Those Brown Eyes

I wasn’t really sure what to do with the feelings this man’s glances were dredging up in my belly.

Beside me, my husband chatted away to the stranger, oblivious to my discomfiture.

And frankly, I’d not have been able to explain it to him if he had noticed. It wasn’t as though the man had touched me, was openly ogling me or chatting me up. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me, or even looked at me that often.

There wasn’t much about him to describe; not overly tall, longish curly hair, actual beard instead of the accepted ‘goatee’ chosen by men in our circles who sported facial hair. Trim body, yes, but not naturally chisled or gym-sculpted, like so many of these men. Maybe a bit too thin in some places, not overly broad in the shoulders while a bit slack on the waistline, certainly more so than my physically gifted husband, who at forty looked 23 and had a body that so far obeyed his every unspoken command.

With my son’s lips clasped to my breast, I moved a bit to turn away and avoid the stranger’s eyes. Because they were the problem, those eyes.

Deep chocolate brown flecked with gold, they dipped immediately inside me, checked my interior, slipped past the unconscious facade one puts up automatically at these events. What was he doing here? He didn’t seem to fit with this group, gathered at the impressive home of a wealthy heiress to a hamburger restaurant chain.

My husband had gone to college with The Princess, as she was known behind her back, and I saw clear evidence of a dalliance in the way she looked at him, and especially at me. Taking the baby from The Princess’s elderly mother and putting him to my breast had really been a strategy to throw in her face the fact that Grey was married to me, a younger woman who had given him a child, a woman whose breasts even after childbirth were much better than her own.

I knew that in these circles it was absolutely de rigueur to breastfeed in public, that no one would dare to even raise an eyebrow at such a certified natural and beautiful sight, mother and child, doing what the universe decreed. There was no need to seek a private spot, or even to apologize for the act. One just did it, and I did.

But I admitted to myself that it was just as much a shot across her bow as it was a natural response to Greyson’s nuzzling of me, which he almost always does whenever I pick him up, hungry or not. In fact, he hadn’t been begging to be rescued when I had scooped him from the Queen Mum’s arms and set him on my left, the best one, the one with “Eat this, you rich cow” written all over it.

I saw her face contract when she saw my son and I, clearly part of a complete set that included Grey; mama, baby and daddy. She flinched and quickly grabbed an hors d’oeuvre from the passing tray.

So I was feeing a bit triumphant when suddenly I was faced with this stranger and his deep chocolate eyes that probed deeply under my skin without his really doing anything beyond the pale.

Dressed in a casual outfit that mirrored the ones worn by all the wealthy men at the gathering, he somehow still looked out of place. What was it? The jeans a bit scruffier, perhaps? The shirt? Yes, the shirt. Like the others, this was a South American-styled open-necked white tunic, but I could tell — don’t ask me how — that his wasn’t a ludicrously expensive ‘interpretation’ of the original rendered by an international men’s designer, or even an ‘impression’ of the style by J. Crew or Land’s End; it was the real thing.

Leather sandals instead of loafers, but not the $300 Yves St. Laurent ones, or even the acceptable Birks that men in these circles sometimes affected. These were again made by some anonymous workaday artisan, in this case I was pretty sure I recognized the work of a modest West Bank merchant who made them this way so they would stay on the foot while camel riding.

At first, I entertained the idea that he wasn’t a guest at all, but a servant, one of the many circulating with a tray. Especially when he asked if anyone wanted a drink. Then seeing the child at my breast, he bowed slightly in apology and took a few glasses of dark beer from the passing tray for himself and my husband. “May I get you something more appropriate from the kitchen, something with no alcohol?” he asked.

“Truthfully, I’m dying for an absinthe.”

I could not believe the words had left my mouth. Around me, the crowd went silent, then Grey chuckled and they followed one by one, all except him. “Well, I’m not aware of any research that says wormwood is detrimental to a child,” he said softly, and I could not tell if there was disapproval or judgment in his voice. It didn’t sound like it.

“Does it even pass through breast milk?” Grey asked Ron Silversmith, a physician.

“I’m not a pediatrician, but my guess would be yes,” Ron smiled. “On the other hand, the whole business of fetal alcohol syndrome is way overplayed. Yes, you can mess up a child’s development if you are drinking like a fish, but a small amount could actually be beneficial, just as it is for adults.”

“Do fish drink a lot?” Grey asked, and the men and the Heiress laughed far more than warranted.

I moved away, taking longer steps than usual when breastfeeding, and Greyson’s teeth clamped down to keep his prize. I caught my breath loudly, and the man’s deep brown eyes caught mine in concern.

“Are you alright, Contessa?” he said softly, and I realized he must have been there for awhile to have known my name;we had not been introduced. Unlike the rest, he used my full name instead of dropping the first syllable.

“Yes, yes, I just… should go sit down,” I said lamely and headed for the door, which he held for me. I walked into the kitchen and headed for the closest guest room, intending to sit and feed Greyson in peace. Truth be told I had never been comfortable breastfeeding in public; among society’s beautiful people, everyone had been programmed to insist it was fine and nothing to gawk at, but it still seemed to make you the center of attention. I’d always been comfortable in the third world when I was traveling with the nonprofit, when a women would whip out her tit and suction a kid onto it without checking her stride. Was it because it was me doing it now, and not some anonymous peasant? I didn’t think so, but maybe.

But the bedroom was full, a gaggle of women chatting about idle-rich-housewife/trophy wife things, and it took me about 20 minutes to make the right noises and extract myself. The master bath and the spare were full too, so I headed down to the basement, a long set of steps that led two stories down to the subterranean apartment with wine cellar, built by the original owner, a titan who had conquered this city with his oil money.

It was quiet there, and I breathed a sigh. Greyson,who had become agitated and stopped eating when all the cooing women surrounded him, calmed and again attached himself to my left breast. Finally alone, I stopped by the fountain and switched him to my right, ever conscious of draining them both evenly. I left my top open while I examined his tiny teethmarks.

That was when I became slowly aware of a faint, vaguely familiar smell. Marijuana?

Yes. The wine cellar door a few feet away, a faint lazy plume of smoke rose from the hole that served as a door handle.

I put my finger into the hole to open it, just as someone inside did the the same, and for a second my fingers were touching warm, taut flesh, flesh which somehow raised instant gooseflesh on my arms. I knew without looking who it was.

I stepped back and he opened the door, apologizing, but I shook my head and put a finger to my lips.

He smiled sheepishly, a tiny ornate pipe in his hand. “Busted,” he mouthed.

We stood there for a moment, the baby’s sucking the only sound. I was unaware for a moment of my breasts both being open to his eyes, then suddenly I noticed his eyes wash over them, frankly looking and not trying to pretend. I flushed, and raised my elbow to cover, but he shook his head and took my elbow gently and lowered it.

We stood quietly another moment, assessing each other silently, and then I held out my hand for the pipe. He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Better than absinthe, I suppose,” he said softly.

I took a deep drag, and the sweet smoke rushed into me like a genie, releasing all the lovely feelings I remembered from college. I had always been easily, wonderfully stoned, the quickest reaction anyone had ever heard of. Fifteen years had been too long.

Eventually, I realized I was standing there, lost in reverie, holding my son to my breast. I turned, and the sudden rush of the weed caught me. This was clearly the good stuff.

Then I felt his hands on my shoulders from behind, steadying me. “Are you ok?” he whispered.

I nodded. “I’m awesome,” I said.

Suddenly the sensations overtook me again, the tug of Greyson on my right breast now transmuted into a distinctly sensual sensation, the weight of the stranger’s hands on my shoulders felt wonderfully loaded. Weed had always had a libidinous effect on me.

I took his hand and pulled it down to my left. After what seemed like an interminable wait, a burst of sensations exploded as he took my nipple and rubbed it with his smooth palm, then his callused fingertip, alternating.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Wowow.”

I leaned backwards into him and felt his aroused penis, felt it lengthening and stiffening against his jeans and against my butt, now angled to touch it, rub it.

He caught his breath and pressed back against me, hard, masterful, his arms now around me from behind, his left still sending me with his nipple manipulations, his right on my waist to balance me. The feeling of his hand there, so close to my cunt, sent the juices zooming madly in my belly. I wanted him. Now.

I reached down and pulled my long skirt up and bunched it under his wrist.

“Contessa…” he breathed softly in my ear. “Are you sure…?”

“Just fuck me,” I said crudely. “Don’t talk.”

He took a breath, then abruptly walked us over to the wine cellar, still joined as we were, and through the open door, pulling it closed behind us. The dark cool interior, lit by one small dim electric torch on the wall some 15 feet away, was just what my buzz — and my libido — needed. I prayed he would not turn on the overhead light, and he didn’t.

As Greyson suckled noisily on my right, the man’s hands affixed my dress in place, tied it quickly above my waist with a flick of his wrist, using the loosened shoulder straps to hold the skirt out of the way. Reaching behind me I yanked at his belt, and he chuckled, taking it loose the rest of the way and I heard and felt his jeans slide to the floor.

As his hands pulled my panties free, I reached behind and took his thick hard muscle in my shaking hand. Wow. Not so big it scared me, but poor Grey would have a hard act to follow. I put that thought quickly out of my mind. We’d been a boring-married-sex couple for too long, and I really, really needed this.

His fingers freed my panties and sent them down my thighs to hang up at my knees, and then touched my cunt. The sensation of him parting and slowly fingering his way inside like a penis was electric, and I moaned deep in my throat.

A moment later he touched my clitoris through the hood, rubbing it firmly exactly as I liked, and I was over. The orgasm rocked me, shaking my body against him violently as Greyson dug in his teeth and held on for dear life, and I drew my breath in a scream, his hand covering my mouth just in time.

He held me to him as I quivered and shuddered, coming, coming, coming some more, sobbing with the intensity of it, and then finally, sagging against him. Presently, he sat on the rim of the winepress, and pulled me down on his lap. His cock slipping gently between my still-shaking thighs and nestled there, not insistent but very, very present.

I felt his cock against the upper part of my labia, lying there in wait, and I knew we were not done.

After a silent ten minutes that seemed surreal, out of time, I felt the stir of my libido again, and rubbed myself slowly against him, prompting a responding thrust along my slick labia. I wanted him inside, but… not quite yet.

With my son still clamped to my breast I sank to the floor in front of him in the dimness and took his thick cock in my fingers, then quickly into my mouth. My God, was he hard. I knew I could probably make him come quickly, and the idea, coupled with the sweet-bitter taste of his seeping seed, sent my own juices rushing southward in a flood.

He rose slightly and began to press his cock into my mouth and throat deeper, deeper, and I felt the scrape of it on my palette begin to call my gag reflex. Maybe I couldn’t do this after all.

I made a sudden decision, rose to my feet and pulled him erect behind me, switching my son to the other side again.

As he followed, his cock bumped into my rounded cheeks and slid between, brushing across my anus. I froze.

It had been more than 20 years since I had tried it that way, long before Grey, and it had been the last time. Grey had made it clear early on that he did not want to ever do that, terming it ‘nasty’ and ‘gross’ and wondering aloud if there were actually any women who enjoyed such things, that it was ‘physically unlikely.’  I had never told him I’d done it. Truthfully, the idea had been sexier than the reality, and the idea hadn’t been mine. The boy, despite initiating it, had been too inexperienced and cautious, I decided later; too eager at first and then when I was warmed up and felt I was ready for him there, afraid to just take what he wanted, and it had fizzled.

But…

Somehow, just now, the weed was loading that innocent brush with a million erotic meanings and feelings, and suddenly I wanted this.

