In the Arms of Morpheus, In Your Arms

The war movie "Johnny Got His Gun" is a soul-shattering experience for many. It sticks in the mind for many reasons, not the least of which is the psychological hell that would be caused by loss of all your physical faculties while your mental processes remained alert and very much aware. One quote from the movie has especially stuck with me over the years, though: "How can you tell what's a dream and what's real when you can't even tell when you're awake and when you're asleep?"

It was like that for me this morning, you know. For much different and considerably more pleasant reasons.

I was floating, drifting, wandering in a pleasant haze. Clouds passed over and through me and I was borne aloft on warm breezes. Far below me I saw a landscape of indescribable beauty, rolling hills and valleys, mountains with snow-capped tips, lush forests and rushing cataracts. My spirit sang at the sight. Indeed, I was feeling pleasure radiating outward from my core, buoying me up effortlessly, the good feelings crackling along every nerve ending.

Slowly things shifted and turned, and I sideslipped along another plane of existence. The pleasure intensified, becoming more localized. I felt dim sensations: warmth building to heat, gentle tingling, a velvety smoothness, a slick friction of some kind. They intensified as the pleasure built. Reality reassembled itself, building blocks falling into place, solidifying to the here and now.

Which was that your lips were wrapped around my cock and you were sucking on me gently but insistently.

My eyes flew open in shock and then almost immediately closed again as the sensations swept over me and carried me away. Never had I felt such exquisite points of pleasure. There was no time to wonder how you'd pulled the covers off without awakening me, what had possessed you to awaken me like this, or even how in the hell you'd gotten here in the first place. It's very difficult to think coherent thoughts when a woman has your cock in her mouth.

And so consciousness coalesced around the delight I felt: heat, gentle suction, a most insistent tongue curling around my shaft and concentrating on the head. Your soft fingers stroked me up and down, tenderly but with firm authority. I moaned, the first sound I had managed, and was rewarded with a humming "Mmmmm" from you, my cock never slipping free. Your hair whispered along my belly, your hands caressed my thighs and fondled my balls. Your mouth worked with slow passion, teasing me, gorging me with blood and desire. I felt myself throb intensely with each hard thump of my heart.

The sounds of lust: wet "shlick" and "sploop" sounds as you sucked me, slowly, your mouth moving from head to the base of my shaft, my ragged breathing as the pleasure built, my helpless moans of desire, your soft musical humming. I began to raise my hips, slightly, involuntarily, and heard/felt you giggle to yourself, knowing I was completely and utterly lost, in your control.

And then you pulled back. My cock slid free, rigid as a post, throbbing angrily. I gasped as your tongue dragged over the crown, swirling round it, bringing fresh beads of desire, glistening pearly white. You grinned the most impish grin I had ever seen and only then did I realize you were as naked as I. Slowly, slowly, you crept forward, your skin sliding against mine, your hard nipples scoring trails along my chest as you undulated along my length. You straddled me. Your thighs grabbed me with no doubt about who was in charge here. You looked down imperiously, eyes glinting with mischief and delight. You raised those hips. Your hands caressed your own skin, fondling your breasts. You tweaked your nipples and sighed softly as your hands moved lower, ever downward. Your hand wrapped around my rigid length, angling it, pointing me to your own requirements. More heat, more wetness: slick and ready, you enveloped me before I could even blink, and just like that we were connected, so intimately, so deeply.

You sighed again, this time in words: my name. It sounded like a blessing. With a soft gasp I called your own, the word almost lost in a moan of pure need as you began to move slowly, excruciatingly slowly. You leaned forward, your breasts pressed against my chest, and rained kisses on my neck, my throat. Your tongue tasted my pulse, explored my earlobe. I felt your breath, hot and insistent. My hands went to cup and squeeze your ass, helping you fit yourself to me. Slowly, so slowly, you rose and fell above me. I raised my head to capture a nipple with lips and tongue and was rewarded with moans of your own. Steadily, rhythmically, you drove me onward. Steadily, rhythmically, I was driven higher, the pleasure building, the tempo increasing. My breath came faster. Your velvet walls gripped me, molding me, shaping me for our ecstasy. Your hair swung forward, obscuring your face, but those eyes glinted, glinted. A ghost of a smile from you: you leaned forward, palms on my chest, bracing yourself for harder, faster, rocking and grinding. Your touch seared my skin. Head whirling, every nerve flamed with delight, I could only gasp and moan, helpless to resist the tide, the inevitable burst of heat and light and color, the brilliant nova that sent me over the edge......

