First Class Train Travel

My head is buzzing. Mists swirl about briefly but clear when  I shake my head. I look around. You and I are sitting on a couch in a spacious, tasteful compartment in a train car. I brilliantly deduce this from the rocking and swaying we feel and the rackety-clack as the train makes its way along. You're sitting next to me, wearing a opaque pearl gray dress that hints at, promises, much more than it actually shows. Your smile is quick and mischievous, your eyes dancing with suppressed glee. What are you thinking?

The woman sitting across from us says something and I miss it, my head buzzing again. You're quicker on the uptake, though, and soon you're both in an animated discussion. The guy who's with her looks at me and we share a brief glance of amusement. The other fellow, sitting in the corner, has barely looked up from his iPad since entering the compartment a while back. Not much of a traveling companion, but then again, sometimes silence is nice.

The mists swirl about a bit more and the light outside unaccountably changes -- one moment high noon, the next giving way to the gloaming of approaching twilight. I reach for your hand, looking for substance, wanting to hold onto something, but discover that you're not sitting next to me anymore. Confused, I look at the woman across from us. She seems to read my mind and says that you'd gone to the restroom while I was out. "Out?" I ask, wanting clarification, but she simply nods.

I lean back and stretch out my legs. There's another hitch and suddenly you're next to me again, leaning up against me in a very pleasant way. Your face is full of high color, your eyes are intense, your lips parted. What were you doing in that bathroom, hmm?

You lean close and very shortly I find out, as you begin nibbling on my ear. "I think I may have made a mistake," you murmur to me, your lips exploring, caressing. Tiny electrical shocks run up and down my body; you know my ears are a weak point and always exploit it mercilessly. "You know one time is never enough for me. All it does is whet my appetite for more."

You're whetting my appetite, too, your hot breath on my neck, now licking lightly at my earlobe, nipping at the side of my neck, planting hot kisses along the curve of my collarbone. I feel your fingers trailing down my side, nails lightly grazing my ribs, my belly, making light scritching sounds as they reach the rougher fabric of my jeans. You rub lightly against the outline in my crotch. Heat at your fingertips. Heat against your wrist as you run it down between my legs. Heat in the palm of your hand as you take a firm grasp and squeeze, gently. I sigh softly.

Over your head and shoulders I can see the couple across from us. They are watching intently, not saying a word. Their faces are blank masks, revealing nothing, but their eyes are avid. She leans over and whispers something quietly and he nods, without taking his eyes off you as your explorations become more insistent. Her mouth parts and her tongue steals out to slide around her ruby red lips, just once, the only outward sign of anything at all. I glance sideways and see the guy in the corner shift a bit, aiming the camera eye of his gadget our way. His fingers tap, tap, delicately at its surface. Posting to Facebook? Stealing a shot of us and captioning it with "Compartmentalized Lust"? Filming a bit of video for a private reenactment later? Who knows.

Your hand is now rubbing eagerly against the spike in my jeans. I moan a low moan of need and you murmur something against my throat, an endearment, an exhortation, I can't tell. Your tongue darts out and outlines my Adam's apple; I shiver. I slide my free hand down your back, caressing. Starting my own exploration. You press closer against me and I feel the soft weight of your breasts on my arm. Maddening, fanning the flames. I wind my hand into your hair idly, liking its texture, then tighten a bit and use it to lift your head. You gasp slightly but then understanding replaces annoyance, when I lean forward and kiss you, hard.

I love the taste of your mouth. Your tongue is always ready for a duel, and it slides against mine, heat and wetness, making me want more, as always. I slip my free hand lower down your back, squeezing your ass on the way, then slide it around front and gently nudge your legs further apart. You murmur "mmm" into my mouth and help spread them. Meanwhile, your own hands are still rubbing and stroking me, now sliding along my thighs, now brushing against the throb in my jeans, now toying with the buttons on my shirt. I feel you pull a few of them loose, then slip a finger or two inside and trace random designs on my skin. Goose bumps seethe in your nail's wake.

Soft murmurs from the couple across from us, now. I steal a glance, but their expressions are still enigmatic, unruffled, their eyes pools of night. I get the strange feeling that they're grading our performance in their heads and will assign us a score whenever....this.....reaches its by now inescapable conclusion. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs; he rolls his head slightly, as if to loosen tension, and then relapses into immobility.

I turn my head, now, and look more openly at the man in the corner. He gazes back tranquilly, not bothered in the least. A slight grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he adjusts the gadget on his knees a bit, the fabric of his slacks rustling. That sound seems to snap you out of your trance and for the first time you seem to realize our audience; you follow my glance over to him and he nods, as if to say "Don't let me stop you, please." Swiftly, you look over at the couple, but they are no less inscrutable to you than they were to me. Wait -- there, a motion of his hand, a definite "don't mind us; continue" flick of the wrist.

Well, now. I squirm around a bit, freeing my other arm, and slide both hands down your back, hiking your dress up and over your hips, revealing that marvelous ass. I cup its roundness, take double handfuls of firm, warm flesh, glad (not for the first time) that you go bare beneath your skirts, dresses, slacks, whatever. Your scent rises, and my head spins again. The room darkens and everything slips sideways for a second or two; when I raise my head you're in my lap, you've pulled my shirt back and down over my shoulders to pinion my arms at my sides. You wriggle against me, rubbing your chest against mine. I can feel your nipples through the silken fabric, and I want to reach up, to caress; your hands curl around my wrists and hold them gently in place.

