The Nutcracker Sweet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How he loved her!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

 -- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 5-11-12: "Foreign Affairs"

(Source image unknown; provided some time ago by the lovely Lexi)

Summer in a strange country, wandering the streets, penniless, lost and dejected. I strolled aimlessly, not knowing what I sought.

It certainly hadn't been this. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin; a hint of mischief in the crescent whiteness of her smile. She crooked her finger at me and I followed, helpless.

Down a blind alley, she pulled me against a wall. I tasted pomegranates in her kiss, licked the salt of her sweat from her nipples. She arched a leg high and gasped quietly as I sank into her.

I was still lost, but at least I'd found this.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of less than 100 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...a hint of mischief..."

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: 

The woman in this picture seems just the kind of mischievous imp I'd like to spend a couple of days getting to know while visiting a foreign country. I've never traveled extensively outside the U.S., but I had little trouble imagining someone who was down on his luck, had had a series of misfortunes or was otherwise unable to leave the country, yet couldn't find a means to sustain himself, wandering the streets, penniless and alone. I wondered how I would react if I were him. I wondered how she would notice. I wondered how she might introduce herself, and this, with very little changing or editing, is the result. I hope you enjoyed it. 

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

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



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

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 10-7-11: "The Treatment Was Successful...."

(Source image by Vlad Gansovsky, title unknown)

“........at least, that's my opinion. You should give it a try!” Lisa said cheerfully.

Paul and Jane looked at each other tentatively. Jane licked her lips.

“What would it hurt?” she mused.

“Might even be fun,” he said.

“Okay, let's try!” And with that, she began tearing enthusiastically at his clothes. He growled and yanked her sweater open. Buttons flew everywhere and her breasts spilled into his hands. He dove in, sucking and licking as if his life depended on it. She pulled his slacks and boxers down, his cock flopping free and then rapidly swelling as she gave it a tongue bath. His hands were all over her, twining in her hair, grabbing her ass, slipping between her legs to find her, surprisingly, just as ready as he.

She jumped into his lap, lifting and sinking down with a groan. He gasped too as she started bucking, riding him wildly.

The lobby door opened, the receptionist glancing down at her clipboard. “Mr. and Mrs.....Johanssen, was it? Dr. Ruth will see you now.”

Lisa sipped at her coffee, glancing at Paul and Jane. They hadn't even heard. “I don't think they need to see the doctor anymore,” she said.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 78-208 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...enthusiastically..."

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:


This one was fun. I looked at this picture and immediately thought "doctor's office!" And my imagination was off and running. At first I thought Paul and Jane were just bored and killing some time while they waited (you know how it is when you're waiting at the doctor's, the wait is interminable). Then, I'm not sure why, I took a closer look at the woman sitting next to them. She didn't look bored to me, but a bit smug. With that, my take on the picture solidified. This wasn't just any doctor's office, but a sex therapist's, where Paul and Jane were supposed to be meeting with the doctor to discuss their problems. But the woman sitting next to them had struck up a conversation with them, and given them a bit of good advice (more likely just a bit of common sense), and pretty soon they discovered they don't have any problems after all.

It's purely coincidental that they chose to try it out right then and there, of course. Has nothing to do with the fact that I think it would be really hot to have sex in a doctor's reception room with nobody caring. (God, I really am becoming an exhibitionist at heart).


Trivia: "The Treatment Was Successful......" is from that line of the old joke. The next line, of course, is ".......but the patient died."  For those who actually know the joke, I thought it would add a bit of urgency to the story even before you read it. The use of "Dr. Ruth" was just so it was clear they were visiting a sex therapist. Both of these things are what's commonly known as "overthinking it", incidentally.

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

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



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

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 9-30-11: "Successful Campaign"

(Image this week provided by Lexi, original source unknown...but doesn't it look like an advertisement?)

She was tall and slim, dark and pretty; he, short and round, bearded and bespectacled. They stared out the windows, side by side, looking down at the world below. Their vantage point accorded them a 360-degree view of the teeming streets.

“How does it work?” she wanted to know.

