Another day, another morning waking up with an erection and nothing useful to do with it. Stuck with a ridge in his jeans, uncomfortable friction, rasping cloth against sensitive flesh already oversensitized from too many times jerking off. Not for the first time he cursed his demonically high drive, particularly when there were no handy targets to vent it on.
His mind drifted, slipped sideways, came to rest on her (as it usually did in times like these). Her impish smile, the way she bit her lip when she was aroused, the breathy little-girl voice she did so well. He shifted uncomfortably, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans. This wasn't helping. It didn't help to think of the feel of her silky hair, the taste of her tongue, the scent of her pussy when she was as turned on as he, the way she shrieked like a firebell when she came hard. It didn't help at all to remember the velvety feel of her slick tunnel, the way she fitted herself to him with a happy sigh, the way she hooked her legs over his shoulders and crossed her ankles behind his head. It was making things not the slightest bit better to recall the way she bounced up and down in his lap, begging him to play with her tits while he fucked her, to remember the insane heat of her body against his, the way she splashed against his crotch, fountaining out around and against him while he rocked deeper and deeper within.
Down went his jeans again, his boxer briefs along with them. Rigid, commanding, standing tall, he took himself in hand and began to stroke, already breathing hard, hips bumping upward on the downbeat. Hazily, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this would only be the first of many, many times. Knew she would be dancing in and out of his thoughts for the entire day, drifting from dream to dazed acceptance of reality, but still achingly hard and ready for another go. Knew he'd be coming up with more scenarios, more fantasies, even as he sprayed hot cum up onto his own shoulder and chest. Knew it would only be a matter of minutes before he had to take yet another break, to try doggedly to tame the beast, to get a few minutes' respite from the aching, throbbing hardness that returned any time he dared even think her name.
He wondered when he'd see her again, and how long it would take before she was screaming his name that time. He wondered who was sharing her bed right now, and if they had a clue how lucky they were. He wondered why she affected him like this, but as always found any explanation wanting. She just....was. Hooked on a feeling, addicted to her body, enjoying it to the hilt even as he hated the fact that he never had a moment's peace.
Absently, he wiped the cum off his chest, shoulders, stomach, groin. Tossed it into the nearby wastebasket nearly full of crumpled paper towels -- it'd be time to empty that again soon. He sighed, and regarded his already-twitching cock as it swelled, lengthened, thickened again, pointing at him in gleeful, hungry joy.
He got up and padded toward the bathroom, kicking the tangled clothing free of his ankles as he went. Maybe an icy shower would help. But he guessed it probably wouldn't.
-- PB
Showing posts with label written for you. Show all posts
Showing posts with label written for you. Show all posts
Monday, February 17, 2014
Monday, February 4, 2013
"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
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
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Downpour
It was a hell of a surprise, you know.
I tend to take my showers in the mornings, and of course (since you generally sleep like a rock and have to be dragged out of bed even when it's noon already) you generally don't even know about it until I've finished and am already drying off. So it was one hell of a shock when I shut the spray off and was busily lathering myself, getting all slick and slippery, and turned around to see you watching me from around the corner of the doorway.
I might have twitched violently. Might even have jumped backwards in shock and cracked my head against the wall. I'd never admit to that, of course. But I was startled, and that must have been fairly obvious from your fit of giggles. "Oh my," you said, grinning. "Did I scare you?"
The look on my face must have made any reply unnecessary. "Well, let's see if I can make it up to you," you said, and came the rest of the way into the room, and I saw that you were as naked as I. There was another surprise -- I don't see you walking around without clothes much, because you know it's bound to result in me pouncing, every single time -- but I had no time to worry about hows or whys, seeing you sashay across the tile floor, breasts swaying, licking your lips. I felt my cock twitch -- it was already semi-hard from when I'd been lathering up and stroking myself a bit -- and then it wilted a little when you opened the shower door and the colder air rushed in. "Aack! That's cold!" I complained, and you put a finger to my lips. "Shush. No talky now. Is time for the sexings."
Well, now. How could I possibly complain about that? Not for the first time, I reflected how lucky I was, as you leaned forward, rubbing yourself against me, getting yourself wet and soapy as well. "Not enough," you decided, and turned on the shower again. Hot water blasted over both of us, rinsing some of the suds down between us, but only long enough to get you all wet and shiny. You shut the spray off again, then took the shower gel and poured a generous helping all over your tits. "Get me nice and clean, baby?" you begged in a little-girl voice, and wow! did that ever turn my crank. Far be it from me to refuse a lady's request, so of course I had to start fondling and squeezing and soaping those lovely breasts, my hands running all over your torso, getting you all lathered and slick. You moaned and your own hands went to work, running up and down my body as well, encouraging my cock to rise again, working up plenty more lather to replace whatever had been rinsed away by the brief spray.
You slid your hands lower, wrapping them quite firmly around my cock. "My favorite toy," you breathed, and began to stroke me in a steady, insistent rhythm that left no doubt about the eventual end. My breath was already coming fast at the novelty of the whole situation and I still couldn't quite believe I was here, with a hot woman in the shower squeezing and stroking my soapy cock, rubbing herself against me, suds all over her and dripping slowly down her body.
Suddenly you knelt in front of me. Not for the first time I was grateful for that nice soft shower mat. I thought at first you were going to take me in your mouth, and opened my own mouth to protest -- I might want to wash your mouth out, but not with soap -- but then realized immediately you had something else in mind. You leaned forward and wrapped both of those tits around my cock, sliding me up and down, in and out of that magnificent valley. I groaned with lust. The sensation was indescribable. Slithering and slipping, hardness wrapped by softness. I closed my eyes and leaned back, and heard a quiet but firm "No" from you; opening my eyes again, I saw that impish grin you do so well. "No," you repeated. "I want you to see me titty-fucking you. I want you to see me getting you off. I want you to watch as you paint my tits with your cum."
You licked your lips, and increased your pace, squeezing together more tightly around my heated cock. "And baby, I want it now."
I moaned your name, my legs and torso tingling. It felt like electricity was running along every nerve ending, starting at my head and feet and being drawn downward and upward towards my center, my whole existence funnelling inward to the sensation of my cock sliding between your tits. I felt myself begin to tremble, and my breath grew more ragged. "Oh," I moaned, and you moaned back. "Yes, baby. That's it. Come for me. Come on me. Squirt that hot cum between my soapy tits. I need some good skin cream." You speeded up just a bit more, eyes still locked on mine, mischief dancing in their depths. "Be a good boy and come for me, lover. I want it now."
I gasped and shook and shouted your name as I blasted off without any warning at all. It hit me like a highballing freight train, pleasure exploding all through me even as I exploded between your tits. My cum mixed with the suds and water and lather, creating a hot, sticky mess which you promptly began rubbing all over yourself. When I had no more to give, you wrapped your hands around me and stroked upward, milking a last few drops out to land on the tips of your nipples.
"Good boy," you said softly. And turned on the shower again, and the hot water poured over us, washing some of the sticky mess down between us, but doing nothing to dampen my arousal. Somehow, I was still hard. I reached for your hand, and pulled you to your feet, and you grinned, and hooked a leg around my ass, spreading yourself for me. Hot, you were so hot, slick with excitement, slick with suds, slick with sweat. I slid into you and you moaned and I moaned and you leaned back against the wall, bracing yourself, readying yourself for the invasion, awaiting the pounding we both knew we needed now, fitting yourself to me with practiced skill and lustful, hungry hoyden joy.
Soon we would need another cleanup period. Hazily, rocking in and out of you with hard sharp thrusts, I wondered if we would even make it out of the shower at all today.
I tend to take my showers in the mornings, and of course (since you generally sleep like a rock and have to be dragged out of bed even when it's noon already) you generally don't even know about it until I've finished and am already drying off. So it was one hell of a shock when I shut the spray off and was busily lathering myself, getting all slick and slippery, and turned around to see you watching me from around the corner of the doorway.
I might have twitched violently. Might even have jumped backwards in shock and cracked my head against the wall. I'd never admit to that, of course. But I was startled, and that must have been fairly obvious from your fit of giggles. "Oh my," you said, grinning. "Did I scare you?"
The look on my face must have made any reply unnecessary. "Well, let's see if I can make it up to you," you said, and came the rest of the way into the room, and I saw that you were as naked as I. There was another surprise -- I don't see you walking around without clothes much, because you know it's bound to result in me pouncing, every single time -- but I had no time to worry about hows or whys, seeing you sashay across the tile floor, breasts swaying, licking your lips. I felt my cock twitch -- it was already semi-hard from when I'd been lathering up and stroking myself a bit -- and then it wilted a little when you opened the shower door and the colder air rushed in. "Aack! That's cold!" I complained, and you put a finger to my lips. "Shush. No talky now. Is time for the sexings."
Well, now. How could I possibly complain about that? Not for the first time, I reflected how lucky I was, as you leaned forward, rubbing yourself against me, getting yourself wet and soapy as well. "Not enough," you decided, and turned on the shower again. Hot water blasted over both of us, rinsing some of the suds down between us, but only long enough to get you all wet and shiny. You shut the spray off again, then took the shower gel and poured a generous helping all over your tits. "Get me nice and clean, baby?" you begged in a little-girl voice, and wow! did that ever turn my crank. Far be it from me to refuse a lady's request, so of course I had to start fondling and squeezing and soaping those lovely breasts, my hands running all over your torso, getting you all lathered and slick. You moaned and your own hands went to work, running up and down my body as well, encouraging my cock to rise again, working up plenty more lather to replace whatever had been rinsed away by the brief spray.
You slid your hands lower, wrapping them quite firmly around my cock. "My favorite toy," you breathed, and began to stroke me in a steady, insistent rhythm that left no doubt about the eventual end. My breath was already coming fast at the novelty of the whole situation and I still couldn't quite believe I was here, with a hot woman in the shower squeezing and stroking my soapy cock, rubbing herself against me, suds all over her and dripping slowly down her body.
Suddenly you knelt in front of me. Not for the first time I was grateful for that nice soft shower mat. I thought at first you were going to take me in your mouth, and opened my own mouth to protest -- I might want to wash your mouth out, but not with soap -- but then realized immediately you had something else in mind. You leaned forward and wrapped both of those tits around my cock, sliding me up and down, in and out of that magnificent valley. I groaned with lust. The sensation was indescribable. Slithering and slipping, hardness wrapped by softness. I closed my eyes and leaned back, and heard a quiet but firm "No" from you; opening my eyes again, I saw that impish grin you do so well. "No," you repeated. "I want you to see me titty-fucking you. I want you to see me getting you off. I want you to watch as you paint my tits with your cum."
You licked your lips, and increased your pace, squeezing together more tightly around my heated cock. "And baby, I want it now."
I moaned your name, my legs and torso tingling. It felt like electricity was running along every nerve ending, starting at my head and feet and being drawn downward and upward towards my center, my whole existence funnelling inward to the sensation of my cock sliding between your tits. I felt myself begin to tremble, and my breath grew more ragged. "Oh," I moaned, and you moaned back. "Yes, baby. That's it. Come for me. Come on me. Squirt that hot cum between my soapy tits. I need some good skin cream." You speeded up just a bit more, eyes still locked on mine, mischief dancing in their depths. "Be a good boy and come for me, lover. I want it now."
I gasped and shook and shouted your name as I blasted off without any warning at all. It hit me like a highballing freight train, pleasure exploding all through me even as I exploded between your tits. My cum mixed with the suds and water and lather, creating a hot, sticky mess which you promptly began rubbing all over yourself. When I had no more to give, you wrapped your hands around me and stroked upward, milking a last few drops out to land on the tips of your nipples.