You pull back and then reach down between us. Now both hands are working busily at the snap on my jeans. In a trice the zipper is down. I raise up and you pull jeans and boxer briefs down; then your fingers are dancing around my hard cock, freed from its entanglement and now pointing angrily at the ceiling. Your touch is firm and cool, slippery and silken smooth along heated rigidity. I moan your name and you chuckle, low and soft, glancing over your shoulder at the still pair opposite you. Staring over your other shoulder at them, I see the color rising in their faces; they may be good at hiding emotion, but the more normal responses are hard at work, it seems.

You're hard at work too, pointing, adjusting, caressing. You hike the dress up further in the front and slide two fingers into yourself. I manage to worm shoulders and arms free of the shirt, and then I can wrap them around you, run fingernails down your back, dig furrows into you, marking you. I shudder all over as you pull your fingers out and then use them to rub your wetness all over my cock. Slick and shining, coated with your excitement, it throbs like a piston, like something barely in check.

My eyes close of their own volition as you lift and then settle firmly on me, something so familiar, the pulse of heat old as time, that feels new and incredible every single time we enact this little scene. The aroma is more piquant, the bouquet made more spicy this time by our watchers, who still have made little sign of their presence other than faint murmurings or rustlings as they shift in their seats. I open my eyes and stare straight at the woman behind you, who nods in approval as you begin the age-old rhythm, hips pumping slowly, so slowly.

Heat. Delicious, delicious heat, radiating outward from my groin. My heart pounds. My lips close on a nipple and you gasp my name. Deliberately, I close my teeth and this time you hiss sharply...but your hips' slow pumping actually speeds up. I slide one hand down to your ass and clench it there, grab a handful, an anchor to help hold you down, keep you from sliding off the earth, balanced precariously on the precipice of pleasure.

Mists swirl through my brain again. Grunting angrily, I shake my head to clear them; when things resolidify, you're no longer in my lap. Instead, I've rolled on top of you, pressing you down with all my weight. Your legs have come up and are over my shoulders, ankles hooked round my neck. Steady pressure there urges me onward. Now it's my hips that move with slow deliberation; I pull back, slide forward, pull back, slide forward, an aching grinding rhythm that's making us both moan and whimper.

I shift a bit in response to pressure from your arm on one side, realizing that you're moving my shoulder out of the field of view of the camera in the corner, knowing that it must be fixed on your pleasure-dazed face, the hair straggling over your eyes, sweat beading on your forehead, mouth slack and open, wet with lust. I'm transfixed by it myself. You've given yourself over to it, let the sensations take control.

Control. We've never been out of control like this, coupling shamelessly, rutting like a pair of animals in full view of three total strangers. I can feel their gazes traveling over our bodies, fixing on my cock as it emerges briefly from your tight cunt before sliding home again, watching with slow approval the swaying of your breasts with each thrust, trailing down my back as you score red welts on it with your fingernails. I feel you clutching at me, your excitement shifting into a higher gear, your pussy opening still further, inviting me to use it, take it ruthlessly and roughly.

It's not just your pussy that's urging me, either. Your voice reaches me through the fog that's closing in again. I hear the words that never fail to wring me out and drive me wild with lust, those filthy phrases you love to tease and taunt me with: "Oh yeah. Give me that big cock, baby. Pound my hot pussy. Mmmmmyeahhh, ohh yeahh. Fuck me so good." You don't stop as I wrap both arms around you and pull you upward, lift you off the couch till we're in a bridge position. I mold your body to mine, thrusting harder, feeling your wetness splash and drool down your thighs and mine. I gasp with each new thrust. The pleasure builds and builds and builds.

One more thought flashes, dimly, in my head: let's give them all a real show for the finish. With that, I pull back and out of you. Your eyelids fly up like windowshades and you moan a slow "Noooooo" but it's cut off; I wrestle us around until you're on my lap once more, this time sitting on me as if I were a chair, both of us staring, defiantly, in turn, at our watchers. They smile and nod encouragingly, drinking in the sight, licking their lips now: at last, clearly and obviously enjoying what they see. And they should -- your pussy clenching around me as I thrust upward and into you, my hands squeezing your breasts, your fingers alternately stroking your clit and the length of my shaft as it emerges briefly at the end of each stroke. Your head rolls back on your shoulders and a low "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" of pure sensation emerges; through the haze, I register that you're coming, one of those full-body orgasms that leave you as limp as a wet dishrag. Your body gets heavier in my arms before your head snaps up again and you start bouncing up and down on me, forcing yourself down to meet each upward thrust, growling deep in your throat, a repeated refrain: "Come on. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on."

I feel stretched to the breaking point. Ribbons of light spin and twirl through my head. My cock twitches, my balls tingle, and almost before I can even gasp out your name, I'm coming myself, spurt after spurt, mauling your breasts hard enough to leave bruises, grunting a low "uh, uh, uh, uh" sound in time with your own exhortations. Your hips slam down on me in hard approval, your body pressing against me in unutterable zeal. I thrust and thrust up into you, the mists rising again, wanting only to prolong this agony, this ecstasy, this far too temporary union. The fog drifts higher and soon it covers us completely.