“I haven't the slightest idea, really. The neuroanatomists and chemists and physiologists who developed it could explain it, but every time they tried, my eyes glazed over.”

“Not interested in the technical side of things, eh?”

“Guilty as charged. All I care about is, does it work?”

“I guess we'll know soon enough, won't we? The transmitter was hooked up last night.”

“Where is it?”

“Ground floor level, disguised as a streetlamp.”

Her hand reached out, closed around the switch on the pedestal nearby. She hesitated.

“Is this right?”

His hand closed over hers, squeezing it gently. “Our culture is too repressed. There's too much emotional hurt and baggage attached. Sex should be fun between two people – or more than two. All we're doing is giving them a little help.”

“We'll see,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. And threw the switch.

In the streets below, a low murmur, a sigh of need, a ripple that passed over dozens of people. Skins flushed, hearts raced, mouths watered. Eyes met, and lingered. Chance contacts in the crowds unaccountably lingered. And lingered. And swiftly became caresses.

And the first of the impromptu couples dropped to the ground, tearing frenziedly at their clothes, clasping each other in passionate embrace, drawing each other down and into mergence. The murmur of need rose from a thousand throats, and everywhere, everywhere the lust storm rippled outward. Men embraced women. Women twined around others. Men coupled with other men. Women pounced on men who were already coupled with others. Threesomes, foursomes, couples. Everywhere you looked, love was being made. All surrendered to their animal instincts, lost in their pleasures, and enjoyed it as never before.

They barely noticed the bacchanal far below. In their cold, sterile boardroom, they were doing a little celebrating of their own.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 130-354 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...lost..."

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

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I absolutely loved this picture when I found it in Lexi's stash. Had planned to use it weeks ago, but, well, you heard what happened and I won't dwell on it. Instead, I'll just note that I wish it weren't necessary in our story for scientists to come up with a gadget that breaks down our barriers, something that helps people be less repressed. I think it would be marvelous if our society was free and open enough for people to feel able to couple in the streets like this, to take their pleasure wherever they chose, without fear of reprisal or censure.


Regrettably, I just couldn't come up with any scenarios that spoke of such a utopia. So I resorted to science fiction, imagining this gorgeous scene as the field test of a libido-enhancing gadget. I think it's meant to be advertising the condoms (Fallux?), but regardless of the picture's source, I'll just say that I really enjoyed looking at this one. Such a fantastic scene of unfettered joy and pleasure. Now that's fucking hot.

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

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

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



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

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 6-24-11: "Audience Participation"

(Image provided by Lexi, original source and photographer unknown)

"Ready?"

"Oh hell yes. I'm soaked. On three?"

"One, two, THREE!"

We stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, dropping our coats. She bent over and waggled her ass at me; I clapped my hands on her tiny flank, spread her, and slammed in. She threw back her head and moaned, immediately bouncing back against me, bucking frantically, trying to get me deeper. Heads turned. I heard gasps of shock, disgusted murmurs, and not a few ribald comments.

I knew time was short, so I really went for it, pounding her hard and fast, feeling her wetness coating my balls as they slapped against her violated pussy. She was never quiet, but now she was emitting banshee shrieks. I felt myself shooting towards the edge and brought down my hand in a sharp smack on her ass as I finished, roaring with atavistic glee. By her frantic spasms and her loudest howl yet, she wasn't far behind.

Slowly, I pulled out, drinking in the scandalized glares like fine wine. Rattle and hum of conversation, but still no cops. I scanned the crowd, and gestured at her, still bent over and panting like a dog.

"So who's next?"

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 100-200 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...rattle and hum..."

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:


Lexi sent me this pic months ago but it just didn't catch my interest until this week. It wouldn't be fair to say I pick these pics based solely on my interest in them or my perceived ability to write something interesting, but sometimes that's not far from the truth. This one I just didn't feel like using until I had some kind of idea in mind ahead of time on how I was going to play it. 