.........and then I raised my head, and looked around. The sheets were tangled, my pillow askew, my cock throbbing steadily in a pool of precum. I touched myself: stickier than I should be. The memory of your kisses, the taste of your tongue, the feel of your hot cunt, wouldn't leave me alone, insisted they had been real. I dropped my head to the pillow, and sighed bitterly. Never have I been so disappointed to return to the real world from a dream.

-- PB

The Nutcracker Sweet

"C'mon, hon, we're going to be late," he called.

"Just a minute longer, love.....there! Okay, I'm ready." She emerged from the bathroom, posing artfully before his admiring gaze.

She'd been worth the wait. Stunning and statuesque in that emerald green dress, diamond necklace glittering on her low cleavage like a spray of snowfall, raven hair piled high, pinned up with tendrils trailing artfully down her shoulders. She looked like a Greek goddess. His mouth watered so hard it hurt.

He growled and reached for her, almost involuntarily, and she stopped him with one finger. "Ah-ah! Late, remember. Come on, I don't want to miss the performance."

He swallowed hard and followed her out the door, carefully adjusting himself to avoid embarrassment in public.

**********************

Near darkness and silence, but for the small coughs and shifting in seats that accompanies any live performance. He sat calmly, pulse pounding, not only in anticipation of the curtain's rising but also in appreciation of her electric presence, bare inches away. Twenty years together and she still affected him like a schoolboy.

Her fingers trailed lightly across the cuff of his tuxedo, brushing against the hairs on his wrist. He felt them rise in response. He couldn't see her face for the darkness, but knew she was smiling.

And then: the orchestra began. Lightly, quickly, flitting through the opening notes of the "Overture". The curtain rose, revealing the stage: the Silberhaus home, brilliantly lit by candles in preparation for the family's Christmas party. The maid entered, with a tray of drinks, twirling gently to the music. He breathed in, breathed deep, felt his heart expand. How he loved this performance. He glanced at her, face now visible in reflected stagelight, and saw her lips parting in wonder and pleasure at the unfolding scene.

How he loved her!

Onstage, the festivities continued, urged onward by the orchestra. As ever, he beat time silently against his thigh with the "Children's Gallop and Dance of the Parents", grinned at the dramatic arrival of Drosselmeyer, and felt a lump in his throat as the Christmas tree burst into brilliance, candles twinkling, heralding the arrival of the holiday.

And then he felt her hand on his thigh. That was new.

He glanced at her in surprise and she speared him with a look, nodding towards the stage. "Keep your eyes where they belong," that look said. He obeyed, but now his attention was less on the intricate choreography and Tchaikovsky's musical strains than on the warmth of her touch as she caressed him, her fingers raising his temperature by twenty degrees instantly.

And raising other things, too. Of course her hand was working its way upward, and of course it eventually encountered the inevitable: a ridge in his slacks. He heard her murmur softly, "Naughty, naughty!" and then he twitched violently as she squeezed it quite firmly. He looked around furtively but their box seats meant privacy; no one else's attention was on anything but the stage.

He couldn't say the same himself. He gulped as her fingers squeezed him again, gently this time, molding themselves along the length of his hardness, pressing slowly, releasing, massaging him insistently, stoking the flames higher. He couldn't help stealing a glance at her again, and this time she met his gaze with a gleeful grin of her own. Mischief sparkled in those eyes, and he was reminded yet again that she was always capable of absolutely anything.

Her hand now stole higher and found his zipper. The orchestra's strains rose higher as the Rat King's armies did battle with those of the Nutcracker Prince; they covered the slight purring sound the zipper made (or was it she that made that purr?) as she drew it down. Slowly, so slowly, her fingers slipped inside. Slowly, so slowly, she slid her hand further and further into the widening gap. Slowly, so slowly, she wrapped her fingers around his length, squeezing firmly, keeping him good and hard.

She seemed to reach another decision then, and pulled her hand free, but not completely -- as she drew it out, she pulled his cock along with it, leaving him sitting there with his shaft sticking out of his slacks for anyone to see. He gave thanks yet again for the privacy of their box seats and for the darkened theater, and then was startled anew when she took his hand and guided it to her own thigh.