"Good boy," you said softly. And turned on the shower again, and the hot water poured over us, washing some of the sticky mess down between us, but doing nothing to dampen my arousal. Somehow, I was still hard. I reached for your hand, and pulled you to your feet, and you grinned, and hooked a leg around my ass, spreading yourself for me. Hot, you were so hot, slick with excitement, slick with suds, slick with sweat. I slid into you and you moaned and I moaned and you leaned back against the wall, bracing yourself, readying yourself for the invasion, awaiting the pounding we both knew we needed now, fitting yourself to me with practiced skill and lustful, hungry hoyden joy.
Soon we would need another cleanup period. Hazily, rocking in and out of you with hard sharp thrusts, I wondered if we would even make it out of the shower at all today.
Monday, January 7, 2013
In the Arms of Morpheus, In Your Arms
The war movie "Johnny Got His Gun" is a soul-shattering experience for many. It sticks in the mind for many reasons, not the least of which is the psychological hell that would be caused by loss of all your physical faculties while your mental processes remained alert and very much aware. One quote from the movie has especially stuck with me over the years, though: "How can you tell what's a dream and what's real when you can't even tell when you're awake and when you're asleep?"
It was like that for me this morning, you know. For much different and considerably more pleasant reasons.
I was floating, drifting, wandering in a pleasant haze. Clouds passed over and through me and I was borne aloft on warm breezes. Far below me I saw a landscape of indescribable beauty, rolling hills and valleys, mountains with snow-capped tips, lush forests and rushing cataracts. My spirit sang at the sight. Indeed, I was feeling pleasure radiating outward from my core, buoying me up effortlessly, the good feelings crackling along every nerve ending.
Slowly things shifted and turned, and I sideslipped along another plane of existence. The pleasure intensified, becoming more localized. I felt dim sensations: warmth building to heat, gentle tingling, a velvety smoothness, a slick friction of some kind. They intensified as the pleasure built. Reality reassembled itself, building blocks falling into place, solidifying to the here and now.
Which was that your lips were wrapped around my cock and you were sucking on me gently but insistently.
My eyes flew open in shock and then almost immediately closed again as the sensations swept over me and carried me away. Never had I felt such exquisite points of pleasure. There was no time to wonder how you'd pulled the covers off without awakening me, what had possessed you to awaken me like this, or even how in the hell you'd gotten here in the first place. It's very difficult to think coherent thoughts when a woman has your cock in her mouth.
And so consciousness coalesced around the delight I felt: heat, gentle suction, a most insistent tongue curling around my shaft and concentrating on the head. Your soft fingers stroked me up and down, tenderly but with firm authority. I moaned, the first sound I had managed, and was rewarded with a humming "Mmmmm" from you, my cock never slipping free. Your hair whispered along my belly, your hands caressed my thighs and fondled my balls. Your mouth worked with slow passion, teasing me, gorging me with blood and desire. I felt myself throb intensely with each hard thump of my heart.
The sounds of lust: wet "shlick" and "sploop" sounds as you sucked me, slowly, your mouth moving from head to the base of my shaft, my ragged breathing as the pleasure built, my helpless moans of desire, your soft musical humming. I began to raise my hips, slightly, involuntarily, and heard/felt you giggle to yourself, knowing I was completely and utterly lost, in your control.
And then you pulled back. My cock slid free, rigid as a post, throbbing angrily. I gasped as your tongue dragged over the crown, swirling round it, bringing fresh beads of desire, glistening pearly white. You grinned the most impish grin I had ever seen and only then did I realize you were as naked as I. Slowly, slowly, you crept forward, your skin sliding against mine, your hard nipples scoring trails along my chest as you undulated along my length. You straddled me. Your thighs grabbed me with no doubt about who was in charge here. You looked down imperiously, eyes glinting with mischief and delight. You raised those hips. Your hands caressed your own skin, fondling your breasts. You tweaked your nipples and sighed softly as your hands moved lower, ever downward. Your hand wrapped around my rigid length, angling it, pointing me to your own requirements. More heat, more wetness: slick and ready, you enveloped me before I could even blink, and just like that we were connected, so intimately, so deeply.
You sighed again, this time in words: my name. It sounded like a blessing. With a soft gasp I called your own, the word almost lost in a moan of pure need as you began to move slowly, excruciatingly slowly. You leaned forward, your breasts pressed against my chest, and rained kisses on my neck, my throat. Your tongue tasted my pulse, explored my earlobe. I felt your breath, hot and insistent. My hands went to cup and squeeze your ass, helping you fit yourself to me. Slowly, so slowly, you rose and fell above me. I raised my head to capture a nipple with lips and tongue and was rewarded with moans of your own. Steadily, rhythmically, you drove me onward. Steadily, rhythmically, I was driven higher, the pleasure building, the tempo increasing. My breath came faster. Your velvet walls gripped me, molding me, shaping me for our ecstasy. Your hair swung forward, obscuring your face, but those eyes glinted, glinted. A ghost of a smile from you: you leaned forward, palms on my chest, bracing yourself for harder, faster, rocking and grinding. Your touch seared my skin. Head whirling, every nerve flamed with delight, I could only gasp and moan, helpless to resist the tide, the inevitable burst of heat and light and color, the brilliant nova that sent me over the edge......
.........and then I raised my head, and looked around. The sheets were tangled, my pillow askew, my cock throbbing steadily in a pool of precum. I touched myself: stickier than I should be. The memory of your kisses, the taste of your tongue, the feel of your hot cunt, wouldn't leave me alone, insisted they had been real. I dropped my head to the pillow, and sighed bitterly. Never have I been so disappointed to return to the real world from a dream.
-- PB
It was like that for me this morning, you know. For much different and considerably more pleasant reasons.
I was floating, drifting, wandering in a pleasant haze. Clouds passed over and through me and I was borne aloft on warm breezes. Far below me I saw a landscape of indescribable beauty, rolling hills and valleys, mountains with snow-capped tips, lush forests and rushing cataracts. My spirit sang at the sight. Indeed, I was feeling pleasure radiating outward from my core, buoying me up effortlessly, the good feelings crackling along every nerve ending.
Slowly things shifted and turned, and I sideslipped along another plane of existence. The pleasure intensified, becoming more localized. I felt dim sensations: warmth building to heat, gentle tingling, a velvety smoothness, a slick friction of some kind. They intensified as the pleasure built. Reality reassembled itself, building blocks falling into place, solidifying to the here and now.
Which was that your lips were wrapped around my cock and you were sucking on me gently but insistently.
My eyes flew open in shock and then almost immediately closed again as the sensations swept over me and carried me away. Never had I felt such exquisite points of pleasure. There was no time to wonder how you'd pulled the covers off without awakening me, what had possessed you to awaken me like this, or even how in the hell you'd gotten here in the first place. It's very difficult to think coherent thoughts when a woman has your cock in her mouth.
And so consciousness coalesced around the delight I felt: heat, gentle suction, a most insistent tongue curling around my shaft and concentrating on the head. Your soft fingers stroked me up and down, tenderly but with firm authority. I moaned, the first sound I had managed, and was rewarded with a humming "Mmmmm" from you, my cock never slipping free. Your hair whispered along my belly, your hands caressed my thighs and fondled my balls. Your mouth worked with slow passion, teasing me, gorging me with blood and desire. I felt myself throb intensely with each hard thump of my heart.
The sounds of lust: wet "shlick" and "sploop" sounds as you sucked me, slowly, your mouth moving from head to the base of my shaft, my ragged breathing as the pleasure built, my helpless moans of desire, your soft musical humming. I began to raise my hips, slightly, involuntarily, and heard/felt you giggle to yourself, knowing I was completely and utterly lost, in your control.
And then you pulled back. My cock slid free, rigid as a post, throbbing angrily. I gasped as your tongue dragged over the crown, swirling round it, bringing fresh beads of desire, glistening pearly white. You grinned the most impish grin I had ever seen and only then did I realize you were as naked as I. Slowly, slowly, you crept forward, your skin sliding against mine, your hard nipples scoring trails along my chest as you undulated along my length. You straddled me. Your thighs grabbed me with no doubt about who was in charge here. You looked down imperiously, eyes glinting with mischief and delight. You raised those hips. Your hands caressed your own skin, fondling your breasts. You tweaked your nipples and sighed softly as your hands moved lower, ever downward. Your hand wrapped around my rigid length, angling it, pointing me to your own requirements. More heat, more wetness: slick and ready, you enveloped me before I could even blink, and just like that we were connected, so intimately, so deeply.
You sighed again, this time in words: my name. It sounded like a blessing. With a soft gasp I called your own, the word almost lost in a moan of pure need as you began to move slowly, excruciatingly slowly. You leaned forward, your breasts pressed against my chest, and rained kisses on my neck, my throat. Your tongue tasted my pulse, explored my earlobe. I felt your breath, hot and insistent. My hands went to cup and squeeze your ass, helping you fit yourself to me. Slowly, so slowly, you rose and fell above me. I raised my head to capture a nipple with lips and tongue and was rewarded with moans of your own. Steadily, rhythmically, you drove me onward. Steadily, rhythmically, I was driven higher, the pleasure building, the tempo increasing. My breath came faster. Your velvet walls gripped me, molding me, shaping me for our ecstasy. Your hair swung forward, obscuring your face, but those eyes glinted, glinted. A ghost of a smile from you: you leaned forward, palms on my chest, bracing yourself for harder, faster, rocking and grinding. Your touch seared my skin. Head whirling, every nerve flamed with delight, I could only gasp and moan, helpless to resist the tide, the inevitable burst of heat and light and color, the brilliant nova that sent me over the edge......
.........and then I raised my head, and looked around. The sheets were tangled, my pillow askew, my cock throbbing steadily in a pool of precum. I touched myself: stickier than I should be. The memory of your kisses, the taste of your tongue, the feel of your hot cunt, wouldn't leave me alone, insisted they had been real. I dropped my head to the pillow, and sighed bitterly. Never have I been so disappointed to return to the real world from a dream.
-- PB
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
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.
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.
"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.
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
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
Saturday, July 30, 2011
First Class Train Travel
My head is buzzing. Mists swirl about briefly but clear when I shake my head. I look around. You and I are sitting on a couch in a spacious, tasteful compartment in a train car. I brilliantly deduce this from the rocking and swaying we feel and the rackety-clack as the train makes its way along. You're sitting next to me, wearing a opaque pearl gray dress that hints at, promises, much more than it actually shows. Your smile is quick and mischievous, your eyes dancing with suppressed glee. What are you thinking?
The woman sitting across from us says something and I miss it, my head buzzing again. You're quicker on the uptake, though, and soon you're both in an animated discussion. The guy who's with her looks at me and we share a brief glance of amusement. The other fellow, sitting in the corner, has barely looked up from his iPad since entering the compartment a while back. Not much of a traveling companion, but then again, sometimes silence is nice.
The mists swirl about a bit more and the light outside unaccountably changes -- one moment high noon, the next giving way to the gloaming of approaching twilight. I reach for your hand, looking for substance, wanting to hold onto something, but discover that you're not sitting next to me anymore. Confused, I look at the woman across from us. She seems to read my mind and says that you'd gone to the restroom while I was out. "Out?" I ask, wanting clarification, but she simply nods.
I lean back and stretch out my legs. There's another hitch and suddenly you're next to me again, leaning up against me in a very pleasant way. Your face is full of high color, your eyes are intense, your lips parted. What were you doing in that bathroom, hmm?
You lean close and very shortly I find out, as you begin nibbling on my ear. "I think I may have made a mistake," you murmur to me, your lips exploring, caressing. Tiny electrical shocks run up and down my body; you know my ears are a weak point and always exploit it mercilessly. "You know one time is never enough for me. All it does is whet my appetite for more."
You're whetting my appetite, too, your hot breath on my neck, now licking lightly at my earlobe, nipping at the side of my neck, planting hot kisses along the curve of my collarbone. I feel your fingers trailing down my side, nails lightly grazing my ribs, my belly, making light scritching sounds as they reach the rougher fabric of my jeans. You rub lightly against the outline in my crotch. Heat at your fingertips. Heat against your wrist as you run it down between my legs. Heat in the palm of your hand as you take a firm grasp and squeeze, gently. I sigh softly.