This week I finally got something when I looked at it again. Sex in public is one thing, but what about turning it into performance art? Something where not just the participants had fun, but the audience got to join in as well? It gave a nice twist to something that...well, something that probably isn't too likely to happen in the first place. Or maybe it's just an excuse for an orgy scene. I think the world would be a lot better off with more orgies. In public, even.

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

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



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


-- PB

Flying the Friendly Skies

[[NOTE: Thanks to all who are stopping by via links from eLust! I hope you like what you see here.]]

My job requires me to travel quite a bit, so I've gotten very familiar indeed with the routines and patterns of airline flight. I know which airlines charge the least for baggage, which ones are the most likely to depart on time, which ones still actually offer snacks during flight, and which ones (in my experience) have the prettiest flight attendants.

That last is something I can't help noticing. Being a typical guy, I'm always keeping an eye out for beauty in all its female forms, and so when I sit down in first class I get a pretty good look at the flight attendants when they go strolling by on those lovely legs. And I make mental notes about which ones are the prettiest, and compose little fantasies about the most attractive of 'em, and shake my head at my own folly.

Just lately I've been flying Continental a lot. I don't know what their flightcrew schedules are overall -- that, like everything else in the airline world, depends largely upon seniority -- but at least one of the crews must have a schedule similar to the one that's been sending me from city to city of late, because recently I actually saw the same flight attendant on more than one of my flights. Once on a flight from Columbus to Detroit; once on a Los Angeles - Boston hop; and finally on a long overseas jaunt from Atlanta to London.

That had never happened to me before and it would have been enough for me to take notice even if she hadn't been outside the usual norm for flight attendants. To start with, she was tiny -- just shy of five feet tall, if I'm any judge. She wore a scarf loosely around her throat, a sweater/skirt combination, and knee-high boots. More to the point, she didn't have the crisp perfection in her appearance that so many flight crews do. One button on her sweater was undone, there was a rip in her hose, scratches on her boots, and her hair was carelessly pinned back with stray wisps of hair escaping. There was a curious flavor of soiling about her, something a bit dirty and unkempt.

This normally turns me off (I like my women to take pride in themselves) but something about this woman captured my attention. She seemed completely unaware of my gaze, going about her tasks with a kind of indolence that reflected her appearance. But she was obviously very familiar with her body and its uses; she moved with lazy hipshot grace, no wasted energy, her movements close and economical. It struck me that she was a bit like the lions you see at the zoo. They may appear bored and indifferent, and lie happily in the dust of their enclosures, but they could by-God tear your head off if it ever struck them to do so.

Anyhow, on the third flight I finally struck up a conversation with her. Her name, it turned out, was Amanda, and conversationally I found little to change my initial opinion of her. Not terribly smart, not particularly interested in endearing herself to me, just passing the time, really, as the hours wound by. We'd pass a couple of minutes when she passed by, and then she'd beg off (flight attendants on 747s do, after all, have a lot of passengers to watch over). I'd watch her ass working prettily under that skirt, sturdy legs in those knee-high boots clocking down the aisle, and shake my head a bit at the waste.

The hour was growing late and most of the other passengers had dropped off to sleep. I, on the other hand, have trouble sleeping even in spacious first-class seats, so I was idly paging through a book, not really getting much from it, and wishing for something to relieve the boredom. At that, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Amanda.

" 'Scuse me," she said, wiping a hand on her skirt and leaving a smudge. "I hate to ask you this, but you've been nice to me, so I thought, well, it can't hurt...."

She trailed off, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

"Well, I'm having some trouble with this gadget in one of the bathrooms. It's s'posed to help the air circulate but it's giving me this funny smell, like something's frying."

"Frying? And you haven't told the pilots?"

"Yeah, I did, keep your shirt on. They said their systems don't detect anything wrong back there. Asked me to take a look, and I did, but I can't see nothing wrong. You look good with your hands -- could you maybe take a look and see if you see anything?"

I sighed, a bit annoyed. Even in my spare time it seemed people were coming to me for tech support. "Good with my hands, okay. Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do."