I open my eyes and sit up. Alone, in my hotel bedroom. Tangled sheets, damp with perspiration, wet and messy with sticky precum. My cock throbs angrily, annoyed at having been denied its release. I sigh, sinking back on the pillows, heart still beating hard. I close my eyes and say your name, emptily.

I swear I can still see their admiring gazes, can still smell you, hear that low moan of delight as you came and came hard.

A dream? Or a memory?

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 1-14-10: "Service with a Smile"

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Welcome Home

On my way home, be there in twenty minutes, he typed, and hit Send. A few seconds later, his phone went queep and displayed her reply: Great! I'll be waiting for you.

She always did wait for him, he thought. Wonderfully patient, remarkably even-tempered, wholly understanding. He really didn't deserve her. But she sure as hell was a nice reward to come home to after a show. He could see her clear as day -- that pixie smile, that saucy wink, that come-hither motion of her fingers. He didn't know what it was that kept her so keyed up as a general rule, but he'd stopped questioning that long ago.

Twenty minutes later he pulled the GT-R into their slot in the underground garage and got out, stretching with a pop and crackle of overtired muscles and sinews. Right-ho. Time for a drink, a bath, dinner, and bed. Not necessarily in that order, he thought with a sardonic grin, twisting the key in the elevator and dropping his duffel bag wearily on the floor.

The elevator bell binged on the sixtieth floor and he emerged into their living room. "Hon?" he called, looking about and failing to find her. "Where're you at?"

"In here," her voice floated back to him, out of the kitchen. "Come and get me."

Well, well. It sounded like she was up to her usual tricks. He sniffed, and caught some wonderfully pungent aromas in the air. Garlic and other indefinable spices danced tantalizingly over his tongue as he tasted the scent experimentally. She must be making spaghetti bolognese. Wait a second, why am I thinking about what she's making for dinner? I want her for dinner.

He strolled amiably into the kitchen and stopped dead as he beheld a vision: she was bent over the counter, stirring a pot on the stove -- that must be the sauce, he thought dimly -- and moving slowly from side to side in time with the music drifting from their iPod dock. Not a stitch of clothing did she wear, save the apron tied round her waist, already spattered with a few splats of sauce. Her ass, which he always found maddeningly desirable at the best of times, practically screamed for him to come up and grab. Her breasts, too, seemed to be reveling in their freedom, hanging low and heavy like wonderfully ripe fruits.

In two steps he'd crossed the kitchen and was upon her, his arms going round her waist and pulling her hard against him. The ladle she held clunked into the pot and she moaned, "Oh yes. Yeah, baby, do you like what you see?" She wiggled back against him and her ass brushed against his groin. "Oooo. I can feel something likes what it sees." She straightened a bit and pulled his hands upward to her tits; he accepted the invitation, squeezing gently and feeling the nipples already hardening against his palms. "All night I've been waiting for you to get home. I've been simmering dinner on the stove; it'll be ready in a little while. But I've been doing some simmering of my own, and I'm ready now."

He could tell she was, too. He kept one hand at work on her breasts, squeezing and caressing, teasing those nipples into hard nubs just perfect for his fingers to tweak and roll. The other hand slipped lower, underneath the apron, down between her legs. She spread them wider, purring happily, as his exploring fingers found her hot and wet slit. He slipped two fingers inside and she shivered against him. She reached one hand back and grabbed one of his belt loops, pulling him against her. He growled low in his throat as his rapidly hardening cock caught in the folds of his boxers, and rubbed his crotch against her ass, his fingers now stroking inside her, soaked in her wetness.

He pulled his dripping fingers free and used them to lube up her nipples for some more twisting and tweaking play; she shuddered and gasped, and threw her head back. He buried his face in that ash-blonde darkness, his hands now fumbling with the button of his fly. "Yeah," he heard her whimper, and heard squelching sounds through the curtain of her hair -- she was very obviously playing with herself now while he struggled to get his cock free.

"Damn, what a slut you are," he growled, mock-sternly, and heard her fingers actually speeding up as she nodded her head frantically. "Oh yeah," she moaned. "Your slut. Do your little slut, baby. Do me now."

"Hate to keep a lady waiting," he agreed, and began rubbing his cock up and down her slit. With every delicious second of friction he could feel her dripping more and more onto him; in seconds his entire length was soaked, looking as if it'd been dipped in honey. Well, he guessed it had, in a manner of speaking. But there was far sweeter honey to be found. He angled, pushed, twisted; she wriggled, pointing her hips back and lifting one leg up, and suddenly he slipped into her. Both of them moaned loudly, he falling forward on her, she rising up beneath him. He bit her shoulder to stifle a scream as her cunt rippled around him. She was more than ready, he could tell -- she was practically there already. He started a hard rhythm, no time for niceties, his cock making wet delicious sounds as he thrust rapidly in and out of her. His hands went around her and began fondling her tits again; he used them as leverage to pull her upright so she was no longer folded over the counter, instead being nearly pressed against him.

"This is what I wanted all night," she moaned, writhing against him, hips thudding back against him, her cunt clenching his cock. Her hands grabbed the lower edge of the cabinet and clung there, bracing her, steadying her. "Missed you so. Fucked myself three times earlier tonight, watching some porn. But it's never good enough. Had to have you."

