"Doctor, Doctor"

Waiting to see the doctor always sucks. It's universal. No doctor is ever, ever on time, and so you're always reduced to reading one of the ancient magazines left in their waiting room, staring at the wall, trying to avoid being sneezed or coughed on by the other less considerate patients, and in general trying to pass the time without going out of your head. Then when you finally get called for your appointment, thirty minutes late, you get taken back to the tiny waiting room and then spend another half hour cooling your heels while you wait for the doctor to make his appearance.

Yes, it truly sucks. So it was no surprise at all to me that when I accompanied you for your yearly checkup that you were casting about for something to do while we waited, and of course your mind went where it always does. And of course mine was right there with you. We make a good pair, we do.

Your fingers dance over your smartphone's keyboard, and *bzzt* goes my own phone. I pull it out, and my eyes widen just a little bit: 

F:  I'm not wearing any panties. Just so you know.

I breathe deep and cast you a furtive glance. You're already grinning, not even bothering to hide it. I Swype out a reply and a few seconds later your own phone vibrates. I notice you are holding it a little closer to your crotch than most people do, and that your eyelashes fluttered just a bit when it went off. 

M:  Ah, good! Then it seems we had the same idea this morning. Neither am I.

Now it's your eyes that widen, trailing down my body to the ridge rising in my jeans. The outline is very pronounced, but of course you can't resist feeling for yourself, placing a hand on my thigh in mock sympathy, asking me in your public voice if I'm sure I'm feeling okay, "accidentally" brushing lingeringly against the ridge in my jeans. Your solicitous chatter covers my indrawn breath; how thoughtful of you.

My phone buzzes again. When did you have time to type another message? 

F:  Ooooo. Nice and hard for me already. Tell me, baby, what are you going to do with that big hard cock?

My hands shake and three times I miskey my response. Finally your phone buzzes with my response:

M:  Oh, I don't know. Thought I might, for example, slide it deep into your hot, wet pussy. Since, you know, it's bound to be wet by now. I know how naughty you are.

You shift in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs. Now it's my turn to ask if you're feeling okay. A few seconds, and my phone vibrates: 

F:  Of course. Your naughty girl. But you like me that way, don't you? You like it when I get so turned on telling you what I'm going to do to you. You like your girl all hot and wet and ready for you.

Now we're both breathing fast. The others in the room are giving us concerned looks, wondering if we might have the flu. Both of us are flushed, beads of sweat forming on our foreheads. Your phone buzzes: 

M:  I do like it. In fact I love it. I love the way you are instantly ready to go. I love the way all I have to do is whisper in your ear and you're dripping for me. It makes it so much easier for me to slide a couple fingers in. Or, for example, something bigger.

You lick your lips and give me a sultry look from under those lashes. Your fingers dance over the keyboard again. My phone: 

F:  Bigger? Why, whatever do you mean, lover?

Your phone buzzes with my response, but before you can pull it up, the receptionist calls your name.  On shaky legs you stand, and I'm right there, arm around your waist, to support you, my hand "accidentally" squeezing your ass on the way by.

We're ushered back into the waiting room. The PA takes your blood pressure and temperature and then tells you to strip down to your underwear and put on the gown. "The doctor will be with you in a few minutes," she says, and then leaves.

The click of the door closing is as loud as a gunshot. We look at each other, the hunger in our gazes almost palpable.

It's you that makes the first move, stepping away from me. You pull your dress up and over your head, slowly, sensuously, with a little wriggle that accentuates your curves. I drink in the sight of that gorgeous body, reaching out a hand to stroke your thigh. A small slap brings me back. "Nuh-uh", you say sharply. "No touching. The doctor will be here in a few minutes, remember?" You pull the gown on and begin tying it, but your hands fumble with the knots and it's obvious to me that your mind is still elsewhere.

I step close and put my hands on your waist. "Wait," you say, weakly, "the doctor."  "Yes," I murmur, drawing the S out and out. "The doctor. But he'll be running late. They always do." I slide my hands inside the gown -- not hard to do -- and run them along your stomach, down to your thighs.

Suddenly I realize I'm feeling cotton there. What? Was I so stunned by watching you undress that I missed something that obvious? I hook a finger inside the waistband: yup, panties. "I thought you said you weren't wearing any!" You look back over your shoulder with that gamin grin. "I lied," you say simply. "I might need to be spanked."

Maybe another time. The very fact that you want the spanking immediately makes me decide not to give you one. Instead I just hook my fingers into that waistband and pull, yanking those panties down to your ankles. "No!" you gasp. "We can't....no time, we'll......get.......caught." The pauses between words are punctuated with sighs; my hands are still active, now cupping the globes of your ass, now roaming around in front. I slip a finger down to those plump lips and find you wet, so wet, ready and raring to go. "Naughty, naughty girl," I murmur reprovingly. "Mustn't disobey me like that. When I want my girl, I take her. You know this by now."

"Yes," you murmur, sighing, leaning back into me, wiggling your ass against me, rubbing yourself against the front of my jeans. "Don't want to get caught, but I.....oh god." You moan as I slip three fingers into your wet pussy. "I......oh. I don't.....ohh! Unhh!!! I don't care any more. Please......"

"Please what?" I tease, rubbing a thumb over your clit. "Does my girl need to be fucked now? Does she need my cock after all?"

"Oh yes," you moan, and punctuate it with a shiver so violent it almost flings the gown, already precariously tied, off your body completely. "Do me now. Do me any way you like. But hurry!"

With three quick movements my zipper is down and my jeans are down to my knees. My cock springs free immediately -- unlike you, I wasn't lying about not wearing any underwear -- and it throbs angrily in the cool air. I sit down hard on the doctor's stool and spin you around to face me. Your feet tangle in the sodden mass of your panties; I help you get one foot free but the other shoe binds up and they stay hooked around that foot. Neither of us cares. I draw you closer, spreading your legs with one hand. You straddle me, reaching for my cock, pointing me the right way. I look up at you, hair hanging in your face, lips puffy with lust, and I think again that you are so. very. fucking. hot when you are really needing to get fucked.

Then everything disappears in a rising tide of pleasure as you impale yourself on me, hard. You aren't just wet; you are utterly soaked, and it's a good thing, because you rock me deep inside you with one thrust and immediately you're shaking, gasping, bouncing up and down on me. My hands lift and drop you, fondling your ass, squeezing. I'm so hard. So hot. Aching for you. Your cunt clutches at me eagerly, welcoming the invasion. I am gripped by velvet.

