her waist and disappearing to some unseen spot above. No give, no loosening, from any of them; she was well and truly stuck for whatever he had planned. At least the alleyway was deserted; she thanked her stars for that much. She raised her head and found him, staring back at her from his perch on the wall nearby. The opaque eyelets gave no hint of what he was thinking.

God, she thought, if I'd known Spider-Man was into bondage, I'd never have kissed him in the first place....

(If you're confused by the reference on this one, I guess you haven't seen "Spider-Man". Go watch this vid at Youtube, and then you'll see why I had to write this after seeing the pic. 

The enchanting Luna Mauvaise has provided the challenge pic this week (and, for a change, no word requirement). Spanky is still MIA, so we still have no one to host Flash Fiction Friday. Want to see who else is playing? Go see Luna.)

-- PB

Group Post: "Sweet Sensation"

Is there anything in the world that compares to that first moment of mergence? That sweet sensation that feels like nothing else on earth?

I am tempted to say no. And the thing is, there are so many sensations in sexual play that feel so. fucking. good. Sensations starting at a low buzz, "mm, that's nice": the way your fingers feel trailing down my spine. Sensations that make me draw breath, sipping air: your tongue licking up the back of my neck. Sensations that make me tingle from head to toe, moaning "ohhhh yessss": your fingers wrapped around my shaft, pumping me slowly. Sensations that make me feel like I've been set on fire, but in a good way, "oh dear god I'm gonna....": that time-stopping instant just before coming. Sensations that make my blood burn, pulse pound, cock stand at attention: the excitement that races through me like summer lightning as you give me that come-hither look from across the room. Oh yeah -- I love them all, and a thousand more besides.

But for my money, nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to that instant when I part your glistening folds with my mushroom head and slide slowly, slowly, forward, gliding up and in and deep into your burning soaked depths. 

First, heat.....

No matter how hot you've made me, how much I'm burning for you, it doesn't matter. I could be incredibly keyed up, so hard and heavy and engorged, baking with lust, but it wouldn't matter. When I slip into you, you're always hotter. There's a nova burning at your core, and you channel directly from that to your pussy -- so regardless of how hot my cock is when I slide home, you're hotter still. And it's such a rare heat, too -- this heat that doesn't burn, just stokes me, inflames me, pushes my own redlining engine even closer to the danger point, so in seconds I'm clutching your ass with clenched hands, trying to draw myself deeper still.... 

Then, wetness.....

Fire and water, two diametric opposites. How then is it that you can be so hot and so freakin' wet at the same time? It astounds me every single time I push into you how effortless it is, how your lips glisten with your excitement, gleaming in the dim light. I look down, marveling, at your sheen covering my cock as I pull back, inch by inch emerging from your tunnel, looking like I've been dipped in lacquer, bright and shiny. Wet. God, so wet. I can hear squishing, moist sounds, can feel your juices, thick like honey, shifting and flowing around my shaft. I can't find the bottom of your ocean, I'm drowning in your depths and loving it.... 

Then, softness.....

Heat. Wetness. The two alone would be enough to drive me insane, but when we add in the silky smooth feel of your velvet cunt gripping me, there's just no hope for me at all. Softness begetting more hardness; it enfolds me, presses close on all sides, engulfs me. Shapes itself to the invader, spreads for the head and closes tight around my shaft, sucks me inward, urges me to drive deeper. I can feel your muscles milking me, inviting me to slide up and in, over and over, to pull back only far enough to thrust home again, to fill you, to plunge deep, bury myself to the hilt and past, take you for my own, possess you utterly.

I pull you close and into my lap, rocking deeper. Sensations explode around me. The soft, maddening weight of your breasts. The dagger points of your nipples against my chest. The fresh tang of your sweat. The muskiness of your excitement. The taste of blood from my tongue, bitten hard to stifle my screams. The slipperiness of our mingled sweat on heated skin. And you're urging me on too, rocking against me, creating a rhythm, grinding hard, going hand in hand with me as we shoot higher, rocketing upwards, breaking through the clouds, hitting apogee, sun bursting on the horizon as we clear the edge and begin the long fall downwards.

Sensations.....all of them exquisite. But none of them, none of them, can ever match that first spine-tingling moment, that moment when I first slide home where I belong, that moment that shocks me anew each time.

(This month's theme for the Group Post was suggested by Autumn. As always, your host is the sexy and alluring Kimberly, the Errant Wife. Why not go see how these other fine people handled Autumn's theme of "Sweet Sensations"?)