"Good," he grunted, thrusting hard, one hand sliding lower to her pussy. "Hate to think you'd found a replacement for me after only a day." She emitted an high wordless squeal as he began rubbing rudely at her clit, and she arched her back, pushing her tits harder into his upper hand. "Squeeze them," she moaned, pushing back harder against him. "Finger me. Oh, god, ring my fucking bell and fuck me. Harder, you bastard. Harder!"

He didn't know whether she meant for him to rub her clit harder or to thrust into her harder, so with a growling moan he started doing both. He ground his fingertips over her clit in short, quick circles, continuing to piston his cock in and out of her. His thighs and calves were starting to burn now, his belly and groin starting to smart from the smack smack smack of his body slapping hard against her soft ass -- even with a cushion that soft, things were bound to get a little red at this speed. She didn't seem to care, though, still moaning uncontrollably, pushing herself back against him, her arms trembling now. And he didn't give a damn either -- all of a sudden the only thing that mattered was coming inside her as soon as humanly fucking possible.

"No endurance record this time, my dear," he gasped, and she moaned back, "I don't care, lover. I want that cum and I want it now. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you give me a big load? Ohhh, I bet you can. I bet your balls are just churning right now. Come on, baby. Give me that nice big -- ooooooooooohhhh!!!" She squealed in delight as he began spurting inside her, his hand on her breasts clenching almost painfully tight, his fingers on her clit spasming over her nub in a stuttering rhythm. She ground her hips against him, got a bit more friction, and promptly began to come herself, throwing her head from side to side and moaning almost incoherently "yes.....yes......yes".

He thrust home one last time, almost lifting her off the ground, and then pulled back, down, out of her, leaning forward, resting his weight on her. Both arms tightened around her middle, and hers folded over his.

"God, I love you," he whispered to her. He heard her purr happily. "I love you too, hon," she whispered back.

-- PB

Three A.M. Surprise

He clicked off the PC's power button and glanced at his watch. 2:48. Great, he thought, another night killed by work. I won't deny that six figures is nice, but just once it'd be nice to throw this fucking pager into the nearest lake.

Stretching, he stood and wandered through the silent apartment, plodding upstairs to bed, his mind fuzzy, eyes sandy, neck aching. He shivered, a chill scurrying down his neck. Maybe we should have turned on the heat tonight. He resolved to get under the covers as quickly as he could. He noted sadly that she was a silent lump on her side of the bed, and smiled a little at her cover-stealing ways -- again 85% of the bedclothes were wrapped around her, leaving him his usual pittance.

He stripped off his clothes wearily and slid under the covers, amazed as always at her sleepy bed-warmth. "My own personal heater", he'd called her once, and she'd been offended for all of a quarter second before bursting into giggles. "Can I help it if I'm warm-natured?" she'd wanted to know, and kissed him happily.

As he sighed softly and wriggled to get into a more comfortable position, trying not to awaken her, she suddenly spoke. "Did you think I was sleeping?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "You were quiet enough to be."

"I was watching you," she said. "A bad one this time?"

He nodded, his movements only half-seen in the midnight stillness. "Those numbskulls at Pyragore went and hired a new sysadmin and he managed to FUBAR their network in just one day. Their accounting server was offline and if I hadn't fixed it by 3 -- well, 3 our time, anyway -- their CEO wouldn't have gotten his weekly paycheck. And we all know we can't have that."

"I guess not," she sighed, snuggling closer to him. He felt her warm flesh pressing against him. Flesh? Wait a minute. She never went nude to bed. "Hey, you're nekkid, woman! What are you up to?"

"Mmmmmm," she purred, snuggling closer still, throwing one leg over him. He felt wetness smearing across his thigh. "I've been lying here waiting for you. Having a little fun. But it wasn't enough. Never is, you know."

He did know. Once she got going, she was like those massive centrifuges the military uses to test the endurance of pilots. They take what seems like hours to wind down when the tests are over. She was the same way. Not that he minded! Especially now, with her purring against his throat, nuzzling and licking, and writhing against him, half-straddling him. His cock was wide awake now, trying to raise its head but being prevented by the pressure of her leg. He bent his head and she divined his intent right away, raising her lips for a long hot kiss. Her mouth was eager and soft, devouring, tasting. She seized his tongue with her teeth and sucked on it hard enough to draw a soft hiss from him. She slid her body over his and he felt the tips of her nipples scoring trails down his chest. God, she was worked up.

A second later she slid her leg down his body; his trapped cock sprang up. "Oooo," she murmured in delight. "Look what I've found." Her exploring hands slid over his chest, his abs, his groin, tangled briefly in the curls there; then slid lower still and grasped him firmly by the shaft. He groaned with pleasure. "Is this all for me?" she wanted to know.

"Christ yes," he managed. "God, I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?" she inquired innocently, now stroking him deftly, squeezing below the head, forcing more blood into his already painfully hard shaft. "How I do this?" And emphasized it with a long languorous stroke. His hips bucked involuntarily upward.

"No," he growled, and his mouth found hers again for a savage kiss, then broke. "How you can get me hard in less than ten seconds, just with a caress or two."