I followed her past the rows of dead-to-the-world passengers, past the galley to the restroom on the left side. "This is the one?" I inquired, and she nodded. I knocked -- no one inside -- and opened up. Nothing remarkable that I could see, so I stepped inside, and she followed me in. Before I could raise an eyebrow at that, she had closed the door and locked it.

A 747 has a bigger bathroom than, say, a small regional jet, but they still aren't all that big. There wasn't a lot of room and she was in pretty close quarters with me. I opened my mouth to say something -- what, I'm not sure -- and she put a finger against my lips. "I saw the way you were lookin at me," she said. "If we gotta talk about it, it's no good. I guess you know there isn't any problem here in the bathroom, other than the one I've got."

Dry-mouthed, I managed to croak out, "And what problem is that, pray tell?"

She gave a little laugh and her hands began going to work on my shirt, unbuttoning it swiftly. "God, can't you tell? I haven't been fucked in almost a day. I'm so horny I can't stand it."

She stopped briefly in the act of opening my fly. "You can do something about that, right? I mean, you think I'm hot, right?"

"Hot" maybe wasn't the right word, I thought as I stared at her. This little minx wasn't at all my kind of woman. But suddenly I wanted to grab at this one. I wanted to get my hands dirty, to press against that body and see if it was as ripe and soft as the bulging sweater and straining skirt made it look. Wanted to grab hold and spread her, to take her bending over the sink. Fuck, yes, I could do something about her problem.

And so I answered by yanking her sweater and shirt up to her neck. Another woman might have cooed with delight, or giggled; she did neither, simply nodding her head, her hands going back to work on my fly. She wriggled a bit against me, probably with the idea of getting me up, but stopped that as she realized I was already quite ready. She began stroking me and made a small sound of approval, then with a practiced motion, dropped my slacks around my ankles. She leaned forward and without any preliminaries began running her tongue along the ridge in my boxer briefs. I groaned a bit, and wound my fingers into her curly hair. My other hand roamed down her back till it found the clasp on her bra, and fumbled there a moment before I wrestled that free and her tits spilled out into my hands.

Oh, delightful. Warm and soft, surprisingly big for her little size. She had enormous cherry-red nipples which I delighted in flicking with my thumbs. She liked that, and pressed them harder against my clutching hands, moaning, as she kept stroking my cock. Without warning she darted a hand inside my briefs to grasp and fondle me. Talented fingers, fitting themselves to me, curving along my length and drawing me free, the other hand slipping my briefs down to my ankles to join my puddled slacks.

She stroked me a bit more and I leaned back, enjoying the attention, still fondling her breasts, rubbing the nipples in circular motions with my palms, licking a finger to draw circles around the aureoles, rubbing them against my shirt. She sighed. "Knew you were the one to take care of this," she said, and leaned forward, pressing her tits against me, nibbling on my neck, licking and sucking.

Since I couldn't fondle her tits with her pressed against me like this, I chose to grab her ass and work that tight skirt up to her waist. I had to do some creative rearranging -- she really was about a size too large for a skirt this small -- but finally I had the globes of her ass in double handfuls. Warm, yielding flesh met my questing grasp. She may have been wearing stockings, but they weren't pantyhose, because there was nothing under that skirt but her.

She giggled at my look of shock. "Isn't company regulations," she said, and went back to licking my throat, her hands still stroking my cock deftly, surely. "But I don't think you mind much, do ya?"

"No indeed," I murmured. I worked one hand around to the front and found another surprise. She was shaved as smooth as a marble table. I do like a woman who shaves, or at least trims neatly. There's less interference with tangling and it's easier to slip inside, as I did now. My fingers found wetness and heat beyond compare -- fuck me, she hadn't been lying about being horny and ready to go -- and abruptly I lost my remaining grasp on propriety and decorum.

Spinning her around, I bent her over the sink. She assumed the position without a word of complaint, waggling her ass at me. "Oooo," she said now in a little-girl voice. "You going to give me what I need?" She reached back to finger herself, her other hand caressing her hanging tits. "God, I'm so ready. Come on, man, show me what you've got."