Well, now. Time for a little payback. He slid his hand experimentally higher, delighting -- as always -- in the velvety feel of her skin, the little shivers she made as he touched her, the soft "ahh" she emitted. Slid it higher still, wrestling a bit with the dress as it bunched up, but refusing to be deterred by a bit of cloth.

Meanwhile, she had gone back to work on him, her hand impatiently pulling his cock out even further. Now she encircled him with thumb and forefinger and began a maddeningly slow rhythm, squeezing him tightly as she reached the base, then milking him upward, forcing more and more blood into his already painfully hard cock. Soon he was throbbing so hard that his cock twitched with every thump of his heart.

She kept up her slow rhythm. By now she'd abandoned all pretense of interest in the ballet, and was concentrating solely on driving him mad, or so it seemed. She leaned over a bit, as if reaching for something she'd dropped on the floor, but shifted in her seat to give him freer access below her dress. In that instant his exploring fingers encountered heat and wetness far beyond what he'd been expecting. She was bare under that dress. Incredulously, he pushed a bit further, and his index finger sank into her with no effort at all; in a trice his entire palm was soaked. She moaned softly and shifted again, her pussy clamping down tightly on his digit, and leaned downward a bit more. Apparently retaliating, she opened her mouth and without fuss or fanfare slid his cock all the way down her throat until her lips were actually inside the slit of his zipper.

He grunted as she hummed quietly to herself along with the music. Onstage, the Nutcracker Prince danced for Clara, leaping and spinning. Here, it was his brain that was spinning, as she began to bob her head slowly up and down, drooling saliva all over his slacks, ramping the friction on his tortured cock up and up and up. Her throat clutched at him, milked him; her lips and tongue shaped his trembling. He stroked his fingers deeper into her, found her clit, tweaked it viciously, slid his palm all over her slick cleft. She gurgled a moan of delight and slid her hips forward to meet his invasion; he bucked his own hips upward involuntarily as she sucked particularly hard on his shaft. He tingled, his blood boiled, his balls churned. She trembled, spasmed, shivered in pleasure.

The music built and built. The Waltz of the Snowflakes spun out its tableau onstage. He gasped as he pulled her upward and off his shaft. "No," he breathed raggedly. "Damned if I'm going to blast off down your throat." She nodded, hair coming loose from its pinnings, stray wisps straggling across her face, and panted, "Yeah, yeah, c'mon baby, do me" as she wriggled into his lap, rucking her dress up even further. He heard it rip as she spread her legs and had time to mourn yet another dress's demise before she was fumbling between the two of them, yanking him around and pointing him the right direction for her. He threw back his head, forgetting about propriety now, no longer caring who saw, his hands sliding up her chest, grabbing double handfuls of her tits and squeezing through the dress. She swore under her breath and wriggled some more, raising up, then sank down hard, gushing out onto his slacks as he speared up and into her.

They paused for a heartstopping instant, then began moving together, his hands on her hips, lifting her, dropping her. He bent his head forward and licked at her throat, tasting the sweat trickling down her neck, smelling her jasmine perfume mixed with the now very evident scent they were both creating. They clutched at each other, gasping harder now, bucking deeper into the throes of ecstasy. The orchestra built towards crescendo as Act I neared its conclusion, and as one they increased their efforts, spiraling higher, straining and moaning, hoping to finish before the house lights came up for intermission, but in reality not caring a whit for what might happen if they didn't. 


A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. I intend to return in the new year with more regular entries, and thanks to everyone who's written me urging me to come back.

 -- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 10-28-11: "Sex on Dark Wings"

(Source image: "Battire" by Gernot)

The night air was heavy with promise. I breathed hard as I stroked, loving the exposure, feeling the explosion build.

Then, behind me, the tenebrous whir of leathery wings. I turned; she alighted. Skin pale as the moon, round heavy breasts, tresses of ebony, lips red as blood...delicate black wings.

“So glad I chose this rooftop to begin my hunt this evening,” she murmured. And began walking toward me, her gaze devouring my every inch.

“Uh.” Play the host, that's what you do for unexpected guests. “Uh, can I, would you like a drink? Some wine?”

“Oh no,” she purred, still moving in that slow stalk, eyeing my hardness deliberately. “I do not drink.....wine.”