Haute Chocolat:
Gray :
Salt and Pepper:
Barefoot Dreamer:
And finally, our host, Kimberly:

-- PB

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Across a Crowded Room, Part 2

(Note: If you missed part 1, it can be found here. -- PB)

"Charmed, I'm sure," you smiled, a slight blush coloring your pale cheeks. Lightly dusted with freckles, I noticed -- a detail I hadn't seen from across the room. It was that smile that really had my heart pounding, though -- that was a pure go-to-the-devil smile if ever I saw one. It promised chaos, sang of sin, hinted at delectable events yet to come. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste you.

"How's that?" I managed, pulling free of the threads you were already weaving around me. "You're sure I'll charm you, or you're already charmed?"

"Oh, now, that would be telling," you purred. "Why don't you just take me" -- and there was a long slow pause as you and I both savored the phrase -- "away from here, and we'll see what develops?" Again that long slow smile, warm, inviting, rich and decadent as pure dark chocolate.

"I knew you were a smart woman," I agreed. "All right. My car's nearby; would you care to follow me?"

"Follow?" You seemed puzzled. "What with? I had a friend drop me off tonight. My car's back at my place." You stretched again, relishing the way I gazed at your breasts as your arms squeezed them together. Stunning cleavage.

I quirked an eyebrow. "How were you planning on getting home again, then?"

A silvery chuckle and a very direct look were my answer. "You're not always this slow, are you?" Gray eyes blinked at me, calculating, challenging.

I grinned in admiration. Minx! I thought, yet again. "I guess that also answers the question of where we're off to. You'll need to give me a few directions, though."

"Oh, of course," you agreed. "I'll always be sure to give you any feedback you might want." And licked your lips.

Oh, this is going to be a very interesting night indeed. "As I was saying..." I said, and steered you across the room and out the door.

The drive to your place was oddly quiet. That same electric tension that had built up as I stalked across the room to your side seemed still in effect. Every movement we made, every word spoken, every sultry glance, seemed curiously charged, fraught with meaning. Or perhaps it was the way we were still dueling with each other. I "accidentally" brushed my fingertips across your leg as I dropped my hand from the gearshift; you motioned a direction change and my gaze lingered on the curl of your fingers as they crooked in invitation. You shifted periodically in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing; when I asked if you were comfortable, you said only "Quite comfortable," and smiled secretly.

We pulled up outside a very nice flat. "Yours?" I inquired, and you nodded. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." I parked nearby, and came around to help you out of the car, only to have you stumble as you stood up and fall full length into my arms. I should have been suspicious -- where was the grace and poise I'd seen from you for weeks? -- but at the time I was too intoxicated by the delicious warmth as your body pressed against mine. I heard a faint "mmm" deep in your throat, and could have sworn that you wriggled very slightly against me; in response, I tightened my arms around you, bending down. Your face turned up, your eyes fluttered, closed. Your lips, full and red, parted sulkily, begged to meet mine. Closer I bent. One hand slid down your back, to the hollow just above where your ass began, and pressed firmly there.

I bent my face closer still, my lips scant inches from yours. A pause, for long breaths, relishing your curves, your softness pressed against me. I liked the way you fitted with me. "Not here," I sighed. "I want privacy for what I'm going to do to you."

Your eyes flickered open, locked with mine. "Yes," you sighed, just as softly. And again: "Yes."

(Part 3 can be found here, in much more detail. This is the payoff you were hoping for, folks.)

-- PB 

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

e[Lust] #5

Hey, look at that -- the e[Lust] staff has picked my entry "Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter" as one of the top three posts for this week! To anyone who's stopping by via e[Lust], welcome! I hope you enjoy what you see here.....

HNT Courtesy of Sexy Sadie
Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you're looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you're going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #6? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site's sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter - I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots' lounge. I could think of nowhere else that would offer us even a modicum of privacy. Time to brazen it out. With her still walking obediently alongside, I pushed my way into the lounge.

The Condom Question. Confession #397 - Luckily, this time I had my wits about me enough to reply with a categorical, Yes a condom is absolutely necessary, darlin, but history has proven that, while I'm naked and horny, I can offer no more justification as to why such protection is paramount.

No more... - "I'm so sorry, I can't...". Words, words, so many words... reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense, and through all of it, disbelief, dread, a sickness of heart... I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing.

e[lust] Editress

Sex as a Panacea - As I begged “faster” “harder” “more!” I felt my orgasm come on, a mere minute or two after we began with this combination. A thunderous orgasm overtook me as he kept up with the dildo and I with the Climax for the first big wave.

♦ Featured Post (Lilly's Pick)

Bad Girl - I take off my coat and stand proudly before her in my black lace corset, suspenders, stockings and heels. She looks me up and down and smiles at me when she catches my stare. Desire is already zinging through my body.