I pulled away for a second, reached surreptitiously between my legs and touched the copious juices that still lay there, dug in, produced more, and then swabbed my anus and crease, making myself greasy with them.

When I took his cock in my fingers again, I pulled the foreskin up and down a  few times, and felt him lubricate instantly. It was enough.

I pulled him by his cock, touched it to my crease and then pushed against him to indicate how I wanted it.

He caught his breath and held still a minute, feeling me shift and let him slide in slowly, along the deep crease between my voluptuous cheeks, and then there was no mistaking my intent and my desire.

To be sure, I bumped my anus against his glans. And held still, waiting.

“Jesus,” he said softly.

Then I felt his hands on my hips, firmly taking me in hand, imprisoning me, too late to change my mind, oh shit.

He thrust inside.

Ouch. I knew it would hurt a bit, and it did. But…

He stopped, at exactly the right time, and did not reverse and pull out. That would have been the end, I think. Instead, he held still, waited a bit for me to readjust myself, to manage to get my flesh to again obey my order to relax, and then he sank in, hard, pressing all the way deep inside me, pushing before him a ball of sexual fire.

I heard my breath, coming in gasps across the dry skin of my throat, dry from the weed and dry from my mouth being open so long, preparing to scream, hoping his hands would catch the sound as before.

Sure enough, his hand hovered by my chin, ready. But I didn’t scream. Not then.

What was I doing, I thought wildly as he reversed and then thrust in again, growing thicker and harder, taking what he wanted, faster, deeper, more assertive. I wouldn’t have an orgasm this way, so what was the point of all this pain and discomfort, humiliation?

But I’d already had my orgasm, I reasoned, and didn’t know if I had another in me. The feeling of sexual overload was fast approaching, and I couldn’t explain it, but I’d wanted this, wanted to feel myself violated, used roughly, taken.

He seemed to understand, ramming his swollen cock inside me ever harder, deeper, pushing way down into me, taking my breath from me with the shock, depth and hardness of that molten cock.

Greyson chose that moment to bite down again, and my drawn breath sounded in the sealed room like an explosion. I felt the man’s hand move from my hip, and suddenly, a hard pinch on my other nipple finally loosed my scream. He caught it with his hand, easily stopping the sound before it rose to a level that would escape the sealed cellar and alert the house.

My mouth now in his control too, he picked up the pace even more, riding me brutally, banging into my hips with his bones, pulling free and slamming in again to open me violently. It was wonderful and scary all at the same time.

Then I felt him lean low over me and just before it happened, I sensed something big was coming.

But when the bolt of lightening slammed into my groin, I could not have been less prepared. I screamed as the white-hot pain punctuated the perverse pleasure of having my ass so brutally taken. His hand caught the scream, then released my mouth expectantly.

“Oh, please,” I sobbed softly. “Do that again…?”

He did. The flat of his hand slapping across my groin, the impact penetrating through the layers of tissue to shock my clitoris and send me into orbit.

The orgasm took me over, rolled me into it and lifted me from my feet. I felt the teeth of my child on my breast again, but it felt heavenly, an aftershock, a pinprick that locked into the whole pain/pleasure nexus and thrust me inside myself, deep and dark inside my core. I closed my eyes.

It lasted so long, of such intensity, that I had no sense of how much time had passed when it cleared and I could see again.

I opened my eyes and awareness slowly returned. The first thing I saw was my son, who sat on the floor in front of me, playing with a plastic wine-bottle pump, examining it as it were the most fascinating object in the universe.

Still bent at the waist slightly, my skirt rucked up and held in place by the tied shoulder straps, I looked down and saw his hands on my hips, and slowly noted his penis was still buried in my dark spot. I moaned softly, and he moved gently in and out slightly, setting off mini-explosions of feeling in my tender flesh. I sighed, and felt the tide begin to rise again.

Then from a distance off, a noise, the sound of a door opening, and footfalls. Someone coming down the steps. Quickly he withdrew, pulled his jeans up, and moved past me, pulling my skirt free to drop across my shaking thighs, and then moving deeper into the cellar. He motioned for me to go, and gestured to my son, then he was out of sight in the shadows.

I scooped up my son,  stopped to pull up my panties, and moved on shaky legs through the door, closed it softly behind me and sat on the fountain’s edge, gasping as my bottom registered the hard marble touching me where hard flesh had so recently been, and arranged myself and my son into an ageless ‘mother and child’ tableau.

“Hi,” I said, looking up as my host rounded the corner.

“Hey…” she said, looking confused.

“Just came down here to feed Greyson in private,” I said, feeling the hard marble against my tenderest spot. “Hope you don’t mind…?”

“N–no,” she said. “Sorry to disturb, I was just looking for Daniel. He seems to have disappeared again.”

“Who…?” I blinked. “Oh, the guy with the…? Nope, haven’t seen him. I just wanted to feed my son without being gawked at.”

She looked at me strangely, then sat beside me. “I think he’s done,” she said. “He’s asleep.”

I looked down, and sure enough, Greyson’s eyes were tightly closed, his mouth slack on my nipple.

“So is this guy a colleague of yours, from your nonprofit days…or…?”

She looked at me even more strangely. “No, ‘Tessa,” she said, shooting for casual, her voice betraying her. “That’s Grey’s roomie from his first year in college. I assumed you’d met.”

It took a minute to sink in. “That’s the guy who…?”

“…took the virginity of almost everyone in the group, yes, including me… and your husband,” she smiled triumphantly, finally feeling that she had the upper hand with me, maybe for the first time.

Strangely, I didn’t mind knowing. But it was an odd thing to know you’d just given up your virtue to the same person who took your husband’s. I hoped he’d enjoyed it as much in his tight little bum as I had in mine.

I think that may well be one marital conversation we’ll never have.

But… you never know when a marriage will need some spicing up, do you?

Our Jeffrey, or Too Good

Nicole came into my office Thursday morning, moving stiffly, tired but smiling.

She sat gingerly, grimacing as her butt made contact with the chair. I raised my eyebrows.

“Mmmmm…Jeffrey was over last night,” she explained.

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Our Jeffrey?” I gestured toward the hallway; his office was just down the corridor.

She nodded.

“…and you…?”

“…had anal. Yes.” She blushed. “Up ‘til the wee hours. That man’s sex drive is pretty impressive.”

In a discussion about Sex and the City a few weeks ago, a bunch of us girls had talked about it, but no one was willing to admit to having ever done it. Nicole hadn’t said much, I recalled.

“Wow. Never done it. Is it…hot?”

“It’s… interesting. Hurts, especially at first. But… he wanted it pretty bad. Said I had a great badonkadonk, and he wanted a piece of it. I think it’s funny when white boys use words like that.” She grinned, then grimaced again. “I like it when he’s excited. He just gets me hot with the way he touches me, so forceful, so demanding. Like there’s no way I am going to refuse him anything… and I never do.”

I was starting to think maybe it hadn’t been her first time.

“Do you enjoy being … fucked in the ass, though?”

“Oh, yeah. It feels naughty and dirty and he’s hard as a rock… When he’s on top of me or behind me thrusting, taking what he wants without asking, it’s… too good. A real turn-on.”

I squirmed. “Oh yeah? Tell me. How does it turn you on?”

“Well, it’s not all physical. I want to be wanted, and to be dominated is hot, although I never knew I wanted it until he just fuckin’ did it to me.”

“How… else does he dominate you?”

I slid back in my chair and felt the silk of my pants rub across the folds in the leather, nudging me pleasantly. On a whim, I hadn’t worn panties this morning. But as I got up and moved to the front of my desk to sit on the corner and lean closer so she could speak more quietly, I had the thought that maybe I should have. There was a wet spot on the silk.

“He … makes me kneel and beg for his cock in my mouth. I don’t really like it when he starts moving, like he’s fucking my mouth, going deep in my throat, grabbing my head. I get off on swallowing his come, because it’s hot to be told what to do, to be ordered, like I have no choice. Sometimes I actually get myself off just by thinking about that.”

I noted her nipples, pressing her top like marbles. I wasn’t sure if they had been that way when she came in, but I didn’t think so. Was she getting hot talking about this? I wondered. It seemed I was.

She was exciting me and repelling me at the same time.

I’d had no idea she was even interested in him. He didn’t seem like her type, the pretty white boy, sweet but slightly spacey, like he was stoned a lot.

Her legs shifted and I caught a quick whiff of sex. I felt myself suddenly get even wetter, slicker, and I knew the chances of getting behind the desk unnoticed were few.

I leaned forward to cover the growing spot on my slacks, and surreptitiously sniffed the air. She rose a bit just then so my face was uncomfortably near her crotch, and then I was inhaling deeply, the rich vapors filling my nose and head.

Her eyes widened. “What the fu…? Girl, you need to explain yourself.”

Before I could stop myself, I slid my hand up her solid thigh and under her dress. My fingers touched wiry hair, poking around her panties.

Her breasts heaved and she panted. “Girl, you need…” she began again, and then choked off with a strangled sound when my warm fingers pulled aside the silk and pressed through the thicket into her slick, steamy cunt. Then my thumb found her clitty. “Oh, God…” She lifted her hips off the chair and shoved her groin at me, and I found myself sinking to my knees, my tongue following my hands.

My lips met her halfway and I sucked her clit into my mouth. “Oh, fuck,” she said softly and began to ride my chin as my fingers slid up into her. The deep musky smell of ripe pussy — recently fucked? — overpowered me.

“Did he…” I asked breathlessly, “put his dick in here, too?”

She grabbed my head and pulled it back down. “Of course. I need that more than the other… and he didn’t give me near enough. So you’re gonna have to finish what you start. Hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

I didn’t. I’d never even seen another woman’s sex up close before, outside of porns. But I could taste him there, or I imagined I could. Her cunt tasted mainly like salt, oily, almost fishy, redolent of rain-dampened wool left to dry improperly in a closet. But the idea of eating her after his cock had been in there was as hot as anything I could imagine, and I gobbled her madly, licking her like a large gamy fruit, a mango, maybe, whose juices ran down my chin as I chewed… Soon, she went over the top with a cry, braced rigid against the chair, and my face filled with the oily, frothy thrusting prickliness of her orgasm.

She relaxed. “Good Lord, Sarena. I never knew you even had dyke tendencies. Warn a girl, why don’t you?” She gasped.

“I didn’t… don’t … really…” I said, also out of breath. “I don’t know… I just got hot at the thought of licking you after he…”

She grinned. “I guess. Well,” she lit a cigarette and exhaled a white cloud.

I wanted one too, but knew better. They always smelled better than they tasted. Pussy wasn’t like that. Its taste was all smell and feel.

“Did you taste him in my pussy?”

“I… smelled him on you. Not sure about the taste, but I think so. Kinda.”

She stared a minute. “So you know how he tastes.”  She rose. “You fucking him too, huh?”

I sank back on my heels. She moved in, towered over me, her thick black thighs thrust forward near my face. “He puts his thick dick in that little hairless baby cunt of yours?”

I nodded.

She looked angry for a second. “Why that motherfucker…!” Then she shook her head and laughed.

“So you wanted to taste his juice in my cooter, huh?”

I nodded.

“Like it?”

I nodded again.

“Well, you know… he never came in my cunt last night,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t want to lick my ass.” She chuckled. “You want to rim my ass, too?”

I shook my head.