Over your head and shoulders I can see the couple across from us. They are watching intently, not saying a word. Their faces are blank masks, revealing nothing, but their eyes are avid. She leans over and whispers something quietly and he nods, without taking his eyes off you as your explorations become more insistent. Her mouth parts and her tongue steals out to slide around her ruby red lips, just once, the only outward sign of anything at all. I glance sideways and see the guy in the corner shift a bit, aiming the camera eye of his gadget our way. His fingers tap, tap, delicately at its surface. Posting to Facebook? Stealing a shot of us and captioning it with "Compartmentalized Lust"? Filming a bit of video for a private reenactment later? Who knows.
Your hand is now rubbing eagerly against the spike in my jeans. I moan a low moan of need and you murmur something against my throat, an endearment, an exhortation, I can't tell. Your tongue darts out and outlines my Adam's apple; I shiver. I slide my free hand down your back, caressing. Starting my own exploration. You press closer against me and I feel the soft weight of your breasts on my arm. Maddening, fanning the flames. I wind my hand into your hair idly, liking its texture, then tighten a bit and use it to lift your head. You gasp slightly but then understanding replaces annoyance, when I lean forward and kiss you, hard.
I love the taste of your mouth. Your tongue is always ready for a duel, and it slides against mine, heat and wetness, making me want more, as always. I slip my free hand lower down your back, squeezing your ass on the way, then slide it around front and gently nudge your legs further apart. You murmur "mmm" into my mouth and help spread them. Meanwhile, your own hands are still rubbing and stroking me, now sliding along my thighs, now brushing against the throb in my jeans, now toying with the buttons on my shirt. I feel you pull a few of them loose, then slip a finger or two inside and trace random designs on my skin. Goose bumps seethe in your nail's wake.
Soft murmurs from the couple across from us, now. I steal a glance, but their expressions are still enigmatic, unruffled, their eyes pools of night. I get the strange feeling that they're grading our performance in their heads and will assign us a score whenever....this.....reaches its by now inescapable conclusion. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs; he rolls his head slightly, as if to loosen tension, and then relapses into immobility.
I turn my head, now, and look more openly at the man in the corner. He gazes back tranquilly, not bothered in the least. A slight grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he adjusts the gadget on his knees a bit, the fabric of his slacks rustling. That sound seems to snap you out of your trance and for the first time you seem to realize our audience; you follow my glance over to him and he nods, as if to say "Don't let me stop you, please." Swiftly, you look over at the couple, but they are no less inscrutable to you than they were to me. Wait -- there, a motion of his hand, a definite "don't mind us; continue" flick of the wrist.
Well, now. I squirm around a bit, freeing my other arm, and slide both hands down your back, hiking your dress up and over your hips, revealing that marvelous ass. I cup its roundness, take double handfuls of firm, warm flesh, glad (not for the first time) that you go bare beneath your skirts, dresses, slacks, whatever. Your scent rises, and my head spins again. The room darkens and everything slips sideways for a second or two; when I raise my head you're in my lap, you've pulled my shirt back and down over my shoulders to pinion my arms at my sides. You wriggle against me, rubbing your chest against mine. I can feel your nipples through the silken fabric, and I want to reach up, to caress; your hands curl around my wrists and hold them gently in place.
You pull back and then reach down between us. Now both hands are working busily at the snap on my jeans. In a trice the zipper is down. I raise up and you pull jeans and boxer briefs down; then your fingers are dancing around my hard cock, freed from its entanglement and now pointing angrily at the ceiling. Your touch is firm and cool, slippery and silken smooth along heated rigidity. I moan your name and you chuckle, low and soft, glancing over your shoulder at the still pair opposite you. Staring over your other shoulder at them, I see the color rising in their faces; they may be good at hiding emotion, but the more normal responses are hard at work, it seems.
You're hard at work too, pointing, adjusting, caressing. You hike the dress up further in the front and slide two fingers into yourself. I manage to worm shoulders and arms free of the shirt, and then I can wrap them around you, run fingernails down your back, dig furrows into you, marking you. I shudder all over as you pull your fingers out and then use them to rub your wetness all over my cock. Slick and shining, coated with your excitement, it throbs like a piston, like something barely in check.
My eyes close of their own volition as you lift and then settle firmly on me, something so familiar, the pulse of heat old as time, that feels new and incredible every single time we enact this little scene. The aroma is more piquant, the bouquet made more spicy this time by our watchers, who still have made little sign of their presence other than faint murmurings or rustlings as they shift in their seats. I open my eyes and stare straight at the woman behind you, who nods in approval as you begin the age-old rhythm, hips pumping slowly, so slowly.
Heat. Delicious, delicious heat, radiating outward from my groin. My heart pounds. My lips close on a nipple and you gasp my name. Deliberately, I close my teeth and this time you hiss sharply...but your hips' slow pumping actually speeds up. I slide one hand down to your ass and clench it there, grab a handful, an anchor to help hold you down, keep you from sliding off the earth, balanced precariously on the precipice of pleasure.
Mists swirl through my brain again. Grunting angrily, I shake my head to clear them; when things resolidify, you're no longer in my lap. Instead, I've rolled on top of you, pressing you down with all my weight. Your legs have come up and are over my shoulders, ankles hooked round my neck. Steady pressure there urges me onward. Now it's my hips that move with slow deliberation; I pull back, slide forward, pull back, slide forward, an aching grinding rhythm that's making us both moan and whimper.
I shift a bit in response to pressure from your arm on one side, realizing that you're moving my shoulder out of the field of view of the camera in the corner, knowing that it must be fixed on your pleasure-dazed face, the hair straggling over your eyes, sweat beading on your forehead, mouth slack and open, wet with lust. I'm transfixed by it myself. You've given yourself over to it, let the sensations take control.
Control. We've never been out of control like this, coupling shamelessly, rutting like a pair of animals in full view of three total strangers. I can feel their gazes traveling over our bodies, fixing on my cock as it emerges briefly from your tight cunt before sliding home again, watching with slow approval the swaying of your breasts with each thrust, trailing down my back as you score red welts on it with your fingernails. I feel you clutching at me, your excitement shifting into a higher gear, your pussy opening still further, inviting me to use it, take it ruthlessly and roughly.
It's not just your pussy that's urging me, either. Your voice reaches me through the fog that's closing in again. I hear the words that never fail to wring me out and drive me wild with lust, those filthy phrases you love to tease and taunt me with: "Oh yeah. Give me that big cock, baby. Pound my hot pussy. Mmmmmyeahhh, ohh yeahh. Fuck me so good." You don't stop as I wrap both arms around you and pull you upward, lift you off the couch till we're in a bridge position. I mold your body to mine, thrusting harder, feeling your wetness splash and drool down your thighs and mine. I gasp with each new thrust. The pleasure builds and builds and builds.
One more thought flashes, dimly, in my head: let's give them all a real show for the finish. With that, I pull back and out of you. Your eyelids fly up like windowshades and you moan a slow "Noooooo" but it's cut off; I wrestle us around until you're on my lap once more, this time sitting on me as if I were a chair, both of us staring, defiantly, in turn, at our watchers. They smile and nod encouragingly, drinking in the sight, licking their lips now: at last, clearly and obviously enjoying what they see. And they should -- your pussy clenching around me as I thrust upward and into you, my hands squeezing your breasts, your fingers alternately stroking your clit and the length of my shaft as it emerges briefly at the end of each stroke. Your head rolls back on your shoulders and a low "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" of pure sensation emerges; through the haze, I register that you're coming, one of those full-body orgasms that leave you as limp as a wet dishrag. Your body gets heavier in my arms before your head snaps up again and you start bouncing up and down on me, forcing yourself down to meet each upward thrust, growling deep in your throat, a repeated refrain: "Come on. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on."
I feel stretched to the breaking point. Ribbons of light spin and twirl through my head. My cock twitches, my balls tingle, and almost before I can even gasp out your name, I'm coming myself, spurt after spurt, mauling your breasts hard enough to leave bruises, grunting a low "uh, uh, uh, uh" sound in time with your own exhortations. Your hips slam down on me in hard approval, your body pressing against me in unutterable zeal. I thrust and thrust up into you, the mists rising again, wanting only to prolong this agony, this ecstasy, this far too temporary union. The fog drifts higher and soon it covers us completely.
I open my eyes and sit up. Alone, in my hotel bedroom. Tangled sheets, damp with perspiration, wet and messy with sticky precum. My cock throbs angrily, annoyed at having been denied its release. I sigh, sinking back on the pillows, heart still beating hard. I close my eyes and say your name, emptily.
I swear I can still see their admiring gazes, can still smell you, hear that low moan of delight as you came and came hard.
A dream? Or a memory?
-- PB
The woman sitting across from us says something and I miss it, my head buzzing again. You're quicker on the uptake, though, and soon you're both in an animated discussion. The guy who's with her looks at me and we share a brief glance of amusement. The other fellow, sitting in the corner, has barely looked up from his iPad since entering the compartment a while back. Not much of a traveling companion, but then again, sometimes silence is nice.
The mists swirl about a bit more and the light outside unaccountably changes -- one moment high noon, the next giving way to the gloaming of approaching twilight. I reach for your hand, looking for substance, wanting to hold onto something, but discover that you're not sitting next to me anymore. Confused, I look at the woman across from us. She seems to read my mind and says that you'd gone to the restroom while I was out. "Out?" I ask, wanting clarification, but she simply nods.
I lean back and stretch out my legs. There's another hitch and suddenly you're next to me again, leaning up against me in a very pleasant way. Your face is full of high color, your eyes are intense, your lips parted. What were you doing in that bathroom, hmm?
You lean close and very shortly I find out, as you begin nibbling on my ear. "I think I may have made a mistake," you murmur to me, your lips exploring, caressing. Tiny electrical shocks run up and down my body; you know my ears are a weak point and always exploit it mercilessly. "You know one time is never enough for me. All it does is whet my appetite for more."
You're whetting my appetite, too, your hot breath on my neck, now licking lightly at my earlobe, nipping at the side of my neck, planting hot kisses along the curve of my collarbone. I feel your fingers trailing down my side, nails lightly grazing my ribs, my belly, making light scritching sounds as they reach the rougher fabric of my jeans. You rub lightly against the outline in my crotch. Heat at your fingertips. Heat against your wrist as you run it down between my legs. Heat in the palm of your hand as you take a firm grasp and squeeze, gently. I sigh softly.
Over your head and shoulders I can see the couple across from us. They are watching intently, not saying a word. Their faces are blank masks, revealing nothing, but their eyes are avid. She leans over and whispers something quietly and he nods, without taking his eyes off you as your explorations become more insistent. Her mouth parts and her tongue steals out to slide around her ruby red lips, just once, the only outward sign of anything at all. I glance sideways and see the guy in the corner shift a bit, aiming the camera eye of his gadget our way. His fingers tap, tap, delicately at its surface. Posting to Facebook? Stealing a shot of us and captioning it with "Compartmentalized Lust"? Filming a bit of video for a private reenactment later? Who knows.
Your hand is now rubbing eagerly against the spike in my jeans. I moan a low moan of need and you murmur something against my throat, an endearment, an exhortation, I can't tell. Your tongue darts out and outlines my Adam's apple; I shiver. I slide my free hand down your back, caressing. Starting my own exploration. You press closer against me and I feel the soft weight of your breasts on my arm. Maddening, fanning the flames. I wind my hand into your hair idly, liking its texture, then tighten a bit and use it to lift your head. You gasp slightly but then understanding replaces annoyance, when I lean forward and kiss you, hard.