Moaning. Both of us are moaning now, quietly, but getting louder. I've never felt so hot, so out of control. I want this godlike pleasure to last and last but the minutes are ticking by and we need to get off and get you off me before the doctor comes in. I thrust harder; you pull me deeper into you. I lift you higher and drop you faster; you lean forward and bite my shoulder to stifle your cries. I lunge to my feet, supporting you on that bar of flesh still sunk so deeply inside you; you wrap your legs around my ass, hook your arms around my neck, and capture my mouth for a violent tongue duel. I slam you none too gently against the wall, trapping you there, helpless to resist my pounding. Thrusting, up and in, in, into that hot wetness, into the glorious ecstasy that is your cunt, in, into you. "Harder," you moan, "deeper," and "yes, baby, yes," I answer you, suiting word to deed. Bottoming out in your hot pussy, my legs straining as I shove myself deep inside you, shaking with need.

"Oh god," I moan, voice cracking, "I'm gonna," and "yes, oh yes, do it, fill me," you cry. Your eyes are wild, lost, swept away. They lock with mine, the electricity arcing between us. The lust sears, it burns. I tremble, I quake, I feel the rush, feel you clamp me even harder. Your mouth opens wide, captures mine again, and we scream at the top of our lungs into each others' mouths when I empty my balls deep inside you. Your heels dig into my ass, your thighs tighten around me. You bite my tongue and then you're shaking, convulsing yourself, hips banging rhythmically against me, unable to stop yourself even if you'd wanted, coming so hard it's almost painful.

I thrust a last time, deeper still, straining to my utmost, every muscle locked.......and then slowly, slowly, return to this plane of reality. My ass unclenches, I come down off my tiptoes. You slide slowly down the wall and I put my hands on your ass to steady you. I pull back and out of you, breathing hard. Glance at the clock on the wall, and now I panic in earnest. Quickly I pull my jeans up, my wet cock rasping deliciously against the rough denim. I help you adjust the gown more decorously, and we quickly grab a handful of tissues to mop me off your thighs.

We look at each other, grinning like a pair of idiots...and then jump apart a few feet as there's a knock at the door. "Come in," you call in a rusty voice, and the doctor enters, looking down at your chart. "Well, miss........." he starts, and then falters to a stop. We both follow his gaze, and realize that we've forgotten your panties, still tangled around one of your shoes.

Both of us go bright red. The doctor merely raises an eyebrow, and closes the door behind him. "Well," he muses, matter-of-factly. "What seems to be the trouble today?"

He looks up, eyes twinkling. "Quite obviously, it isn't a problem with our sex life, hmmm?"

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 5-18-12: "Damn the Consequences"

(Image source: "On the Stairs" by Samantha Wolov)

She was writhing, moaning, underneath me. Her skin was superheated, the lace on her bra cups rough and scratchy against my chest. Her lips were hungry, her restless hands everywhere on my body. She yanked at my jeans; I tore her underwear aside, fumbling, desperate. My fingers sank deep into her with one exploratory push, immediately soaked. She gasped and cooed against my neck, wrapping her hand around me, squeezing, tugging me closer.

I slid deep with one effortless thrust and she wrapped her legs around me. The red haze descended and I started pounding away at her, her shrieks and yelps already rising up the scale.

“Take me upstairs,” she'd said. We hadn't even made it halfway.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 68-122 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...rough and scratchy..."

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:

Some of the best sex I've ever had in my life has been when my partner and I just couldn't wait to have each other. Standing against the wall, bent over a couch, just inside the front door or (as in one particularly memorable occasion) halfway up the stairs. Not a fantasy, this one, but drawn from life. It was fucking incredible (or perhaps I should say incredible fucking).

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

Wanting....

Wanting.........

...your lips on my cock, your tits in my hands, your hair sweeping over my body as you crawl up my torso....

....your cries of delight as you cum for the fifth time in thirty minutes, your pussy clenching around my invading fingers, your eyes locked with mine as I plunge deep inside you.....

......your legs wrapped around my ass when I bottom out inside your hot cunt, your nails raking my back, your tongue buried in my mouth....

.....your pussy juice smeared all over my face, your body spread out before me like a garden of delights, your breasts held up for me to anoint with my cum....

......your oiled, slippery body undulating against mine, your head thrown back in joy as you ride me to ecstasy, your talented fingers coaxing me back into hardness for yet another go.....

Wanting all this and so much more.

-- PB

You Infuriate Me

You infuriate me. You really do.

It's unfair -- criminal, almost -- that any one woman should have a body like that. Legs that go approximately up to your chin, hips that swing like they're on ball bearings, an ass that strains the fabric of your tight jeans, breasts so perfect in their marveled rondure that poets write epics about them. Full lips, sparkling mischievous eyes, a pert nose, windblown tousled hair that begs me to wind my fingers through it. And, damn it all, you know it well, and take full advantage of it. You snap your fingers and I dance. You whistle and I come when you call, panting like a dog. Your merest touch commands obedience, even though I hate myself with every fiber of my being for being so weak.

I rage. I rage against the icy eyes that hold me captive, the slight, slight smile that makes my knees go wobbly and my brain turn to tapioca, the low sultry voice that gets me hard by reading the telephone book. I rage against the failings in my character that let you control me so easily, against my damnable lack of anything resembling willpower. I rage against my distinct lack of experience, the product of too many years spent in solitude, the fact that your amazing femininity in and of itself gives you the puppet strings you need to make me jerk and dance about in spastic twitches.

You infuriate me. Running a finger along my lips, feeling me tremble under your touch. Running your hands along my back and neck softly, fingers caressing, stroking my hair. I shiver and gulp under your touch, knowing the whole while that it's the touch of a mistress caressing her dog, helpless to resist, not even knowing if I want to when even that slight touch sends such sparks, flaming desire dancing along every nerve ending.

How many times? How many times have you tormented and teased me? How many times have I gone home with balls aching, rod straining my jeans, hoping desperately that I could get home before spilling my desire? How many times have I failed miserably, gone off hair-trigger, under your slight caresses, wet spot forming in my jeans as I buck and snap like a shrimp on a dock, my essence spraying not into your warmth, but into the cotton prison of my underwear? How many times have you looked at me with amusement dancing in those eyes, stroking the ridge in my jeans till I forgot myself and reached for you, to be met with a stinging slap that crossed my eyes and rang carillon bells in my head?

Upon my oath, I'm not a violent man. But I tire of being your pet. One day the tables will turn. One day I will see fear in those eyes. Will see you back against the wall as I advance, rage burning low in me, burning, burning, till it's a tossup which is more intense -- the dull heat at my groin or the rage flaming at my core.