She suddenly grasped my face and pushed me backward to the floor, her mouth inches from mine, her body utterly dominating mine. “You sure?” she said huskily, and then thrust her tongue into my mouth. Her hands pawed my tiny breasts and her wiry pubic hair rubbed my groin through my clothes. I nodded.

She reached behind and yanked my pants down over my ass. “He fuck your little baby ass, too, girlfriend?” she said, her finger touching my left cheek and moving into the crease.

Nicole slips in and out of ‘street’ idiom at will; I think she does it to mess with us bourgeois white kids.

I shook my head again.

“No?” she said.

“No,” I answered softly. “He probably wants to. He looks at it a lot. But he’s never asked.”

“Huh,” she sniffed. “You want him to?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m sort of turned on by the idea, especially when you talked about it just now, but I don’t know if it would feel good in reality. He’s so big…”

“And you’re so tiny.” She pressed the flat of her thumb against my anus and I moaned involuntarily. I was both scared she’d push it in and afraid she might not.

She laughed and stood suddenly, pulling her thumb free, and then straddled me the other way, 69-style, her large hairy crotch a foot above my head, inverted. She lowered her head and licked my vagina experimentally. “I’ve never eaten pussy before,” her voice breathless and muffled. “Yours is pretty.” She thrust her hands under my ass, lifted me easily and stuck her hard tongue into me, rammed it deep, as if fucking me with it. It felt a lot like a small cock, until she flexed her tongue inside me, snaking it about, touching crevices that had never been stimulated. I moaned loudly and she began to lap me, sliding her broad tongue across it and then ramming it down inside me, twitching it about. I felt her hit my G spot effortlessly, then the A spot, and soon I was hers to do with what she wanted. She took me to the edge and toyed with me, held me there. I heard her say something against my groin, and then she lowered herself to my chin.

I licked, sucked, chinned her soaking and reeking snatch, but she wanted more. I thought I knew what.

I refused.

She stopped, and I felt the awesome delayed orgasm begin to recede. “Oh, no, Nicole, I’d love to, but I can’t,” I wheedled. “I’ll do anything but lick your ass…” I touched my right index finger to her anus and pushed hard, and she stiffened.

“Make a fist,” she said.

“What…?”

“Make a fist. Left hand.”

“O..k.” I balled up my hand.

“Show me.”

I held my fist down near my cunt so she could see it from her angle above me.

She grunted with approval. “A nice little baby fist. Make it hard and…fuck me with it,” she panted.

“In your…?”

“My pussy, silly girl.” She made a sound of irritation.

I put my fist against her inflamed slippery vulva, and pressed, the heat and the muscle taking over and squeezing, pulling me in to my forearm. She moaned and her body above me shook.

“Now… move it!” she ordered. She rocked her body to get the motion started and soon I was fucking her with my arm, my finger on the bud of her ass.

“Oh, Lord,” she said and began to lash my clit wildly, plunging her hard tongue into me, turning my insides to liquid, quickly heating. “It’s… too good.”

The orgasm washed over us both simultaneously, mine producing the kind of clenching spurting intensity that happened once in a blue moon, with him more often than anyone, usually after a healthy dose of some sort of hallucinogenic.

Hers led her to clamp her muscles round my forearm almost painfully as she came, spasm after spasm of forceful milking wetness bathing my arm inside her. I held still for a minute then decided to use my instincts, ramming deep inside her like I liked a cock to do when I was coming, and she clearly loved it. Then I decided to see if I could open my hand inside her, and almost had it when she froze and screamed. “Ohhhhhh…Dear Jesus. Ohhh, fuckety-fuckety-fucccckkkkkkk…”

I thrust my thumb into her ass, and she jerked, so I added my index finger for good measure before she finally begged for me to stop.

“You kinky little cracker bitch,” she said when she had caught her breath. “that was hot as hell. You made me come like a real whore. I owe you…” she stopped, and a naughty smile stole across  her face.

She dropped her head again, out of sight. I felt her hands on me again, under my thighs. lifting my butt off the floor, and her tongue slid down across my cunt again. She lowered her cunt to just above my face, effectively pinning me to the floor. Then her hard tongue made its way into my butt, pushing just inside and stopping. I froze, and she pulled out, then in again, slowly working my ass. It felt delicious and naughty, beyond anything I’d ever felt. Then a thick finger pushed slowly into my cunt, joined by another. “Oh, my fucking God,” I whispered. “Oh, Nicole. Make me come, you beautiful whore. Make me come. Make me come!”

“I’ll let you in a minute,” she said with a laugh, but it was too late.

When she stuck her tongue inside me again, over the edge I went, into a land where I’d never been before. I’d never had an orgasm that felt like this, this nasty and this good. It was like your first hit of Ex and your first orgasm, all wrapped up in one. It took so long to unwind that it felt like time was broken.

When I came back, Nicole was cradling me in her arms, nuzzling my neck.

“You’ll want it in your junior-sized ass now, little cracker,” she said gently. “I got you all ready for a cock in that cute little pooty-hole.”

Her hands kneaded my butt gently. “Ummm hmmm. I can see that big thick rod opening up your little bumhole wide. And you will fuckin’ love it,” she predicted confidently. “It’ll be too good.”

**

It was a few weeks later that I finally got the nerve to ask him. The prospect of that thick stout cock pressing into my tender ass, maybe tearing me open, scared me almost more than it excited me.

Almost. Some nights the thought of something big and determined, forcing its way into my vitals, crudely, almost angrily, made me come harder than I ever had, until I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes.

I knew I needed to try it, even if I might regret it.

I waited until one of the nights he’d smoked a big fat joint and was huge, hard and reefer-ready to fuck me.

That was in response to Nicole’s instructions. “You want it hard as it’s gonna get,” she said. “Might seem like the bigger it is, the worse it hurts, but bigger isn’t the worst thing. Half-soft hurts more. Pulls, tugs, burns.”

He was hard. Like steel. His cock gets so rigid when he smokes weed, it seems to get bigger. The  ganjaerection, he calls it.

His cockhead vibrated with lust, wanted me like a drug.

My butt quivered with fear…and curiosity.

“How would you feel about us doing some anal?” I asked casually.

His eyes, reddened though they were, brightened. He nodded his head, hard.

He wanted me over the bed, bent over. I felt him press his thumb against my anus, nudge inside slowly, and then rotate slowly, adding a finger. Inside me, things started to happen, a deep rumble of warmth, an almost uncomfortable fullness, actually right on the cusp of too much and just right. He held me there for awhile. suspended, and then he pressed in deeper… deeper…

Suddenly, a spot he touched switched it over into white-hot, clenching pain, and just as suddenly I was in the grip of an animal hunger, a need to be used, to be at someone’s mercy, their toy; my pain, their pleasure. When he held still, I rammed myself back on his hand, skewering myself on his hand.

It felt amazingly nasty, like something we knew better than to do, but did anyway. It burned inside me, and I moved off it, then missed it terribly as soon as it was gone.

He chuckled stonedly. “I guess you’re ready for the real thing.”

Another squirt of lube and he lined up behind me, hunkering down, pressing his cockhead gently between my cheeks, being the careful cocksman. I wanted this fast, before I could change my mind and chicken out. “Do it!” I panted and thrust back impatiently, wanting to feel him inside me, and damn the hurt.

Crave the hurt, actually. I pressed myself upon his cock, felt it shoving my anus open rudely, and pulled about a third of it up into me, when suddenly it widened considerably, wedging me open from within, and the pain was exquisite. “Oh, dear Lord,” I chirped, scared out of my wits at what I was doing to myself. Slightly off balance for a second, Jeffrey quickly recovered and, catching my urgency, seized my ass in his hands, shoved me forward until my forehead touched the bed, and took over, ramming the rest of that thick rounded missile into my virgin ass, banging it in to the hilt.

The pain-filled lightning that roared through my head like a freight train went straight to my clit and was transformed into energy, and my hands leaped to catch it, clasping my crotch and rubbing in a frenzy. I’d never been one to masturbate hard, but this called for a new rule, and harder was better. The orgasm welled, grew huge and yet held off, bolstered by the feeling of that thick piece of hot, metal-hard meat buried in my tiny, pale virgin ass.

And he was so not taking it easy on me. After the way I’d shoved my ass at him, who could blame him for assuming this was not my first time? He thrust hard inside, hammering me open and pounding me like the experienced anal fancier he had apparently take me for, burying his thick tool in me to the hilt again and again… and again… as I gasped and tried to form the words to stop him . No, oh, no, no, please…!

But I don’t think it would have worked even if I had. He was in the grip of a monster lust, a crazy, stoned automatic fucking machine that was barely aware of me as a person; I was just a place to slam his swollen cock, a receptacle for his boiling sperm.

When he came, I came with him, sobbing, begging, the words finally freed by the monstrous wave of pleasure that washed over me, hot and prickly, making me feel like I had a fever. “Ohbabyohbabyohbabyoh…fuck,” I sobbed the words. “Fuck the hell out of me, fuck me, fuck me more…”

He did. Oh, God, did he.

When I walked in the next morning, Nicole was the first person I saw. Watching me gingerly negotiate the door and sit carefully, she grinned knowingly.

“Too good, girl,” she said softly as she poured us both coffee. “Welcome to the club.”

The word seemed appropriate. It felt this morning like that’s what he’d rammed into me the night before, a club.

But I also knew that I was going to go back for more. She was right; it was too good.

The Storm, pt. 1

 Delayed for a month, winter descended  with a vengeance. I was at work, and not really aware of it, but the lights did flicker in the computer room as the main power died and the generator took over. I didn’t know how bad it was until I walked out to the car.

The wet snow had created some very high drifts before turning to rain. As it came down, it had begun to freeze, and the trees, wires, etc. were covered by a shining coat of icicles. The morning sun, just rising, shone thru making them almost pretty. I decided I could probably get home, but I was unprepared for the slipperiness of the roads once I got outside of town.

I was able to negotiate the main roads if I went slowly enough, but the back roads were another story. I crawled along until I approached the first hill, and could not seem to get a purchase. I backed up, and tried to get some speed, but to no avail. Rear-wheel drive just didn’t cut it. I knew  I had two more hills to go. I was just about to give up when a truck approached from the other direction, and stopped.

Two men got out and pushed my car up the hill. They advised me to park in the next driveway I saw, and I followed their advice, thinking they would offer to drive me home, since I was only a few miles away. But as I locked the car, and got out, I saw them get in the truck and drive away.

Son of a bitch.

Or two, actually. But wouldn’t that be “sons of a bitch” versus “son of a bitches”?

So I walked. The rain increased, and I began to get quite wet and cold. When the next vehicle came up from behind and stopped, I got in, shivering.

The driver, a pleasant-looking middle-aged black man, asked how far I was going. I told him and he said he’d drive me home, even though he lived right around the next corner. He handed me a paper towel, and I soaked it wiping my face. “Pretty wet to be out there today, huh?” he noted. I nodded, shivering. The truck’s heater blew warm air across my wet face. Great, I’ll smell like a dog.

As he rounded the next curve, we both saw the branches in the road. He stopped and we checked to see if we could move them. They covered an electric cable which also lay in the road. Regretfully, he turned around.

“I guess we should go back to my house to use the phone,” he said, “Your husband will be worried and I need to call my wife, and tell her not to leave work. It’s too dangerous.” That made sense, I could ask Tom to meet me at the tree. Maybe I could walk around it, miss the wire?

When we got to the house, the man picked up the phone to call his wife. It was dead. He decided to see if he could figure out where the line was broken. Then he noticed my shivering, and noted how wet I still was, and he suggested I go into the bathroom and dry off, while he was working. I did so, gratefully.

