Debased on Base

She opened the door to the apartment, and outside stood a huge black man in uniform.

“Evening, ma’m. I have something to show you. May I come in?” The policeman seemed keyed up, on edge.

Isabelle’s heart thumped. What did he want? Was Herb dead? She stepped back silently.

The man brushed past her, into her living room. “Well, you see, ma’am, the thing is…” he paused. “Are your children here?”

“What is it?” She asked anxiously.

The man hesitated, and she saw his eyes glide over her thin, trim body, sheathed in only her underwear and wrap, before he produced a package from his breast pocket.

“What?” she asked again, irritably. Then she saw. The man’s hand held a photo of her, naked, kneeling in front of Chuck, her married lover of late.

She wheeled. “I want you to leave!” she gasped, her breath coming in short, whistling breaths.

The man sighed. “Okay, if you say so, ma’am. But if I do, I’ll have to show this to my supervisor. And he’ll probably have to remove you and your family from the base. Adultery is a crime in base housing. Not to mention oral sodomy.” He walked to the door again. “I was hoping we could come to an agreement, but…” He paused.

“Wait…” she whispered.  “What…what did you have in mind? Money?”

He smiled slightly, shook his head, walked back toward her, and stood looking at her silently, gauging her. After a moment, he put his hand on her breast. “I think we could work it out.” He closed the door, and motioned upstairs. “Kids up there?”

“Yes.” She shuddered.

“Find a sitter. Send ‘em to the neighbors. Or the park.” His hand traced her hip through the robe, already taking inventory. As his fingers slid under fabric and touched her skin, she jerked away.  “How dare you…!” she spat furiously.

“Well, lady, if that’s your answer…”  he grinned at her, and turned as if to leave. “Better start packin’…”

“No… wait!” she called desperately. He stopped, and looked at her. “Come back in half an hour,” she whispered miserably.

Half an hour later, she knelt, naked, on the floor, exactly as in the picture. The cop’s trousers lay beside him on the sofa, and he smiled in anticipation, as she tried to figure out what she could do with the huge looping rope of oiled black meat which he held out to her.

She touched the tip of it with her tongue, and it leapt higher.

“Go on.” He urged, his lips twisted in sadistic delight. Her lips stretched wide, she took it in gingerly, as far as she was able, then pulled back. Impatiently, he pressed the back of her head, and  thrust himself upward. Her throat closed, and she choked.

Slowly, he pulled it back, and she gaped in fearful fascination as it passed, serpentine and shining, through her straining lips and between her clenched fingers, trailing a rope of her saliva. God. Had she really taken that much of him in…?

Then he abruptly reversed direction and  thrust it swiftly at her again, pressing into her throat at last. She gagged reflexively, her eyes bugging and tearing as he pressed in yet further, opening her throat. She gulped as he began to rock, his pleasure evident. Her vision blurred, as he pressed in ever deeper, and the burning sensation made her cough around his swollen dick. She sobbed as he thrust, tears mixing with the drooling saliva spilling down her chin and neck.

Then, after an eternity, he pulled free and rose to his feet, pulling her up after him. “Okay. Bend over, Mrs. Solomon,” he directed. “We better get it over before your man gets home from work.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “It’s WAYYYY too big…!”

He smiled gently. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it.” Firmly, he guided her to the position he wanted. “Now, just try to relax,” he instructed, sliding his finger across her vagina,  thumbing her clitoris. “The more you relax, the more fun you’ll have. The less pain.”

His thick finger sank into her  deeply,  probing, then he inserted another. And another.

Unwilling, she felt herself lubricate nonetheless.

He took his massive penis in one hand, and spread her wide, sliding the engorged tip in between her pale thighs, and rode the cushion of her juices up into her slit. She gasped as his warm, thick cock parted her forcefully and pressed up, up, up, like a bulldozer brushing her puny tissues aside. Her cunt closed tightly around the invader, she groaned in her throat, arching backwards. He grabbed her  breasts, squeezing, and she chirped in pain. “Please stop….” she sobbed brokenly.

“Easy,  baby, I’m only half way in…” he thrust gaining another inch or two.

“Unnnhhh.!” She grunted, as the red-black bar of steel impaled her even more deeply, boring inexorably into her midsection. She swore she could feel him in her stomach, the dull ache of her organs being rudely repositioned as he made his way determinedly upward and inward.

Then, with a mighty lurch, she felt his swollen testicles touch her buttocks. “There!” he said triumphantly. “All the way in.” He rested,  panting, his scrotum swinging gently against her straining ass. “How’s it feel?” he asked curiously.

“Like a stabbing,” she said, crying softly. “Please, don’t make me do this. You’re hurting me…” she choked off.