"Or five or six or seven," she agreed, stroking him, stroking. "I just like my toy nice and hard, you know." And she slid around some more, climbing on top, straddling him, reaching down, guiding, positioning. The covers fell away; he could swear he saw steam rising from underneath, where their bodies touched. Her breath caught, hitched, as she settled firmly onto his cock. "Couldn't do that if you weren't nice and hard, could I?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," was his only response as she began grinding away on top of him. Her hips pistoned up and down, a nice hard rhythm. He'd thought she might want it slow and soft, but that hard driving motion made her intentions crystal clear: she wanted to fuck him, to bounce up and down on his cock until she got off again. She didn't care if he came or not. Just wanted to use him for her own pleasure.

That was just fine with him. He met her bouncing with hard, sharp thrusts of his own. Up and into her. Up and in. Up and in. Thirty seconds and both of them were breathing hard. A minute, and she threw her head back, crying out, her hips moving faster and faster. Her urgency spread itself to him; he knew he had only bare minutes to cum in her before she went off like fireworks. His hands went to her tits, groping them, tweaking the nipples savagely. She bucked against him excitedly, moaning, head rolling back and forth bonelessly as she fucked him. He felt the urge rising and began to yell, helpless to stop, helpless beneath the rippling savage grasp of her cunt, feeling her milk him efficiently, dribbles of precum now becoming a foaming torrent, feeling short spurts become long sticky blasts of cum as he emptied himself into her, thrusting hard, lifting her upwards, hands now on her ass, squeezing hard as she rode him to an orgasm of her own. A sharp hiss from her and a bitten lip was the only outward sign, but the spasms in her pussy were proof enough of her pleasure.

She sat there for a moment, breathing hard, hands braced on his chest. "Good to see you remember your role," she breathed happily. "That's my good, good cock."

"Oh yes," he said softly. "Yours any time you want it."

Her voice was low, sultry. "Indeed? What if I said I wanted it again, right now?" And punctuated it by clenching around him. Wonder of wonders, he was still hard.

"Then I guess you can do as you damn well please," he murmured, and his hands went around her waist as she began pumping her hips again....

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 4: Faith

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'know....do 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 4: Faith

Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.

Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.

Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.

I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.

When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.

One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.

A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?

In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.

Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.

The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.

The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.

And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.

That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.

And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.

We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.

We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.

But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.

One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.

In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.

In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.

And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).

-- PB

Blinded and Bound

(A few weeks back I asked what you fine folk would like to see here. Spring Flower requested a story on blindfolds and binding, so without further ado....)


God, I can't believe the cliches, she thought. Heart fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage -- check. Blood rushing to my face -- check. Trembling like a leaf in the wind -- check. Wetness trickling down my thighs -- definitely check. Why is it this is affecting me so much?

Maybe it has something to do with the shock of it all. I wanted him to surprise me the next time he was feeling frisky, but didn't expect anything like this!

"This" was a dead-eyed, austere husband, who met her at the door after a long day at work. "This" was him ordering her coldly to "get those fucking clothes off, now." "This" was him ripping the shirt off her back and using a knife to cut her panties free when she wasn't fast enough to suit him. "This" was him snapping a dog collar round her neck, pulling her by its chain to the bedroom, and looping the chain through a ringbolt in the wall over the bed.

"This" was him locking two fur-lined handcuffs around her wrists and shackling those to the bed's headboard. "This" was him pulling her legs rudely apart, and more shackles around her ankles; shackles that went to the corner bedposts.

"This" was him standing there, observing her clinically, drinking in her mingled fear and delight -- how far, precisely, would he take things? "This" was him reaching into the bedside drawer and bringing forth a soft velvet cloth, then lifting her head gently, sweetly, but relentlessly. "This" was him wrapping the cloth twice round her head, over eyes and ears, cutting off most sound and all light and vision.

"This" was her breath coming hard and fast. "This" was her tongue, moving nervously over suddenly dry lips. "This" was the slow hot pulse between her legs, the throbbing beat which was already increasing in intensity. "This" was the beads of sweat forming on her shivering skin. "This" was the growing wet spot beneath her as her excitement trickled down the insides of her thighs and soaked the bed below.

"This" was her voice, begging in a cracked and broken tone she'd never heard from herself before. "This" was his own cold tone in response, faded through the muffling cloth, moving around the bed, taunting her as her blinded head whipped back and forth, trying to follow him. "This" was the epithets he was using on her, scoring her psyche as surely as if he were cutting her with a flechette: Slut. Whore. Cunt. Tramp. "This" was the flood of emotion those words brought forth -- the expected rush of guilt and shame, but also a dirty pleasure, a secret pride at being so well and truly Named.

"This" was him trailing his fingers over her trembling body, whisperlight caresses at odds with his harsh words. Playing gentle circles over her belly, her nipples, her breasts. Tangling in her hair for a quick, sharp pull that brought tears to her eyes, then soothing the hurt away with more caresses on her face. "This" was her suckling eagerly at his fingers as they crossed her lips; "this" was him admonishing her "no" with a gentle smack on her cheek; "this" was him leaning in to place soft kisses and licks all over her writhing body.

"This" was him suddenly invading her cunt with his fingers, thrusting hard, rudely, with no finesse. "This" was his thumb dancing gently on her clit, somehow perfectly in tune with the throbbing of her pussy, at odds with the seemingly untutored fingers. "This" was her gasping and shuddering, wracked with pleasure, moaning his name. "This" was her hips bucking upward to meet his plundering hand, traitor body awakened by his ministrations. "This" was his mouth now replacing his thumb, his tongue lashing over her clit relentlessly, driving her hard and fast towards orgasm.

