Microfantasy Monday: "Connecting Amidst Chaos"

And so again, bodies once more entwined in tangled sheets as the hands of the clock spin and spiral inward, into blackness, raindrops sliding down the windowpanes in liquid counterpoint to the liquid struggle on the bed. A struggle towards -- what? To break through into the great blind and bursting nova, that golden moment when sun and stars explode through your body, your silver cord tautening and drawing out, drawing tight, tightening the knot you've formed with your partner, that knot that may stretch and tangle but never, ever breaks? To meld flesh with flesh, breath with breath, liquid centers merging, tightening, pounding hearts in rhythm, each heartbeat incomplete without the other?

In an entire lifetime of loves, how many times can it be like that, all soft and enfolding, salt-sweat and tang of tears, cradled close in all-encompassing darkness, all whispers and sighs and endearments, the connection so intense that it sears with the intensity of a nuclear strike. Summer lightning, brilliant and blue-white, transient and gone; its crackle and flash is nothing beside the intensity of this moment, this gaze, this creature with two backs and eight limbs, one pulse, one thought, one love.

It builds and it builds, that pleasure, waves crashing, thunder rolling, sonorous bass vibrating bones, tingling heat washing through nerves from end to end. Softly moaned endearments mingle with the cries of ecstasy, fingers clasping and unclasping, backs arching, bodies filled with wind and flame, a conflagration that builds rather than destroys. With every stroke they tighten their grasp; with every movement the music of their symphony builds to new heights; with every word the inadequacy of words is made more apparent. What they have is beyond boundaries, too great to be noted, too ephemeral for the cosmos to care, but as intense and unchanging and eternal as change itself.

Drifting and drowsing, slumbrous and spent, they lie in their blissful golden afterglow, the chaos of their world spiraling into a whirlpool, dwindling and gone. The world spins beneath them unfelt, unnoticed. Here there is only quiet, and warmth, and closeness, and a short exchange that has never meant more than it does now.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. This week's theme was "Spiritual Connection". Go see Ang to find out who else is playing.)

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Furniture"

"What's the theme this week, hon?" she gasped, moving up and down on him.

"Furniture, it appears," he answered. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we've already got a good start, here in the chair," she sighed. He nodded, thrusting a bit harder up and into her, grunting.

"What next, then?"

"Mmmmm. How about this?"

Steadying her with one arm, he swept papers and other crap off the desk with the other. Standing, he lifted her with him and dropped her unceremoniously on the mahogany surface. He grabbed at her shoulder to keep her from sliding off the desk on a tide of her own sweat. And other things.

"Ouch!" she laughed. "Not so hard!"

"Not so hard, eh?" he grinned, and began pounding into her again. "I thought you liked it nice and hard."

"Oh yes," she moaned as the hammer struck. "But only in some cases."

They stayed in that position, rocking and reeling, for a few minutes before her roving eye lit on the couch. "Oo! There! There! Always wanted to be Jeanne Tripplehorn in Basic Instinct."

"How nice for you," he growled, lifting her up and walking her to the couch, then throwing her forward over it so her round ass pointed back at him, "that I always wanted to be Michael Douglas taking her in that scene." And he spread her legs and slammed home into her. She screamed, but not in pain. "God yes! Oh, I'm liking this week's theme."

"Have to remember to thank Ang afterwards," he grunted, pistoning into her, smacking her ass. "I didn't think I could be any hotter for you, but she's managed it." He fucked her for a double dozen strokes and then pulled out with a wet schlicking noise."Next."

"Next?" she wondered, raising her head groggily, hung over the back of the sofa like wet laundry on a line. "Hey, give me a hand up, dammit."

He pulled and she flew up and into his arms. "Mmm, yes," she murmured, and wriggled against him. "Who needs furniture? We can just do it right here." And wrapped her hand around his cock to squeeze.

"Dammit, woman," he snarled, trying to sound stern, "we should at least fulfill our obligation before losing control completely. That okay with you?"

"Oh, sure," she said, and began walking towards the kitchen table, leading him by the cock. "Anything you say." She hopped up on the table and lay down carefully, spreading her legs invitingly. "Mind the breakfast dishes."

"Fuck the breakfast dishes," he growled, and drove upward, forward, into her. Her eyes went wide in mock disapproval. "But I'd rather you fuck me!" she squealed happily.

"Good," he moaned, and began doing so in earnest. 

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to see who else is playing this week, why not go see her?)

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Public Places"

"You know," she said sweetly, "I've always wanted to suck a guy's dick in public."

He choked and spluttered, spraying toast crumbs over the diner's table. A minute or two of coughing and hacking and he had recovered enough to say, "Christ, couldn't you kind of work up to something like that? My heart isn't what it once was. Can't take surprises like that one anymore."

"Bollocks," she opined, and put a hand on his on the table. "You're not even forty yet. I just surprised you. I like surprising you."

"You do at that," he allowed, drinking deeply from his orange juice. "Ahh. That's better. Now what the hell prompted you to say that anyway?"