There will be violence then, yes -- but not hands-and-fists violence. Only the violence of rent clothing, of being slammed against the wall hard enough to bruise your back, of my mouth on yours, stubble rasping, scratching your tender skin. The violence of buttons flying, pinging off the lampshade nearby, of my hands plundering your breasts, squeezing and mauling them till you cry out with pain and humiliation. The violence of ripped panties, of jeans around your ankles, of being bent over the couch, ass raised, legs thrust rudely apart. Of a hand between your legs, feeling the awakened heat, a chuckle torn from my throat gone raw with suppressed lust.

Because this is what you wanted, isn't it? You'd played me like a master violinist, tightened my strings till I nearly snapped from the pressure -- but "nearly" being the key word. Had raised my passions and ignited my rages till I gave you what you needed -- a dominating, hard fury that finally tore away any semblance of control and propriety in your too-tight life and let you surrender to its dark wash. You wanted this more than anything else -- wanted to be taken, possessed, used roughly and brutally till there was nothing left in your world but pure, raw sensation.

And I'll take it, too. Driving hard and fast, taking what's been mine all along, had I but known it. Plunging deep, plunging hard, angry steel merging with your liquid center. Screams of anticipation, of rage, of fear and shame and delight. Of ecstasy. Invading you, battering, leaving marks on your flesh, scarring and searing your soul with rippling flames, binding you to me now and forevermore.

Fire cleanses, fire destroys. But only in the fires of a forge is the strongest steel made. Links that can never be broken.

-- PB

"....is Hard to Do"

She'd been fighting it for some time but now her control broke. Tears welled up and overspilled, sliding shimmering trails down her cheeks. A lump formed in his throat as he watched but he willed himself not to go to her.

"It has to be," he forced out, his voice raw. "We've been ripping each other to shreds for months now. I loved you once, and I think I still do, but I have had enough, now and forever, amen."

Her head came up, her jaw tightening. A hint of the old imperiousness flashed in one of her glittering green eyes. "You've had enough?" she said dangerously. "You've had enough?"

She stalked angrily around him, a painter sizing up her subject, a panther sizing up its next meal. "What if I haven't had enough?"

He turned in place, facing her as she circled. "Goddamn it. This is just what I'm talking about -- you won't, or can't, see reality when it's right in front of your fucking face. I am so sick of battling with you over every little thing. So damned......tired."

A spark of humor flashed. "You ought to be, after a night like last night."

"Not what I meant and you know it. I'm not going to deny that it's been fun in bed..."

"And out of bed, and on the stairs, and over the couch, and on the kitchen counter," she singsonged, grinning despite the tears that still trickled down her cheeks.

"Shut UP!" His roar was a cannonblast in the small room. "For chrissake, do you think this is easy for me? Or fun?"

"........No," she finally said, her voice tiny drops of water emerging reluctantly from a faucet.

He nodded grimly. "Then you understand what I'm saying."

"Yes."

"And you know why this has to end before one of us ends up dead."

The silence stretched, became humid, thickening palpably. His gaze held her, like a pin in a wriggling butterfly. She squirmed in agony but he wouldn't, couldn't, release her.

"...........yes," she admitted at last. "But damn you for being so.....so intangible. I never really had you, did I? Even when my claws were sunk deep in your back, I was never really touching you. Never really touched you." The tears began flowing again.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were raw and red as well. "Don't believe it for a minute," he said heavily. "Your hooks are still set deep. I don't know if I'll ever get them out."

She came to him, and this time he didn't pull away. He crushed her against him, meeting her mouth with a savage kiss. She drove him back against the wall, hard. Pictures crashed to the floor. He drank from her mouth, lips and tongue plundering her, being seared in the heat that had burned him so many times. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the tears that still trickled free. He reached up with a thumb to capture one, and slipped it into his mouth to taste her pain, forcing himself, scourging himself, still kissing and kissing and kissing her.

Her hands went to his belt. Leather whipped free, was flung aside. The button popped off as she tore his fly open. She darted a hand inside, slid it beneath his boxers; he groaned as her fingers found his cock, pillow-soft at first but rapidly changing in her grasp. His own hands pulled her T-shirt up and over her head (she muttered angrily as it caught beneath her chin), then she was pressing against him again, the maddening weight of her breasts setting his blood afire.

He reached up and tweaked one nipple, hard. She shrieked and promptly bit his shoulder, just as hard. Blood trickled as she released him. Another battle scar, he thought hazily, and then he was very busy moaning as she pulled his boxers down to his ankles and began massaging his cock with deft, sure strokes. Squeezing him upward, pointing him skyward, getting him painfully hard in a matter of seconds, she smiled sadly at him, then shimmied out of her shorts and panties and swarmed up his body. He pulled one leg upward and felt her slide it round to rest on his ass; he hiked her up a bit more, his hands going to her ass, lifting then dropping her, spearing up and in.

They both bowed their heads, even as he began pistoning in and out. Their breath came fast but no words were spoken. There was only the dark, silent haze that rose and enveloped both of them time after time. She ripped strips from his back over and over; he left bitemarks from her breasts to her earlobes, each nip stabbing her all the way to the heart. Crying, she rode him harder. Weeping, he drove her harder, fingers digging into her shoulders, mouth rasping against hers, stubble tearing the soft skin of her lips. He could feel her heat scorching him. He could feel his savage thrusts bruising her.

The storm built and built. They savaged each other with words, with gestures, with everything they had. They fought this last battle right down to the bitter ending, her finishing cry a tearing howl, as if she'd been gutshot. Bare seconds later he screamed as well as he gushed inside her, feeling a part of himself leaching away with every spurt, powerless to prevent it, hopeless to describe it. She bounced and bucked and jerked against him as she came and came, hammering elbows on his shoulders, leaving fresh bruises. He retaliated, spearing her with the last of his fading strength, wishing it would be enough, knowing in his heart it never would be.

When he began softening and slipping from her she was forced to drop to the floor, stepping away from him. He watched as she pulled her clothes on, grimacing as overstretched muscles rebelled. He knew the feeling, he thought ruefully as he dressed in silence, feeling the ache that always swept through him after they'd been at each other. The ache that seared, the ache that destroyed.

The lingering ache that would always be with him. He watched as she clacked swiftly across the room to the door. The words rose unbidden to his lips, an entreaty, a surrender, a plea -- but his throat locked and the words died. And the door opened, and she flung one last tearful glance his way, and sketched a kind of salute. He raised a hand in response, feeling absurdly inadequate, feeling the hot bile rise in his throat, feeling the self-hatred surge, knowing this was all they could do, all they had left.

And then she was gone.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 7-30-10: "Clawing for Purchase"

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

Flash Fiction Friday 7-9-10: "Roar"

(Photo this week provided by Luna Mauvaise; original source unknown).