He laughed, and began slowly to fuck her, his cock depressing and releasing her tissues at will. Gasping at sharp pains that caused in her abdomen, she stood, bent double, her hips touching the back of the couch, moaning whenever he pulled out completely before surging into her again. Like a brutal machine, he rode on, his penis a piston, her vagina a cylinder whose walls quaked with the strain, needing lubrication.

Then, roaring, he exploded inside her, his semen feeling like molten lava in her deepest recesses, and she screamed, bucking as he thrust brutally deeper in his excitement. Pain blossomed in front of her eyes, red flashes, furious flowers of white-hot pain. Bracing, she braved his ramrod thrusts as he finished spurting his bullets inside her violated body, until at last he pulled free to spew a last sticky shot across her tensed back. Shaking, every muscle overloaded with fatigue, she sagged forward across the couch, and he fell with her, breathing raggedly.

“Please,” she croaked, ” let me up?”

Groaning, he rolled aside. She got gingerly to her feet and tottered into the bathroom. A backward glance; he lay sagged across the couch, his eyes closed, chest heaving. His twitching penis lay on his thigh, diminished but still reaching halfway to his knee. She ducked through the door, and sank onto the toilet, where she remained until she heard him leave.

Then, eyes glazed, she began, slowly, to massage vaseline into her reddening cunt, gingerly touching the abused, abraded tissues, grimacing with the pain, until she suddenly, unexpectedly, found herself coming furiously, humping helplessly up and down on the toilet ring, crying with frustration and shame.

Teamwork

He took my elbows from behind as I passed his desk, and suddenly it was on.

No warning. Nothing new to indicate he, the handsome, gently greying older coworker, was ready to follow through on the flirting we’d been doing for so long that it had become rote, without meaning anything, no indication he had decided to take us to another level.

Gently but firmly, he pulled me backwards toward him, rolling his chair a few feet closer as he palmed both of my elbows, and then I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Chills ran down my spine as I realized that what I had so often dreamed of in the last few years seemed about to happen.

Without a word, he lifted me by my elbows and seated me on his knee, my skirt spilling over his leg. His lips and beard touched my ear as I settled my naked thighs around his wool-covered kneecap.

Which pressed upward almost immediately, aided by my involuntarily spreading my legs to balance my feet on the floor. His knee began to move gently, almost imperceptibly, against my mons, rubbing it just right through the cloth, bringing a breath inward and a sigh of pleasure as he parted me slightly.

Then his hands left my elbows and travelled to my hips, lifting me again and tucking his pants leg up until his knee was bare, then lowering me to touch it. It was deliciously cool against my panty-covered cunt, I shivered with pleasure.

I closed my eyes, the better to experience the pleasure of anticipating where those magic hands might land next. I felt them gather my hair to one side long enough to kiss the very top of my spine just below the place where it joined my skull.  A shiver ran down my back and I felt my cunt melt, beginning to ooze, a  slow drool of liquid that rolled down my thighs toward his bare knee, which rose again and rubbed me, an upward thrust that nudged my clit and then burrowed between the lips, making me gasp.

I knew I was committed now, even if he wasn’t. The point of no return had been passed. I rose shakily and took off my panties and then sat back down, my bare vagina against his bare knee. He murmured approvingly and began to rock me slowly. After a moment, he loosened the top of my dress, unhooked my bra and freed my awakening breasts to his cool, confident hands.

Too shy to ask for what I wanted, I willed him to want it as well. And he did. He raised his leg, extending his calf until he lifted my feet off the floor, and I had to clasp them around his ankle for balance molding myself tightly to his blessed knee, now massaging my cunt in a most welcome way.

His hands cupped my breasts and he pulled me back to him, then leaned across to kiss my left gently, licking the nipple, circling it until it stood up.  I sighed and settled into his embrace, feeling for the first time his erection pressing my spine and buttocks. He felt huge under his wool trousers. He took my nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently but firmly. Now the juices seeping from me were undeniable, wetting his flesh and sealing me to his knee. He squeezed again, a pinch really. I heard myself gasp. His knee began to rock, pressing my cunt, making me ride it to stay balanced. I pressed back, rocking harder and harder.

As the pressure on my clit increased, I felt the beginning of an orgasm swell, and his pinching fingers on my sensitive nipples took me right up to the edge. I ground myself against his leg, flinging myself into his orbit as the tide carried me over.

He kissed my shoulder and held me close to him, one arm around my torso and the other across my mouth as I gasped and screamed silently into his palm.

As I slowed to a halt, he took me in his arms, turned me to the side and kissed me deeply, his tongue searching, probing deliciously in my mouth.