See also
: Pleasurists #59 and #60 for all your sex toy review needs

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Blowjob Tips!
Domestic Violence on MTV's 'Teen Mom'
From Helper To Survivor
Good girl, bad girl...
Girlie Toys
If the Peg Fits
Illicit Encounters
Insecurity, You can Kiss My Ass
Nothing is perfect, which is why there is communication
Regaining my Femme
The Condom Question. Confession #397

Erotic Writing

All Rise For the Queen
Bad Girl
Centre of Attention
Crying Uncle
Ending The Decade With Wes
Invading The Boy's Club - #4
Last Night
Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter
Lorraine's Coming Out
My reputation precedes me
Party Doll
The Beginning
The Erotic Touch of a Stranger

Kink & Fetish

1st night out as sub
Being my Master's Shoe Slut
Bondage and Being Ignored
Caning in the snow at New Year
Mind Games and Number Games
Much Ado About Punching
No more...
September 2010: A Slave's Initiation
The Intimacy of Being Taken
The workhouse maid, punished
The Porn Reports, Part 1
Violence and BDSM
Yes, No, and Consent
"You're a good little fuck toy"

News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Delegating Gaga
I Hope He Does "Animal" Next
Sometimes I'm Not So Sexy...

Across a Crowded Room

For days I'd watched you. Tracing the curves of your womanly form with an artist's eye; painting images in my brain to last long into the night. At first I would attempt a semblance of propriety, flicking my glances elsewhere when your sultry gaze met mine from under lowered eyelashes. Then, once I realized you were enjoying the attention, I stared more openly, more boldly; taking you in, absorbing your mannerisms, your silvery chuckle, the graceful line of a wrist as you reached for your drink, the way the fabric of your dress drew tight over your breasts when you stretched your arms back, yawning lazily.

Soon I realized that it wasn't just a one-way thing. There seemed to be something of a mutual admiration society going on here; at least, so I interpreted your own rather challenging stares. Several times I saw you run your eyes up and down my body, slowly, insolently. Saw your gaze linger on my waist, teasingly slipping lower; saw your breath catch as you watched me scratch my stomach and then "accidentally" slide it down to brush against the crotch of my slacks. There was a nice warmth there by now, a heat born of this very deliberate game we were playing with each other. I saw you shift in your seat, uncrossing your legs oh-so-deliberately; a ghost of a smile flickered across your face and was gone as you saw me accept the invitation and try to see up your dress to find out whether you were wearing panties or not. Frowning, frustrated by shadows, I muttered a very sincere "damn" and heard that purring chuckle again. What a minx, I thought, not for the last time.

Call-and-response, challenge and acceptance, offer and counteroffer. It was a strange dance we were performing, a bit like the ones seen in classic films where the dancers stretch out hands but never touch, turning slowly about a common point. Lack of touch, however, may be all very well for some, but it was inadequate for our needs, our hungers. Like the dancers spiraling inward about that point, like a comet falling into a gravity well, we were being drawn inward as well, spiraling in to an inevitable meeting. There was only one way this could end. We had offered, suggested, too much -- proffered our all and silently accepted the other's counteroffer. So now, how to pass the event horizon and begin the long slow fall?

Chivalry dictates that the man should make the first move. Very well. I pushed away from the wall where I'd been leaning, not missing the way your eyes flashed up to meet mine as I moved. There was a preternatural stillness in the air, a charged electricity, that somehow cut through the haze of smoke and the hum of conversation. With every step I took I felt the anticipation building. was long past time.

Very soon I had reached your side. You regarded me with equanimity but -- was that a hint of trepidation as well? So it wasn't all confidence and poise with you, there was a hint of vulnerability too. That was reassuring.

The silence stretched, spun out. Slowly, very slowly, I reached out a hand to your face, to touch your chin and lift it gently.

"Mario Puzo and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have a phrase for moments like this," I said softly. "They call it 'the thunderbolt'."

Silence from you, but not oppressive; invitational, rather. Waiting....

"You feel it too, don't you?" I continued, hand rising to caress your face gently, then tracing along your neck, up to run through your tangled curls. A slight tremor passed through you, but not a shiver of disgust, to my gaze; rather, a sweeping of sensation. "You know what this is. You know what I want, and you want it just as badly. The time for words is past....long past."

I let my hand fall from where it had been twining through your hair and took your hand. It was cool and firm in my own. I pulled gently and you rose to your feet gracefully, sinuously, willingly.

"Now. Where can we go from here?"