He wasn't sure which was loudest: the roar of the surf, the roar of the rain, or the roaring in his head as the beast broke its chains and took over.

He didn't know her name, didn't care. He'd met her bare minutes ago, sheltering from the downpour, and something had lured them both out into the deluge. Now she straddled him fiercely, her own hunger exploding, her own growls and snarls drowned by the tempest around them.

He clawed at her, raking her back, devouring her mouth, her breasts. She bit at his tongue and lips, tore furrows in his back, ground her pelvis against his, feeling him throb, wanting that bar of flesh. They were driven, beaten, hammered, from both within and without.

Rain mingled with driving surfspray pounded over them. Neither of them noticed, or cared.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for this Friday, 7-9-10, was to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 48-148 words. I also provided a key phrase for use somewhere in the submission: 

"...driven, beaten, hammered..." 

As usual, nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase (not really), but you only cheat yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're breaking them to earn a spanking....in which case, see me after class.

I am away on business this week and am unable to make the rounds on Friday, so I'll be collecting the participant list when I return and posting it on Monday the 12th. So if you joined in this week, please email me (insatiabear (AT) gmail [DOT] com) or leave a comment here. If you don't let me know you're playing, you might get left off, and nobody wants that. :)


Check back here on Monday for the list of participants, and the next FFF challenge! And as always, if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see used in an upcoming week, send them my way. Thanks to Luna Mauvaise for providing this week's. 

-- PB

Group Post: "The Worst Time"

He hung his coat up in the closet and then turned to her. "So, what did you think?" he inquired.

"Honestly? I'm sorry, but I had just the worst time, hon," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "So? That's a shame. Marriner's eighty-six years old now and he's retired from conducting except for special occasions. I thought you'd appreciate seeing him on this little mini-tour."

She shook her head. "Not what I meant."

He looked puzzled. "What, then?"

She stepped close and put her arms round his neck. "It wasn't the performance that made me so miserable," she breathed, nuzzling his neck. "Indeed, I've rarely heard the 'Jupiter' Symphony so well-handled." She nipped lightly at his earlobe. "It wasn't the opening piece, either." Her fingers began working busily at the fastening on his cummerbund. "I might have questioned a pairing like that" -- she planted a trail of kisses along the hollow of his throat, and he sighed softly -- "but Perlman is a master, and he made the Caprices catch fire. Paganini would've approved." She slid one hand lower and cupped his ass. "No, my dear, you chose well for our evening's entertainment." She slid her other hand around his front and traced the outline of his swelling cock through his trousers. "It was a truly lovely performance."

He gulped as her fingers stroked and caressed him. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. "Then why did you say you had the worst time?"

"Because," she breathed, caressing his chest and working at the buttons on his shirt, "you look so damnably hot in a tuxedo that I can never keep my mind on the performance." She took his hand in hers and slid it up her thigh, her cocktail dress bunching and rippling as it slid higher. "I've been sitting in a goddamned puddle all night. Every time I tried concentrating on the music, I'd look at you sitting there next to me and just go drifting off again. You fucker, all I wanted after five minutes was to climb on you right then and there. And you kept me there, in prison, right on the edge, for another hour and a half!"

"Hm. Then I'd better not keep you waiting any longer," he said. His hand found the proof under her dress: sodden panties, dripping with her need. He was glad she favored flimsy undergarments; it made it much easier for him to tear them with a sharp grasping rip. She gasped in shock and then her lips curved into a delicious grin. "Oh my," she said teasingly. "Did I share too much?"

"Woman," he grunted, already feeling himself devolve to Neanderthal level, "even hinting that you're getting horny is sharing too much. Don't you know by now how you affect me?" His fingers tore at the zipper on the back of her dress; his unsteadiness betrayed him and the zipper jammed. He snarled in frustration and his hands went to the front of her dress instead. "Shame to ruin this," he muttered, and flexed. The fabric parted with a low purring sound, echoing the noise she was making; her breasts spilled out, already flushed with her excitement, rosy nipples upswept with delight. Her own hands were busy unsnapping his trousers and pulling the zipper down. His cock sprang out as his trousers fell down around his ankles. She had time for three brief hand strokes before he bore her back against the wall. Raising a leg, she hooked it round his ass, adjusting and flexing as he drove upward, forward, into her. He bottomed out in her almost immediately, and both of them gasped in delight.

"We always -- unh! -- do make -- oh god yes, right there -- beautiful music together," she moaned. He was long past speech, but signified his own agreement by growling low in his throat as he started pounding into her.



(The Group Post is organized by Kimberly, the Errant Wife. Thanks as always to her for hosting; go see Kimberly to see who else is playing this month.)

-- PB

Three A.M. Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 3: Melissa

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

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

Part 3: Melissa

I've written a bit about Melissa before (see this entry for details) but here's the full story.

I met Melissa at a Fourth of July party hosted by my friend Jonathan. She was a friend of Jonathan's sister. I liked her looks, liked her long curly black hair, liked her intelligence and ready wit, liked her geeky chic look, liked her geeky interests. We spent a lot of time talking that night but I left without getting her number. So, feeling like I was in grade school and sending a note to someone asking "Do you like me? Please check yes or no", I called up Jonathan's sister and, after hemming and hawing a bit, finally got around to asking if Melissa was seeing anyone. I could actually HEAR the smile in her voice as she said no, Melissa wasn't dating anybody, and by the way, would I like her number?

Good god, women can see right through us, can't they?

It was three more days before I got up the nerve to call Melissa, but she seemed delighted to hear from me and we made a date for that weekend. I drove down to see her (she lived about an hour away from me) and we had a perfectly lovely evening. Dinner out, a trip by a bookstore we both loved, winding up with a walk outside on a lovely summer night. We ended up on a wooden swing in her apartment complex, just talking. The night was warm, the stars were kind. I put an arm around her. We talked less and less, letting the silences build. And finally there was a moment when we both turned to each other, and the silence stretched, and slowly, slowly, I bent my face to hers.

If there is such a thing as a perfect first kiss, that was it. It seemed like we both wanted exactly the same thing, and were perfectly in tune with each other; I could see the anticipation on her face and it must have mirrored my own. Her eyes closed a bare moment before her lips met mine and I swear I heard her sigh softly. Her lips were warm and soft, a little damp; I tasted a hint of sweat on her upper lip from our walk.