“Now get back to work,” he said, dumping me from his lap abruptly and slapping my butt. With a whimper, I grabbed my underwear and fled toward the door. “No,” he said.

I stopped.

“Leave those here,” he said. “Put them in my In box.”

I did as he said.

“That will be all,” he said, and winked.

I floated back to my desk. There would be repeats, I was certain.

Untitled musings, pt. 1

…then he stuck his two fingers up inside me, and played around, kind of silly and high school-ish, but sexy at the same time, touching some good spots in there, like he knew what he was doing.

I just wanted his cock inside me. It didn’t matter where, in my pussy, my mouth, my… ass…

I just wanted to feel it pulsating inside me, pushing its way insistently inside my body, taking me over and bending me to its will.

That’s the way I think of it — Its will. Not his.

He’d said being stoned made him want sex. He mentioned it in passing, just explaining to me why he was so hesitant to smoke weed when with a group of friends. I like weed, but it has very specific uses for me. It’s good for creative writing — alone. It’s good for playing music, also alone. Or with a band, improvising. It helps if everyone else is stoned. And it’s good for sex.

He grinned, blushed.

Hmmm… so if you was to get hard right now, it wouldn’t be because you found me sexy, or because I was down here on my knees getting ready to blow you, it would just be the weed, right?

You… want to blow me…

You damn right.

He chose my cunt.

Oh, God, I knew you would feel like that.

Like what?

Like… you just fit everything inside me, just perfect. Like we’re perfect mirrors of each other in reverse.

When later, he chose my ass, it felt much the same way.

I told him he was my first.

It’s good, baby, I said in response to his anxious watching face, looming above mine. He’d insisted we do it this way if it was my first; less painful, he said.

It did feel good, despite the discomfort of having my legs on my shoulders. He didn’t compare in size to my father’s friends, but I hadn’t been very big back then either; both organs had changed in size and length, but they somehow still fit much better, tighter, created more friction.

Later I found out that the tissues inside a woman’s vagina swell when she’s really aroused. That explains how his cock felt in my cooter, but in my booter…?

He’d been the first since I was a kid, so that was some kind of virginity prize, I think.

He filled every crevice there just right, too.

I think he took it back, erased things, made it mine again. It didn’t belong to my daddy’s drunk friends anymore, back in the islands. Is that possible?

I think this is all I ever want again. I’ve had a thousand, but this one was made for me.

Is that possible?

My Old Lovers, pts 1 and 2

Dave

He wasn’t hard, so it was difficult to tell how big he was. Thick, it appeared, but even that was hard to judge.

“What do you like, Dave?” I asked reading the name tag on his T-shirt. He still wore it, standing there in his sweats with it hanging out the front, trying to look casual, clutching his glass with both hands while all the others, couples in various gender combinations and shades, went at it all around the house.

“I… I likes fucking white boys,” he stammered, lisping softly. Tall and chiseled, he’d have been mobbed if he hadn’t put out this air of nerdiness and fear that was so off-putting.

What the hell, I wasn’t having a great time here anyway. Might as well welcome Erkl to Swingworld.

I sank to my knees and took him in my mouth, moistened his geek willie, peeling back the dun-colored foreskin to kiss the chocolate egg of his glans. It stirred very slightly but not much. He wasn’t getting hard, not the way I was used to. He clutched his glass and gulped half of it, then grabbed a bottle at random and refilled it. I began to wonder if booze wasn’t half the reason he wasn’t rising above quarter-staff. The heat of my mouth alone should have caused more reaction than this.

I sucked a bit more and he responded with awkward thrusts but nothing was doing. I took him deep in my throat just for the hell of it; it was easier to do when his cock was still so soft. I closed my throat muscles around it, milking him. He gasped and pulled out, then moved back in with more assuredness. But long before he’d hit that rachet-hard phase of erection that would guarantee he wouldn’t lose it until he was done with me, he suddenly pulled away and moved behind me, into position. I was wondering what he was going to manage without a bit more steel, but I let him go.

His finger slid across my anus, swiping Vaseline, and then he slid his thick finger in. Ummm… Maybe that would be enough; it was thick and a lot harder than his joint just now. He rooted around enthusiastically, and my cock responded, but pulled out soon and I felt his soft glans press into my lubed crack. I was surprised when he managed, somehow, to penetrate.

With a sigh, he grabbed my hips in his greasy hands and begun to thrust, his soft willie somehow making its way into me, and still not getting much harder. I’d never had this happen before, and if he hadn’t managed to get in, it would have been embarrassing and irksome.