Well, far be it from me to deny a lady what she wants. I dropped one hand on her ass, squeezing, lifting, grasping tightly. I fought one foot free of my piled clothes and used it to knock her legs further apart. Stepping closer, I probed with my cock between her legs, rubbing against her slit. More wetness splashed over me and I moaned, a guttural sound. I lifted her and spread her more, pressing upward, pressing inward.

Tight. God damn, she was tight. I could barely fight my head past the gripping suction of her lips. She was wetter than a Slip-and-Slide and it was a good thing, because as I pushed forward she enveloped me like a custom-made driving glove. I had to fight for every inch, wriggling and pushing, she emitting small moans of delight, until I finally bottomed out inside her. I stopped a moment, feeling her clenching around me. I reached around with both hands, grabbing her tits, fondling and squeezing. She waggled that ass against me again and I felt rippling walls of suction around my cock. God, it felt incredible.

I pulled back a little bit and I clearly heard wet sucking sounds as her cunt released me oh-so-slowly. Now that she had me, she obviously didn't want to let me go. Well, that was fine with me. I drew back a bit more, marveling at the sight of my cock emerging from her tight tunnel, coated with her shiny excitement, red with my own heat. Then I pressed home again, not thrusting exactly but sort of undulating my cock forward and in again. She threw back her head and gasped "Oh, fuck me, that's good," and I couldn't agree more.

A few more in-and-outs and she had either gotten wetter still or her cunt had found a different way of accomodating me. I was now sliding effortlessly in and out; she was still tight as hell, still gripping me fiercely, but it wasn't a struggle to thrust forward any more. No, her pussy was now taking everything I had to offer, begging for more, welcoming each invasive strike. Letting go of her tits (her nipples were so hard now they could have cut glass) and grabbing her ass, I started using it as a fulcrum, rocking and grinding deeper into her with each thrust, really starting to pound her in earnest now. The gentle smack of flesh on flesh as my balls slapped against her wet cunt, the gasps and moans from her that were now ratcheting up in intensity, the ringing clap as my hand fell on her ass -- these were music to my ears.

And to hers. Her mouth was open again, spilling a stream of obscenities. In a candy-sweet voice she begged me to fuck her harder, to do her like the naughty girl she was, to pound her little pussy till she was too sore to walk. "Do you like it? Do you like my little pussy?" she gasped. "Do you like the way your flight attendant's taking your big cock up her tight little cunt?" Moaning, she threw her head back again. "Oh yeah, pound me good, baby." With every thrust I made into her she pushed back harder, moaning even louder.

I put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. I could feel her giggling but she stifled her moans a bit, though her body was still busy as hell, swaying and grinding against my crotch, getting my dick as deep into her as she could. I felt her shiver and tense and suddenly there was a pattering sound and I felt warmth running down my legs. Apparently she was a squirter. I felt her cunt clutching me even harder, massaging my cock expertly, and I leaned forward, pressing her down on the sink, battering into her. I felt my balls boiling and growled low into her ear, "Dirty girl indeed. How many guys have you done this to? How many strangers have you fucked in the bathroom like this?"

"Dozens," she gasped through my hand. "Anyone who's willing. I can't help it. I gotta have it regular-like, or I'll go outta my mind." She felt me twitch and a low laugh escaped past my fingers. "Ooo, that turns you on, doesn't it? You like pounding your little flight attendant slut."

Damn it, she was right. That soiled, unkempt feeling was back and stronger than ever, but I didn't care. I was embracing it. Rolling in the dirt with her, getting filthy with her sweat and her juices, fucking this total stranger in the bathroom of a 747 while outside any passengers who were still awake could have no doubt what was going on from all the thumping and rocking and squealing. Well, so be it. All I knew was that her cunt was so tight and hot and wet, her body so lush and active, that I was going to shoot off very soon now. I brought my hand down in a sharp slap on her ass, the crack echoing, and she howled delight past my still-restraining other hand. She raised a leg and propped it against the wall, giving me more access, spreading herself further as I plundered and plowed her. Her exhortations had now become a steady low chant: "yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes" as I thrust harder and harder into her.