We kissed, and kissed again. There were no words, only a growing urgency as our mouths merged. Warm lips, and growing warmer; they opened under mine and her tongue slid into my mouth. She moaned and I sighed in response. Our kisses built and built. Her arms went round my neck. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Eventually I broke from her and mentioned something about not wanting to get arrested (we were, after all, still in a public place, albeit somewhat secluded on this little backyard swing). So we went into her apartment, where we made it all of five feet from the door before I backed her against the wall and we resumed our oral duel. More kisses, hungry now, full of fire. We must have stood there, just kissing and hands gently exploring, for a good fifteen minutes.

In what may have been one of the all-time bonehead moves, I fianlly broke from her again and said that I'd better head home now, or pretty soon I wasn't going to be able to. There was a hint of disappointment on her face but she agreed that it was probably best to cut things off there for now. I asked if she'd like to come visit me next weekend and she looked delighted. She immediately went to her desk, pulled out a pad of paper, and asked for directions; seeing her bent over the desk like that, I just couldn't resist. I slipped up behind her and put both arms around her, hands going to her breasts, fondling them and squeezing gently.

Now I didn't know it yet, but Melissa's total weak point was her breasts. Just a touch there was enough to get her hot and bothered, and so when I began fondling her tits that night after our heated kissing interlude, she told me later that she felt a spike of desire go through her so sharply that she wanted to turn around and jump me right then and there. As it was, she moaned loudly and pressed back against me, rubbing her ass against my crotch, confirming for herself that I was just as turned on as she was.

Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to stop after a minute or two, and in a ragged voice I finished giving her directions to my place. I drove off feeling a giddy excitement that she evidently shared.

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

A week later, and Melissa and I were parked on my couch, watching TV. My roommate, showing an understanding beyond belief, had absented himself for the evening (in fact, he crashed at someone else's pad that night, giving me -- us -- plenty of privacy). It had been another fine evening, full of more good conversation and laughter, with plenty of double entendres and innuendos. Sitting there on my couch soon gave way to more kissing and exploration; soon she was lying back and moaning while my lips brushed against her neck and my hands slipped underneath the shirt she wore to find warm flesh beneath.

After a few more minutes of delicious torture, I found the balls to bring up protection. In all-time bonehead move #2, I hadn't bothered to pick up any condoms ahead of time, somehow thinking that I'd be jinxing things if I did. She agreed, with a sultry smile, that we should go and get some. Like, right now. Like, how fast can we get there and back?

I set a new record for a trip to the grocery store, and pretty soon we were back in my apartment, and then in my bedroom. I undressed her slowly, so slowly, marveling at her body -- she had a fantastic figure, womanly, full of curves. It wasn't a model's frame, but I didn't care -- the curve of her hips, the globes of her ass, the magnificent swells of her breasts -- oh god, she had fantastic tits. Soft, full, hanging heavy under their own weight, large hard nipples, begging to be sucked. And I sucked them, and she moaned, and soon we were on my bed, and I had my head buried between her legs, and I was slurping her pussy until she was crying out my name with joy.

It was here that I made yet another tactical error. I had been hard from pretty much the get-go, and the smart thing would have been to give her an oral orgasm and then give her what both of us were obviously wanting very badly -- a good, proper fucking. But she tasted so good and she was enjoying my attentions so much that I just kept right on going. She came again. And again. And again. And my aching cock was still aching. And pretty soon my balls were aching too, from frustration. But I ignored them and kept slurping away at her. Again she came. Again. And my balls were REALLY aching now, to the point where I made a soft sound of pain when I shifted position. After about an hour and a half of oral delight for her, she was begging me to take her. I fumbled a condom open, got my jeans and underwear off and tried to slip it on, but discovered to my horror that the steady dull pain from my balls -- now quite intense! -- had made me go soft. I massaged myself a bit to see if I could get hard again, and my balls sent a fresh bolt of pain through me. I tried a few more times, and Melissa even had a go herself, wrapping her fingers around me and then taking my cock in her mouth -- but it was no go.

Eventually we halted for the night, me still bright red from shame, she waving it off as nothing serious. "It happens sometimes, don't worry about it," she said. "We'll try again another time. And there WILL be another time, believe me." She fell asleep in my arms, and I lay there reflecting that sometimes too much foreplay really IS too much. Yet another lesson learned.

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

A week later, and Melissa had sent me a letter informing me that she didn't really like condoms much anyway, and so she'd been to see the doctor to get on the pill. She went on in much more intimate detail, telling me exactly how beautiful and sexual she felt when she was with me, and telling me how much she looked forward to seeing me again and continuing where we'd left off.

And we did. Oh, god, did we ever.

Again my roommate had absented himself for the evening (man, did I owe him big-time) and this time we skipped all the preliminaries like dinner and conversation. She showed up at my door and we went directly to bed -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go directly to hot makeouts. This time she undressed me, and then I undressed her, and we stood there, nude, caressing and kissing for ten or fifteen minutes, hands exploring heated flesh. I slipped two fingers inside her; she was wet, so wet, and her knees buckled when I penetrated her. She retaliated by wrapping her hand around my shaft and pumping me oh so slowly. I bore her backward onto the bed and she spread her legs wide, breathing "Now, now, do it now,". I slid about a bit, trying to find the right spot, and suddenly I found the right spot and there was no longer any doubt as I sank into her.

God, what a feeling, to be inside a woman for the first time, unencumbered by a condom. Rachel and I had made love many times but had used a condom for each. This was the first time I'd had sex without one and oh dear GOD it felt good. I think I just lay there on top of her, grinning, cock pulsing inside her, for a good two or three minutes, before I even started to move. But eventually I did, and she began moving with me, and before the night was over we had fucked four times.

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

That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship -- at least, in the bedroom. Rachel had initiated me into sex but had never been tremendously enthusiastic; I'd gotten the impression that she was mostly indulging me as a gift. Melissa, on the other hand, was just as voracious and insatiable as I was -- she loved sex and she wanted it often, and wasn't shy about showing it. Whenever we were together it was usually a tossup as to which one of us would jump the other one first.

Oh, what a playground we made of each others' bodies. We fucked in every room of our apartments. We made love for hours, entwined on her bed with raindrop shadows sliding down our bodies. We did it standing up leaning against her bookshelf. I bent her over the desk in her bedroom, enacting what I'd wanted to do so badly that first night. I took her in her kitchen with the kitchen blinds wide open, providing a free show to anyone who'd happened to walk by outside. We screwed on the couch, in chairs, on the floor, on the stairs, on a table. I'd stay inside her after coming until I went soft, then she'd start squeezing my cock with her pussy and pretty soon I'd be hard again, and we'd get right back into it without me ever having pulled out. We loved to do it in the shower, frequently staying in there and fucking for so long that we were more sweaty and messy when we got out than we had been when we got in. We played with toys, with lube, with food; I painted her with honey and licked it all off; she made me her own personal ice-cream sundae and licked THAT all off. I turned her into a Slip-and-Slide with a bottle of massage oil; what a mess THAT made, but we were past caring after we'd fucked each other into a slippery messy coma. We role-played: "teacher and student", "master and slave", "doctor and patient". She dressed up in naughty lingerie and delighted in the reaction it got from me. We read erotica together, making love in interludes or whenever we got too hot; we watched porn together, both laughing at it and getting turned on by the hotter scenes. She was always up for exploration, for trying new things, for new scenarios, dirty talk, new positions, phone sex, mutual masturbation, experimentation -- anything went, anytime.