I love the taste of your mouth. Your tongue is always ready for a duel, and it slides against mine, heat and wetness, making me want more, as always. I slip my free hand lower down your back, squeezing your ass on the way, then slide it around front and gently nudge your legs further apart. You murmur "mmm" into my mouth and help spread them. Meanwhile, your own hands are still rubbing and stroking me, now sliding along my thighs, now brushing against the throb in my jeans, now toying with the buttons on my shirt. I feel you pull a few of them loose, then slip a finger or two inside and trace random designs on my skin. Goose bumps seethe in your nail's wake.
Soft murmurs from the couple across from us, now. I steal a glance, but their expressions are still enigmatic, unruffled, their eyes pools of night. I get the strange feeling that they're grading our performance in their heads and will assign us a score whenever....this.....reaches its by now inescapable conclusion. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs; he rolls his head slightly, as if to loosen tension, and then relapses into immobility.
I turn my head, now, and look more openly at the man in the corner. He gazes back tranquilly, not bothered in the least. A slight grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he adjusts the gadget on his knees a bit, the fabric of his slacks rustling. That sound seems to snap you out of your trance and for the first time you seem to realize our audience; you follow my glance over to him and he nods, as if to say "Don't let me stop you, please." Swiftly, you look over at the couple, but they are no less inscrutable to you than they were to me. Wait -- there, a motion of his hand, a definite "don't mind us; continue" flick of the wrist.
Well, now. I squirm around a bit, freeing my other arm, and slide both hands down your back, hiking your dress up and over your hips, revealing that marvelous ass. I cup its roundness, take double handfuls of firm, warm flesh, glad (not for the first time) that you go bare beneath your skirts, dresses, slacks, whatever. Your scent rises, and my head spins again. The room darkens and everything slips sideways for a second or two; when I raise my head you're in my lap, you've pulled my shirt back and down over my shoulders to pinion my arms at my sides. You wriggle against me, rubbing your chest against mine. I can feel your nipples through the silken fabric, and I want to reach up, to caress; your hands curl around my wrists and hold them gently in place.
You pull back and then reach down between us. Now both hands are working busily at the snap on my jeans. In a trice the zipper is down. I raise up and you pull jeans and boxer briefs down; then your fingers are dancing around my hard cock, freed from its entanglement and now pointing angrily at the ceiling. Your touch is firm and cool, slippery and silken smooth along heated rigidity. I moan your name and you chuckle, low and soft, glancing over your shoulder at the still pair opposite you. Staring over your other shoulder at them, I see the color rising in their faces; they may be good at hiding emotion, but the more normal responses are hard at work, it seems.
You're hard at work too, pointing, adjusting, caressing. You hike the dress up further in the front and slide two fingers into yourself. I manage to worm shoulders and arms free of the shirt, and then I can wrap them around you, run fingernails down your back, dig furrows into you, marking you. I shudder all over as you pull your fingers out and then use them to rub your wetness all over my cock. Slick and shining, coated with your excitement, it throbs like a piston, like something barely in check.
My eyes close of their own volition as you lift and then settle firmly on me, something so familiar, the pulse of heat old as time, that feels new and incredible every single time we enact this little scene. The aroma is more piquant, the bouquet made more spicy this time by our watchers, who still have made little sign of their presence other than faint murmurings or rustlings as they shift in their seats. I open my eyes and stare straight at the woman behind you, who nods in approval as you begin the age-old rhythm, hips pumping slowly, so slowly.
Heat. Delicious, delicious heat, radiating outward from my groin. My heart pounds. My lips close on a nipple and you gasp my name. Deliberately, I close my teeth and this time you hiss sharply...but your hips' slow pumping actually speeds up. I slide one hand down to your ass and clench it there, grab a handful, an anchor to help hold you down, keep you from sliding off the earth, balanced precariously on the precipice of pleasure.
Mists swirl through my brain again. Grunting angrily, I shake my head to clear them; when things resolidify, you're no longer in my lap. Instead, I've rolled on top of you, pressing you down with all my weight. Your legs have come up and are over my shoulders, ankles hooked round my neck. Steady pressure there urges me onward. Now it's my hips that move with slow deliberation; I pull back, slide forward, pull back, slide forward, an aching grinding rhythm that's making us both moan and whimper.
I shift a bit in response to pressure from your arm on one side, realizing that you're moving my shoulder out of the field of view of the camera in the corner, knowing that it must be fixed on your pleasure-dazed face, the hair straggling over your eyes, sweat beading on your forehead, mouth slack and open, wet with lust. I'm transfixed by it myself. You've given yourself over to it, let the sensations take control.
Control. We've never been out of control like this, coupling shamelessly, rutting like a pair of animals in full view of three total strangers. I can feel their gazes traveling over our bodies, fixing on my cock as it emerges briefly from your tight cunt before sliding home again, watching with slow approval the swaying of your breasts with each thrust, trailing down my back as you score red welts on it with your fingernails. I feel you clutching at me, your excitement shifting into a higher gear, your pussy opening still further, inviting me to use it, take it ruthlessly and roughly.
It's not just your pussy that's urging me, either. Your voice reaches me through the fog that's closing in again. I hear the words that never fail to wring me out and drive me wild with lust, those filthy phrases you love to tease and taunt me with: "Oh yeah. Give me that big cock, baby. Pound my hot pussy. Mmmmmyeahhh, ohh yeahh. Fuck me so good." You don't stop as I wrap both arms around you and pull you upward, lift you off the couch till we're in a bridge position. I mold your body to mine, thrusting harder, feeling your wetness splash and drool down your thighs and mine. I gasp with each new thrust. The pleasure builds and builds and builds.
One more thought flashes, dimly, in my head: let's give them all a real show for the finish. With that, I pull back and out of you. Your eyelids fly up like windowshades and you moan a slow "Noooooo" but it's cut off; I wrestle us around until you're on my lap once more, this time sitting on me as if I were a chair, both of us staring, defiantly, in turn, at our watchers. They smile and nod encouragingly, drinking in the sight, licking their lips now: at last, clearly and obviously enjoying what they see. And they should -- your pussy clenching around me as I thrust upward and into you, my hands squeezing your breasts, your fingers alternately stroking your clit and the length of my shaft as it emerges briefly at the end of each stroke. Your head rolls back on your shoulders and a low "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" of pure sensation emerges; through the haze, I register that you're coming, one of those full-body orgasms that leave you as limp as a wet dishrag. Your body gets heavier in my arms before your head snaps up again and you start bouncing up and down on me, forcing yourself down to meet each upward thrust, growling deep in your throat, a repeated refrain: "Come on. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on."
I feel stretched to the breaking point. Ribbons of light spin and twirl through my head. My cock twitches, my balls tingle, and almost before I can even gasp out your name, I'm coming myself, spurt after spurt, mauling your breasts hard enough to leave bruises, grunting a low "uh, uh, uh, uh" sound in time with your own exhortations. Your hips slam down on me in hard approval, your body pressing against me in unutterable zeal. I thrust and thrust up into you, the mists rising again, wanting only to prolong this agony, this ecstasy, this far too temporary union. The fog drifts higher and soon it covers us completely.
I open my eyes and sit up. Alone, in my hotel bedroom. Tangled sheets, damp with perspiration, wet and messy with sticky precum. My cock throbs angrily, annoyed at having been denied its release. I sigh, sinking back on the pillows, heart still beating hard. I close my eyes and say your name, emptily.
I swear I can still see their admiring gazes, can still smell you, hear that low moan of delight as you came and came hard.
A dream? Or a memory?
-- PB
Thursday, July 28, 2011
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
...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
Monday, April 5, 2010
How does it feel.......
How does it feel.......
...when you haven't had sex in a week or more, when you're so keyed up you can hardly stand it? When every thought is of dirty delightful fantasies, every shift you make in your seat only increases your arousal, every whisper of fabric against your skin makes you burn to be rid of that clothing, hot and nude and pressed relentlessly against your partner of choice?
How does it feel.......
...when you're lying in bed, hand moving restlessly between your legs, fingers buried to the knuckles in your soaking wet pussy, playing with your clit and sending brilliant sparks of pleasure like summer lightning through your body? When your hips are moving of their own volition, grinding, rolling, enacting that hard rhythm you want more than anything else at that moment?
How does it feel......
...when I'm lying between your thighs, drinking delicately of your nectar, delighted as always by the way that each fresh swipe of my tongue doesn't use up the wetness there, only producing more? When I'm caressing you with mouth and teeth and tongue, sucking, licking, biting oh so very gently? When I'm gripping your ass in both hands to raise and pull you closer to my hungry mouth? When you're crying out, incoherent moans dissolving to frantic entreaties to keep going, urging me to keep going, oh yes, right.........THERE?
How does it feel......
...when you're gripping the headboard in both hands, pushing yourself back at me, tossing your hair, harder, harder, yes, that's it, harder still? When I'm pounding you relentlessly, trying to hammer you through the wall and into the next apartment over, where the occupants are even now feverishly masturbating to the sounds of our screaming?
How does it feel......
...when we're in the shower and I upend a bottle of body wash over your glistening breasts? When I turn blue gel into pounds of lather and spread them from head to toe over your slippery form? When I walk around you, coating every inch of you in slick suds, hands roaming from toes to the nape of your neck and everywhere in between? How does it feel when your legs are trembling from my attentions and your nipples are standing out like tiny cherries and your breath is coming in hard sharp pants? How does it feel when you're dripping so much wetness that the suds are rapidly being washed down your legs?
How does it feel......
...when I part your lips with my crown and push forward? When you feel my shaft sinking into you, plumbing your depths more absolutely than any explorer could ever imagine? When you're gripping me fiercely, owning my every inch, giving me your all, begging for more and taking everything I offer with gasping moans of assurance and assent? When your fingernails scrawl bleeding trails across my back, flaying me with your desire and need?
How does it feel......
...when we're out in public and you whisper exactly, precisely, what you're thinking at that very moment? When you can see my own reaction not just in my face but in the bulge at my crotch? When you trace its length with fingertips, each new caress serving only to delineate and accent its rigid outline? When you drape yourself over me from behind, pressing your breasts against me, undulating snakelike, your busy hands working over my front in perfect innocence, simply appearing idle caresses to curious onlookers? When your lips are still dripping honey into my ear, delicious descriptions of what you're going to do to me the very instant we are alone? When every tiny touch has me gulping, fighting for control, a wet spot forming in my jeans?
How does it feel......
...when you're rising and falling above me, your cunt clenching my length tightly inside you, your wetness splashing all over me, your hands pressed firmly on my chest? When you're dragging your hair in a long slow sweep down my body with every slow downstroke you make? When you can see my eyes, desperate and mad, rolling about in pleasure-wracked spirals? When I'm shuddering all over like I've been tasered, but it's your electric touch that has me so affected? When you know you have complete control of me and will keep me in that envelope of ecstasy until you've tasted your own cup of delight to the full?
How does it feel? Tell me....I want to know more.
-- PB
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Silence of Snowfall
Heavy, drifting flakes skirled down through the air outside -- big, soft, wet flakes that spelled trouble for road crews and power companies. It wasn't coming down hard, but with a steady, implacable pace that told of endless reserves above. Most of it melted as it struck, but already there were a few small accumulations here and there.
Inside, the silence was thick and soft, heavy with promise. He lay on the couch, she curled against him, head on his chest. His hand ran slowly through her curls, stroking, tangling and untangling.
"We don't get much of that stuff where I'm from," she noted quietly.
"Nor here, really," he said. "That's a rare event. It'll probably all be gone in a couple hours." He shifted a bit and she shifted in response, adjusting her fit against him. "But isn't it nice to watch?"
" 'Tis," she agreed. "Cold out there, warm in here. You're like a furnace, you ever hear that before?"
"It may have been mentioned once or twice," he allowed. "I can't help what I am."
"That's all right," she murmured softly. "I like what you are."
His hand moved down her back, along the ridge of her spine. She let out a small sigh and burrowed closer against him, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat. Her tongue darted out and tasted him there, once, twice. He shivered, but not from the cold, and he groaned. His arms tightened around her. She pressed against him ardently, feeling the ridge in his jeans. Her hand slid down between them and gave it a gentle squeeze. His own hand stole down to her ass and squeezed that.