“Take a warm shower if you need to,” he called over his shoulder, “And throw your wet clothes in the dryer. It’s right in the bathroom. I may be awhile.” I did, and the water felt heavenly. I felt in no danger, since I’d locked the door, and I took my time. The bath had a pretty serious array of bath oils, and I got out of the shower for a second, leaving the water running, to try them out. I was sampling one of them, standing naked in front of the mirror rubbing it over myself when there was a short knock, then the other door, the one which I’d not noticed, the one which presumably led to a bedroom, opened, and a hand holding a dressing gown reached into the room.

“Here, you’ll need this….. while your…. clothes dry,” he trailed off, seeing me standing there in the nude, rubbing the oils into my thighs, as if masturbating.

We were both quite aware of the scent of my body, as we stood speechless and stared at each other for a very long moment.

I was humiliated, but sensed that he really hadn’t planned this; he’d thought that the shower running meant I’d be in it.  Still…he’d stripped off his wet clothes as well, and stood bare-chested in his gym shorts.

I noted a flush rising under his tanned skin, and a bulge rising in his shorts. Unable to look in his eyes, I looked down and saw his taut stomach, his large hands, and his cute, rounded tush.

As I finally met his gaze, he suddenly stepped forward, as if propelled by an involuntary force, and lifted me bodily, carrying me into the adjoining bedroom, pinning my arms to my sides. His breath came in ragged gasps, his excitement taking him over.

Incredibly, so was mine. I could hear my own harsh breathing, as he lowered me onto the bed on a pile of pillows, and parted my legs with his knee. He paused for a minute to pull off his shorts, freeing his impressive penis, which he took in his hand and guided it between my wet, greasy thighs. I watched in the dresser mirror over his shoulder as he entered me slowly and deliciously, stretching my pussy wide, filling me completely, his gentle movements a huge turn-on. It felt massively, excitingly big.

This was technically a rape, since I hadn’t consented to any of this, but I hadn’t protested or fought either. I didn’t scream, unable to believe it was real and not some bizarre daydream. I wasn’t sure if he would’ve gone any further if I had protested, but I thought he might’ve been just as unable to stop himself as I was. It just was not in my nature to resist too violently if someone was determined to have sex with me. It would not kill me, I thought. Unconsciously, I think I wanted to be ‘raped,’ if it could be relatively non-threatening. I know that my rape fantasies were some of my best, but I never intended to provoke a rape, knowing that the reality would probably be very different.

Anyway, he wasn’t asking.

His tanned buttocks contrasted starkly with my white legs, and from my position on that huge pile of pillows, I could occasionally see his long black penis as it pulled out of my pale thighs, only to be buried again. It was a very erotic sight, and I could feel my body responding, saw it rise up to meet him as I watched his dark hands grip my pale cheeks for leverage to drive that thing harder and harder into me. I felt my groin tingle as his crotch rubbed and ground my clitoris, and he groaned as my muscles responded by gripping him tighter. I could feel the hard thick head of his cock deep, deep within me, thrusting into areas which had not been stroked by a man before.

His chest hair scratched at my breasts, and my nipples hardened immediately. A moan in my throat, I dug my nails into his buttocks, pulling him into me, and thrust back. He grunted in surprise and rose up to thrust even deeper and I felt the unmistakeable stirring, a huge orgasm building as he stroked my inner depths and his crotch bumped deliciously into mine. I felt him start as my muscles clamped tightly around his cock, and it swelled huge, plunging deep into me and setting off an unbelievable burn. I listened to a voice groaning low, deep in the throes of passion, and realized it was me.  He thrust in one more time and froze, holding himself rigid, his cock in me to the hilt, and I wriggled under him to a fantastic explosion. He collapsed onto me, cock still buried in me and his sperm ebbed out, filling me, spreading over my thighs and onto the bed in a sticky mess.

I waited until we’d both gotten our breath back somewhat, and he rolled off, then I asked “So, what’s your name?”

He rose on his elbows to look into my face, and didn’t respond right away.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to call you ‘Mr. Rapist’. I always wanted a zipless fuck.”

He grinned, embarrassed, but game. “Okay. I’m Terrence, and I’ll be your rapist this evening.”

Chapter Two

As the passion cooled, the steam we’d generated dissipated, leaving me feeling a bit limp. My companion seemed somewhat embarrassed by it all as well. We sat without speaking for awhile, his hand idly stroking my breast. Unable to break the silence, I looked into the mirror, as his dark hand, lowering to my thigh, was caught framed against my shockingly pale midsection. It had been a long time since I’d tanned.

In the mirror, his dark body glowed with a sheen of perspiration. I’d never seen a black person naked before. Somehow his penis, though flaccid, did not seem to shrink to insignificance when limp the way so many white ones did. Intrigued and eager for something to do, I cupped it in my palm. The stickiness of sperm and my own juices covered my hands, and I rose, going to bathroom to wash them. I saw him watching me in the mirror, his eyes lingering on my buttocks, and I tingled as I always did when men viewed me as an object.

After returning to bedroom with a wet washcloth, I gently rinsed the sperm from his pubic hair, and where it had puddled around his sac, his penis responding immediately to the warm water, stretching, hardening.

I took him gently into my mouth, wondering how in the world I would manage. This was a porn-movie cock, and I was sort of clueless about how to work it. He pressed in welcoming the feel of my mouth, but held back, and I was grateful. In my mouth it grew some more.

He stopped, took the cloth from my hand and gently swabbed my pubic mound before dipping into my vagina and removing all traces of him.

His large callused fingers lingered on my outer lips, gently probing in, and again I felt the unmistakeable signs of arousal. Softly, I took his penis again, and felt it become firm in my hand, as he pushed me back onto the bed, and I watched in the mirror as he lowered his head to my chest. I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue circle my areole softly, as his hand cupped my other other full breast, his palm brushing across the nipple slowly teasing it to erectness.

I fondled his stiffening penis, reaching under him to cup his testicles, and he caught his breath. Then I felt his hand cup my groin, and I spread my legs, preparing myself for his entry.

It did not come.

His fingers traced my lips, dipping into my vagina and probing, and his thumb found my clitoris. As he pressed and prodded, I felt myself responding quickly, my buttocks twitching and jerking. Suddenly I felt an orgasm building again, and then he stopped.

“Why….?” I gasped, opening my eyes.

In the doorway stood a muscular young black man, his eyes frozen on both of us. “Son,” Terrence said softly. “This is not what it looks like…”

Expressionless, the young man turned and walked away. “I believe it is exactly what it looks like,” he said over his shoulder.

Terrence jumped up and stared after him. “What…? What should I…?”

I had no response. How could I tell him his son was also my personal trainer?

Fucking the past

“Motherfucker…!”

“Tom?” The woman said, rising from the water. Her voice was both excited and unbelieving. “My God, I…” She stopped.

I put my eyes back in my head, eventually, and responded, but she was gorgeous, I mean, for an older woman. “No, I’m Jason. I‘m… looking for Elizabeth.”

She looked confused for a second, then smiled slowly. “Of course you are, Jason. I’m Kathryn, Lizzie’s mom, from back east. Sorry if I blanked out there for a moment. You look a lot like…. a boy I used to know….when I was young.” She shook her head. “The resemblance is… uncanny.”

“Well, come inside and have a cold drink.” She turned and walked inside, holding the door for me. She caught me watching her legs, I’m pretty sure. I couldn’t help it; they’re pretty trim, and the white suit cover really set off her tan. Wow. I never knew Liz’s mom was that hot; I mean Liz said she was pretty, but I never knew she meant movie-star hot. She went to the fridge and handed me a beer without asking what I wanted.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just come around to the pool to wait when Liz isn’t home yet,” I said, taking the beer from her, although what I really wanted was a Pepsi. I didn’t know Lizzie’s dad drank, or her stepmom. They’d certainly never offered me one, probably because I’m underage.

“No problem,” she smiled. “I’m the one who doesn’t belong here; I just let myself in, thinking I‘d have a swim. I know where her dad still keeps the keys; he hasn’t changed that since we were married.”

I was having trouble seeing her ever having been married to Lizzie’s plain old schlumpy, pudgy dad. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your swim,” I said.

“Wanna come with?” she said softly. “Liz’ll be awhile. She just called…”

“Oh… well…I could leave and come back then…” I said. Just then my cell buzzed. Text from Liz. “Hang out an hour or so if you can, babe. Mom’s on her way and I don’t think she has a key.”

I showed her the message. She laughed. “Come on, J, let’s take a dip. You look kind of…like maybe you could maybe use a dip.”

“Well, yeah, I’m sweaty, I guess. I worked all day in the field, topping corn. Should I shower first…?”

“Nah,” she shrugged. “This is the midwest, not Hollywood.” She took a beer herself and led the way back out. As she walked through the arch, she slipped off the swimsuit cover and that orange-cream behind leapt out at me.

“Yeah,” she said, catching me looking at her ass. “It’s the same as Lizzie’s. I bought it for her.”

It looked good on Lizzie, but on her mom? Wowsers. I decided suddenly that maybe a swim wasn’t a good idea. “Ummm… Mrs…” I stopped, not remembering her name.

She laughed. “Call me Kath. Mrs. Nothing.”

“Kath… I shouldn’t swim. These aren’t exactly swim shorts. “ Gym sweats, cut off.

“It’s okay. They look kind of hot on you.” She took my hand and chugged her beer. “Ready for another?”

“I shouldn’t,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one of *those* moms,” she said, smiling.

No, she wasn’t.  I killed it. “Sure.”

She went in and came back in with the rest of the six, popped my cap, and drank some of hers, walked to the pool and stuck her toe in. “Wow. Nice. Nebraska weather.”

She set down her beer and did a quick sideways dive off the deck into the deep end.

God, she looked great doing it. I felt my shorts tighten, walked to the shallow end, waded in.

“Looks like you like the water.” Her throaty voice came from my elbow where she surfaced suddenly after a fast crawl across the length. She looked frankly at my crotch.

Raised an eyebrow. Winked. I looked down at myself, and what I saw made me choke on my beer.

I stammered something apologetic, and blundered away, out of the pool toward the towels.

“Jason,” she said softly in my ear, her hands on my hips. “Stop.” She took the towel and draped it around my waist, hiding my erection. “Better?”

I gulped, nodded.  Filled my mouth with beer, since I had nothing to say.

“I think you should come into the kitchen with me,” she said softly.

I followed, watching her pert butt twitch under the orange, wet and creamy. My Willie came back up immediately. It had been a rough month with Lizzie, who would not touch me for fear we would inadvertently “go all the way.”

“Kath…” I said.

“Shhhhh…” she turned, stopping me with a finger to my lips. She pulled the towel from my waist, and looked fondly at my cock, pointing from my sweats. She took the bulge in her hand. “Nice, Jason. My daughter is a lucky girl.”

“We don’t… she…” I stopped.

She looked me appraisingly in the eye. Pulled the string on her top, which fell to the floor, revealing her perfect breasts. They were way too big for her slim body, obviously enhanced, but God, I didn’t care.

She pulled my shorts down and took my cock in her strong fingers. “Jason, I think you should just let me handle this,” she said. “You remember I told you you reminded me of someone?” I nodded.

“He was my boyfriend all through the 10th and 11th grade. I never… gave him any.” She looked me in the eye. “Never… fucked him.” She licked her lips. “I gave it to the next boyfriend. He didn’t really deserve it, but he was … more aggressive. Tom was too shy, too polite. I’ve always regretted it. So I want you to be Tom for me, now, for an hour.”