She loved to be held down. She loved it when I pressed my full weight on her, when I pressed her hard against a wall or pinioned her by her wrists. She came so hard she almost exploded when I tied her up and had my way with her. She loved having her breasts fondled, her nipples sucked, and sucked hard; she could come just from me playing with and sucking on her nipples. She loved fucking for hours, sliding from position to position over and over and eating dinner in bed because we STILL couldn't keep our hands off each other. I still remember how we just lost control when we were together, tossing inhibitions out the window. I recall one time in particular when we had made so much noise that the cops came to my door, saying they'd been called because neighbors had thought someone was being murdered in here. I had to produce Melissa, dressed in just a bathrobe, before they got the idea. (I'd never seen a cop blush before.) We were always ready, always open; just a few seconds of caresses -- from either of us! and we'd be breathing hard and trying to restrain ourselves. Countless times we'd plan to go out for the evening and never make it out the door because we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. We spent a lot of time at my place or hers just walking around nude, because it saved time disrobing; after all, we never knew when the urge might strike next. I loved that she was completely unselfconscious about her body and loved to show it to me; she told me later that I was the first guy she'd felt that way around, and I felt a smug self-satisfaction.

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

Unfortunately, although Melissa and I were utterly perfect in bed (and out of bed, and anywhere else), we were not tremendously well-suited as romantic partners. We had a lot of things in common, but we had many other things that turned out to be personality conflicts, and eventually we split up. Oh, we kept giving it a try for several more years, on and off; one of us would call the other to say hi, and drop by for a visit, and usually they'd wind up spending the night because the smoldering physical attraction between us was always ready to burst into flame again. Sometimes we'd even agree to make another go of the relationship, but within a few months the old problems would crop up once more. And neither of us was the sort for completely casual sex, quite aside from the fact that we had so much emotionally invested in each other already that it could never really be casual again. We finally had our last fling about eight or nine years after I first met her -- she'd come to my place for a visit and, just like old times, had started fondling each other while watching a movie, and soon I was banging her from behind while she screamed for me to do it harder. I remember that she told me as she was leaving the next morning that this might be our last time for a while because she was going on a date next week. And oddly enough, I felt delighted for her.

Melissa is married now, to that same guy. He treats her like a queen and they are very much in love. I met him once and he seems like a really great guy. You get the impression that they are just perfect for each other -- interlocking puzzle pieces that fit just so, and can't be pulled apart without tremendous effort. They have the kind of marriage where they positively glow when they look at each other.

I wonder sometimes if we had that same glow when she was with me.

Thanks, Melissa. You taught to me that women can and do enjoy the hell out of sex, and helped me to be just as uninhibited about it as you. You are still one of the best lovers I've ever had.

-- PB

I want you.....

I want you.....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

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

I want you....

....in all these ways and a thousand others.

I want you. And you know it well.

-- PB

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter

(A note to anyone stopping by via e[Lust] -- welcome! I hope you like what you see here. Drop in anytime.  -- PB)

Most airports are chaotic, disorganized masses of humanity even at the best times. During holiday seasons, however, they become something to stagger the imagination. It's normally my policy to spend lots of time people-watching when I'm stuck at an airport for one reason or another, but I was far too distracted for that this time. Part of it was the unfamiliarity aspect, as I pushed my way through crowds of folk on the slideway taking me closer and closer to my destination; strange airports are interesting places, but not good if your nerves are already strung to the breaking point.

As they were now. God knew, I'd spent enough time emailing her, flirting with her, leaving risque comments on her journal and chatting with her into the wee hours. I figured we knew each other pretty well after the details and photos we'd shared, and the filthy things we'd told each other we'd commit upon the other's person. But to fly halfway across the country just for a meeting like this....was I out of my fucking mind?

Then my eyes lit on her, waiting at the point where we deplaning passengers get disgorged into the flow of outside humanity, and my doubts dissolved, swept away in a tide of lust. Obedient to my brazen demands, she'd dressed in thigh-high boots, a black miniskirt, and a green sweater-top. Impish delight danced in her eyes, glinting from behind her glasses....and oh, yes....she'd worn the collar. Its black leather was a stark contrast to the chrome rings spaced here and there around it. Perfect for snapping something onto.

Perfect, yes. I reached into my travel bag as I drew closer to her and pulled out a silver chain leash. Our gaze locked for a second -- I swear sparks flew -- and then her eyes slid away, to the chain I was holding up. She stiffened and then relaxed again, so quickly I could only wonder if I'd really seen that glimpse of fear. And then she shivered all over and slowly, deliberately, closed her eyes.

I waited, but they remained closed. I stepped closer, close enough to take in her scent -- a heady mix, the leather of the collar, a hint of jasmine, and a stranger scent that I identified, much later, as old, dusty paper -- and placed a hand on her shoulder experimentally. She shivered again but held still. Her lips parted and I heard a faint whisper: "Yes."

That one simple word broke a dam somewhere inside me. The dark raging current that poured through swept all rational thought away. It didn't matter anymore that this was my first time meeting her. It didn't matter that we were starting to draw strange looks from passersby. It didn't even matter that we were in the midst of a crowded airport with no privacy to be found anywhere. All that mattered was that she wanted this as much as I did, and that she belonged to me utterly.

No time like the present to claim the prize. I grasped her by the throat, lifting her chin, and snapped the leash onto one of the trailing rings from her collar. Her eyes flew open at the nearly-inaudible "clink"; there was something dark and wild dancing in their depths. I released her throat and she sighed softly and nodded....no, bowed. She was bowing her head in an attitude of deference.

Oh, I like this. That dark tide was still sweeping me along. My pulse throbbed. My vision was dimming. My entire body was tingling. My cock was painfully hard in my jeans -- when had that happened? It was all going so fast, so fast. My head whirled. All I knew was one thing...that I had to have her.

Now.