But as it was, the feeling of being fucked with a soft dick was beginning to grow on me. He was doing all the usual things, thrusting, grunting softly, telling me in his stammering, lisping voice how tight my ass was, how much he liked fucking me, but there was no pain of pushing past the resisting sphincter until it managed to relax and adapt,  no pressure like when a hard cock went deep and seemed to bounce off the end of my colon. All I felt was a soft presence, a sense that he was inside me, and the kiss of his thighs against my cheeks as he moved, enthused but restrained in his thrusts.

Deep inside my bowel, I relaxed more deeply. This wasn’t going to be the usual brutal fucking black men usually gave me, where I had to brace myself and use all my skills to avoid internal injury. I felt his soft cock slip deeper into me, and his thick balls slap my rump.

He was beginning to lengthen a bit, too, his girth expanding, but not painfully. Now it was clear there was a cock in me, but I could still feel the silkiness of his glans as it parted me again and again, sliding out and reentering. His thrusts began to pick up and his cock leapt a bit more in response, but he wasn’t yet pounding me like so many guys do; he restrained himself and pressed me like a lover, slipping deeply and gently into me as his soft lips brushed my shoulders and neck.

Now I could feel his arousal building, the thickness of his cock swelling inside me, opening me from the inside rather than slamming its way in, and I heard him moan as we both began to move in rhythm. “Yeah, baby,” he crooned said softly in my ear. “Show me how much you like my lovin’.” His lisp and stammer had disappeared along with the folds in his penis.

I reached back and took his balls lovingly into my hands and cupped them. His cock thickened more and the head pressed deep inside me. His breathing came faster and he began to pick up his pace, his cock now respectable in size, banging into my tight hole.

Then he reached around and began to stroke my own cock, keeping perfect rhythm with his thrusts, still gentle even as they became more substantial and began to fill me. No man had ever jerked me off while he fucked me before and I began to feel myself getting close to coming.

“You’ve got the nicest, tightest little hole,” he said. “Tell me how much you like my chocolate rod, baby.”

“Oh, Davey,” I said with an exaggerated moan. “Bury that big cock in me, please.”

He suddenly became thicker, and I realized he was all about the words.

“My ass likes your big, thick, dark… rod,” I added.

It did, especially now. With each thrust, he was getting more substantial, certainly as big as I’d ever had, but he was still going gently, gentlemanly in his sodomizing.

“Fuck me hard, studman,” I begged. ‘Wear my poor ass out.”

He picked up the pace, and now he was reaching so deep I was moaning in earnest, his cock stroking across my prostate gently but firmly. The wide rounded shoulder forced itself in, opening my rectum and sending waves of pleasure. I could hear his breathing hissing in my ears now as he neared his climax.  His plum-sized balls slapped my own, and the tip burrowed ever deeper. I sensed a good ten inches of him buried in my ass now, and he was still growing.

Then I heard him whisper “Oh, Jesus,” and he was spurting hot semen into me, pushing me over the edge. I came begging, “Oh, Dave, ride my ass, baby.”

Michael

 It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to let him fuck me. I knew Michael wasn’t gay, or even really bi; I don’t even think he really desired men at all. He just fucked them because their women sometimes asked him to and sometimes that was the only way to get to the hot women. Not to mention the pleasure he got out of having the men humiliated in front of their women: first, by having a much smaller cock than his, beside which most guys’ pricks looked like toys, and second, seeing how much their wives loved his cock and knowing they’d never please her as well as they had before, and third, getting their asses reamed by the big cock may have seemed like a very hot thing, but he hadn’t signed on for being considerate; brutal was his style, even with their women. When he fucked men, he was punishing.

Lots of men with big cocks were brutes, I had discovered; they had grown up with a weapon they were too immature to learn to use properly, and they got away with it because big cocks are in demand. Every single well-hung man I know has a problem with gentleness and subtlety; they have one speed and it’s pile-driver.

But damn, his cock felt good in my ass. Even when it was being applied without finesse, with the sole intent to cause pain. I knew he wanted to hear me scream. It was so big it took my breath away, burning its way past my involuntarily clenched sphincter and filling every crevice of my colon. His heavy balls spanked my ass. His dun-colored dong had this massive head that was shaped like a mushroom and about the same color, and it bent to the left, with a turn that looked like a badly mended bone.

It felt like a bone, actually. Hard and thick, it pried me open like an oyster and banged its way into me, his hands grasping my hips as he grunted and pounded. Once he came out of me and slammed forward again to get back in and for a second he missed, his cock thrusting insistently into the side of my cheek. It felt almost like he was going to tear a new hole if he didn’t find one already.