“But…” I gulped.

“..you love my daughter. I know. She’s who you want. But for now, I want you, and it will be good practice. Just do me, and forget I’m her mom. Fuck me.” My ears began to buzz, and I felt my breath speed up. “And when it’s done, go back to your life, and to Liz, and forget this. We’ll never speak of it again.”

“Wow,” she said huskily. “Very nice, Tom, is that for me?” She sank to her knees. “God, I love your cock,” she said as she took me into her mouth.

It felt amazing. I had no idea. I couldn’t help it; I started to move, pushing my stiff cock into her hot wet mouth, like it was Lizzie’s pussy.

She laughed softly and sucked harder, took me in deeper, working me with her hand like she knew how it worked. “I need you to fuck me, Tom,” she said and took me deep again, real deep. All of a sudden, I knew it. I was going to blow it. In her mouth. I couldn’t help it. “Kath,” I panted. “I…”

“It’s okay,” she said smoothly, between strokes. “You can come in my mouth, baby. Go ahead. You’re sixteen, you’ll have another one in 10 minutes.” She sucked me in again and in pretty short order I let go, spurting into her searing mouth.

“Ahhhh… Oh, Kath….”

She giggled, sucking, swallowing.

“Tommy, your cock is as delicious as I could’ve hoped,” she stood and took off her bottoms. “I hope my pussy is all you dreamed of when you used to look up my skirt in home room.”

It was gorgeous. Trimmed, soft reddish blonde hair, lighter than on her head, framed the muscular legs, and the golden throat of her cunt winked liquid at me. I could smell musky, womanly scent, and my shrinking cock leaped back to life.

She grinned. “Nice recovery, Tommy. You want…?”

I nodded.

“You don’t secretly want Jennifer, or Ashley, or… John?” she teased, her voice sinking to  a low rasping giggle, schoolgirl nervous.

I grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, setting her on the kitchen counter. She was lighter and harder by a third than Liz, and she didn’t fight me.

She pinched my nipple hard as I drove my cock up between those gorgeous spread legs and into her oily warm cunt.

“Oh!” she said softly as I rammed my cock all the way into her heat. “Fuck me, Tom. You’ve got a beautiful cock…mmmmmm….”

I was raging hard and she felt like fire across the inflamed head of my cock. I was ready to come already, but she stopped me cold with her hands. “Easy,” she said, and I obeyed, despite the raging lust in my blood.

“Slow, stallion,” she said, hands on my chest. She took over the pace, and began to draw me in, slowly, deeply, milking my cock. Her hand on my ass, she drove, and her speed made me insane.

She pushed me up, making me pull out, and sat up, facing me. She stared into my eyes, pushing down on my shoulders until my face was against her gorgeous tits.   I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked hard. “Easy,” she commanded again.

I tried.

After a few moans from her as I nibbled and licked her hard nipples, washing my tongue across the perfect swell of her sculpted breasts, she urged me down further, until her cunt was in my face, guided my mouth to the right spot, showed me how to lick her, how to slide my tongue into her, how to work her clit around without really touching it directly. The taste was exciting, naughty, gamy, sexy. I could feel her start to quiver, her juices leaking, seeping across my tongue, hear her soft moans escape as if she was trying to stifle them.

“Oh, Tommy, this is so naughty,” she gasped. “The teacher will hear us..!” then she began to shudder and shake, grinding her cunt against my chin, her hands winding deep into my hair, pulling it.

“You horny little fucker,” she squealed. “Eating my pussy like that. What’s gotten into you? What’s gotten into me? Your tongue, that’s what. Hold it still now. Make it hard. Point, like this.”  She demonstrated with her own tongue. I did, and she rode it, sliding herself up and down against it, harder, faster, gasping for breath. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking cominnnnnnngggg…ahhhhh…!

Suddenly she froze and squealed, grabbing my hair in both hands and pressing herself hard against my mouth.  “Oh, fuck,” she said softly.

My face was flooded with warm juices, and she  made a choking noise. I licked her softly as she slowly relaxed and caught her breath.

She let go of my hair and I stood, reached for my pants.

She stopped me with her hand.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Stick that hard cock inside me, boy. Hurry.”

I did, and she squealed again, as I started to pump myself deep inside her soaking snatch.

She started coming again, squeezing me, calling my name.

My name? When had she stopped calling me Tom?

“Jason… oooohhhh…baby boy. Ride me.”

I picked up the pace, excited to hear my name in her mouth, slamming into her juicy cunt. She cried out and pushed me away, pulled me up onto the counter top and climbed on top of me, driving herself down forcefully to bury my cock in her tight, blazing hot pussy. “Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Please…” She moaned, her tits jerking above my mouth, tantalizingly just out of reach as she gyrated up and down on top of me.

 

I reached up and pulled her down toward me until I could grab her nipple in my teeth, and nibbled lightly. She stiffened, cried out. A spasm ran through her body and her cunt reacted by squeezing me even tighter as she rammed down until there was no place to go but off. I shot over the edge, moaning her name, blowing up inside her, Liz’s mom, the movie star, up into her thrusting brown body.

“God,” she gasped when she had caught her breath. “Liz is in for a treat.”

Still seated on me, she reached across the counter and into a drawer, rummaging. “Yep. I knew it. The man’s a creature of habit.” She pulled a bottle of brandy from under the bread and took a long draw.

“So. Jason,” she said it like she was trying to remember who I was. “How long have you known my daughter?”

It was surreal, being suddenly quizzed by her as she sat on my slowly deflating dick. “I… uh…well, um, her dad bought this land from my uncle…”

She frowned, took another pull on the booze. “How long have you lived in the county?” She passed the to me, and I took some. The liquid burned down into my body and I shivered.

“I was born here,” I coughed as the liquid hit bottom. “My uncle Tom, uh…”

She stiffened. “Tom? What… what’s your last name? Please don’t say Mc…”

I nodded.

“Oh, shit,” she said softly, finally rising from on top of me and sitting on the counter beside me. “Oh, shit.”

“Tom was gay,” I blurted.

“Oh, fuck me,” she said, but I don’t think she meant it literally this time.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I saw the expression on her face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You… had a thing… with him.”

“It’s ridiculous, really. That was a lifetime ago. I don’t know why I thought nobody’s else’s life would have moved on. Is he…?”

“He died a few years ago…AIDS. That’s when we moved to this farm from town.”

She lowered herself to the floor and walked across to her purse. Flicked through it idly, then grabbed her suit and cover. She nodded, and a tear slipped from her nose to the floor. She sniffed. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get in the pool, and remove some evidence before we get dressed.”

I followed her to the door, stopped to grab my trunks from where they had fallen on the floor. She stopped at the door, walked back and grabbed the flask. She took my hand as we got to the water, and we waded naked into the shallow end. She did a fast crawl toward the diving board, then turned and came back to me where I’d stopped, water up to my ass. She swam right up and took my cock in her hands, washing the juices gently. I felt myself begin to harden again. She smiled ruefully. “Duck,” she said. “Wash me out of your beard.” I did, and when I stood up and opened my eyes, she was sitting in one of the cutouts, her face at crotch level. She reached behind her and took a small white device and a lighter. Lit the stick and inhaled sharply. She held it toward me, questioningly.

I recalled now that she’d dropped something to the deck when I’d walked in, which seemed hours ago.

I took it, inhaled cautiously, careful not to put it out with my wet fingers. Passed it back to her.

“Weed…” she said, taking a deep drag, holding it… “makes me…”

She took me in her fingers again, and despite all the weirdness and the fact that Liz could come in the door any second, I was instantly erect. Her mouth engulfed me, taking me deep into her throat.

“I don’t think….” I began.

“Don’t think,” she said softly. “Just feel.”

Her mouth felt heavenly, and I slid into a place I had never been. Stoned. So this was what that felt like. I closed my eyes and rode her throat, thrusting as if I was fucking her again. My balls skimmed the water with each movement, adding to the excitement. I floated on the sensations, unable to resist her in the least.

Then, as I was rising to the crest, she got her feet and I started to open my eyes. “Don’t,” she whispered, putting her hands over my eyes. “Keep your eyes closed and just feel me.” Her hands squeezed and milked my cock. Out of the darkness I heard a click and several beeps. She was on the phone.

“Lizzy, dear,” I heard her say. “Could I get you to stop by my favorite place and get dinner? Yes. You know what I want.” She chuckled. “Love you, dear.” The phone closed.  “We’re safe for another 45 minutes, lover.” Her mouth seized me again and it was up, up, up…

She stopped again, moved. “Eyes closed,” she reminded me sternly.

Then she pulled me to her and I felt my cock pressing against her slippery flesh, dipping into her cunt. My hands on her hips, I drove myself hard into her. “Ohhhh…” she said softly, pressing back. “Nice. But I get to drive, ‘cause I have the license. All you have is learner’s permit.” She pulled away and took my cock in her hand again, milking me. Then she pressed back onto me again and gasped as I slid into her from a new angle, from behind. God, this woman was tight. I thrust forward again, and she squealed, pulled away and then pushed back, taking me in, but slowly. “Gently, gently,” she whispered , her voice tense. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing by stages and took me into her all the way. “Oh, baby,” she sighed. “I love your cock in me this way. Just fuck me. You don’t need to be gentle now.”

 

I rammed it home and began to pound her in earnest, my head in the clouds. What she was doing different, I didn’t know. The weed had taken me away, and my cock felt like it had never felt, thicker and longer, bursting with nerve endings. For an eternity we moved in rhythm, our parts meshing like magic, my thoughts suspended as my body felt everything deeply, drank it in, and then, without warning, I felt myself begin to climax inside her, my cock swelling large and long, reaching to her very core. She cried out, thrust herself back against me and her body rocked with the spasms, squeezing me almost brutally as she came. “Oh, Kath…” I moaned. “Oh, I love… fucking you…”

“Ohhhhh, take me, Tommy,” she groaned. “Take my ass. It’s yours. You should have had my virginity, and now you have it.”

I pulled out, and opened my eyes in time to see the last wave of sperm gush from my cock and splash across her perfect butt. She thrust back and knocked me from the ledge into the pool. I lay and floated as I got my breath, marveling at the sensations.

After a bit she joined me in the water, rinsing our bodies and kissing me deeply, her hands on my ass. Then she pulled away, took my hand and led me to the steps. “I guess we’d better get dressed, Jason,” she said. “Dinner will be here in a minute.”

I pulled on my trunks watching her ass as she dressed, then collapsed on the chaise lounge. Wow, did this feel great. I closed my eyes and reveled in the feelings that ran though my body, relaxing deeply.

I wasn’t aware of sleeping, but suddenly I tuned in to the delicious smell of pizza. Liz was there, and I could hear the whispered conversation between the two women. “Yeah,  poor boy’s not used to that kind of work; he’s had a hard day,” Liz said. “Probably should let him rest.”

The door closed behind them, and the pool area lights went down a notch. I lay there a bit longer, then yawned and got up, located the pizza box by smell and finished it off in a dark corner, then stretched out and slept again.

On Being Used

He’s looking at me from across the lawn, smiling in a sexy, dangerous, slightly greasy way.

I’m not sure why he picked me; I’m not out, and this is a hetero wedding. I’m not even gay. I’m really just mildly bi, more interested in women than men, by a factor of twenty to one most days.

At first, I’m pretty sure he’s after my tablemates, the two “out” queers on either side of me. Kelvin and Gary have been a couple for a decade, and Gary, the “chick” in the couple, likes to flirt. I’ve known them for 4 of their 10 years together, and I know it’s allowed, even encouraged, in their relationship.