Grunting and gasping, I grabbed her ass with both hands and clutched it hard enough to leave bruises as I spent myself like a shooting star, hosing her pussy down with what felt like a gallon of cum. I thrust as far into her as I could, lifting her all the way off the ground. She spread her hands to brace herself, now laughing loudly, openly, as I struggled to catch my breath and let her sag back downward, still impaled on my softening cock.

She lifted up and off of me and turned to face me, our mingled fluids now positively pouring down her legs. "Oh yeah," she sighed happily. "I needed that." She leaned back against the sink, spreading her legs, letting her head fall back on her shoulders, her throat working as her pulse hammered its way down into a reasonable range again.

Just looking at her was enough to arrest my softening. God, she was a stunning sight. Sweater and skirt still yanked up, skin shining with sweat, her tits capped with nipples that were still rock hard. Her cunt shone like a promise as she idly reached a hand down to play with her clit some more. She shuddered and moaned again, deep in her throat.

I couldn't stand it. I had to have her again. I grabbed her by the ass and lifted her up, tightening my PC muscles to get my cock pointing in just the right direction. She had time only for a surprised "What..." before I drove up and into her again, and her mouth went wide with shock and pleasure. Muttering "aw yeah, aw yeah, aw yeahh" in time with my strokes, she wrapped both legs around my ass and hung on as I started to pound her again, not caring who she'd been with, not caring if we were heard anymore, only reaching for that filth, embracing it, getting dirty with this slut of a flight attendant who was so very fucking horny that she couldn't do without it.

Maybe I wasn't Mr. Right, I thought hazily as I banged her against the wall, her shrieks ringing in my ears, my legs burning, my cock as hard as it had ever been. But damn if it wasn't pretty fucking good to be Mr. Right Now for a change.

[[Director's Commentary: Regrettably, this is just fiction. I did run into the same flight attendant on three different flights in the space of a month, but there was no bathroom interlude like this. But I couldn't help wondering whether she looked untidy and unkempt because she really didn't care about her appearance, or because she really was the lioness type and had more earthy urges to concern her. Plus she looked really really good in those boots and that skirt. The last flight was weeks ago, but I kept thinking about her at odd times, and finally I wrote this over the course of a half hour, unedited, to give it the same raw, dirty feeling I sensed from her when I saw her.

It also goes without saying that I would never ever fuck a total stranger without protection. I don't much like condoms, but they're an absolute necessity. Especially if the girl's as big a slut as the one in this tale. And I mean that with all due respect. Nothing wrong with a slut who loves it and goes after it anywhere she can find it.]]

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 11-19-10: "Whiskey and Cigarettes"

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

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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

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

Group Post: "Curves"

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Next Stop, Orgasm

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on high heels that looked fantastic, but provided very little actual ankle support when you get right down to it. Not for the first time, she cursed the overcrowding in her city that forced her to take this annoying subway to work every day. The people were rude, the crowds were thick and the smell of hundreds of hurried, overstressed people was something better left undescribed.

She turned up the volume on her iPod a bit more and adjusted the headphones. Beethoven's Sixth washed over her, painting its usual idyllic picture of a pastoral countryside gathering. Her mouth twisted bitterly with recriminations. I should never have left. I hate it here.

Hating wasn't getting her home, though. She brushed her hair absently out of her face and stared hopefully at the electronic progress bar on overhead display. Still six stops to go, dear god was this day ever going to end? All she wanted to do was get home, drop her clothes on the floor and head straight to a bath. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

In that instant the subway lurched hard and she lost her grip on the pole. She staggered backward and thumped solidly against another person. A restraining hand came down on her shoulder and she heard a deep rumbling voice: "Whoa, there."

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "Just lost my balance for a second."

"Yeah, those heels don't look too stable," he agreed. She could hear the grin in his voice. His other hand grasped hers, and guided it back to the support pole. "There you go."

She nodded. "Thanks." She peered at his reflection in the glass ahead. Tall, at least six and a half feet, skinny as a rail, dressed in suit and tie. And a fedora -- how many men still wore hats these days? It looked good on him, from what she could see.