But he did, and it was well-lubed and ready for him. His huge glans pried me open and he slid in all the way to the hilt, his pear-sized nuts thumping my cheeks. He grunted with satisfaction and began to fuck me brutally, making me cry out about every other thrust. His cock came free and he bludgeoned his way back in, opening my sphincter with a powerful thrust, stretching my colon like an accordion about to burst.

Then I felt his orgasm coming on, his already-mighty cock thickening and lengthening even more, swelling inside me, sparking mind-blowing sensations of pain-laced pleasure, before he exploded inside me, a volcano of searingly-hot lava filling me.

“Take that, you tight-ass homo whore,” he grunted.

At the words, I came, came hard, the semen bursting out of me like bag that had been punctured. “Oh, Jesus,” I heard myself say. “Oh, Michael.

She’s the man

…the first time, I only knew she was a white woman, who, it looked like, was going to put out for me. It didn’t happen to me much anymore, white  women flirting with me and then actually putting out. Lots of talk, maybe some eyes batting, some licking of lips, but not usually actual pussy.

And it had been awhile since any white-chick flirtation at all, much less anything this good looking.

So when she signaled she was ready to go down on me, I didn’t ask a whole lot of questions, you know what I’m saying? I sure didn’t stop her and say ‘no, I want to go down on you first!’ or insist on getting my hands in her drawers right away. In fact, I never got to it at all until much later. The head was just that good. I mean, she sucked my dick like it was a candy cane, and she was trying to get to the center of it. It was magic…

…it’s maybe the one thing that marks you in this situation; you have to do things that are seen as slutty or at least sexually aggressive if you’re going to manage to pull this off. You have to be in control, so you go down on him quickly, because the best way to lead a man is to lead him by his dick.

Helps when it’s such a nice dick.  Gorgeous, actually. I like sucking him more than anything I’ve ever done.

Then later, after you’ve made him cum and swallowed it, if he has any brain cells left and any blood left to fill his cock, you can blow his mind again by telling him you really love it in your ass, or maybe just that tonight you’re in the mood for it that way, for some reason. Men rarely turn that down.

Helps when your ass is such a nice one. Gorgeous, actually.

Men like to fuck ass, and while more and more women are getting into it these days, a beautiful woman saying she wants it in the ass is still most men’s idea of dying and going to sex heaven. They will not ask questions for a long time, trust me.

And you do it in the dark a lot, especially at first. Get him very drunk, too, or high is even better. Most men are horny when they’re high… but they’re not real high energy. They lay back and let you blow them without pawing at your pussy; they’re more likely to let you be on top.

Sometimes you say you have a heavy period happening, a UTI, or something like that, something mysterious that men don’t want to know any details about.

You have to be aggressive yes, but you also have to be fluid, quick on your feet. Ready to improvise. And if all else fails, let him see you, and be ready to grab your shoes and run if his reaction is violent…

…all’s I know is she gives the best head I’ve ever had, and fucking her is mind-blowing. I’ve always been an assman; women’s butts just excite the fuck out of me.

So I don’t know if her suddenly also having a cunt would make a big difference; I’d choose her ass or mouth 95 percent of the time anyway.

And maybe doing it, going that last step, would change how the rest feels; it’s possible it could ruin the perfect muscle tone or the perfect chemistry that makes her such a great lay, or such a great cocksucker.  I don’t know. I mean yeah, I’m straight; as far as labels go, I guess that’s accurate. I like fucking this woman, how her lips feel on my dick, how her throat takes me in and milks me, how her ass is always the best thing I’ve ever felt, like a tight new virgin every damn time.

Why would I want to mess with that? Especially if it means cutting her up, putting her in danger. I love her body as it is now, with those great firm, womanly tits, curves, long sexy legs…She’s the sexiest girl I’ve ever touched. This sexy girl just happens to have a dick. It doesn’t have to matter…

…I’m not sure if I’d be the same woman, the same person I am now; if I had surgery, would I change into a woman whose body aches, for whom sex is a chore? It would be nice to have all the parts that would make everyone see me as a woman — well, maybe not everyone. But everyone who didn’t know me before…

But I know natural women who have something minor done and it messes with their sexuality, their identity as a sexual person. And this — this is not minor. It might take away my essence, make me into something ‘other.’ That scares me…

…you know, when I was a boy, my mom’s uncle left his family for a white woman. He told my mom that the woman worshipped him, would do anything for him, was at his beckon call, and that he thought that was proof that he’d made it in the white man’s world, beat him at his own game. To have a white woman who waited on him and sucked his dick whenever he asked. Mom told me that story when I was about 14. She said that it could be true that it showed you’d managed pretty well in the white man’s world when his women were all yours sexually, but she thought that it would more of an accomplishment if you had the white man himself on his knees begging your for your dick. Moms was sort of a vindictive perv, huh?