At first Gary thinks that hot, pumped Latino guy with the vaguely outdated cocky greaser look is after his ass too. Then it dawns on them both, and they look at me. “Dude, I think it’s you he wants.” I’m not buying, but then I look back at him and he smiles in my direction.

He has that arrogant way of looking at me, like he knows he can have me whenever he wants. I am not used to a man looking at me that way; I think of myself as more of the hunter than the hunted.

He finds me at the bar, gives me his card and tells me to call him. Just ‘Jose’ and a cell number. This guy’s a real player, I guess.

I check him out with the groom, without telling him why I’m asking; just that I spoke to this guy, do you know him? The groom doesn’t ask why I’m asking; he knows I’m bi, but he doesn’t like to think about it. He tells me, though, probably just in case, that Jose has a date here at the wedding, a long-time lover; they’ve been living together for 15 years and have adopted children. The groom knows them from church, one of the more-active families in this very politically and socially active congregation.

I decide I’m not going to do this. He’s been with the man forever, and they’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake. Besides… I’m not really into men that much. I fuck them once in awhile, usually in a group situation or a three-way with a couple.

But somehow, later that weekend, after the tryst with the current woman has panted its way to a close and she’s on the plane back home, I do call and he’s pretty close by and says he wants to stop by, not for sex or anything, but just because. Before I know it, he’s at my door, smiling that cocky grin.

“Did I tell you how much I like your look?” he says, his voice a soft but somehow firm caress. “That scruffy wild thing you have going.”

I don’t like kissing, but he doesn’t ask, just kisses me, his tongue insistent in my throat. He’s shorter than I am, but he just grabs me around the neck and pulls me down to him, his hands on my ass and I feel him hard against my leg. I am surprised to find I am getting hard, too; usually, I don’t get hard when a man is about to fuck me.

“I like your cock, too,” he says, rubbing it through my pants before taking it out and massaging it in his palms. “A masculine thing, mixed with wanting to be fucked like a woman.”

He reaches into his pants and I find myself sinking to my knees in front of him. His cock’s dimensions are so different from mine; where the head of mine is thick and rounded, mushroom-shaped, the top of a meat lollipop, his is sleek and cobra-like, the head is smaller than the shoulders, torpedo-shaped. He’s longer than me, and I am not small. Thick as I am, he’s almost as thick, everywhere except the head.

I take him experimentally into my mouth, and lick, softly suck. He moans and runs his hands through my hair. I stop, and tell him. “I don’t… really know how to do this. Do you?”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll you teach you,” he murmurs tenderly

I’m thinking since he’s gay, not bi like me, he certainly knows how to suck cock. I’m thinking he’ll show me how he does it.

I’m wrong. His idea of how to teach me is to take my head in his hands and force his cock into my hitching throat, inch by inch, slow but insistent. His thick, high, tightly-clenched balls slide across my chin and thump against my lower lip. He starts to move, fucking my mouth and throat.

I try to take him all in, but my throat isn’t cooperating, and I gag every time he hits the back of it. So I try to make it work another way, using my hand as an extension of my mouth, wrapping him tightly in my fist and swirling my tongue around the glans. He moans and thrusts harder, pushing along my tongue and into my hitching throat again and again, bringing choking grunts and making my eyes fill from the strain.

After a few minutes of this, I am ready to try something else, so I lead him by his rigid and still-growing cock — uncircumcized like me, I think, but when he’s hard, the foreskin is so stretched smooth that it’s hard to say for sure – to the bedroom, and he takes over.

He pushes me to a bending position in front of the bed, quickly peels off my shorts and drops them, then his. I hear him rip the envelope and then snap a condom onto his cock while his slippery finger smears my crack with lube.

“Get ready, baby,” he says, his voice thick with lust. I try to make myself relax, as I feel his glans, snake-like in my mind’s eye in relation to the rearing hood of his cock, press against and pry me open.

I had taken to shaving my ass over the past few weeks in vague preparation for something like this. I’d never done this before. No hair around my hole, nothing to tug or to smell… or slow him down, I discover.

He’s not subtle, pressing my anus in a few short hard jabs and forcing it open, entering me with a masterful thrust, then ramming his thick cock in to the hilt a second later, muscling past the second involuntary sphincter without waiting for it to open. It’s deeply painful and wonderful at the same time, being so completely manhandled, mastered. It’s not my first assfuck by a long shot, but it’s the first time I have been so utterly emasculated, made into a woman. I find I like the role, at least for the moment, and I begin to pant and moan in a decidedly un-butch way.

“Oh yeah, bitch,” he says, his voice tight with brutal glee as he rams himself in again and holds, his heavy balls pressed to my cheeks. “You’re tight as fuck.”

I’m glad he noticed, but I wanted him to say something about my smooth ass, after all the work of getting it so soft and feminine. But he’s too busy slamming himself in, filling me and I can’t speak for the feeling of being so close to being hurt by the length and thickness of that cock.

He stops outside for a second, then punches in and stretches me open, pulls out, rams in again, making me groan with pain, and he loves it. “Yeah,” he says in my ear, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, arching my back. “I like my bitches to make noise. Talk dirty to me.”

“Oh, God,” I hear myself moan. “Please fuck me harder, Jose. Fuck my tight little smooth ass.  Punish it.”

He growls with satisfaction and slams me again, letting go of my hair and knocking me onto the bed, splayed forward, my forehead resting on the bed and my forearms and elbows braced to keep him from pounding me into the headboard. “Get up on the bed,” he says in a minute, and I obey his order without thinking, get on my knees on the bed, my hips clasped tightly in his hands as he pummels my smooth hairless ass, always going in so far I feel his nuts spanking me.

I feel his cock swelling ever thicker, pressing against my pubic bone from the inside, rubbing my swollen prostate as he bangs me. Then with a triumphant roar, he explodes deep inside me, and holds still, his hot semen boiling into my colon sending me over the edge and I blow my load too. With his turgid dick plunging itself into my midsection, I come so hard, my load flings itself a record distance and splatters across the bed, my torso, and even the headboard, a sweet, painfully hard orgasm that leaves me weak and shaky. I collapse on the bed face down, and he rams me for a last few thrusts before he comes to a rest inside me.

“I fucked you good, didn’t I, baby?” he pants. “Say it. You wanted to be fucked, and I fucked the hell out of your ass, huh?”

“Yes, Jose,” I say meekly. “You fucked me good and hard. You were the best.” I stretch out my arms above my head, arch my back, and note the ache in my butt, know it will be sore in the morning.

He chuckles, satisfied, and thrusts a few more times before he pulls out with a pop, and slaps my ass as he heads for the bathroom. “Nice ass, Melanie,” he says. “I could ream you all night, but you’d never be able to handle it.”

I luxuriate in the unfamiliar feeling of being the femme. “Don’t bet on it, Pablo,” I say.

“I’ll be back for you, my gringo whore,” he says as he passes by on the way out, drops a few twenties on the nightstand. “Buy yourself something nice. Now come here and kiss my cock goodbye.”

I move too slowly, and he grabs a  handful of hair, hauls me over and sticks his cock in my face. He seems to have washed it, but I’m still not convinced. Doesn’t matter. He feeds it between my closed lips and I open, and then he’s in again, thrusting, riding my face, his balls somehow still full, slapping my face. His pubic hair smells like sweat and sex, and I realize he’s ready to come again, as I am adjusting my throat to let him pass. Suddenly the idea of making him come is very intoxicating and I start to suck hard, my vision blurring as he goes deeper and deeper. Then he stops and I take over the motion, running my hands over his tight muscular ass, milking him, moving my head and shoulders faster and sucking harder until he explodes, filling my mouth with hot milky come, spurting some into my throat. His balls contract and pull up against my lips and chin as he unloads it all in my mouth, all except the strands that splash across my lips and cheeks.

He laughs. “I told you I’d teach you,” he says.

“You taught me, sweetie,” I say. “Now go back to your wife and kids.”

His grin falters a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d better. But we’ll do this again, real soon. I love to dig that hole again.”

It’ll be more than ten years before I see him again. Probably just enough time for me to get ready for it.

Scratching the seven-year itch, pt. 1

As we got to the door, Kay caught my arm.

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do it after all.”

I sighed, and turned toward her. Just then the door opened, and Tom and Cherry stood there, smiling. “Well?” I asked softly. But she didn’t answer. Her eyes had gone to his groin, covered by a robe, but nonetheless enough so as to catch her attention.

She took my hands and walked into the house.

*

At an Italian restaurant in Bethany Beach a few weeks earlier, we had a met an older couple with whom we’d spent most of the evening. We were just coming from the dining room, our dinner having been perfect, and they were sitting at at the piano bar in our customary spots. One stool beside them was open, and I suggested she take it while I stood to order the bottle of wine. The pianist, Jim, had yet to begin his set.

Kay and I had discovered this place several years earlier, on a spur-of-the moment weekend trip in January, and it had become our ‘birthday spot’ ever since. We were the same sign, with birthdays a few days apart, and we had discovered, quite by accident that first time, the joys of this beach town in winter. All the top-notch hotels were priced within reach, and we could get a beachfront condo with a Jacuzzi, valet parking, all within walking distance of this best Italian restaurant with a piano bar, for about half what a fleabag would cost during the summer.

As I ordered, I caught the eye of the lady beside me, and she smiled as she checked her watch. “I hope it’s worth the wait!” she said.

“You don’t have a reservation?” I asked. “Oh, don’t worry; we got right in. Maybe you’ll get our table.”

“We have a reservation, and we’re still waiting. You had no reservation?” She asked incredulously.

“None.”

And so began a nice evening with the couple, Pat and Kay (yes, another Kay; We’ll call her K2). As they waited for their table, we shared our bottle of wine with them, a fairly good Merlot. Not exactly an after-dinner wine, but we never were overly observant of food etiquette; at the time, neither of us liked white wines, and would even shatter genteel tradition by drinking red with poultry and fish, which was almost as bad as wearing white after Labor Day, or wearing plaid with stripes, I think. Although now they say you should match your wine’s color to the entree’s sauce, not the meat. So what now about plaid; it’s only a sin if it doesn’t match your overcoat? Whoever ‘they’ are, they can kiss my peasant ass.

Ahem.

Pat, it seemed, was a photographer, and Kay, a decorator. They were from North Carolina, and touted that state’s vineyard tradition. We smiled politely, unconvinced that Muscat was going to take the world by storm. After questioning the maitre d’, we discovered the reason for their wait, and our speedy accommodation: They’d been assigned to nonsmoking, and we’d expressed no preference. We all found the irony amusing: They both smoked, and we did not.

Finally, their table was called, and they departed. Kay and I ordered another bottle. Jim, at the piano warming up, recognized us – ‘the birthday kids’ – and nodded, swinging into ‘It had to be you’. His singer, a young lady with classical training whose name we could never recall, showed eventually, and they sang our favorites as always, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ and ‘Let’s Get Lost.’

Then someone touched my arm, and I looked up to see K2 smiling at me, Pat in tow. “Mind if we join you?” We moved over, and the four of us spent the rest of the evening at the piano bar. Once I danced with Kay, and saw them watching us. Later I danced with K2, and hoped to see my spouse and Pat follow suit. I watched, but Pat made no move toward Kay. Never one to be shy, she leaned forward and spoke to him. He smiled, shook his head, and they spoke for awhile.