Brakes screeched and the subway lurched hard again; this time it was he who was thrown against her, with a very surprised "Oof!". She snickered inwardly but gasped with surprise as his hands went to her waist and clenched hard, even dragging her skirt down a bit. A tingling bolt shot through her and she swayed with a new unsteadiness that had nothing to do with the subway. Oh no, not here. Not now. 

"We seem to be having trouble keeping our footing. Maybe you'd better keep holding on there," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. A tiny flame kindled inside her, her slit beginning to trickle wetness. She slipped the earphones down off her head, wanting to hear that voice again.

A rumbling chuckle. "Indeed? Perhaps you're right." His hands tightened a bit, one on her waist, one sliding down a bit to the fullness of her hips. He shifted a bit behind her as the bell bonged and the car stopped at the new station, the doors opening and letting a positive flood of people in. In seconds, they were packed in like sardines. She pressed hard against him, feeling wiry strength in his frame, in the confidence of his hands on her.

And something else, too. There was a very definite rigidity pressing against her ass now. She shifted experimentally and rubbed "innocently" against him, catching a muffled groan before he chopped it off. Another lurch as the car started off again only made things worse. She grinned wickedly, her mind clicking along rapid rails now just like the speeding car, no longer worried about propriety, only wondering how best to accomplish her new goal: getting him into her as soon as possible.

First, access. "Belt," she murmured, and after a shocked second she felt his hands undoing his belt. She wriggled against him, her hands going to her skirt, rucking it up a bit. Her eyes caught those of a businesswoman standing across the car; the woman looked stunned for a moment, then a knowing grin spread over her face. No interference there, obviously.

She wriggled some more, fingers tearing at her panties, sliding them down her legs, just far enough. There, that should do it. Now him. "Open up," she whispered; startled, the hoodie-wearing kid to her right swung around. "Say what?" he inquired, and she dismissed him with a wave of a hand. Behind her, the real object of the comment was doing as asked; she felt the heat of his cock pressing hard against her. She bent forward a bit but the angle was wrong. "In! In!" she hissed, no longer caring who heard, and felt him probing at her lips till suddenly everything aligned and he slid home.

God, it felt so good, so fucking good. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that wanted to escape; several people nearby were now turning to watch, most looking horribly embarrassed and turning away again. One or two were openly admiring, though, including the businesswoman across the way, whose mouth was parted in a sulky pout. Her breath was coming fast.

Their breath was coming much faster, though. He pressed home his length into her, moving within her in quick, short thrusts -- there just wasn't space for anything else. It was more than enough, though. She tightened her cunt against the invading flesh, milking it, massaging it; his hands on her waist, so powerful, pulling her hard against him, helping him drive himself deeper. He growled deep in his throat and that noise had half of the car looking this way.

"You ready?" he murmured into her ear, still moving relentlessly inside. "Yes, yes, now, do it," she whispergasped, and was rewarded seconds later with his burning cum splashing into her depths. Frantically, she worked a finger around to her front and strummed her clit hard, once, twice, three times; that was enough to send her over the edge as well and she shuddered all over, chills racing over her body.

The bell bonged and half the car exited at the next stop, all of them glancing at the guilty pair as they left. Again, lots of embarrassed looks, mixed in with a few admiring ones. The businesswoman, grinning, stopped at their side long enough to say, "That looked like fun," and then exited with the rest of the horde.

"Fun?" she mused, feeling him slip out of her, no doubt leaving smears of cum and her pussy juices all over her legs, her ass, her skirt. "Yes, I think you could say that." She pulled her skirt down again, but stepped out of her panties -- they'd slid down to her ankles anyway. She picked them up and met her paramour's eyes. Gray as stormclouds, they were, but sparkling with glee.

"Want these?" she inquired.

He nodded silently. She tucked them into his jacket pocket, and turned to face the window again. Just another subway ride, she thought. God, I hate this city....but I guess it does have its good points.

-- PB