But I sort of got both of those things, I think.

Wandering and Wondering

Maybe it was the intoxication of the early spring walk. Or maybe it was the boredom of being mired in time.

Afterward both felt guilt, but neither would be the first to admit it, as if, unacknowledged, it would go away; it would cease to exist. Though neither was aware of the other’s thought, they both searched their minds for assurances that they were dreaming. Briefly, each considered pinching themselves.

For him, it was a return to the days before, when he’d been the other man in many households. The bad old days; the sad old days, before.

Before. Before the first real relationship he’d ever had.

He wondered if she knew why he was silent. Wondered if she cared.

For her, it was frighteningly new, the ground she now walked. Her distance from the self she’d been before was so vast that she could not make herself an ally; across the distance, she saw the girl she had been, carefree, oblivious, and wanted to warn her. But they did not speak the same language.

Dumbly, she plastered her only smile across her stunned face, and noticed it no longer fit, as if her bone structure had changed since lunch. It did not surprise her.

The woods had changed her.

The blanket, the usual picnic basket, the ghosts of absent coworkers crowding in to observe the inexplicably mutual pause in their normal innocent carefree banter, the mute pawing of each other, wordless until finally they were free of their clothes, free enough for one of them to finally utter a word.

“Backdoor.”

Once breathed, it hung there between them like a hummingbird, whirring, and she examined it from a distance, a world apart from meaning.  Together, they traced the word-bubble extending from her mouth, smiling vacantly.

Then he nodded, and his body pressed her down, her face landing in his jeans, his mustiness assaulting her nostrils like an insect, and she sneezed, as he entered her private reserve, burning his brand into her. Swelling larger as he paused inside. With each stinging thrust she sneezed, and felt her body grasp him convulsively. Reaching behind, she grasped his nipple, and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. He coughed loudly and jerked away to finish his pistoning drive into her aching depths.

After, she rose slowly, savoring the aching pain, the singing of the abraded tissue. She wondered if he understood; knew why she had wanted it that way,  knew about the need to keep her selves separate, knew about the need to save her from recognizing the fact of her wandering.

She wondered if he knew what came next.

But in way, she, too, felt the return of an older, less admirable self; one which craved acceptance so badly she’d do anything any other girl had allegedly done —  and do it for any man who asked.

She wondered if he sensed how much she had enjoyed it. And how much it hurt when her true love had recoiled from the ‘perversity’ of her preference.

She wondered if he knew that she was grateful for his blunt size, for the pain it caused. She wondered if he knew about the sneezing, what it signified.

Wondered but did not ask.

The 5:15 local

“You touched my thigh.” Her voice was incredulous.

“Yes. I was trying to rouse you, to tell you I need to get out.”

“It’s… not your stop.The train is not at a stop.”

I smiled. “Bathroom break.”

She still didn’t move. “You could have touched my arm.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Truth is, her hand had been on her thigh until just before that, and I had assumed it still was. But the larger truth was…

“You’ve been looking at me, at my legs, especially, out of the corner of your eye ever since I got on the train.”

“I suppose I have. Sorry. I thought you were asleep. Should I stop?”

“What sort of answer is that?”

“An honest one, I think.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, I think it is.”

“It was a pleasure looking. I hope you didn’t mind.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes looked deep into mine and the silence stretched.

I put my hand back on her thigh, left it there.

She caught her breath sharply, looked at me searchingly, and then away.

After a moment. I moved my hand to the underside of her leg, lifted it, and rested it on my wrist. Her skirt covered my fingers touching her leg, just below the leg opening of her underwear. She caught her breath again, but her eyes didn’t move. In my peripheral vision, I saw her chest heave. After a moment, I slid my finger in under the cloth and touched her bush. She gasped, but looked ahead determinedly.

I pressed my finger in further, up through the slippery folds, slipped the tip of my index finger inside. It was hot, steamy, wet. She lifted her leg slightly, sliding down in her seat, her breath coming hard and fast. I touched her clitoris and her eyes closed, her chest heaving silently. A few dozen strokes and she came, squeezing my finger, her eyes as tightly clenched as her cunt.

After she’d collected herself, I withdrew my finger.

After a moment, she mumbled something.

“What?” I asked, moving slightly closer.  She took my chin in her hand, aimed it toward the side of her face.

“Say something dirty,” she said softly. “Right in my ear.”

I considered. “You have the tightest, hairiest cunt,” I said softly.

She stiffened.

“I love your hairy, wet snatch,” I continued. “I wanna bury my cock in it.”