Around that time, my attention was suddenly distracted by K2’s hands, on of which had lowered from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer, while the other was playing with my hair where it curled past my collar. I smiled into her eyes, feeling heat in my thighs – and not incidentally, in hers – and her soft breasts pressing my chest. She looked to be older than the two of us by close to ten years, and Pat appeared closer to fifteen. Her hand strayed aimlessly back to my neck, and she touched my cheek softly as the dance ended. I noticed then that she wore no ring.

As we sat back down, the Kays took a ladies room break, and Pat went out for a cigarette. My Kay returned first, and told me, giggling, that this older couple was unmarried, just living together  in sin, as we were. “I think she wants to know more about us. I wonder why?” An idea began to take hold in my mind, but before I could figure out how to ask her opinion, the other two returned.

We spent a very enjoyable evening, but no one danced anymore. My Kay confirmed that she’d asked Pat and been refused, as he was ‘an awful dancer,’ and she’d had no desire to embarrass him. When the bar closed, we exchanged addresses, because they had promised to send us a bottle of Carolina’s best red. K2’s hands pressed me closer and her lips touched my neck bit hard when I hugged her. Later, as Kay and I undressed for bed, I asked her what she’d have thought if I’d asked them to come with us. She paused to consider, then said she’d probably have liked it, if she could get past her discomfort at any sort of awkwardness. She confirmed that he was the type of older man she finds attractive. Another opportunity squandered. I wondered if I’d ever get the nerve to ask such a question of anyone.

As we had sex that night, I boozily suggested Kay call me Pat. She seized onto the idea, and played it to the hilt. I was amused by the thought that Pat and K2 could be in the suite next door,  for all we knew, hearing her call his name when I thrust hard. Whomever was there was certainly being spurred on by something. That couple outdid us in every way; enthusiasm, duration, and volume. I wish I’d walked over and asked them to keep it down, just to see if it was truly them.

Rewinding further:

A few years earlier, we’d gone to her company’s Christmas party, a company with whom I’d worked in the past, and we’d been seated with an older couple. The lady, Martha, was a woman we’d both worked with, an attractive, well-endowed brunette in her fifties, and her companion was a man named Ed, about ten years younger and blond. Later, when he asked Kay to dance, Martha and I followed.

Her pliant body aroused me, as it had when I worked with her, when her quick laugh and suggestive humor had always made me wonder if she were doing more than kidding. She carried on with all the guys, so I had no illusions on that score. But in her more sober moments, she would mourn her recently-ended 20-year marriage, and say she’d welcome more male attention.

Kay was glowing when she and Ed returned from the floor. I asked her discretely if he’d made a pass, and she said he hadn’t, but told me what he had said. ‘You have a very muscular body.’ I wondered if he knew just how happy that made her, after her ugly-duckling teens. At the time, I didn’t know her well enough to know her taste in men, (other than me, of course) but later she told me she did find him attractive, and expounded on what she liked. Receding hair, authority mixed with playfulness. No wonder she’s with me; I fit into the first category in spades.

But in spite of the fact that Martha and Ed would’ve been a good choice, the subject – as with Pat and K2 – was never broached until too late, and only then in joking manner: I asked Kay if she’d have sex with him, if I were in the next room with Martha. “Only if you were locked in the next room,” she smiled. I never knew if she was serious or not. And I never got close to discussing something like that with Martha, due to a shyness about her religious background.

Sex that night, as the night when we later met Pat and K2, was enhanced for both of us.

*

As Kay and I entered Tom and Cherry’s house, Cherry took Kay’s arm, and they went to the kitchen. I proceeded to lay down the ground rules to Tom. “Kay and I will start to have sex, and you guys do the same. When – If – Kay relaxes enough, then we’ll switch. What happens after that is up in the air, but be gentle and don’t force anything. Don’t be rough unless she asks you to.” Tom agreed. He, Cherry and I had all known that Kay was the ‘Big Unknown’; she was not totally adverse to this idea, but she was very nervous,  and the wrong approach could ruin it forever. We’d all had some question as to whether she’d do it at all. Only Kay and I knew that a big part of that was that she found Tom unattractive. In fact, that was the reason I’d not wanted to coax her when she hesitated at the door.

But, as she and I had decided, this was the only chance we’d yet had. Tom and Cherry approached me, alone, a few weeks earlier, saying that they suspected Kay wasn’t ‘into that sort of thing’, and that I could come alone or bring another woman if I wanted. I’d told them I’d think about it, and in the end, I asked Kay, deciding that, while my first time with more than one person could be fun, the big thrill for me would be to see Kay with another man.

Cherry was attractive enough, in a Wal Mart sense; big breasts, short, tanned legs, and a well-rounded butt. Her pixie-cut strawberry blond hair made her look quite young in spite of having borne three children, and in her slutty clothing, she appealed to me on a base, perverse level. Tonight she wore a black negligee tucked into skintight cutoff jeans with a zippered crotch which went all the way around. But what I found the most intriguing about her was her bisexuality. I knew that I couldn’t let her tell Kay, or she’d be out the door like a shot. Cherry had agreed to keep silent.

The girls came back in, bearing drinks, and we all sat down, the other couple on the recliner chair, and Kay and I on the sofa. We made small talk while Tom set up the VCR, and we watched an X-rated movie called ‘The Opening of Misty Beethoven’ which I knew Kay liked. She could get aroused by almost any moderately good pornography, whether printed or filmed, as could I. I supposed this could pass for moderately good, assuming one was being charitable.

Soon, her eyes began to get that glassy look that I recognized as lust. I began to massage her through her silk shorts-and-Tshirt set, which was all she’d worn under her winter coat. Her groin felt very warm, and I watched my crotch grow through the silk boxers I wore, as she idly touched my leg. Then I saw where her eyes looked: not at the screen, where Misty was getting a first lesson, but over on the recliner where Cherry was kneeling on the floor in front of Tom, her mouth engulfing his penis. With her eyes glued to the action across the room, Kay did not even seem to notice as I pulled her silk bottoms off, followed by my own shorts.

My hands found that she was indeed wet and willing. I knelt in front of her and began to manipulate her clitoris with my tongue. Her eyes fixed on Cherry’s bobbing head, she caught her breath as my finger entered her slowly followed by another. Soon her hips moved in rhythm, and her eyes closed as they always did when she was aroused this way.

I kept it up for about five minutes, my tongue steadily teasing her, my fingers dipping in and and out. I could hear sounds behind me on the chair, and realized that they’d probably be getting impatient. Then I felt a hand reach between my legs and grasp my penis, and could only hope it was Cherry. She began to move around until she’d positioned herself on her back, her mouth between my thighs, and began to fellate me. I noticed that her body was moving rhythmically beneath me, and soon gathered that Tom was screwing her at the same time although I could not see him. I decided to finish up so we could try something else.

I picked up the speed of my tongue strokes on Kay’s clit, while easing off the pressure. She responded, breathing harder, and I watched for the telltale motion of her eyes, moving wildly REM-like under closed lids. There it was. With Cherry’s inexpert but enthusiastic lips clamped around my cock, I suddenly thrust another finger into Kay’s vagina, shoving all three in hard, strumming madly with my tongue. Her hips bucked, and she groaned aloud, thrusting her hips forward and grinding herself onto my chin. Then she went rigid, her feet braced on the floor, and her breath came whooshing out.

I kept up the motions with my tongue for a short time longer until she stopped me with her hand, and opened her eyes. They widened as she saw Cherry’s head beneath me, and then drifted over to Tom, who knelt behind me, Cherry’s legs over his shoulders. Tom, watching Kay’s orgasm, had stopped thrusting, and froze, kneeling, his prick just touching Cherry’s vaginal lips. Cherry, as well, had stopped sucking, and lay smiling up at Kay from between my legs.

Tom rose, and came toward us, probably just to say something complimentary, maybe offer a drink. Kay cringed as he approached, cock pointed straight at her, so I spoke softly in her ear. “You know how you like my hard cock inside you just after you come?” She nodded, and reached for me. “There’s one bigger than mine. Probably feel even better. Go for it, my dear.” She caught her breath. After a bit, she nodded.

I took her hand and helped her up, bending her over the table. Motioned Tom over, and him stand behind her, his cock resting between her thighs. Slowly she reached back and took his cock in her shaking hands, rubbing it up and down along her wet lips. I watched as Tom fed it in a bit at a time. I turned my attention to Cherry for a minute, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to a new position on the floor, where we could watch the others. With her lying supine on the floor, I buried my eager head in her ample chest, worrying her nipples to hard red buds. Not a quiet lover, she moaned lustily, and I heard Kay answer. I looked up in time to see Tom thrust into her to the hilt for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, leaning further forward, her tiny breasts almost touching the coffee table, her eyes unfocussed. I noticed her head was only a few feet from Cherry’s. They moaned in unison as I thrust my tongue into Cherry’s pubic mound, assaulting her clit in a much more brutal manner than I was used to with Kay. She seemed to love it.

As I brutalized Cherry’s cunt, thrusting fingers in and lashing at her clit like a violin, I watched Kay beginning to enjoy the fucking she was getting from Tom. Every thrust would make her grimace, and I wondered at first if he was hurting her, as she had made it clear to me that penetration was much deeper from the rear, and had complained on occasion, if I thrust too deeply before she was sufficiently ready. This guy was much bigger, but she was much more excited than usual. I watched as he pulled almost all the way out, and then plunged back into her. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth twisted, gasping with the force and size of his entrance. Then I saw her hand go down between her legs to cup his testicles, or to play with her clit, and decided she was fine.

Cherry seemed about ready to come, so I punched all four fingers into her, and pressed my thumb onto her clit, and she exploded, wailing my name. Kay looked up, frightened, but Tom seemed oblivious. Clearly she always came loudly.

Kay had stopped moving, and soon Tom, still stuffing that big throbbing thing into her, soon wondered what was up. I rose and went into the bath, coming back with a wet wash cloth, which I handed to Kay. She looked at me a moment, then began to swab Tom’s cock clean. She refused to give head unless the dick was recently washed, and I’d never seen her suck one after it had been inside her. But then, I’d never seen her suck anyone’s except mine. I wanted to see if she could handle this big one.

At my instructions, Tom sat on the floor, and Kay got on all fours in front of him, settling down to suck him off. I put my head between her thighs, swabbed her clean with the washcloth, and began to eat her again. She balked at first; I’d never been able to get her to let me give her head twice in the same night, but it seemed like the thing to do, to get everybody involved. Tonight was a night for firsts apparently, because she relented, and I got a close-up view of my spouse as she deep-throated that big penis, or tried to, anyway. Her throat bulged as she pressed her mouth down upon it, and I saw her eyes widen as she realized there was more to go. Tom seemed to enjoy it.

Cherry settled down to deep-throat me as well, and I gave Kay another tongue lashing. This was a position that wasn’t that hard for me, as Kay and I often did sixty-nine, and we always did it with her on top, since she hated to be trapped underneath. I decided that if she was going to come this way again, I’d have to try something different. Thumbing her clit gently, I licked all the way up and down her crack, and was rewarded by a shiver. I blew on her lips, and she quivered some more. Her eyes closed. Pressing my nose deeply into her sex, I inhaled her scent, and she rubbed herself on my face like a cat, getting off a slow, shuddering orgasm. I heard her shaky breath around Tom’s cock. I continued licking her sex softly, while Cherry mauled my cock, and Kay did not ask me to stop. Her eyes stayed closed as she went down, screwing her mouth down over Tom’s meat; he showed no signs of finishing.