"This" was the disappointment she felt when he halted suddenly, fingers yanked free, mouth and tongue pulling back just short of tipping her over. "This" was the howl of anguish that burst from her till her throat was raw. "This" was him covering her mouth with his own, stubble rasping against her, bruising her with the savagery of his assault. "This" was his body weight coming down hard upon her, denim shirt brushing roughly against her hard nipples, making her moan into his mouth. "This" was him driving upward, forward, into her, stretching and filling her till her eyes rolled and turned helplessly beneath the stifling blindfold.

"This" was a relentless, hard rhythm. "This" was sensation so pure it made her brain burn and her soul sear. "This" was him biting at her nipples, lightly at first, then harder when she whimpered and thrust her tits harder into his mouth. "This" was their bellies smacking hard against each other in a quickening beat. "This" was her silent cry as her cunt clamped around him in clenching approval. "This" was his animalistic grunting as he fucked her harder and harder. "This" was him sitting up, grabbing her thighs tightly enough to leave marks, using them to pull her against him. "This" was her monotonous chant of "yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah" as he plundered her. "This" was her orgasm exploding through her like a bomb, a nova rushing outward from her liquid center all the way to her tingling fingertips and toes. "This" was him pounding into her, longer, faster, harder still. "This" was him pulling back, out of her, then working his cock feverishly, splattering jets of his cum all over her sweaty body: belly, tits, chest, neck, one or two droplets even on her face.

"This" was her breathing hard and heavy when at last he'd finished coating her. "This" was him disappearing for a long minute, then returning with a soft towel. "This" was her whispered "thank you", seemingly unheard as he cleansed her with the towel and caressed her body's curves lovingly.

"This" was a benediction, a coda, as he pulled the blindfold free and unlocked her shackles, but left the collar round her neck. "You're welcome, my love," he murmured against her throat as he lay close, enfolding her in warmth, brushing away the tears that were starting to flow now.

-- PB

Group Post: "Curves"

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The Devil Inside

(A bit late for Halloween, but what the hell.)

Smoke, hubbub, pounding music, fumes of sweat and alcohol, perfume and colognes, leather and latex and vinyl. It was fairly standard, as Halloween costume parties go.

It was also, he mused, extraordinarily boring. Not a target in sight, not a conversationalist who could keep up with him, not a single interesting individual worthy of attention this evening. Then again, so many of them had gone overboard with their costumes, while he'd favored the understated approach. No pitchfork and bright red-tailed spandex getup here; he'd chosen a sober grey double-breasted suit, dyed his hair black and slicked it back from the temples, added a bit of rouge to his cheeks, trimmed his goatee so it came to a fine point -- small things, really. His one concession to the devil motif was a pair of tiny horns he'd affixed to his forehead with spirit gum and prosthetic makeup. They were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. But most people hadn't bothered looking, all night.

Wait a second. That looked promising. Oh, she was a looker, all right. Masses of ash blonde hair tumbling around her creamy white shoulders. A figure that would make hourglasses weep in envy, shoehorned into a clinging diaphanous dress of purest silver that left everything and nothing to the imagination. Purest silver in color, it seemed constructed of cobwebs and moonlight. He wondered idly how she'd gotten here without being arrested. Thigh-high slits on the sides revealed tantalizing flashes of leg as she turned this way and that and the full points of her nipples were clearly visible. Clearly she was enjoying something about this party. Her face, though, was utterly impenetrable, inscrutable, revealing no hint of what she was thinking.

And -- what the fuck? -- an argent halo glittered insubstantially over her head. Stranger still, no one seemed to be paying her -- or it -- any attention.

Surely not, he thought. What's she up to?

He sidled through the crowd and touched her elbow. "Pardon me, my dear," he intoned.

She turned, apparently unsurprised. "Yes?"

"As someone in the business" -- he didn't say which one, knowing she knew full well what business he was in -- "I'm curious about the halo. Draws attention, doesn't it?"

"Only when I allow it to," she answered. "Now that I've drawn yours, I don't need it. Does it bother you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Bother? No, not exactly. It affects me, that's for certain, but not in the way you might think."

She raised an eyebrow of her own in response. "How then does it affect you, pray tell?"

He smiled grimly at her phrasing. Deliberately, he ran his eyes up and down that statuesque body, then -- just as deliberately -- looked down at his crotch, where his excitement was showing rampantly.

The halo flickered and died over her head. Her lips parted and her eyes smoldered. "Ah," she said, articulating the word very deliberately. "I see."

He slid around behind her, arms encircling her waist, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Was this your idea, or that of the Presence?"

She sighed and leaned back against him, pressing her softness against his burgeoning hardness. "Mine. I'm so God-damned tired of His holier-than-thou attitude. He created sex, why is He so uptight about it? I haven't been laid in centuries. This is the Night of Mischief; His attention's elsewhere tonight and I figured no one would miss me."

He chuckled and ran his hands up her front, cupping the weights of her breasts. "I've always enjoyed corrupting you types. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself, if you'd like to accompany me to somewhere more private." He punctuated the last word by tweaking her nipples sharply, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily back against him.