"Here? Now?" she asked dreamily.
"Yes. Yes."
She raised up briefly, fumbling. Zippers were drawn down, garments hastily tugged down or aside. A shifting, an exploring, a fitting. Some of the cold crept in but it didn't last long. Heat and wetness met and merged. She raised her hips and settled down on him. He said her name with a soft gasp of wonder, and she sighed his.
She laid her head back down on his chest, eyes fixed on the drifting snow outside. Her hips moved slowly, liquidly. Moist sounds, flesh parting, being parted, accepting and releasing him. His hands moved over her back restlessly, ceaselessly, slow caresses. One hand twined into her hair and tightened there.
They drifted in a sweet haze, all sighs and murmurs and cries of delight, clinging to each other, pushing back the darkness and the cold, a tiny oasis there on his couch, the silence of snowfall enveloping them, enfolding them, holding them close as they made long, languorous, passionate love.
-- PB
Inside, the silence was thick and soft, heavy with promise. He lay on the couch, she curled against him, head on his chest. His hand ran slowly through her curls, stroking, tangling and untangling.
"We don't get much of that stuff where I'm from," she noted quietly.
"Nor here, really," he said. "That's a rare event. It'll probably all be gone in a couple hours." He shifted a bit and she shifted in response, adjusting her fit against him. "But isn't it nice to watch?"
" 'Tis," she agreed. "Cold out there, warm in here. You're like a furnace, you ever hear that before?"
"It may have been mentioned once or twice," he allowed. "I can't help what I am."
"That's all right," she murmured softly. "I like what you are."
His hand moved down her back, along the ridge of her spine. She let out a small sigh and burrowed closer against him, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat. Her tongue darted out and tasted him there, once, twice. He shivered, but not from the cold, and he groaned. His arms tightened around her. She pressed against him ardently, feeling the ridge in his jeans. Her hand slid down between them and gave it a gentle squeeze. His own hand stole down to her ass and squeezed that.
"Here? Now?" she asked dreamily.
"Yes. Yes."
She raised up briefly, fumbling. Zippers were drawn down, garments hastily tugged down or aside. A shifting, an exploring, a fitting. Some of the cold crept in but it didn't last long. Heat and wetness met and merged. She raised her hips and settled down on him. He said her name with a soft gasp of wonder, and she sighed his.
She laid her head back down on his chest, eyes fixed on the drifting snow outside. Her hips moved slowly, liquidly. Moist sounds, flesh parting, being parted, accepting and releasing him. His hands moved over her back restlessly, ceaselessly, slow caresses. One hand twined into her hair and tightened there.
They drifted in a sweet haze, all sighs and murmurs and cries of delight, clinging to each other, pushing back the darkness and the cold, a tiny oasis there on his couch, the silence of snowfall enveloping them, enfolding them, holding them close as they made long, languorous, passionate love.
-- PB
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Across a Crowded Room, part 3
(Please do read part 1, which you can find here, and part 2, which you can find here. My apologies for the delay in finishing this, but I wanted to complete it with a bang, shall we say.)
Science fiction writers use terms like n-space and hyperspace to describe methods for moving between dimensions. There must have been something like that in or near your apartment, because I barely blinked and we were inside. Or maybe it was just that there wasn't room in my head for everyday observations, because I was utterly lost in you; your voice, your scent, your presence, all were so overpowering that there was nothing left but She, She who is all women and none, She who is sexuality defined, She who leaves even the goddess Aphrodite behind in beauty and poise and grace.
You drifted ahead of me, sylphlike, down the corridor, through beams of moonlight streaming through windows. "Here," you said quietly, and beckoned to me. I followed, blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light. An enormous window at one end of the bedroom had curtains flung wide; silver shine spilled in, painting the thick, heavy bed in bright bas-relief, strong contrast to the shadows elsewhere in the room. You reached for a lamp switch; moving fast, I took your wrist and prevented you. "No," I said. "Nothing artificial tonight. I want to see you in all your glory without any aids."
In the luminous glow of the moon, you turned to me and turned your face up. I stepped close, bending near you, taking in every line, every curve of your face. Long eyelashes blinked, slow and sultry, waiting. Your lips parted, your tongue ran along your lower lip. I breathed deeply of your scent, reaching down to your waist and placing my hands there, gently.
Closer. I ran my hands up your sides, carefully avoiding the sideswell of your breasts; ran fingers around to your back and up to your shoulders. I played with your curls for a moment and bent closer still, inches away now from your face. You sighed and closed your eyes, lips parting further and pouting. It was long past time....
Taking your face in my hands, I closed the remaining distance and kissed you oh-so-lightly on the lips. Brushing softly against them, tingling touch only. Your mouth soft and inviting, warm and growing warmer. Again I kissed you softly, then with a bit more force. Again. Again. Each touch of our lips was deeper, more intimate. I caressed your face and neck as our mouths merged, melding together now, wet and hungry for more. Your arms went under mine and locked around my waist; with a soft murmur of need you pulled me close. I felt the soft weight of your breasts against me and wanted to crush you in my arms...but that could wait.
Again. We kissed and kissed, our breath coming faster now, soft moans escaping each time we pulled free. There was fire there now; I felt like I was kissing a piece of the clean sun, a sister to the moonlight now bathing us both in its radiance. One of my hands went, involuntarily, to the back of your neck, pulling your head harder against me; the other slid down to the small of your back, pulling your body closer against me there. Our tongues met now, twining together, hot and wet and urgent. My head spun. My mouth burned.
Again. Again. Moaning into each others' mouths now, heads turning in perfect synch as we tried new angles and new variations; still we explored, tasted each other, drank deep from the fountain of lust that was now spraying over us both. My hand on your back slid lower, cupped your ass, squeezed gently; you moved against me and cooed in delight as your belly pressed against my hardness.
We broke then, staring at each other, panting. Seconds passed; blue eyes locked with gray, that silent offer and counteroffer more plain than ever. Then: "More," you sighed. "I want more."
"And so do I," I agreed, bending to kiss you again, just once this time, but a deep, plunging and forceful kiss this time, bending you backward, supporting you with one hand on your head and the other at your back. I felt your arms clutch me convulsively, fingers digging into my back; a bright spear of delight shot through me and I groaned into your mouth. I pulled back and pulled you up, releasing you. Slowly, a panther stalking its prey, I stood back and began to circle you, eyeing you for what you were: the most delicious treat I'd seen in years.
You stood there proudly, offering yourself for my gaze. Your hands ran up your body, from curve of hips to flat stomach to swell of breasts in front; you lifted and cupped them for me, noting with approval how my breath caught and my grin grew. Up your hands went, caressing yourself, painting with desire, lingering here and there, a touch on your nipples, a curl round your chin, sweeping upwards through your hair as you arched your back and tossed your head. You sighed softly as I came to rest behind you; again placing my hands on your waist, I bent close and nipped at the expanse of skin between neck and shoulder. I felt you shiver, and began kissing my way up your neck, nibbling gently, bending forward, arms locked around you now, pressing against your ass insistently so you'd know without a doubt how you were affecting me.
Long moments we stood there, sighing, as I kissed and licked up your neck to your ear. Bending forward a bit more, I licked at your earlobe and heard a soft breathy gasp from you. I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, running one hand up your front to cup and fondle one breast, nipples now standing out very nicely. You arched forward, into my hand, pushing your tits into my caresses. My other hand was busy lower down, running over your belly and down to your thighs, caressing, exploring. You melted against me, reaching one arm back, hand going round my neck and clenching there.
Now both hands were on your tits, stroking and squeezing. Never hard, never aggressive, but fondling and teasing, feeling them tighten underneath my ministrations, nipples poking out so hard they seemed likely to cut through the silk of your dress. Low moans drifted from your lips; you wriggled your ass against my erection, bringing moans from me as well, making me push harder against your softness.
I pulled back, planting a final trail of kisses down the knob of your spine, and reached for the zipper at the rear of your dress. "Oh yes," I heard you sigh, and couldn't have agreed more. Feeling more excited than a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, I pulled the zipper down all the way to its stop just above your ass, an expanse of milky white flesh meeting my hungry gaze. I began planting kisses and licks down your spine, soft sighs from you urging me onward; I felt you shrug your arms free and the dress's front fell downward. Squatting, I planted a kiss on the small of your back, then reached both hands around front to your thighs, caressing, running upwards. The tight silk frustrated me; I couldn't get at the real goodies. I had to get this dress off you all the way.
Other things first, though. I reached for the clasp on your bra, my growing excitement finally betraying me as my fingers fumbled with it. I heard a low glissando giggle from you but you didn't offer to help; instead you stood very still until I slipped the clasp free and peeled the bra off you. Again I stepped close, cupping your breasts in my hands. Soft. So incredibly soft and smooth. You moaned as I lifted them and caressed, palms and thumbs running over your nipples, so very hot and hard. I squeezed one gently and you cried out "yes!"; delighted, I slid my other hand to your other nipple and squeezed that one as well, tweaking and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
Your hips bucked and your ass thudded back against my crotch, reminding me there were further delights to be found. I slid my hands lower and began working the dress free from where it'd bound up around your hips; you undulated from side to side, somehow managing to brush against my cock repeatedly while still "helping" me get the dress off; seconds later it fell free and puddled around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad solely in a pair of spike heels; I rocked back, stunned, realizing your panties hadn't come off in a mass with the dress -- you just weren't wearing any at all.
You turned to face me, gloriously, unbelievably nude. "Do you like what you see?" you asked, licking your lips.
"God, do I," I muttered hoarsely. What a sight you were -- body bathed in moonlight, creamy white skin spattered with freckles here and there; a flush spreading down your face and chest; bright rosy red nipples standing at attention on perfectly-shaped breasts; a tiny, cute navel; intoxicating swell of hips; lovely firm thighs....and oh yes -- a perfectly-kept landing strip pointing the way towards something I wanted very badly to taste by now.
But not yet. I circled you again, touching you here and there, running my hands over your body, caressing, squeezing, inflaming you further. I'd bend to take a nipple in my mouth as I came round the front, or meet your mouth with mine for more deep, wet kissing, or squeeze the cheeks of your ass with my hands and pull you against me, feeling the heat of your skin through my clothes now. So hot. I wanted that fire. I wanted you. I wanted you.
My hands now went to the buttons on my shirt; eagerly, you began helping me, your fingers exploring and questing over my skin as the shirt was spread wide. You played with the few hairs on my chest, pressing your palms against my pectorals; I arched my shoulders as the shirt slipped backwards and off me, and was surprised as you stepped close, capturing both arms behind me, winding the loose bits of the shirt around the wrists for a temporary binding.
Now it was you who was in control, stepping close, rubbing your breasts against my chest, your hand on my ass, pulling me close. You leaned in and planted a line of kisses down my neck and chest; I threw back my head and moaned as your hot lips and tongue scored fiery trails down my skin. Gradually your hand slipped away from the shirt and it fell loose, away. I pulled my wrists out of it and it dropped to the floor. I felt your hands on my slacks now, undoing the fastening but stopping there; your small hands went to the bulge (very prominent now) at the front, rubbing, squeezing gently, running up and down my length. I moaned again. "God, that feels good," I sighed, and you answered "Good," happily, now going to your knees to plant kisses on my cock through my slacks, still caressing it with one hand and squeezing my ass with your other one. The friction was maddening.
A few moments of this delicious torture and you stood again. Hazily, I realized that you'd somehow gotten my shoes and socks off as well while I was busy floating in the clouds; I'd certainly been in no condition to notice. I felt your hands working along my length and then pulling the zipper down; your mouth quirked into an O of surprise when you realized I, too, had worn no underwear and only hot flesh awaited your questing fingertips. And it was hot, very hot, heavy and hard beneath your admiring gaze as you pulled my slacks down. And soon it was beneath your admiring fingers as well. You ran your hand along the shaft, testing its texture; I gasped at the contrast, softness vs. hardness, delicious friction. You took me firmly in hand and pumped me twice, quickly, sharply; I gasped again and felt my balls draw up in pleasure.