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today, this near-Halloween day, was to use the slightly spooky picture above and write a flash fiction of 80-120 words. Additionally, I wanted you to use this H.P. Lovecraft word in your fic:

"...tenebrous..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

Truthfully, from the instant I chose this photo there was really no question about what direction I was going with it. The idea of the temptress, the succubus, the sexy female vampire -- all of these get plenty of play in many an erotic fantasy, and I'm no different. Maybe I wouldn't react so calmly if I was caught on a rooftop with my cock in my hand by a bat-winged temptress who obviously wanted fresh meat, but not blood, but hell, who knows?

And yes, I know her lips are black and not red. Sue me. :) 

Happy Halloween! If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

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 4-8-11: "Rebirth in Flame"

(Image title unknown, by François Miville-Deschênes; artwork provided by Wordwytch)

Here I stood, on the shores of the lava fields of Kilauea, masturbating violently. The urge was inexplicable, but it was too strong for me to ignore.

In almost no time I was fountaining urgently, my semen splashing into the fire and vaporizing. Yet even as it hit...

A deep rumble heralded Her arrival. The lava burst and boiled, spraying high as She emerged: a being of molten ire, glowing orange-red, perfectly formed, beautiful and terrible beyond belief.

She shook Herself, spraying lava droplets in all directions. “Who has awakened Me?” she boomed, Her voice the crackle of flame and hiss of steam escaping. “Who calls me?”

Her eyes fell on me, standing stunned on the shoreline with dick in hand. “Oho!” she roared. “Come, then. It's been centuries since I took a consort. We'll see if your seed is that potent every time.”

She gestured. Sheets of flame coalesced around me, but didn't burn. I felt them sinking in, right down to my bones. My vision went red and I felt a liquid shifting as I was forged anew.

I stepped out onto the lava sea and approached Her. Her eyes flared white-hot with anticipation as my glowing rod rose high. She embraced me, and we flowed together, and I knew there was no going back.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 111-222 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...molten ire..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I had so much fun writing this, you can't even imagine. Several people mentioned a while back that they do like my fantastic and fantasy tales, so...well, who am I to deny that?

The artwork was one of those pieces which engendered such a range of ideas that it was simply a matter of choosing the one I was happiest with. First I considered the idea of a secret observer watching a flame spirit dance in her lava pool and capturing her for himself. Then I thought about making it a solitary thing, a fire goddess enjoying her bath, pleasuring herself as the flame burned. Then I wondered how it would be if a mortal summoned this goddess almost by accident, but she refrained from burning him to a crisp because she liked what she saw. I seized on that one and ran with it. The only problem I had was explaining why he suddenly had the urge to masturbate into a lava field. I dealt with that (and with the fact that he wouldn't be able to get closer than about six feet because the heat would be too intense) by the simple expedient of ignoring it completely. Hopefully the result was nevertheless enjoyable. 

Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.


In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.





Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Wordwytch for providing this week's artwork.



-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 3-25-11: "Café Confidential"

(Source image: "Casablanca" by TC Reiner)

She was everything I'd come to love about Casablanca: full of grace and spirit, a glint in her eye and spring in her step, white teeth agleam in face kissed by the sun, body taut but full of promise. For weeks my waitress at this dusty little streetside café, she danced right along the edge of flirtation but never overstepped it.

Till the day I brought my guitar. From the first chord I struck there was something in her eyes, dark and flickering. I wrapped cadenzas around her, held her fast with fingers dancing on the strings, her gaze locked with mine, the spark jumping.

After, she settled onto my lap with a swirl of skirts. “So beautiful,” she sighed with a lilting French accent. “Why did you not tell me you played?”

“Better to show you,” I grinned.

“Ah! yes, it is better to show,” she agreed. “Like....this?” Her eyes danced, flicking downward, to where she had pulled up her skirt. She was bare beneath it.

“Very much like that,” I agreed, and slid my hand up her thigh.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 119-187 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...kissed by the sun..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track: 

Originally I'd planned to call this one "Moroccan Fire" and play up the sensation of heat I got from looking at the photo. I pictured long, humid glances of passion between the players in the tale, sultry heat in a café, sweat rolling down bodies, torrid romance building slowly. And then my research on Morocco and Casablanca informed me that it has mostly a very pleasant and mild climate with neither extreme highs nor extreme lows. That threw that approach out the window.