"Yes, I do think I'd like that," she murmured, undulating against him in a manner that was swiftly stoking his interest -- and his passions -- to a high flame. "How shall we do this?"

He grinned, and took her hand. "The bathroom's unoccupied." She trailed after him, quiescent for now. They stepped into the bathroom and he closed the door behind them; a flash of ire seared and sealed the lock. "Don't want to be disturbed, you know," he remarked offhandedly.

He put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me, my little Seraphim, what do you want this night?" He knew the ritual: she'd pretend aversion for a token time, then cooperate eagerly, the formalities of her protestations having been satisfied.

But she surprised him by dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing down the zipper of his pants. "To worship this," she said softly. "To take in the profane and make it sacred." Her small hands went inside, caressing, feeling the weight and length of his erection; he growled subvocally as her fingertips rippled up and down. "To feel what I've been denied for so many years."

Abruptly she pulled downwards and his pants fell around his ankles. His cock, hard and red, stood out like a prod, pointing directly at her face. She looked up at him then, and there was in her eyes such a look of lust that even he was swayed by its force.

"Or, not to put too fine a point on it," she purred now, "to have you fuck my brains out." Her hand went to his shaft and grasped it firmly. He gasped at how cool and soft her fingers felt around his heated flesh. She began stroking him, gently twisting her grasp around and around, squeezing him downward and then upward, milking the first drops of pre-cum free. Her hot tongue darted out to taste the pearly beads. "Better than pearly gates," she whispered. Her tongue laved his head, spreading her saliva and his pre-cum all round. "Much better."

He groaned and raised her to her feet. His hands roamed now, all over her body, questing, caressing, stroking, and then clenching and grasping hard. The fabric of her dress tore with a barely-audible thrumming sound, and her breasts -- marvels of shadowed rondure -- spilled free. He manhandled them, squeezing and tugging, mashing them together, cupping them, hefting and pulling. She gasped and threw her head back. "Yes," she sighed, "like that. Oh, yes, like that. Harder. Bite them!"

He did as he was told, feeling her hands still twisting and caressing on his cock, now slick with her saliva. Worse yet, he was rapidly losing control in her grasp. He growled deep in his throat as she milked the head, making circles around the mushroom tip. A particularly apt touch drew a rattling, ragged gasp from him and another from her as he bit harder on her nipple. "Christ yes," she moaned. "Oh, fuck me. Wanted your cum first but I can't wait."

"You've much to learn about devils," he grunted as she began pumping his shaft, hard. "We excel at teasing....but we can stay hard as long as we want."

"Ah, so?" she grinned wickedly. "Then let's have it. C'mon. I want that devilcum all over my tits." She began pumping him in earnest and dropped to her knees again, presenting him with a tempting target, working his shaft with enthusiasm and skill he'd rarely felt even from the lower-circle demonesses. He howled his delight as his burning seed erupted and splashed all over her tits, streams and spurts flowing and coating her creamy white flesh with even more whiteness. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, working him harder. "More. More! I want more!" He reached down inside and kept it going, erupting and erupting, all over her hands and forearms, all over her tits, splashing and splattering over the ripped remnants of her dress, drooling down her legs and pooling on the floor.

Finally he stopped, afraid he'd drown her before he'd even gotten into her, but she surged to her feet and engulfed his lips in a savage kiss. He felt his hot cum smearing all over his suit and tore furiously at it, wondering why he wasn't as nude as she was, or at least close to it. Buttons flew and cloth fell to the floor as he pulled her hard against his bare chest. "Mmmmmph," she moaned into his mouth. "Need it now. Give me that big hard cock. Want it in me. Now. Now!"

He ripped savagely at the shreds of the dress around her waist, getting them out of the way. In a twinkling he had spun her to face the mirror and slammed her down on the counter. She sang a high crystalline note of pure voiceless need and spread her legs as far as she could; he accepted her offering and drove home into her, hard and deep.

A red haze filmed his vision. This was what he was. He snarled and his hands clenched; the fingernails grew till they were claws. One hand clapped hard on her shoulder, yanking her against him; the other came down with a loud crack on her ass. She yowled in delight and began shoving back against him as he pistoned into her, fucking her deep and hard. And he began reviling her, savaging her with words as he savaged her body: "Slut. Filth. You're all the same -- so pure and holy and good when He's watching, but give you a little taste of the good stuff and you're all over it. You can't get enough. I could fuck you for days and it wouldn't be anywhere near what you need; you'll be begging for more cock even after I've bruised you inside, filled you with gallons of come, clawed and shredded your flesh, fucked you till you were damn near split in two. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah," she gasped. "I want it. I'm a dirty slut. I want cock. I'm meant for fucking. Take me, use me, pound me, fill me. Fuck my filthy hole with that big devil cock. Give me more of that hot steaming seed. I want it so bad."

And he drove into her. In. In. In. Harder and faster. She was gasping, screaming, her hair flying about, her eyes blazing, locked with his in the mirror as he pounded her harder, deeper, faster. Their bodies blurred together, pounding and thrusting in desperate frenzy. Time stretched and flowed, everything in the universe drawn down to this one unholy mergence. They fucked and they clawed and they scratched and they bit. He banged her from behind till the countertop shattered. He threw her against the wall and she jumped onto his cock again, wrapping her legs around him so tight he felt something creak. He drove her to the floor and had her there, leaving claw marks on her shoulders, her waist, her legs, her breasts; she left him unmarked but took everything he threw at her and begged for more.