She looked around the crowded room. "Dunno. I'm just feeling frisky right now, and this seemed like as good a time as any. This diner's tables" -- she patted theirs -- "have nice long tablecloths, I've noticed."

His eyes widened as he realized where she was going with this. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come onnnnnnn....." she wheedled, her hand already running up his thigh to his crotch. "Don't tell me you've never fantasized about it too."

"Fantasizing and doing are two different things," he hissed. "Dammit, stop that!" 'That' was her opening his fly and snaking a hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his rapidly swelling cock. He drew breath sharply and darted a shaken glance around. No one appeared to have noticed...yet.

He turned to her to give her a tongue-lashing and blinked; she wasn't there anymore, but he could still feel her hand on his cock. What the hell? Oh, no, she wasn't. Was she?

Yes, she was. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she'd slipped under the table and was now on her knees in front of him, her talented tongue now dancing over the crown of his cock. He grunted, the shock of pleasure stunning him, as she took him deep, humming quietly to herself, no doubt laughing like a demon inside as he moaned helplessly and began thrusting forward into her eagerly sucking mouth. She was really going for it, too, using every trick of her considerable skill. Pleasure was exploding outward from his groin, adrenaline whipping through his bloodstream. One of his hands crept under the table and twined into her hair; he heard her giggle, low and soft, around his cock.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in shock, eyes going in terror to the front door, where a familiar pair of faces had come in. Oh fuck, that's the Richardsons. Please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here.....

"Jimmy!" A hailing shout. "What've you been up to?"

If you only knew, he thought, forcing a grin onto his face and struggling to bite back the groans of ecstasy that wanted to escape as underneath the table she continued to suck his dick loudly, sloppily, enthusiastically. He just prayed he wouldn't give the game away when he blasted off down her throat, which by all indications wasn't going to be very long....



(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to see who else is playing, go see Ang!)

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Role Reversal"

The air was heavy and thick, redolent with citrus and jasmine scents. Candles glowed from corners of the room and Miles Davis drifted from the stereo, trumpet sounds weaving between their entangled bodies. Neither of them was listening.

"Want to try something different tonight?" she inquired, kissing her way down his chest, licking and biting as she went. Her hands were busily massaging his cock, bringing it to pulsating, granite life.

"Sure," he sighed, gasping at a particularly effective stroke on his shaft. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Well..........." she purred softly, "how about a little role reversal?"

"Oh, you want to be on top this time?" he smiled. "Sure, that sounds like fun."

Her hands left off caressing his cock and went under the covers. His eyes widened when he saw what she brought out: a thick, heavily veined strap-on dildo, at least ten inches long, and a bottle of lube.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind, my dear," she grinned, her voice all velvet and steel. Her eyes twinkled, but there was something dangerous smoldering there as well.

He hadn't thought it was possible, but his cock got even harder at the very thought.

"Oh yes," he heard himself saying from very far away. "That will do just fine....Mistress."



(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. Go see her if you want to play too!)

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Etiquette"

(Edited 12-5-09: I've just discovered that this entry was selected for Fleshbot's "best of " sex blog roundup for the week. Thanks, folks! To anyone who's dropping by via that link, welcome! Look around and stay a while. I think you'll find I'm a very pleasant host.) 

The sound of the zipper was a loud purr in the silence. The only other sound was her panting breath as she worked herself into a state of excitement. Soon she'd have him in her mouth....

"No." Curt, impersonal, he cut her off and slapped her hand away. "Not like that."

"B-but......I don't understand," she heard herself whining.

"There are rules about this, you know," he declaimed, in a pedantic tone, knowing it always drove her wild when he lectured. "I'm your teacher, and this sort of thing is explicitly forbidden by the school's charter and rules of conduct, and parTICularly the teacher's code of behavior."

More stillness, broken by her small voice, drops of water in a pond. "........so what do I do, then?"

He grinned wolfishly. "You say, 'Teacher, may I please suck your cock?' "

"TeachermayIpleasesuckyourcock?" It spilled out of her so fast the words ran together, not drops this time but a deluge, a torrent.

"Again, please. And let's have that enunciation improved this time."

"Teacher, may I please suck your cock?"

He shook his head. "Again. I'm not hearing the proper attitude of deference and respect."

"Oh, teacher, may I please suck your big fat cock?" She was whimpering now, her head spinning. How long was he going to make her do this?

"That will be adequate, I suppose," he acknowledged. "You may begin.......now."

And her hands darted eagerly to his zipper again, yanking it down, setting him free with unseemly haste. He shook his head mentally. Such loss of control. He'd have to teach her more decorum and restraint. But.....some other time.



(This is my contribution for this week's Microfantasy Monday, hosted as always by Ang, the Sweltering Celt. Care to join in? Go check out Ang's place for the details.)

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday Week #54: "Games"

Tanya smiled to herself, anticipating his arrival in a few minutes.

Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.

Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.

But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."

Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."

The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.

But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?


(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.) 

-- PB