So I seized on the guitar instead. Music is always flowing through my head, and so it was almost effortless to fit a fiery Moorish rhythm into the story I had in mind next. I tried to suggest this was a glimpse into the Casablanca of yesteryear, before its jeweled luster dimmed, by giving her a French accent. Maybe the waitress wouldn't give him the time of day, but she went all to pieces when he played for her. Stranger things have happened. It makes me wish I had more musical talent than I do, but I'll settle for wordsmithing any day of the week. I hope you enjoyed this little fanciful tone poem.

Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 12-17-10: "The Mirror of His Dreams"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Flash Fiction Friday 12-10-10: "Presents in Big Packages"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Flash Fiction Friday 9-17-10: "Deep Rising"

 (Source image: "The Kiss" by Vitaly S Alexius; click for larger size)

“You're what?” she said very slowly.

“I am a water elemental, milady,” came the reply -- low, sibilant, rich and inviting.

She shook her head. “I don't believe in stuff like that.”

He chuckled appreciatively, ripples dancing, spreading outward from where he stood in the lake. “Then let me show you,” he said.

Slowly, she waded forward, almost without volition, the water lapping at her thighs now, her eyes dreaming and clouded. He flowed forward and up, rising in a vortex, gyring skyward in torrents, then cascading and settling over her. She gasped at the sensations, splashed with pure heat, feeling him slide into her, liquid gone suddenly very rigid indeed, thrusting, unutterably slick and hot. Fire and water met in crescendo at her mouth, bubbles dancing over her skin as he covered her, teasing and exciting every inch of her body.

“Yes...you are,” she sighed.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 110-154 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...splashed with pure heat..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

The following people are participating this week. Go check out their take on this FFF, won't you, and thank 'em for playing along.

Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com  (Drench is new this week; go say welcome!)
Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com
Laura:  http://romanceandbondage.blogspot.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Elisabeth:  http://writingsondomesticbliss.wordpress.com
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Big Geek:  http://getting-a-grip.blogspot.com
Trazuredpet:  http://hisslaveahavanaimah.blogspot.com  (Trazure is also new this week; go say welcome to her as well!) 
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com 
Liley Brown:  http://kristonia0everbell.wordpress.com  (Liley is still another newcomer; please say hello!) 
Bilinda:  http://fantasiesofanunofficialconcubine.blogspot.com
Slow Burn:  http://burnslowly-slowburn.blogspot.com
Chocolate Puss:  http://chocolatepuss.tumblr.com 

Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Something in the Air

There must be something in the air. Library Vixen's post from yesterday asked the question: "ever had one of those days where you can't come enough?"

Yes. Oh, yes. In fact, I'm having one of them today.

I wonder, is it different for women? Are you better able to hide your desire, that flush of heat, the hardening nipples and trickling wetness that heralds your arousal? Can you keep your quickening breathing, your pulse throbbing at your temples, your heart thumping against your ribcage, quiet? Are the people around you clueless about your raging desire, that want, the desperate need to get off, now, please, do me hard and fast and any way you like?

Guys, I think, have a bit more difficulty, especially if we work with lots of other people. A woman I knew (a pervert just like me) told me that the first thing she did with just about any guy was check out his crotch to see if he was packing. Twenty, thirty, a hundred times a day she'd be scanning the bulge at the latest guy's groin, assessing, wondering if he was nice and hard, if he was shifting uncomfortably, if he was trying to adjust to make his excitement less noticeable, if he was tormented by desire and frustration as well. Her relentless scrutiny used to get her some embarrassed looks, but sometimes it got her a good hard fucking too when she ran into a guy who was just as bold and overt as she was. (She checked one guy out who was very obviously hard as a rock and he caught her....but grinned and said "Do you like what you see?" That led to him fucking her in the bathroom of the bar and grill, a tale she recounted with relish).

And for someone like me who's almost always thinking about sex, trying to keep that hidden from the world at large becomes second nature. I like to think that I've gotten fairly good at it over the years, but I have to wonder whether any of the women I see daily are checking me out and grinning to themselves as they see that I'm sporting a railspike under my jeans.

So days like today, when no distractions are worth anything at all, when fantasies flare through my head at lightspeed, when even the slightest touch, every slight movement makes me throb and pulse and leak precum into my boxer briefs, when I dream of fucking and fucking and fucking until I'm sore and exhausted....those days can be pure hell. I can excuse myself and sneak off to the bathroom, where I whip my pants down, grab my cock and flog it relentlessly until my frustration erupts, spraying into the toilet almost angrily. I clean up, tuck myself away, and get back to work....and ten or fifteen minutes later, I'm swelling and pulsing and throbbing again, my crotch bulging, a ridge in my jeans delineating my desire. And I sigh softly, and grit my teeth, and try to concentrate on anything else, and fail miserably.