She nodded. “Dirtier.”

“Right here on the damn train, with everyone around us.”

“Dirtier!” she insisted.

I took a breath. “But I really just want to fuck you in the ass.” She caught her breath, her eyes closed tightly. She squealed softly.

“Just jam my hard cock right into your cute, tight little bum,” I said. “Lube it up and bury it between your gorgeous cheeks.”

Abruptly, she came again, sobbing softly to a finish. I hadn’t had a finger on her.

I grabbed her bag.

“Come,” I said.

“A… again?”

I took her hand. Walked to the door.

“But… this isn’t my stop,” she said.

“It’s our stop,” I said.

After a moment, she nodded, eyes downcast.

The Dawning of RadClassical

I want you to do me right here. Pull my dress up, open me up wide, and fuck me backstage before I go on.

Your father wouldn’t appreciate that.

I’m not asking you to fuck him.

Yeah… So why…?

I want to have your sperm dripping down my legs under my prim black dress. When I put my violin to my chin, I want to feel you inside me.

I can’t be. That’s sort of impossible.

She blew out her breath impatiently. Not literally, dumbhead. I’m talking about my art.

Explain.

I want to change classical music. I want it to be less sterile; I want to breathe the passion of life back into a.. art form that has become way too… dead. Stale. Technical brilliance can only be so good if it stays unconnected from real life.

You want to create edgy classical.

Passionate classical. I want to play my violin, fed by the lust for you in my blood.

We settled for my semen in her mouth. She played the whole show that way, turning it over and over on her tongue, refusing to swallow. The blush of sex was on her cheeks, the rising sap of a blooming late-teenage girl awash in hormones, aglow with the promise of the touch of her lover, the yearning of the flesh for the flesh of her older man, her mentor. Not in music but in life.

Most of the audience saw only her hair, a dark mass of which lay across her face throughout the show. Maybe some men noticed the extra swell of her butt and the strong push of her pudenda against the low-waisted black gown, but not many. But all noticed the plaintive notes of love, fresh and dark, pushing through the trite perfect phrases, filling the gaps until they burst forth dripping, overflowing the bodice of the music.

A t the end of the show, all eyes upon her, she bowed low, and then knelt. The audience gasped at the violation of protocol, but froze when she tilted her head back,  face centered in the spotlight’s pool, closed her eyes and allowed the sticky essence to dribble from her lips and down across her cleavage, onto the Stradivarius, making its way toward her aching cunt.

They saw it as an audacious artist’s statement, a precocious child’s over-the-top explanation, explication of the music. Some elders grew angry at her desecration, some younger hailed her bravery at smashing convention. Some idly wondered what the exact substance was that she had chosen to symbolize the life she was breathing back into her beloved baroque, baptising the invaluable relic she held to her chin.

None dreamed the substance was the symbol.

*

It was the beginning of RadClassical. Sex and Violins! one critic dubbed it. From there, her fame only grew, as did the elaborate stage shows, with suggestive props, many of which she used as chairs, perching upon the strangely-shaped items, taking them secretly inside her while she played, rising and falling slightly upon them. Over time, they became exotic vibrators, stroking her toward climaxes timed to happen when the music reached crescendo.

Many of the stage sets became vehicles to hide me, disguises that allowed me to stroke and caress her while she played, to insert my tongue into her and let her revel in the naughtiness, all notable for the passion that it wrought in her music.

She began to practice nude, sitting down upon me slowly and rising and falling as the music dictated.

Speaking of dictation…

One night, she disrobed and leaned forward, violin at her chin. Do with me what you will, she said primly. I want it as you want it.

With that marvelous, flawless ass inclined toward me, I took her as offered, with rather more vigor and less finesse.  After first kneeling and licking her from behind, releasing her slick welcoming juices, I rose and finding myself magnificently tumescent, I took her abruptly, thrusting into her suddenly, roughly. Her stroke on the violin strings faltered, and I heard the intake of breath, waited for her to remonstrate.  Then the bow came down again and the music flowed, but the piece that she was playing changed subtly, becoming less whimsical, more muscular, altered again. I took her with ever more urgency, and the music responded, becoming more martial.

The next innovation was obvious.

Blue

Just let me, I say, taking his cock in my fingers.

He sits, and I massage him hard, my hands full of baby oil, and then when he’s rock hard, I sit on him slowly and rub his cockhead in small circles against my anus, relaxing it, easing it open, taking his glans and nothing else.

Don’t, I admonish as he begins to press up, trying to bury his cock in my retreating butt. I elude him.

Look, I say sharply, stopping. Look at me.

He complies, panting, grudging.

Let me do it all, I explain. Just sit the fuck still.