Finally, you spoke. Your voice was as sultry and smoky as I'd hoped, as I'd fantasized. I could see you tasting the words as you shaped them, very deliberately. "Anywhere that isn't here," you purred. And paraphrased Eliot: " 'And indeed there will be time / To wonder, Do we dare? And Do we dare?' Oh yes....we have plenty of time. But no space, not here. Let's go find some space, and a bit of solitude. How better to make a new acquaintance?"

I raised your hand to my face and brushed my lips very lightly over your fingertips, never breaking eye contact. "Then I'm glad to make your acquaintance," I said. "I am very pleased to know you...."

(Continued here, in part 2.)

-- PB

Monday, January 11, 2010

I want you.....

I want you.....

....gasping and moaning beneath me, head tossing from side to side, body writhing, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, breasts drawn tight with excitement, hands tangled in the sheets to keep yourself from sliding off the edge of the world....

I want you....

....rising and falling slowly above me, waves of hair obscuring your face, palms braced on my chest almost in benediction, soft effortful grunts the only sounds you're making; the wet clutching sounds your cunt makes as it pulls and releases my cock are sound enough....

I want you....

....hands spread and braced against the wall, shoving yourself HARD back at me, filthy imprecations spilling from your lips in a flood: "God yes. Fuck me, you fucking bastard. Ram me with that fucking thing. I'm gonna cum all over your cock, gonna flood you with it, gonna bathe your dick with my pussy juice." Tearing howls bursting from your throat as I slap your ass, high-pitched screams: "Aww yeah! Yes, yes, yes! Harder! Fuck me harder! Fuck me right through this wall...."

I want you....

....screaming and wailing, voice combining with my own bass-baritone roars, mixing and mingling, another kind of lovemaking; clawing at my back, stripping shreds of my skin away, flaying me with your desire to grab hold and take, take, take....

I want you....

....on public transportation, sitting sideways on my lap, skirt spread and hiding everything but the intensity of our gazes, which leaves no doubt to anyone watching just what we're doing; feeling me throb inside you, locking eyes with me, clenching yourself around me, milking me with the walls of your cunt, watching me lose the battle with self-control, and leaning close to whisper dulcetly "You lose, cum for me, right now...."

I want you.... the world's slowest elevator, clawing desperately at zippers and panties, trying urgently to get cock into cunt with limited time, a rush of endorphins, a violence of heat and wetness, hoping we can get it off in a few quick seconds and get recomposed before those doors open again, instead of being in the throes of screaming orgasms like we were last time this happened....

I want you....

....on the other end of the telephone line, your sultry voice telling me in delectable detail exactly how it feels as you plunge your fingers into your sopping pussy, the grin actually audible in your voice as you beg me for permission to cum, cum all over your fingers, wishing it was my cock, wishing I were painting you with my lust, a study in pearlescent white....

I want you.... all these ways and a thousand others.

I want you. And you know it well.

-- PB

Friday, January 8, 2010

Flash Fiction Friday #20: "Assume the Position"

“And now, a very special lot,” the auctioneer announced. “For your consideration, Mastery Acquisitions is proud to present this very lovely young lady” – he gestured to the block – “in service as slave and slut.”

His voice dropped to a low, oily smoothness, dark and inviting. “Is she not exquisite? Surely, my lords, you have never seen a body like this.” He ran his hand up the inside of her legs. “Note the alabaster whiteness of her skin, the taut play of her muscles, the curves of her form. Oh, truly she is a fine creation.”

He patted her ass and left his hand there as he stepped to the rear of the block. “Now. Who'll start the bidding at one hundred thousand?”

(With Spanky still on hiatus, Flash Fiction Friday is leaderless. Nilla provided the pic this week and Luna put out the challenge -- well, Nilla provided challenge details originally too, but the post has now disappeared. I seem to recall something about 100 to 250 words length, so that's what I provided; if you want to play too, go see Luna.)

-- PB

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Interlude: Anatomy of a Wank Session

Men are privy to a feeling that women can never quite feel -- the insanely frustrating but oh-so-delicious sensation of a cock that's hardening, trapped in the constriction of boxer shorts or briefs, held captive by jeans or slacks, throbbing and pulsing with each beat of our hearts, each beat and pulse increasing the friction and frustration. The slight pain as it tries to lift its head upward, but is denied by logistics; the little darts of pleasure that fly through us as we shift uncomfortably, trying to find a new position that works; the flush of embarrassment as we try to hide the growing bulge from others, if we're unlucky enough to be in public when it happens (as it does, all too often).

How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.

I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.

I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.

I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.

Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.

Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.

Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.

For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."

And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.

Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.

-- PB