And the images whirl through my brain. You're bent over the couch, waggling your ass at me, purring "Come and get me, babe." Your hair is sweeping over my body as you slide against me, crawling up and over and around me, your tongue trailing small swirls over my skin, making me shiver and moan. You're riding me standing, your legs wrapped around me, biting my shoulder to stifle screams. You're openly rubbing my crotch as we sit at the bar, your eyes capturing mine, promising naughtiness beyond belief later on. Your head is bobbing on my cock as I push us past a hundred miles per hour on a straight open road, the windblast ripping my shrieks of ecstasy away and flinging them into the desolate wilderness where only scorpions and vultures are there to hear. I'm balls deep in you with your legs up over my shoulders, pumping you long and slow and deep, your wetness splashing out with every stroke. I'm stroking my cock with a lewd grin as you watch, your hand moving between your legs, our locked gazes smoking and searing. I'm tasting you, my tongue dipping into your honey, my face coated with it, nose rubbing your clit, lips wrapping around it to drive you over the edge for your fifth orgasm in twenty minutes.

Faster and faster they come, the fantasies, the scenarios. My cock throbs. My breath is coming faster. I can't concentrate on a damn thing. I can't form sentences properly, can't work, can't get anything done. My imagination is running wild again and I can't rein it in. Faster and faster, a thundering stallion beyond all control. And I feel like a stallion too, a stallion or a bull, pawing the ground, snorting, my cock getting harder and harder as these images assault me relentlessly.

Faster and faster, more and more details. We're making love in a cool blue room full of silk and soft pillows and velvet. I'm grinding against you in the midst of a crowd at a concert, trying to find some way to get free of my pants and under your miniskirt to slip up and into you. I'm watching you pump me slowly, your fingers slipping excruciatingly up and down my shaft, your face self-satisfied as I pulse and drool cum all over your hands. I'm taking you from behind, ruthlessly, roughly, spanking you till you shriek, yanking on your hair, filthy words falling in a rain from your lips. You're poised atop my cock, riding me slowly, hair hiding your face, soft sighs and murmurs and endearments in a steady stream. You're on the other end of the phone, telling me in detail what you're doing to yourself, telling me you're my little plaything, dirty glee in your voice as you shake and cum hard. You're lying on the table, breasts bobbling as I slide in and out of you, eyes rolling back in your head as I bottom out deep in your cunt.

God, it's hard to get through days like this. No sooner do I explode (into the toilet, into my hand, into the sink, into a tissue, into a wastebasket) than the beast rears its head again. And the stain on the inside of my briefs gets larger, and my head fills with images again, and I slide back into the abyssal whirl of fantasy, fucking and coming and fucking and coming and slipping and sliding, sighs and gasps and screams and murmurs, taking you relentlessly, over and over, over and over and over....and there's no rest. No rest for the wicked. No rest for the devious, the imaginative, the dreamer.

Having a vivid imagination is sometimes more curse than blessing.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 8-13-10: "Red Light District"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

What She Wants

She knelt before me, ebony skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her lips worked with slow passion on my straining cock, fingers squeezing at the base of my testicles. She felt me quiver, and pulled my rod free with a wet popping sound. "Paint me," she said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. "You said what?"

"Paint me," she said again. "You've done my portrait enough times, and I loved what I saw. Now I want something different."

She turned her face up, cupped her breasts with her hands, squeezing and lifting them. "Here's your canvas, artist. Paint me."

Moaning softly, I began working my cock feverishly. I'd been so close to the brink when she stopped that it wasn't long before I was near explosion again. Her gaze moved ceaselessly from my face to my hand on my shaft and back to my face again. She began murmuring softly, encouraging. "Come on, baby. Splash me with your love. Give me that creamy white load all over my tits. I want your Titanium White dripping down my body, coating my face. Mix your palette on me, swirl that pearlescence around. Paint me with your brush. Paint me with your cum. Do it now! Now!"

Throat locked and straining, I did as directed. A thick, splattering jet burst out of my cock and onto her upturned face. She opened her mouth to catch the next spray, which shot down her throat with such force she nearly choked. Recovering, she thrust her shoulders back and raised her tits once more, catching the next few spurts, pearly white splashes landing on that dark, dark skin in an almost-shocking contrast. Growling deep in my throat, I kept pumping my shaft, shaping and squeezing each spurt, making her my canvas, turning her into the painting she'd requested.