I’ll give you the best ass-fuck of your life. No, make that the best fuck,period.

I’ll work your glans, the most sensitive part of your cock, with the tightest part of my ass. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had. Better than ramming somebody’s ass. Better than fucking my throat. But you need to sit still or I am out of here.

He looks miffed, but nods.

I sink my snug ass down onto his raging boner again, marveling at the power of Viagra. This is a dream, a man so hard I can take my time. Slowly, I lower myself down onto that medical priapism until his cockhead is buried.

He still has not breached my second sphincter, the one that hurts. I rise about two inches, and reverse. He begins to pant as he feels the death grip of my tight ass on his glans, milking him. His eyes tear up.

See? I say. I knew you’d like it. It’s almost like deep throat, in terms of how tight it is on your cockhead. But you have to resist the tendency to bury yourself, because no other part of the ass is as tight. You have to go slow, and shallow…

He gasps as I squeeze him.

I work it, slow, clench, squeeze, like a good hand job, with a sliding, pulling motion, hand over hand, fingers milking him.

His breath is coming like a seizure now; it won’t be long.

When he comes, it’s like the top of his skull lifts off, I can tell. He roars. Oh fuck, baby, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…FUCK!

He sits straight up, hard and hot as a recently forged spike.

For my part, the feeling of his jism firing into me, bullets shooting up into my anal cavity, is all it takes.

Now, I want him all the way in. I slam down, hard, and he cries my name again, ragged, as his head sinks to the pillow…

It’s hard to teach an old man new tricks. But not impossible. All it takes is patience, determination, and a blue pill.

The first brush…

…Some time afterward, without discussion, he rolled her over onto her stomach and made love to her other side, his tongue tracing her spine from the tips of her ears down to the swell of her butt, where he paused for an extended time, rubbing, lightly tracing, kissing, licking between her legs, his tongue entering her soaked and aching vagina from behind, sending the blood gushing south again in a roaring torrent.

Gently he probed the crease of her ass with his slippery fingers, thumbing the bud of her anus softly, until she relaxed enough to let him penetrate her, holding still and stroking her shoulders, her back and cheeks reassuringly until she relaxed again and let him insert a finger. Soon, he added a second and began sliding them in and out slowly, softly, and her body followed the sleepy sexy motion, rising, falling as if riding a wave.

Then she felt his hardness brush her thigh and she tensed with the sudden premonition of what was to come. She was frightened, but she knew he would be gentle and he was.

She also did not know if he would stop if she asked.

The velvety head of his penis pressed between the globes of her ass and slid into the crease and nosed, gently insistent, upward into her body from behind. She caught her breath loudly and held it.

He paused, balanced above her, kissed her ear, squeezed her breasts, then slipped his hand under her and rubbed her sex with the heel of his hand until she released her shuddering breath and began to rock against his hand, gasping, begging. Then he resumed his motion, slipping inside her, parting the relaxed muscle, and when she had adjusted to accommodate his solid thickness in her forbidden place, he went further, a long way down inside. She groaned with the tension and the unexpected, darkly erotic feelings it aroused in her, unlike anything she’d ever imagined she could feel.

He rose a bit, pulling back, and she relaxed again. He reversed suddenly and pressed in anew, reached all the way inside her and claimed her, taking her last bit of privacy, her last vestige of virginity surrendered to him. Buried in her, his full testicles pressed against her rounded, tensed buttocks, he wrapped her in his body and held her tightly, molding her to him. She relaxed into him, her flesh pulling his deeper, wanting it to burn her, a feeling that she never knew until now that she craved.

Then he began to take her, thrusting slow and deep, filling her in a way she could not even begin to resist. Her body writhed against him like a wraith, her movements feeling out of her control, possessed by his spirit and his flesh, her ass pressing upward, meeting and welcoming his gloriously hard cock, which split her afresh with each powerful thrust of his hips. Pain welled and ebbed constantly, alternating with a taut, warm, bursting pleasure that made her light-headed, until she did not know what she was feeling, each wave more intense than the last.

Then he thrust deeper than she thought possible, she felt him graze her core, and she screamed, her body convulsing as she felt something inside her let go suddenly, as if a knot had abruptly come undone. Thick streams of steamy liquid burst from her inner depths, her own molten lava, emptying itself through her cunt, coursing down her legs and pooling on the bed beneath their bodies. She collapsed, gasping with the release, and he fell with her, lay beside her, still buried inside.

“I know you now,” he said softly after a bit. “And you are mine.”

She nodded mutely, biting her lip to stop the shaking.

“And there’s more.”

“What…What could there possibly be after this?”

For answer, he rolled her upon her back and …