And then we were in each others' arms again. Skin on skin, so exquisite. I pulled you against me, firmly but not crushingly, my cock standing up between us, an exclamation point of desire. Our mouths met again for a hungry kiss, opening deeply, devouring, tasting, sucking at tongues and lips. My hands clenched on your ass, your arms locked round my neck, your fingernails dug in hard to my shoulderblades. I felt you wiggle against me, delighting at the way my cock throbbed harder and harder against you, delectable torture.
Now I bore you backward towards the bed and lifted you in my arms. Grinning, you kicked your shoes off and they clattered to the floor, fetching up in a corner. I bent and laid you down upon the coverlet; it looked like black velvet and felt softer still. I stood by the bedside a moment, admiring; the moonlight spilled in rivulets of silver over your curves, shadows pooling in the hollows the moon's caresses couldn't reach. You smiled up at me and beckoned me with one finger. I took the invitation and crawled onto the bed, spreading your legs, and you grinned again, this time in anticipation, as I began kissing my way up your thighs. You arranged yourself on the pillows and settled in for some enjoyment.
Kissing, licking, sucking; I tasted your scent on my lips as I got closer to your pussy. Musky and sweet, maddening and arousing. I breathed deep, filling my head with that aroma, then lapping delicately, oh so delicately, at your folds, opening you with my tongue, spreading your lips with mine. Such a taste -- no gourmand had ever had a variety of flavors like this one, earthy and complex, sweet and spicy all at once. I put one hand under your thigh and moved it outward; the other hand stole upward and began caressing one breast and tweaking your nipple again. I ran my nose along your landing strip, liking the way your scent had lingered there; perhaps you'd been rubbing yourself before I accosted you in the club? But why wonder about that, I wondered, when the real thing's available? And I dove back in, feasting on you with lips and tongue, lapping up your nectar, using the broad side of my tongue to lick you from bottom to top and back again.
Loud moans and cries were my reward as I continued my ministrations. I felt your hips undulating slowly, not bucking hard, not yet. Your thighs and belly were trembling with need. I wanted more, and I took it, teasing your folds open further until your pink pearl glistened in the moonlight. I began to lick slowly all around it, providing gentle pressure on the sides in passing, getting you wet and sticky with my saliva, mixing it with your own juices for a fantastically wet lube. Soon I closed my lips around your clit and squeezed it softly, once, twice. I heard a louder moan and smiled to myself, now licking you in earnest, tasting that nectar that was flowing so freely, getting it all over my face and lips and chin. I loved the wet sounds, the slickness, the liquid-on-liquid tones of pure cunt worship. Which this was -- I wanted nothing more than to stay here for hours, worshiping you, bringing you from mountaintop to mountaintop, whispering endearments as you moaned and thrashed, coming and coming until you couldn't remember your own name.
You had other ideas, though. I felt your hands on my head, pulling upward; I lifted reluctantly from your sweetness, wiping the back of my hand absently across face and chin to dry myself a bit. What I saw in your very direct gaze immediately drove all thoughts of further oral worship out of my head. A look of purest need, a look just on the threshold of begging, a look that reminded me of the growing ache in my balls and the throbbing need of my own cock. It wasn't a want anymore. It was a need. I needed you, and you needed me. "Yes," you sighed, and "Now" I answered.
I slid upward, forward, over you, poised and fluid. Your hands went between us, positioning me, angling me, pointing the way; you spread your legs and raised your hips. Smoothly, effortlessly, I glided up and into you, that electrifying moment of first mergence as always sending a shock right through the deepest pleasure centers of my brain.
We lay there, sweetly enclasped, for long moments. You drew up your legs and locked them around my ass, your hands moving up and down my back. "Yes, yes," you moaned. The animal side of me wanted to fuck you right through the mattress, but instead I began a slow, grinding rhythm, keeping my weight balanced on my palms, my stomach brushing against yours, driving my hardness deeply into your all-enfolding wet tunnel. In and out, in and out, moist sounds drifting, soft cries of pleasure from both of us. There were words there too, but only small phrases: "yes" here, "more" there, "oh, like that"....instructions we followed, feedback we passed back and forth as our pleasure built and built into another incredible feedback loop.
Sensations. Such sensations I'd never felt before. It wasn't just some trick of well-trained muscles, or that you were tighter and hotter than any woman I'd been with before, or that your skin was softer, or your nipples more exquisitely hard-tipped -- although all of those things were true. Maybe the moon was lending its magic here, but I began to realize as our rhythm picked up that windows were going to break from the screams when we came. Groaning, balancing on one palm, I reached the other arm around to lift and spread you further, spearing deeper and harder into you with each thrust. "Yes, yes," you urged me on. "Harder. Oh, god, like that. Right there." Your "right there" was perfectly in agreement with my own; delicious friction built and built and built all around me with every stroke I took. Our fit was exquisite, our movements effortlessly synched, every straining urge pulling us closer to a pure mergence.
Our gazes locked again and this time the eye contact was searing. I felt a dazzling shock go through us both, and knew by the shuddering gasps we were both making that we were right on the edge. "Can I?" I wanted to know, almost begging, and you threw back your head, crying out "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me now!" And I did, bucking against you, screaming "oh FUCK yes!". I thrust hard twice more, then fountained urgently, still screaming, feeling your pussy clenching around me almost unbearably tightly, seeming to shape and direct each blast, aiming my spurts so there was no part of you left unfilled by my hot cream. And you were coming too, crying out your own pleasure in keening wails, banshee howls, drawn out and out and out until I wondered how you still had breath left to scream. But I only wondered it dimly -- I was busy, still thrusting, still spurting, my hands clenching your ass.
A short time later I collapsed on top of you, still buried balls deep inside. I felt you stroking my back, and turned my head to nuzzle at the hollow of your throat, planting soft kisses, feeling your pulse beating at my lips. I heard you humming quietly, a sleepy tune I couldn't recognize, and with some effort I lifted up to gaze at your face, wreathed in a goofy grin that must have mirrored my own.
"So," I asked softly, "does this mean I finally get to find out your name?"
And you smiled.......
-- PB
Science fiction writers use terms like n-space and hyperspace to describe methods for moving between dimensions. There must have been something like that in or near your apartment, because I barely blinked and we were inside. Or maybe it was just that there wasn't room in my head for everyday observations, because I was utterly lost in you; your voice, your scent, your presence, all were so overpowering that there was nothing left but She, She who is all women and none, She who is sexuality defined, She who leaves even the goddess Aphrodite behind in beauty and poise and grace.
You drifted ahead of me, sylphlike, down the corridor, through beams of moonlight streaming through windows. "Here," you said quietly, and beckoned to me. I followed, blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light. An enormous window at one end of the bedroom had curtains flung wide; silver shine spilled in, painting the thick, heavy bed in bright bas-relief, strong contrast to the shadows elsewhere in the room. You reached for a lamp switch; moving fast, I took your wrist and prevented you. "No," I said. "Nothing artificial tonight. I want to see you in all your glory without any aids."
In the luminous glow of the moon, you turned to me and turned your face up. I stepped close, bending near you, taking in every line, every curve of your face. Long eyelashes blinked, slow and sultry, waiting. Your lips parted, your tongue ran along your lower lip. I breathed deeply of your scent, reaching down to your waist and placing my hands there, gently.
Closer. I ran my hands up your sides, carefully avoiding the sideswell of your breasts; ran fingers around to your back and up to your shoulders. I played with your curls for a moment and bent closer still, inches away now from your face. You sighed and closed your eyes, lips parting further and pouting. It was long past time....
Taking your face in my hands, I closed the remaining distance and kissed you oh-so-lightly on the lips. Brushing softly against them, tingling touch only. Your mouth soft and inviting, warm and growing warmer. Again I kissed you softly, then with a bit more force. Again. Again. Each touch of our lips was deeper, more intimate. I caressed your face and neck as our mouths merged, melding together now, wet and hungry for more. Your arms went under mine and locked around my waist; with a soft murmur of need you pulled me close. I felt the soft weight of your breasts against me and wanted to crush you in my arms...but that could wait.
Again. We kissed and kissed, our breath coming faster now, soft moans escaping each time we pulled free. There was fire there now; I felt like I was kissing a piece of the clean sun, a sister to the moonlight now bathing us both in its radiance. One of my hands went, involuntarily, to the back of your neck, pulling your head harder against me; the other slid down to the small of your back, pulling your body closer against me there. Our tongues met now, twining together, hot and wet and urgent. My head spun. My mouth burned.
Again. Again. Moaning into each others' mouths now, heads turning in perfect synch as we tried new angles and new variations; still we explored, tasted each other, drank deep from the fountain of lust that was now spraying over us both. My hand on your back slid lower, cupped your ass, squeezed gently; you moved against me and cooed in delight as your belly pressed against my hardness.
We broke then, staring at each other, panting. Seconds passed; blue eyes locked with gray, that silent offer and counteroffer more plain than ever. Then: "More," you sighed. "I want more."
"And so do I," I agreed, bending to kiss you again, just once this time, but a deep, plunging and forceful kiss this time, bending you backward, supporting you with one hand on your head and the other at your back. I felt your arms clutch me convulsively, fingers digging into my back; a bright spear of delight shot through me and I groaned into your mouth. I pulled back and pulled you up, releasing you. Slowly, a panther stalking its prey, I stood back and began to circle you, eyeing you for what you were: the most delicious treat I'd seen in years.
You stood there proudly, offering yourself for my gaze. Your hands ran up your body, from curve of hips to flat stomach to swell of breasts in front; you lifted and cupped them for me, noting with approval how my breath caught and my grin grew. Up your hands went, caressing yourself, painting with desire, lingering here and there, a touch on your nipples, a curl round your chin, sweeping upwards through your hair as you arched your back and tossed your head. You sighed softly as I came to rest behind you; again placing my hands on your waist, I bent close and nipped at the expanse of skin between neck and shoulder. I felt you shiver, and began kissing my way up your neck, nibbling gently, bending forward, arms locked around you now, pressing against your ass insistently so you'd know without a doubt how you were affecting me.
Long moments we stood there, sighing, as I kissed and licked up your neck to your ear. Bending forward a bit more, I licked at your earlobe and heard a soft breathy gasp from you. I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, running one hand up your front to cup and fondle one breast, nipples now standing out very nicely. You arched forward, into my hand, pushing your tits into my caresses. My other hand was busy lower down, running over your belly and down to your thighs, caressing, exploring. You melted against me, reaching one arm back, hand going round my neck and clenching there.
Now both hands were on your tits, stroking and squeezing. Never hard, never aggressive, but fondling and teasing, feeling them tighten underneath my ministrations, nipples poking out so hard they seemed likely to cut through the silk of your dress. Low moans drifted from your lips; you wriggled your ass against my erection, bringing moans from me as well, making me push harder against your softness.
I pulled back, planting a final trail of kisses down the knob of your spine, and reached for the zipper at the rear of your dress. "Oh yes," I heard you sigh, and couldn't have agreed more. Feeling more excited than a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, I pulled the zipper down all the way to its stop just above your ass, an expanse of milky white flesh meeting my hungry gaze. I began planting kisses and licks down your spine, soft sighs from you urging me onward; I felt you shrug your arms free and the dress's front fell downward. Squatting, I planted a kiss on the small of your back, then reached both hands around front to your thighs, caressing, running upwards. The tight silk frustrated me; I couldn't get at the real goodies. I had to get this dress off you all the way.