Eventually I ran dry and surveyed the damage. My glistening cum ran in rivulets from the corners of her mouth, dripped from her chin, collected in the hollow between her breasts, trickled in thin streams around her nipples, pooled in thin splashes and splatters and droplets from chin to navel. She looked at me calmly, not saying anything.

Trying to catch my breath, I strode to the nearby workbench and grabbed my camera. A turn, a click, and this artwork was frozen forever in celluloid. The flash of her white teeth in the darkness of that face outshone even the glittering silver-white strands I'd painted her with. Very contented, that smile.

I offered her a towel and she shook her head. Her hands moved in slow, sensuous circles over her body, without haste, smearing my cum to a thin glaze, spreading it. She dipped a finger into the deep pool on one breast and drew slow spirals down to her nipple. Dipped another finger and tasted, then sighed in deep satisfaction.

"I may not know about art, but I know what I like," she murmured, hands still moving lazily, lazily, nipples now standing proud and tall. I couldn't bear it and leaned over for a taste, my own scent sharp in my nostrils, coloring my sensations with the salt tang of my own cum. She moaned softly as my mouth closed over her nipple, and her hands went to my cock, a paintbrush still dripping with its last glaze. "So glad I joined your life drawing class."

I couldn't help but agree.

-- PB

Hot and Wet

"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?" she inquired, shivering.

"Oh come on, Mar," he said. "You know the water'll feel great when we get there. 105 degrees, the park ranger said."

"Yeah, but he never said it'd be this freakin' cold at 3 AM!" she complained.

"Hey, that's your own fault for wearing just a bikini for the hike," he said. "C'mere. It's only half a mile to the hot springs, I'll keep you warm."

".......bastard," she muttered, refusing to be soothed, teeth still chattering.

"All right, all right," he sighed mock-theatrically. "Here, take my jacket. We're almost there anyway."

"I still can't believe you didn't bring a bathing suit," she said, snuggling into the folds of fleece as they walked.

"Remember what else the ranger said," he reminded her. "At this hour, people tend to regard clothing as optional in the springs."

"Yeah, but what if...."

"What if, what? What if we see some unattractive or overweight people without their clothes? What if there are some prudes there who don't approve? What if I get pounced on by a bevy of beauties when I strip down and hop in?"

She punched him in the ribs, hard. "Ow," he complained.

"Have to keep that ego in check," she said. "It's getting out of control again."

"Yeah, guess I can't argue with that," he said. "Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. Neither of us two cares about showing skin, so why should we give a damn about being nude in front of strangers we'll never see again? And if there are prudes, they'll just leave when they see skin. And as far as 'unattractive' goes, who cares about that either? Everybody's beautiful in their own way."

She shrugged. "Oh, have it your way, Brand. I still think it's going to be deserted at this hour."

"We'll see," he said. "I don't think so, though. Hear that?"

She had. Splashing and laughter drifted to them on the slight breeze from a spot somewhere up ahead.

"Told you we were almost there," he said. "C'mon, let's hurry. I'm getting cold without my jacket."

She punched him again, but not hard this time.

***************************

"Now that IS something," she said.

He couldn't think of any better words, and settled for simply squeezing her hand.

Before them in a small vista lay a series of natural hot springs, lit by soft white electric lamps. Steam rose from the bubbling water, coalescing in the chill air. The pools ranged from three or four feet in diameter to forty feet across at the largest. That last was currently occupied by three laughing and splashing couples, all of them naked as the day they were born. Their clothing lay in unheeded heaps nearby. The breeze soughed through the pines, its rustling seeming somehow secretive, approving of this hidden bower.

"Well?" he mused. "Shall we, then?"

She grinned, suddenly looking much more enthusiastic. "Yes, let's."

The other couples had obviously become aware of them -- shouts of greeting drifted across the pools, then changed to raucous yells of ribaldry as he began pulling off his clothes. "Woo! Take it off, baby!" shouted one of the women, standing up and waggling her glistening breasts at him. Brand grinned at her, and added a small bump and grind to his movements as he pulled off his shirt. More catcalls, this time from the two men who had their arms round each other -- another couple, obviously. "Nice pecs, baby!" they shouted. "What else you got in there?"