Eventually even immortal flesh tires, but not without a final climax. He drew her down hard and fast, clenching her ass, pouring his essence into her in a fiery river of pleasure so great it was agony. She shrieked filthy words in a voice made raw by lust and rough use, and he howled imprecations at her, calling her slut, whore, succubus, finally grunting oaths in bastard pre-Druidic language as the pleasure overwhelmed him. They collapsed together to the floor, neither one truly sated yet, but knowing that their time here was done. Such a union isn't meant to be, after all.

-- PB

The Midnight Ride of....well, not Paul Revere

It's a strange thing, not knowing whether you're awake or asleep. Everything's washed in a drifting haze, a formless fog as thick as the blanket that falls over London at night. You can never tell whether the things you're seeing -- the sensations you're feeling -- are real, or whether they're just byproducts of overtired neurons firing cross-connections in your head.

So when I felt you beginning to go to work on my sleeping penis in the dead of night, I thought I was still lost in a pleasant dream.

Mmmmm. 

Ahh. Ohh. Mmmmm, that feels nice. Heat, wetness. Must have spilled coffee on myself in that diner. Think that'd be hotter, though, more painful, less "ahhhhh". Weird. 

Ahhh, that's good. Strange, doesn't seem to be any clothes down there. Must be one of those dreams where I'm naked for some reason. I guess that's why I can feel it so well. What is that, anyway? Ohhhhhhh. Mmmmmmmmmm. 

God, that feels fantastic. It fascinates me to feel my cock go from flaccid to tall and hard, and it sure feels like that's what it's doing right now. Ahhhhh. Mmmmm. Feels like.....like somebody's sucking me off. Swelling now, head raising up, looking around. I can feel her tongue flicking along the shaft. Pulse thumping in the great vein. Can feel her tickling my balls with her fingers. Soft pink flesh becoming warm pink marble. Can feel some incredible suction.........ohhhh GOD that's good.

Yep, definitely nice and hard now. What a fucking great dream this is. Still feel foggy. Where am I? And who's performing this magic on my shaft? Can't see too well. Oh, that's why -- it's because it's dark. Wait a second. It's........ohhhhhhh fuck, she's fantastic. It's....wait, I'm not dreaming. I'm awake! In my bedroom, in the dark. Is this really happening?

Oh yes. It is. Moist slurping sounds come from between my legs as you bob your head up and down on my cock, by now very rigid indeed. Your hair spills forward, hiding your face except for tantalizing flashes of your sucking mouth, your tongue running along my stalk, your teeth biting gently at the head. "Oh god," I groan in a voice made hoarse by sleep. "Ohhh, that's fucking good. Oh, fuck yes."

A low, throaty chuckle around my cock in your mouth. "You like?" A silky purr.

"Christ yes," I gasp as a particularly enthusiastic bit of suction rolls my eyes back in my head.

"Let's see how you like this, then." A brief shifting and I'm rolled from my side over onto my back. Wetness drips and smears across my legs and thighs as you slide on top of me. I have time enough to realize that you're absolutely soaked and it's your cunt dripping all over me before you reach down, grasp me in one small hand, and sink down on top of me with a groan -- at which point all rational thought goes right out of my head.

"Fuck me, that's good," I groan. Heat. Wetness. Tight and hot. "Oh yes," you sigh, moving up and down on me. "Yes, yes, yes. Oh, like that." My hands go of their own volition to your hips, clapping hard, clenching, lifting and dropping you. Wet and slippery. So hot. So good. Arching my back, raising my hips to lift up into you. Your tits bouncing as you rise and fall. Your hair still obscuring your face.

"Oh yes," you're moaning. "Oh, do me. Yeah, like that. Oh, I love that cock. God, I love to ride you." Your hips are confirming it, moving in tight circles. "Good," I groan, heavy and full, the tide rising. "'Cause I fucking love it when you ride me. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can feel that pussy clenching. Give me that hot cunt. Fuck yourself down on my big cock."

"Fuck yes," you gasp. "I love feeling that cock inside me. Are you gonna shoot off soon? Gonna hose me down with a nice creamy load? Please say yes. I want it. Want it now. Oh yeah. Now. Now. C'mon. Give it to me." Fire glints in your eyes as you start bucking harder. "C'mon. Come for me. I want it. I need it. Now. Now. Nownownownownownowwwwwwwwwww........." and your voice becomes a howl, mindless pleasure taking over, shuddering wracking your body. I join you, gasping out "oh fuck yes" over and over, each time my twitching cock fires another spurt inside you. My hips jerk and my hands spasm, digging fingermarks deep into your ass and thighs. Over and over I come, grunting "fuck, fuck, fuck," like an animal, barely registering that you're grunting with me: "yeah, yeah, yeah....."

Long moments pass before you crash down heavily atop me, spent. I can feel our mingled fluids drooling out of your pussy and pooling on my thighs. My cock, still astonished at this lovely midnight surprise, starts softening, slipping out of you, slowly returning to its slumber. I can feel the fog reaching out to claim me too, and put my arms around you, willing you to join me in my dream, where maybe we can continue this lovely interlude......

-- PB