Other things first, though. I reached for the clasp on your bra, my growing excitement finally betraying me as my fingers fumbled with it. I heard a low glissando giggle from you but you didn't offer to help; instead you stood very still until I slipped the clasp free and peeled the bra off you. Again I stepped close, cupping your breasts in my hands. Soft. So incredibly soft and smooth. You moaned as I lifted them and caressed, palms and thumbs running over your nipples, so very hot and hard. I squeezed one gently and you cried out "yes!"; delighted, I slid my other hand to your other nipple and squeezed that one as well, tweaking and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
Your hips bucked and your ass thudded back against my crotch, reminding me there were further delights to be found. I slid my hands lower and began working the dress free from where it'd bound up around your hips; you undulated from side to side, somehow managing to brush against my cock repeatedly while still "helping" me get the dress off; seconds later it fell free and puddled around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad solely in a pair of spike heels; I rocked back, stunned, realizing your panties hadn't come off in a mass with the dress -- you just weren't wearing any at all.
You turned to face me, gloriously, unbelievably nude. "Do you like what you see?" you asked, licking your lips.
"God, do I," I muttered hoarsely. What a sight you were -- body bathed in moonlight, creamy white skin spattered with freckles here and there; a flush spreading down your face and chest; bright rosy red nipples standing at attention on perfectly-shaped breasts; a tiny, cute navel; intoxicating swell of hips; lovely firm thighs....and oh yes -- a perfectly-kept landing strip pointing the way towards something I wanted very badly to taste by now.
But not yet. I circled you again, touching you here and there, running my hands over your body, caressing, squeezing, inflaming you further. I'd bend to take a nipple in my mouth as I came round the front, or meet your mouth with mine for more deep, wet kissing, or squeeze the cheeks of your ass with my hands and pull you against me, feeling the heat of your skin through my clothes now. So hot. I wanted that fire. I wanted you. I wanted you.
My hands now went to the buttons on my shirt; eagerly, you began helping me, your fingers exploring and questing over my skin as the shirt was spread wide. You played with the few hairs on my chest, pressing your palms against my pectorals; I arched my shoulders as the shirt slipped backwards and off me, and was surprised as you stepped close, capturing both arms behind me, winding the loose bits of the shirt around the wrists for a temporary binding.
Now it was you who was in control, stepping close, rubbing your breasts against my chest, your hand on my ass, pulling me close. You leaned in and planted a line of kisses down my neck and chest; I threw back my head and moaned as your hot lips and tongue scored fiery trails down my skin. Gradually your hand slipped away from the shirt and it fell loose, away. I pulled my wrists out of it and it dropped to the floor. I felt your hands on my slacks now, undoing the fastening but stopping there; your small hands went to the bulge (very prominent now) at the front, rubbing, squeezing gently, running up and down my length. I moaned again. "God, that feels good," I sighed, and you answered "Good," happily, now going to your knees to plant kisses on my cock through my slacks, still caressing it with one hand and squeezing my ass with your other one. The friction was maddening.
A few moments of this delicious torture and you stood again. Hazily, I realized that you'd somehow gotten my shoes and socks off as well while I was busy floating in the clouds; I'd certainly been in no condition to notice. I felt your hands working along my length and then pulling the zipper down; your mouth quirked into an O of surprise when you realized I, too, had worn no underwear and only hot flesh awaited your questing fingertips. And it was hot, very hot, heavy and hard beneath your admiring gaze as you pulled my slacks down. And soon it was beneath your admiring fingers as well. You ran your hand along the shaft, testing its texture; I gasped at the contrast, softness vs. hardness, delicious friction. You took me firmly in hand and pumped me twice, quickly, sharply; I gasped again and felt my balls draw up in pleasure.
And then we were in each others' arms again. Skin on skin, so exquisite. I pulled you against me, firmly but not crushingly, my cock standing up between us, an exclamation point of desire. Our mouths met again for a hungry kiss, opening deeply, devouring, tasting, sucking at tongues and lips. My hands clenched on your ass, your arms locked round my neck, your fingernails dug in hard to my shoulderblades. I felt you wiggle against me, delighting at the way my cock throbbed harder and harder against you, delectable torture.
Now I bore you backward towards the bed and lifted you in my arms. Grinning, you kicked your shoes off and they clattered to the floor, fetching up in a corner. I bent and laid you down upon the coverlet; it looked like black velvet and felt softer still. I stood by the bedside a moment, admiring; the moonlight spilled in rivulets of silver over your curves, shadows pooling in the hollows the moon's caresses couldn't reach. You smiled up at me and beckoned me with one finger. I took the invitation and crawled onto the bed, spreading your legs, and you grinned again, this time in anticipation, as I began kissing my way up your thighs. You arranged yourself on the pillows and settled in for some enjoyment.
Kissing, licking, sucking; I tasted your scent on my lips as I got closer to your pussy. Musky and sweet, maddening and arousing. I breathed deep, filling my head with that aroma, then lapping delicately, oh so delicately, at your folds, opening you with my tongue, spreading your lips with mine. Such a taste -- no gourmand had ever had a variety of flavors like this one, earthy and complex, sweet and spicy all at once. I put one hand under your thigh and moved it outward; the other hand stole upward and began caressing one breast and tweaking your nipple again. I ran my nose along your landing strip, liking the way your scent had lingered there; perhaps you'd been rubbing yourself before I accosted you in the club? But why wonder about that, I wondered, when the real thing's available? And I dove back in, feasting on you with lips and tongue, lapping up your nectar, using the broad side of my tongue to lick you from bottom to top and back again.
Loud moans and cries were my reward as I continued my ministrations. I felt your hips undulating slowly, not bucking hard, not yet. Your thighs and belly were trembling with need. I wanted more, and I took it, teasing your folds open further until your pink pearl glistened in the moonlight. I began to lick slowly all around it, providing gentle pressure on the sides in passing, getting you wet and sticky with my saliva, mixing it with your own juices for a fantastically wet lube. Soon I closed my lips around your clit and squeezed it softly, once, twice. I heard a louder moan and smiled to myself, now licking you in earnest, tasting that nectar that was flowing so freely, getting it all over my face and lips and chin. I loved the wet sounds, the slickness, the liquid-on-liquid tones of pure cunt worship. Which this was -- I wanted nothing more than to stay here for hours, worshiping you, bringing you from mountaintop to mountaintop, whispering endearments as you moaned and thrashed, coming and coming until you couldn't remember your own name.
You had other ideas, though. I felt your hands on my head, pulling upward; I lifted reluctantly from your sweetness, wiping the back of my hand absently across face and chin to dry myself a bit. What I saw in your very direct gaze immediately drove all thoughts of further oral worship out of my head. A look of purest need, a look just on the threshold of begging, a look that reminded me of the growing ache in my balls and the throbbing need of my own cock. It wasn't a want anymore. It was a need. I needed you, and you needed me. "Yes," you sighed, and "Now" I answered.
I slid upward, forward, over you, poised and fluid. Your hands went between us, positioning me, angling me, pointing the way; you spread your legs and raised your hips. Smoothly, effortlessly, I glided up and into you, that electrifying moment of first mergence as always sending a shock right through the deepest pleasure centers of my brain.
We lay there, sweetly enclasped, for long moments. You drew up your legs and locked them around my ass, your hands moving up and down my back. "Yes, yes," you moaned. The animal side of me wanted to fuck you right through the mattress, but instead I began a slow, grinding rhythm, keeping my weight balanced on my palms, my stomach brushing against yours, driving my hardness deeply into your all-enfolding wet tunnel. In and out, in and out, moist sounds drifting, soft cries of pleasure from both of us. There were words there too, but only small phrases: "yes" here, "more" there, "oh, like that"....instructions we followed, feedback we passed back and forth as our pleasure built and built into another incredible feedback loop.
Sensations. Such sensations I'd never felt before. It wasn't just some trick of well-trained muscles, or that you were tighter and hotter than any woman I'd been with before, or that your skin was softer, or your nipples more exquisitely hard-tipped -- although all of those things were true. Maybe the moon was lending its magic here, but I began to realize as our rhythm picked up that windows were going to break from the screams when we came. Groaning, balancing on one palm, I reached the other arm around to lift and spread you further, spearing deeper and harder into you with each thrust. "Yes, yes," you urged me on. "Harder. Oh, god, like that. Right there." Your "right there" was perfectly in agreement with my own; delicious friction built and built and built all around me with every stroke I took. Our fit was exquisite, our movements effortlessly synched, every straining urge pulling us closer to a pure mergence.
Our gazes locked again and this time the eye contact was searing. I felt a dazzling shock go through us both, and knew by the shuddering gasps we were both making that we were right on the edge. "Can I?" I wanted to know, almost begging, and you threw back your head, crying out "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me now!" And I did, bucking against you, screaming "oh FUCK yes!". I thrust hard twice more, then fountained urgently, still screaming, feeling your pussy clenching around me almost unbearably tightly, seeming to shape and direct each blast, aiming my spurts so there was no part of you left unfilled by my hot cream. And you were coming too, crying out your own pleasure in keening wails, banshee howls, drawn out and out and out until I wondered how you still had breath left to scream. But I only wondered it dimly -- I was busy, still thrusting, still spurting, my hands clenching your ass.
A short time later I collapsed on top of you, still buried balls deep inside. I felt you stroking my back, and turned my head to nuzzle at the hollow of your throat, planting soft kisses, feeling your pulse beating at my lips. I heard you humming quietly, a sleepy tune I couldn't recognize, and with some effort I lifted up to gaze at your face, wreathed in a goofy grin that must have mirrored my own.
"So," I asked softly, "does this mean I finally get to find out your name?"
And you smiled.......
-- PB
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Across a Crowded Room, Part 2
(Note: If you missed part 1, it can be found here. -- PB)
"Charmed, I'm sure," you smiled, a slight blush coloring your pale cheeks. Lightly dusted with freckles, I noticed -- a detail I hadn't seen from across the room. It was that smile that really had my heart pounding, though -- that was a pure go-to-the-devil smile if ever I saw one. It promised chaos, sang of sin, hinted at delectable events yet to come. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste you.
"How's that?" I managed, pulling free of the threads you were already weaving around me. "You're sure I'll charm you, or you're already charmed?"
"Oh, now, that would be telling," you purred. "Why don't you just take me" -- and there was a long slow pause as you and I both savored the phrase -- "away from here, and we'll see what develops?" Again that long slow smile, warm, inviting, rich and decadent as pure dark chocolate.
"I knew you were a smart woman," I agreed. "All right. My car's nearby; would you care to follow me?"
"Follow?" You seemed puzzled. "What with? I had a friend drop me off tonight. My car's back at my place." You stretched again, relishing the way I gazed at your breasts as your arms squeezed them together. Stunning cleavage.
I quirked an eyebrow. "How were you planning on getting home again, then?"
A silvery chuckle and a very direct look were my answer. "You're not always this slow, are you?" Gray eyes blinked at me, calculating, challenging.
I grinned in admiration. Minx! I thought, yet again. "I guess that also answers the question of where we're off to. You'll need to give me a few directions, though."
"Oh, of course," you agreed. "I'll always be sure to give you any feedback you might want." And licked your lips.
Oh, this is going to be a very interesting night indeed. "As I was saying..." I said, and steered you across the room and out the door.
The drive to your place was oddly quiet. That same electric tension that had built up as I stalked across the room to your side seemed still in effect. Every movement we made, every word spoken, every sultry glance, seemed curiously charged, fraught with meaning. Or perhaps it was the way we were still dueling with each other. I "accidentally" brushed my fingertips across your leg as I dropped my hand from the gearshift; you motioned a direction change and my gaze lingered on the curl of your fingers as they crooked in invitation. You shifted periodically in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing; when I asked if you were comfortable, you said only "Quite comfortable," and smiled secretly.