Mara's face was flaming as the comments continued, both the men and women making more and more pointed observations as her boyfriend slowly pulled off his jeans, revealing a nice ridge in his boxers -- the fucker was obviously getting turned on by this! She heard a soft moan and realized it was hers. Obviously Brand wasn't the only one who was turned on. She grinned. Time to turn the tables on him. She stepped forward and, hooking her fingers into his boxers, yanked them down around his ankles before he could react. His cock sprang out, pointing straight at her, and he gasped as the cold air hit his heated flesh. It wasn't cold long, though, as she opened her mouth and took his shaft down her throat in one swift, practiced move.

Brand shuddered and moaned and his legs wobbled. She felt him pressing on her shoulders for support; dimly she registered the filthy shouts from the onlookers, urging her onward. She started bobbing up and down on his cock, slathering sloppy spit everywhere, her hands going to his ass and pulling him closer or running up and down his legs and thighs. She couldn't believe what she was doing; five minutes ago she'd been wondering how she'd handle it if the springs weren't deserted, and here she was now deep-throating Brand in front of six total strangers, and loving it.

Brand's moans grew louder and louder as she worked his cock furiously with mouth, lips, tongue, throat. He staggered and almost fell and his cock popped out with a wet splatting sound. In a second he had his control back; stooping, he pulled Mara to her feet and spun her around, planting kisses on her throat, her neck, her face, her mouth. Now his hands were all over her, roaming, delighting, arousing her still further. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his heated touch. Her nipples, already hard as stones from the cold, were trying to tear through the fabric of her bikini.

Brand solved that problem by untying her top with fumbling haste and pulling it aside. Wolf whistles and cheers from the occupied spring, now. She felt her face go red again, but instead of giving in to the urge to cover herself, she leaned back into Brand's caresses, spreading her legs and arching her back to make her tits stand out more. She felt his hands lifting and cupping her tits, and he called out to the onlookers: "Impressive, aren't they?" More whistles and cheers in approbation. Now his hands were working industriously between her spread legs. She felt him shift as he kicked free of the jeans and boxers still down around his ankles, then he was untying her bikini bottom as well.

God, is he....? she wondered hazily, and then wondered no longer as his fingers plunged into her pussy. She cried out in wonder and ecstasy -- it was still a shock to her how damn good he felt inside her, whether fingers, cock or tongue -- and felt herself going limp as he worked her sopping slit. She found some strength, and raised her head to direct a challenging stare at the other couples, all of them now cheering wildly and offering suggestions as to how exactly Brand should proceed next. "You like what you see, do you?" she shouted raggedly, and felt her blood burn at the answering shouts.

Brand obviously had his own ideas on how to proceed, though. In a trice she felt herself scooped up. He took the few remaining steps towards the biggest spring, and dropped her into it without so much as a by-your-leave. She gasped again as the enveloping heat rushed over her and she burst to the surface, scattering spray in all directions like an eager dolphin. The cold night air quickly assaulted her wet skin, and she ducked rapidly down again.

Seconds later Brand cannonballed into the water as well. A giant wave arrowed across the pool and smacked the other couples in the face; laughing and choking, they settled back, their own arms and hands now working busily. Obviously the general excitement was catching in more ways than one. She saw the male couple tongue-spelunking furiously, could almost hear the beard stubble rasping from here. The dirty blonde who'd yelled at Brand to "take it off" had her head thrown back and her arms looped around her man's neck; it looked like he'd impaled her quite nicely and she was now hanging on for a ride. The other two had their arms around each other, idly caressing, but were still watching Brand and Mara intently. Their stares were at once challenging and inviting.

Mara looked at Brand and motioned to the watching couple with a twist of her head. "Shall we give them a real show?" she murmured throatily. She lay back, floating, and spread her legs towards Brand. "Let's go, boy. Always wanted to fuck you in the water."

"Then there's no time like the present," he agreed, wading close, guiding his cock into her slit. Water mingled with her juices as he slid home. Mara moaned again, and clenched her legs around his ass. "Wouldn't do to disappoint our audience," he grunted, already starting that nice grinding rhythm that she knew would have her shrieking her pleasure to the stars within minutes. "Now are you glad we came?"

"I haven't yet," she sighed, riding his cock, riding the swells of the waves. Soft murmurs of approval came from the watching couple; the other two were far too wrapped up in each other to care. "But if you keep that up, it isn't going to be long."

-- PB

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

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