Her head was still bowed, but it jerked up quickly, wild and proud, when I pulled on the leash and began leading her along. She came with me eagerly, pressing close, barely even requiring a tug here and there to indicate my will. I kept sneaking glances at her exquisite body, moving and flexing alongside me; curve of hip, sideswell of breast, globe of rounded ass. I could feel the heat from her, could still smell that scent, could sense the electricity crackling between us. This was all woman.

And all mine. I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots' lounge. I could think of nowhere else that would offer us even a modicum of privacy. Time to brazen it out. With her still walking obediently alongside, I pushed my way into the lounge. Three pilots looked up, eyebrows raising into the stratosphere as they saw her, collared and chained, at my side -- but then their normal arrogance began to assert itself. "Who are you?" one of them demanded. "This lounge is reserved for pilots only. You'd better...." His voice died away, however, at something in my gaze, and I could see he was uncharacteristically flustered.

Still carried along by that dark river, I jerked my head towards the door. "Out. All of you." Two of them bolted almost at once, hearing something that brooked no argument in my voice. The first hesitated, then left as well, but fired a parting shot as he did so: "I'm calling Security."

Once they were gone, I slammed the door and locked it, dismissing them from my head, sweeping the first stirrings of panic away into a closet and slamming the door. Time enough later to deal with that. She was more important. She was all that mattered. Filling my head, racing through my bloodstream, filling my cock to bursting -- she might be utterly mine, but in a way I was utterly hers as well. Time to do something about that.

"We've little time," I said rapidly. "This would have been better suited for privacy, for a hotel room, but it's too late. It was already too late when I first saw you. So: no dissembling, no equivocations. Are you Mine?"

She nodded once. No hesitation. That dark gaze again, burning, searing.

"Do you want it? Now?" I shook the leash, gently, for emphasis.

Again the nod. "Yes. More than anything."

And the last vestiges of control were swept away. I slammed her against the wall, crushing her mouth with my own. Her hips thudded against my crotch, her hands clutched at my ass, pulling me against her. Her tongue was hot, seeking, twining insistently against mine. I pulled back a bit and felt her hands working at my belt buckle and the snap on my jeans; great minds think alike, I thought, as I yanked her miniskirt up. Oh, bliss; she'd anticipated my wants enough to go commando today, and her bare pussy was only inches away. My fingers explored, pushed deep, no time for niceties; her wetness gushed over my hand. She was dripping.

I wanted her mouth on my shaft, wanted to feel her hands encircling the base and playing with my sack as she took me deep, wanted to feel my balls tighten as I spurted into her eagerly sucking mouth. But both of us were too far gone, maybe had been from that first electric contact, hand on shoulder. My jeans slid down my legs, her fingers grasping my hardness firmly, squeezing, stroking. She hiked up one leg and hooked it around my ass and her other arm went round my neck. "Now," she whispered, those burning eyes still locked with my own.

I drove in hard and deep, groaning with the sheer pleasure of it. Her head came down on my shoulder and she bit deep to stifle a scream. Then she was bucking against me, hips thudding forward to meet my thrusts, arms clenching, fingernails digging into my back, gaze once again locked with mine. Primal delight, primal urges, pure unbridled sexuality; she was dripping with it like her cunt was dripping with her girl gloss. Burned by the flame, but loving it, I thrust harder and harder into her, lifting her further off the ground each time, legs and calves straining with effort, one hand on her thigh helping spread and lift her, the other one sliding up further, still gripping the chain locked to her collar, pressing against it and pinning her in place. A grin rippled across her face and was gone, replaced with that same intense look of -- what? concentration? Lust?

Perhaps "capture" was the word, I thought dimly as I kept slamming into her, her body flexing against mine, rising to meet me. Every time I met her eyes, they captured me. But it wasn't an ownership thing; or at least not in the sense of her owning me; instead they seemed to be saying "Yes. Take me, I'm Yours. I belong to You." If there was any other message hidden there, it was hidden well; all I could see was desire thrumming along every nerve, something pure and clean, a strange contrast to the dirty things we were doing to each other.

Minutes. Short, delicious minutes, but only a few. I felt her pussy clenching around me; a sharp "uh!" was her only sound, but the look in her eyes and the heat of her pussy left me no doubt she'd just cum hard. My balls drew tight; my cock swelled; my breath caught; my hips slammed forward almost of their own volition. Without warning, the fire burst through me everywhere, sweeping over me and pouring out of my cock as I erupted into her, thickly, forcefully, and seemingly endlessly, spurting and spurting as if I was trying to hose down the burning heat at her core with my own burning seed.

But flame only begets more flame. I pulled back and out of her after long seconds, those dark eyes still locked with my own. With trembling hands I pulled my jeans up, and with shaking hands she pulled her miniskirt down. Still we stood there, still staring, neither of us sure what to say.

I was first to break the silence. "Mine," I whispered. And "yes" she whispered back.

"We'd better get out of here," I managed, voice still hoarse with pent-up desire. "Come on." I pulled on the leash and she followed close by my side; we left the lounge at a dead run, as if the hounds of hell were at our heels, and maybe they were. Still, one thing was definite: this visit wasn't anywhere near finished. Oh, no.

There were things we still needed to do. Urgently.

-- PB

Blinded and Bound

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- PB

To Do List

This is my to-do list for today:

You

That's right. You're on my to-do list; are, in fact, the sum total of said list. I will be pursuing you with singleminded determination and efficiency. If all goes as planned, I will be done with my list, and with you, by noon today.

First I'll call in sick to work. It's easy to do when you take so few personal days off; being married to your work is sometimes a good thing. That will free me up for the rest of my more important tasks for the day.

Next, I'll hop in my car and drive to your office. Oh, yes....I know where you work. You've been keen to keep all professional references out of your scathingly hot journal entries, but a smart man, a methodical man, can put the pieces together and come up with a definite after some calculation and elimination. So I'll drive to your workplace, dressed to the nines in a smart suit, and stroll up to the receptionist.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Oh, I think you can," I'll say, and tell her that I have an appointment with you.

"I.......didn't think she had any appointments this morning, sir. Can I have your name, please?"

"Surely. You can tell her that P. Bjørne Thørsen is here to see her."

"P. Bjørne Thørsen," she'll repeat slowly, and turn to her phone.

This is the one crucial spot. Will you recognize the name? Will your mind go winnowing through the recesses of your memory, connecting half-remembered email flirtations and salacious comments with a casually-tossed-off suggestion that I join you for "coffee" some day? Will you connect Mr. P. Bjørne Thørsen with me? And if you do....will you succumb to temptation?

Of course you will. I know you very well, you see.