We pulled up outside a very nice flat. "Yours?" I inquired, and you nodded. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." I parked nearby, and came around to help you out of the car, only to have you stumble as you stood up and fall full length into my arms. I should have been suspicious -- where was the grace and poise I'd seen from you for weeks? -- but at the time I was too intoxicated by the delicious warmth as your body pressed against mine. I heard a faint "mmm" deep in your throat, and could have sworn that you wriggled very slightly against me; in response, I tightened my arms around you, bending down. Your face turned up, your eyes fluttered, closed. Your lips, full and red, parted sulkily, begged to meet mine. Closer I bent. One hand slid down your back, to the hollow just above where your ass began, and pressed firmly there.
I bent my face closer still, my lips scant inches from yours. A pause, for long breaths, relishing your curves, your softness pressed against me. I liked the way you fitted with me. "Not here," I sighed. "I want privacy for what I'm going to do to you."
Your eyes flickered open, locked with mine. "Yes," you sighed, just as softly. And again: "Yes."
(Part 3 can be found here, in much more detail. This is the payoff you were hoping for, folks.)
-- PB
"Charmed, I'm sure," you smiled, a slight blush coloring your pale cheeks. Lightly dusted with freckles, I noticed -- a detail I hadn't seen from across the room. It was that smile that really had my heart pounding, though -- that was a pure go-to-the-devil smile if ever I saw one. It promised chaos, sang of sin, hinted at delectable events yet to come. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste you.
"How's that?" I managed, pulling free of the threads you were already weaving around me. "You're sure I'll charm you, or you're already charmed?"
"Oh, now, that would be telling," you purred. "Why don't you just take me" -- and there was a long slow pause as you and I both savored the phrase -- "away from here, and we'll see what develops?" Again that long slow smile, warm, inviting, rich and decadent as pure dark chocolate.
"I knew you were a smart woman," I agreed. "All right. My car's nearby; would you care to follow me?"
"Follow?" You seemed puzzled. "What with? I had a friend drop me off tonight. My car's back at my place." You stretched again, relishing the way I gazed at your breasts as your arms squeezed them together. Stunning cleavage.
I quirked an eyebrow. "How were you planning on getting home again, then?"
A silvery chuckle and a very direct look were my answer. "You're not always this slow, are you?" Gray eyes blinked at me, calculating, challenging.
I grinned in admiration. Minx! I thought, yet again. "I guess that also answers the question of where we're off to. You'll need to give me a few directions, though."
"Oh, of course," you agreed. "I'll always be sure to give you any feedback you might want." And licked your lips.
Oh, this is going to be a very interesting night indeed. "As I was saying..." I said, and steered you across the room and out the door.
The drive to your place was oddly quiet. That same electric tension that had built up as I stalked across the room to your side seemed still in effect. Every movement we made, every word spoken, every sultry glance, seemed curiously charged, fraught with meaning. Or perhaps it was the way we were still dueling with each other. I "accidentally" brushed my fingertips across your leg as I dropped my hand from the gearshift; you motioned a direction change and my gaze lingered on the curl of your fingers as they crooked in invitation. You shifted periodically in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing; when I asked if you were comfortable, you said only "Quite comfortable," and smiled secretly.
We pulled up outside a very nice flat. "Yours?" I inquired, and you nodded. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." I parked nearby, and came around to help you out of the car, only to have you stumble as you stood up and fall full length into my arms. I should have been suspicious -- where was the grace and poise I'd seen from you for weeks? -- but at the time I was too intoxicated by the delicious warmth as your body pressed against mine. I heard a faint "mmm" deep in your throat, and could have sworn that you wriggled very slightly against me; in response, I tightened my arms around you, bending down. Your face turned up, your eyes fluttered, closed. Your lips, full and red, parted sulkily, begged to meet mine. Closer I bent. One hand slid down your back, to the hollow just above where your ass began, and pressed firmly there.
I bent my face closer still, my lips scant inches from yours. A pause, for long breaths, relishing your curves, your softness pressed against me. I liked the way you fitted with me. "Not here," I sighed. "I want privacy for what I'm going to do to you."
Your eyes flickered open, locked with mine. "Yes," you sighed, just as softly. And again: "Yes."
(Part 3 can be found here, in much more detail. This is the payoff you were hoping for, folks.)
-- PB
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Across a Crowded Room
For days I'd watched you. Tracing the curves of your womanly form with an artist's eye; painting images in my brain to last long into the night. At first I would attempt a semblance of propriety, flicking my glances elsewhere when your sultry gaze met mine from under lowered eyelashes. Then, once I realized you were enjoying the attention, I stared more openly, more boldly; taking you in, absorbing your mannerisms, your silvery chuckle, the graceful line of a wrist as you reached for your drink, the way the fabric of your dress drew tight over your breasts when you stretched your arms back, yawning lazily.
Soon I realized that it wasn't just a one-way thing. There seemed to be something of a mutual admiration society going on here; at least, so I interpreted your own rather challenging stares. Several times I saw you run your eyes up and down my body, slowly, insolently. Saw your gaze linger on my waist, teasingly slipping lower; saw your breath catch as you watched me scratch my stomach and then "accidentally" slide it down to brush against the crotch of my slacks. There was a nice warmth there by now, a heat born of this very deliberate game we were playing with each other. I saw you shift in your seat, uncrossing your legs oh-so-deliberately; a ghost of a smile flickered across your face and was gone as you saw me accept the invitation and try to see up your dress to find out whether you were wearing panties or not. Frowning, frustrated by shadows, I muttered a very sincere "damn" and heard that purring chuckle again. What a minx, I thought, not for the last time.
Call-and-response, challenge and acceptance, offer and counteroffer. It was a strange dance we were performing, a bit like the ones seen in classic films where the dancers stretch out hands but never touch, turning slowly about a common point. Lack of touch, however, may be all very well for some, but it was inadequate for our needs, our hungers. Like the dancers spiraling inward about that point, like a comet falling into a gravity well, we were being drawn inward as well, spiraling in to an inevitable meeting. There was only one way this could end. We had offered, suggested, too much -- proffered our all and silently accepted the other's counteroffer. So now, how to pass the event horizon and begin the long slow fall?
Chivalry dictates that the man should make the first move. Very well. I pushed away from the wall where I'd been leaning, not missing the way your eyes flashed up to meet mine as I moved. There was a preternatural stillness in the air, a charged electricity, that somehow cut through the haze of smoke and the hum of conversation. With every step I took I felt the anticipation building. Yes.....it was long past time.
Very soon I had reached your side. You regarded me with equanimity but -- was that a hint of trepidation as well? So it wasn't all confidence and poise with you, there was a hint of vulnerability too. That was reassuring.
The silence stretched, spun out. Slowly, very slowly, I reached out a hand to your face, to touch your chin and lift it gently.
"Mario Puzo and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have a phrase for moments like this," I said softly. "They call it 'the thunderbolt'."
Silence from you, but not oppressive; invitational, rather. Waiting....
"You feel it too, don't you?" I continued, hand rising to caress your face gently, then tracing along your neck, up to run through your tangled curls. A slight tremor passed through you, but not a shiver of disgust, to my gaze; rather, a sweeping of sensation. "You know what this is. You know what I want, and you want it just as badly. The time for words is past....long past."
I let my hand fall from where it had been twining through your hair and took your hand. It was cool and firm in my own. I pulled gently and you rose to your feet gracefully, sinuously, willingly.
"Now. Where can we go from here?"
Finally, you spoke. Your voice was as sultry and smoky as I'd hoped, as I'd fantasized. I could see you tasting the words as you shaped them, very deliberately. "Anywhere that isn't here," you purred. And paraphrased Eliot: " 'And indeed there will be time / To wonder, Do we dare? And Do we dare?' Oh yes....we have plenty of time. But no space, not here. Let's go find some space, and a bit of solitude. How better to make a new acquaintance?"
I raised your hand to my face and brushed my lips very lightly over your fingertips, never breaking eye contact. "Then I'm glad to make your acquaintance," I said. "I am very pleased to know you...."
(Continued here, in part 2.)
-- PB
Soon I realized that it wasn't just a one-way thing. There seemed to be something of a mutual admiration society going on here; at least, so I interpreted your own rather challenging stares. Several times I saw you run your eyes up and down my body, slowly, insolently. Saw your gaze linger on my waist, teasingly slipping lower; saw your breath catch as you watched me scratch my stomach and then "accidentally" slide it down to brush against the crotch of my slacks. There was a nice warmth there by now, a heat born of this very deliberate game we were playing with each other. I saw you shift in your seat, uncrossing your legs oh-so-deliberately; a ghost of a smile flickered across your face and was gone as you saw me accept the invitation and try to see up your dress to find out whether you were wearing panties or not. Frowning, frustrated by shadows, I muttered a very sincere "damn" and heard that purring chuckle again. What a minx, I thought, not for the last time.
Call-and-response, challenge and acceptance, offer and counteroffer. It was a strange dance we were performing, a bit like the ones seen in classic films where the dancers stretch out hands but never touch, turning slowly about a common point. Lack of touch, however, may be all very well for some, but it was inadequate for our needs, our hungers. Like the dancers spiraling inward about that point, like a comet falling into a gravity well, we were being drawn inward as well, spiraling in to an inevitable meeting. There was only one way this could end. We had offered, suggested, too much -- proffered our all and silently accepted the other's counteroffer. So now, how to pass the event horizon and begin the long slow fall?
Chivalry dictates that the man should make the first move. Very well. I pushed away from the wall where I'd been leaning, not missing the way your eyes flashed up to meet mine as I moved. There was a preternatural stillness in the air, a charged electricity, that somehow cut through the haze of smoke and the hum of conversation. With every step I took I felt the anticipation building. Yes.....it was long past time.
Very soon I had reached your side. You regarded me with equanimity but -- was that a hint of trepidation as well? So it wasn't all confidence and poise with you, there was a hint of vulnerability too. That was reassuring.
The silence stretched, spun out. Slowly, very slowly, I reached out a hand to your face, to touch your chin and lift it gently.
"Mario Puzo and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have a phrase for moments like this," I said softly. "They call it 'the thunderbolt'."
Silence from you, but not oppressive; invitational, rather. Waiting....
"You feel it too, don't you?" I continued, hand rising to caress your face gently, then tracing along your neck, up to run through your tangled curls. A slight tremor passed through you, but not a shiver of disgust, to my gaze; rather, a sweeping of sensation. "You know what this is. You know what I want, and you want it just as badly. The time for words is past....long past."
I let my hand fall from where it had been twining through your hair and took your hand. It was cool and firm in my own. I pulled gently and you rose to your feet gracefully, sinuously, willingly.
"Now. Where can we go from here?"
Finally, you spoke. Your voice was as sultry and smoky as I'd hoped, as I'd fantasized. I could see you tasting the words as you shaped them, very deliberately. "Anywhere that isn't here," you purred. And paraphrased Eliot: " 'And indeed there will be time / To wonder, Do we dare? And Do we dare?' Oh yes....we have plenty of time. But no space, not here. Let's go find some space, and a bit of solitude. How better to make a new acquaintance?"
I raised your hand to my face and brushed my lips very lightly over your fingertips, never breaking eye contact. "Then I'm glad to make your acquaintance," I said. "I am very pleased to know you...."
(Continued here, in part 2.)
-- PB
Monday, January 11, 2010
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
....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
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Interlude: Anatomy of a Wank Session
Men are privy to a feeling that women can never quite feel -- the insanely frustrating but oh-so-delicious sensation of a cock that's hardening, trapped in the constriction of boxer shorts or briefs, held captive by jeans or slacks, throbbing and pulsing with each beat of our hearts, each beat and pulse increasing the friction and frustration. The slight pain as it tries to lift its head upward, but is denied by logistics; the little darts of pleasure that fly through us as we shift uncomfortably, trying to find a new position that works; the flush of embarrassment as we try to hide the growing bulge from others, if we're unlucky enough to be in public when it happens (as it does, all too often).
How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.
I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.
I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.
I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.
Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.
Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.
Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.
For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."
And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.
Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.
-- PB
How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.
I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.
I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.
I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.
Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.
Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.
Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.
For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."
And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.
Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.
-- PB
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
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
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
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