And so the receptionist will inform me that you're ready to see me, and lead me down the hallway (passing curious co-workers who don't recognize me; "is he a new contact?" "Who's the sales guy?" "Anybody want the last donut?" -- well, maybe that last one wasn't about me) until we reach your own expansive office.

"Mr. Thorsen," she'll announce me, and then I'll close the door quietly, and it'll be just the two of us.

A long silence will fall, an electric silence, a tangible silence. It'll be the kind of silence that's thick with unspoken invitations, with possibilities. But you'll break first, as I knew you would. "You're a brazen bastard, aren't you?" you'll inquire, trying to sound angry.

Of course, I won't reply to that, simply staring at you, eyes scanning your body slowly, insolently, until you flush under the insistent heat of my gaze, and drop your own eyes to the carpet.

"That's better," I'll say. "You knew I'd come for you one day. It was only a matter of time."

Slowly, slowly, I'll sidle towards you, easing around your desk. Your eyes will follow me but you won't make a move, won't even turn to face me as I circle around behind you. My hands will go to your waist and press there, deliberately, firmly, but I won't touch you anywhere else -- not yet. A tiny shiver will be your only reaction so far. I'll bend forward to sniff along the back of your neck -- an animal scenting prey. I'll plant a trail of kisses along your neck -- a fine thing, these business dresses for women; they still leave a fine expanse of neck and shoulder free for the rest of us to admire -- and be rewarded with a breathy little sigh.

I'll pull you against me, allow you to feel the weight of my thickening erection against the softness of that magnificent ass of yours. My hands will run up your front now and find the buttons of your dress, where I'll begin unbuttoning them very slowly. I'll resume the kisses on your neck and throat, now being interspersed with light nibbles on the particularly tasty bits, and will listen with amusement to your deepening breathing, the sharp intakes of air when I do something you particularly like.

For example, when I get your dress unbuttoned far enough to expose your bra, and then unhook that to let your tits spill out. How nice of you -- you wore a bra that unhooks in the front, just for me. I'll run my hands over your globes, palms and fingertips making slow circles around your nipples and spiraling inward, tweaking them, making them stand out, standing up just for me. You'll be moaning deep in your throat right now, but your need for decorum will still be battling with your need to be fucked, so you'll be trying to keep it quiet despite the rising tide of sensations.

Abruptly I'll spin you around to face me and pull you hard against me for a fast and savage kiss. Invading, brutalizing, sandpaper of stubble rasping against your lips, contrasting with the eager heat and wetness of your tongue tangling with mine. I'll pull back from you with a moist parting sound and gaze down at you intently. There it'll be -- the fire kindled in your eyes, the heat that says "dominate me", the flame that's burning away the vestiges of your caution.

Accepting the flame, I'll push you down on the desk on your back, sweeping papers, office supplies and computer equipment off with a rustling, clattering crash. "No," you'll gasp, "the door. It's not locked." And of course I'll reply, "You knew it wasn't locked from the start and you didn't say anything. Too late to change your mind now," and punctuate the now by hiking the dress up past your waist.

Then, of course, I'll see that you aren't wearing panties, and chuckle, "My, you are a naughty girl today. Let's take care of that," and unzip my slacks. I'll chuckle some more at feeling your eager fingers helping free my cock from its confinement, and gasp softly when they wrap around me, drawing me closer. You'll be on the edge of regaining a modicum of control, but I can't have that, so I'll slam your wrists down on each side of you on the desk, pinning you beneath me, and thrust hard, upward, forward, into you.

Heat. God, the heat. I've fantasized about it for months, but never dreamed it'd be so. fucking. hot. inside you. But you'll be hot, all right, hot and wet, and tight as well, clenching around me as I batter my way into you. I'll be doing you hard and heavy, silencing your moans and gasps by covering your mouth with my own, slamming into you hard enough to leave imprints from the desk edge on the backs of your thighs.

Then, after a few minutes of banging, just when you're getting really into it, I'll stop completely, long enough for your eyes to fly open in shock and stare at me. I'll stare back at you, devouring you with my eyes, cock still buried deep in your cunt but utterly motionless. What a sight: to have you splayed on your desk, pinned and at my mercy, helpless before anything I might choose to do to you.

"Please....." I'll hear you whisper, afraid to raise your voice any more.

"Please what?" I'll inquire languidly, as if I hadn't been fucking you without mercy seconds before.

"Oh, God, do I have to beg for it?"

I'll pretend to consider, but in truth, this is what you love. You want to be dominated, to be taken, told what to do and how. So of course I'll say, "Yes, I think you do."

A flash of gratitude whirls across your expression and is gone. Then, "Please, fuck me. Take me. I'm yours. Do me hard and fast. Do me here on this desk, I don't care if anyone hears anymore. Slam me. Ram me. Give me that cock and fuck me hard. I'm begging you."

"It's....unseemly....for a woman.....to beg," I'll gasp out, punctuating each phrase by thrusting hard. You'll moan under the renewed assault, lifting your hips up to meet me each time. Soon we'll be back into a hard and fast rhythm again, bodies calling to each other, flesh meeting flesh with a flat, authoritative smacking sound, wet juicy sounds coming from your pussy as I pound you hard. I'll be mauling your tits by this time, with lips and tongue and teeth, trying to cram as much of you into my mouth as I can, feeling you arch underneath me to push your tits into my face.

Still I'll be fucking you, jamming into you harder and faster with every second. You'll be yelping and crying out now, past the point of caring, and me as well. I'll growl, "Cum for me, woman," and be rewarded by a cry of ecstasy, strangely quiet compared to how loud we've gotten. I'll emit a low moan of my own as your cunt clamps down on my cock, milking my own cum out to splatter your insides in pulsing jets. Then I'll subside, still panting.

It'll be long minutes before I soften and slip out of you, and I'll be spending the whole time caressing you, brushing your hair out of your face, planting soft kisses on your exposed skin from navel to forehead. Then, with a grin, I'll pull out my cell phone and take a picture of your new freshly-fucked look, before you can cover up or turn your face away.

"Blackmail material?" you'll ask, bitterly, as I pull back and begin tucking myself away.

"Of course not," I'll answer. "Just for my own enjoyment. You may be the president of the company, but I own you. I don't have any need for blackmail. And you know it."

You'll shiver, not entirely from the chill of the air conditioning, and straighten up, my cum already dripping down your legs. "I.......guess I do," you'll say.

I'll leave you to get cleaned up and head for the door. With a soft "click" I'll unlock it, and turn the knob.

"Wait!" I'll hear from behind me. "It....it was locked after all?"

"Naturally," I'll grin over my shoulder. "But next time, it won't be........"

-- PB

Group Post: "Curves"

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