I got an idea, and pulled out from under her long enough to whisper to Cherry. She frowned, then got up and disappeared up the hallway. I slid my fingers slowly inside the folds of Kay’s cunt, massaging that rough spot inside her which always made her hot. She went rigid for minute, then began to move in rhythm with my strokes, her thighs tense, eyes closed. Tom’s cock got separated as he pulled back, and when he thrust again, he struck her in the chin. Without opening her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and reinserted it into her mouth, keeping her hand between his groin and her mouth, masturbating him as she sucked.

When I’d met her, she didn’t go down, but with me she’d gotten to be quite the accomplished cocksucker over the past few years, and it seemed as though he agreed. As I watched, a runner of saliva and pre-come dripped from her lips onto the floor.

Cherry returned with a large vibrator, and handed it to me, sitting down to watch. On sudden inspiration, I motioned her to lie beside me. Together we slid it inside Kay’s cunt, pressing it into that spot, then softly began fucking her with it. Her breathing picked up, and her body began to undulate with pleasure. Then, suddenly, Cherry’s hand moved to Kay’s clit.

I held my breath.

No reaction. Either she didn’t know it wasn’t mine, or didn’t care. With a mental shrug, I moved softly out from between Kay’s thighs and Cherry slid gently in, replacing her finger with her tongue. Her lips covered the tiny bud of the clitoris, and sucked on it. Kay groaned, but did not open her eyes. Wow. I know it’s as stupid a cliche as they come, but it was hot, watching my ‘wife’ get eaten by another chick.

Moving softly, I took Cherry’s legs in my hands and thrust myself into her cunt. She grunted, but it was muted by Kay’s cunt. She was incredibly tight, considering that she’d given birth three times.

After a few minutes of this, I decided to take a risk. It was not as though the rules had not already been broken; with Cherry going down on Kay; if she was upset by that, there was a good possibility we’d never get her to speak to them again, much less do this. What the hell.

I pulled Cherry’s torso higher, and draped her legs around my neck. Pressing my fingers into her pubic region, I wet my fingers in her juices, and then pressed my thumb into her upturned anus. She gasped and froze for a minute, then resumed half-heartedly licking my spouse’s cunt. Moving my thumb around inside her nether regions, I felt a new spasm in her tense lower body with every new inch of her anal crevice I explored, tracing my cock through the layers of skin and tissue. When my thumb popped out suddenly, she relaxed so suddenly, she actually sagged in my hands. I pulled out of her cunt, and thrust my cock into her bum.

She screamed, and Kay’s eyes flew open, just as she began to come. Seeing Cherry’s head between her legs, she tried to stop fellating Tom, but as he was approaching orgasm, his hands were planted firmly on her head, and he was moving in and out involuntarily. Her head continued to pump up and down, his cock coming to meet it harder and harder, though she was not exactly sucking anymore. In fact, muffled sounds were issuing around his penis, as it thumped its way to explosion in her mouth, aided by the unexpectedness of her teeth grazing his tender skin.

Tom yelled and burst his load in Kay’s mouth, and all over her chin, come squirting out the sides of her mouth, and down over her neck, up into her hair.

Kay’s third orgasm came violently even through the shock of seeing a woman giving her head and wielding that mammoth vibrator that plunged into her cunt. She groaned around Tom’s cock, and went rigid, her jaws straining, catching his cock and breaking the skin. Her groin thrust down, covering Cherry’s screaming face, mashing the back end of the vibrator into Cherry’s cheek.

My cock in her ass, Cherry’s orgasm seemed to surprise even her. I think it was more pain than anything, that orgasm, a spastic twitching affair. Her pussy clamped over my fingers, which I’d thrust into her as I fed my dick into her butt, and she screamed shrilly, though she could barely be heard, her face covered in straining cunt.

My penis, thrusting into the tightest hole I’d ever felt, was crunched even harder by her orgasm, and I came swiftly, hot, overlapping jets boiling out of me into her tight little hole, leaking out and covering her cheeks. Then my cock popped out and spent itself on her pubic mound, throwing sperm up her body, and splashing onto her breasts.

We heard a knock at the door.

Her Wake, pt. 1

The woman was stunning; I’d always noticed. It had been a few years, but she’d just gotten sexier, even as she’d started to be unable to afford the expensive clothes that had always been her passion. Now, as she stood in the doorway to the empty house, her chest heaving, explaining why she was about to flout her marriage vows after 25 years and do something she thought was probably irredeemably bad, all I could think of was that she looked even sexier now that she’d experienced some of life’s sadness. You could see it in the lines on her face.

They underlined her beauty.

“I’m 47 years old. I’ve never been with anyone except my husband. I know from watching my sister that I don’t have that much more time; she had to have her hysterectomy at 48, and after that, she lost most of her desire for sex, because the white-hot intensity, the need, went out of it. It never came back; I think when it goes, it’s permanent.

“I still have that; the crazy thing is that I’ve never really been with anyone that quenched it. That’s sad. I’ve tended my body well, it’s still pretty good, don’t you think? And I don’t want it all to go to waste.”

I was tempted to point out the fallacies in her thinking, and maybe the falsehood I saw in her story, but then abruptly had the sense that maybe she was doing more than explaining her reasons for wanting to cheat.

I could have told her that her sister’s radical hysterectomy was, in a word, radical, and that most women would not have had that procedure; that it was unnecessary under all but the most dire circumstances, and that her sister’s ignorance and impatience was the only reason she’d taken that route. Most women avoided it for exactly the reason that such a radical change in their hormones dimmed their libidos if not extinguished them, at least for awhile. That her sister’s sex drive had only diminished was a testament to how strong her libido had been.

I could have told her I knew she’d been with at least one other man, but I felt that her point was valid, since that one was not voluntary.

But I wanted her more than I wanted to be honest. It was one of my failings, probably the most important one. She was gorgeous and I had dreamed about her the first time I’d met her.

Instead, I told her that her body was a dream. I didn’t lie about that.

She beamed. I knew in that moment that I was actually going to have this woman. Maybe not now, but I was going to do it even though I knew how wrong it was.

Correction: Even though I knew how wrong society would view it as being. I wasn’t certain it was wrong for her. I knew it was wrong for me, but I was used to being wrong.

Then she told me why I was being chosen to be the lucky cuckolder.

“She told me all …about you. Every detail, I think. About her sex life with you. How, during the time you were together, as on-and-off lovers, you … made her come, gave her the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. Even made her… squirt, for the first time. That it embarrassed her when it happened, one of the first times you were together, because she didn’t know what it was, but it felt good, and how you told her about it, that it was a good thing, it was something… some lucky women learn to do in their ‘40s, and some never do. How she started to do it all the time with you, over and over, how you knew how to make it happen, and just how to hold still, deep inside of her once she started to come, because it made it more intense and made it last longer, how she could sometimes come a dozen times in a night, sometimes multiple orgasms while you just kept still inside and then fucked her again hard after. Often made her come the other way, the normal way, and come harder than she ever had.

“She said she never did squirt with anyone else, even after she knew how to do it; no other man knew his part, and she couldn’t bring herself to try and teach them.”

She looked at me shyly from under her bangs. “I’ve… never …” She blushed.

“You will.”

She colored even more. “I like your confidence.”

She resumed her narrative. “She said that you never loved her, that it was just sex for you, and that she knew that and she hated it. But when she was with men that she loved, she used to dream about being with you, often fantasize that it was you when she was with them. She said she’d always come back, get high and have sex with you, because being high made it ok — and made it more intense — and she needed to have a dozen hard orgasms almost as much as she needed love.

‘She said she thought you liked her well enough, but that she wasn’t smart enough for you to love.”

It was my turn to look away in embarrassment. I had to admit that was a version of the truth… and it didn’t make me happy with myself.

“But it’s okay,” she said softly. “Because I don’t want love from you. I love my husband, and he loves me back. Hard. I don’t want to be rid of my marriage; I’m not ashamed of him because we lost our vacation house, the BMW and most of our money in this damn recession. It’s not about wanting to get back at him for our loss of face.” She smiled tremulously, looked around. “Even this house goes soon. We haven’t made a payment in nine months.”

“You’re more than your possessions, Annalisa. Don’t you know that? Everyone is. Everyone’s potentially a millionaire philanthropist, or a rich, self-centered prick, and everyone’s potentially a saint. Everyone’s potentially an artist and an accountant. Everyone contains a million potential selves.”

“Everyone?” She seemed doubtful.

“Well, maybe not Republicans,” I said, and smiled to show her I was joking.

She smiled obligingly, but she seemed to want to get back to her point. I shut up.

She pursed her lips.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential as a person. I’ve been afraid to put myself out there, test my talents, I’ve never had to, so far, he was a good provider.

“But I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential sexually, either. I’ve been afraid to…” I saw the look that passed over her face, and I knew she was thinking about the rape, and whether to tell me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t imagine I knew.

“I just… want you to make love to my body, and maybe my mind, before I lose that potential. I want you to show me what she says you have.”

“What else did she tell you?” I asked.

She smiled again. “As I said before — she told me everything. She seemed to feel guilty about it when she… was sick… and fiercely proud of it at the same time. I was her confessor.”

“Everything, hmmm?”

“Blow by blow. As it happened. How you went down on her; she said you licked better than anyone, made her come in seconds and how she had her first multiples with you.”

“That’s all?”

“…she talked about you fucking her mouth. She told me she had… blown… guys before until they came, but you were the first that she did it with that way, with you… ‘being in control’ was how she put it. Told me how it was uncomfortable for her when you started to thrust and how she found out by accident that it worked better if she lay down on the bed and you… mounted… her face. She said you did it teasingly one night after she did it to you, so she could see how it feels when she wanted to sit on your face…She said it was claustrophobic at first but that she could take you all the way in her throat that way, and how she started to enjoy it. How she would sometimes choke and gag, but then when you came hard in her mouth, shooting bullets like you always did when you did it that way, because you got really really excited, she felt all-powerful.”

I didn’t know that. I’d known I was transparently using her when I rode her mouth, but I could justify it by saying the position was her idea, and frankly, it had felt so amazing that, especially when I was high, I just didn’t want to think about it. I’d been ashamed on some level, but not enough to stop unless she asked.

“I never thought I should do that…” I started… “but…”

She shushed me. “You feel ashamed of yourself because you knew better. You know it’s not polite to choke someone with your…penis…But you were weak.”

“Yes, I guess that says it.”

“She said it was worth it, that the feeling of being humiliated, taken advantage of, started to feel hot. She loved to see how much you got off on it, how much power she had even when you thought you were in control.

“You don’t seem to get it, do you? She saw her time with you as the sexual high point of her life. Maybe the low point in many other ways, especially romantically. But she got happy talking about the sex. That’s why she told me so damn much about it.”

She moved in closer. “She talked so much, she filled my dreams with it…I want all that, too,” she said softly. “I want you to be kinky with me. No one ever has. I want to experience that before…”

Before she died, like her sister. She didn’t know it, but I could relate to that existential familial concern.

“I don’t know if … I’m any good in bed, frankly. He and I don’t do anything …naughty. Plus, I’ve had two kids…”

… and you think your cunt may be stretched out of shape. That beautiful cunt I used to imagine, used to love to be so close to, when I danced with you at the VFW dances at Christmas when she and I were together. But you didn’t know that… at least I don’t think you did.

I knelt before her and her eyes widened as I lifted her thin skirt. She wore a soft white thong over her exquisitely toned, tanned pelvis, which I pulled aside and slid my tongue along her delta. She shivered and caught her breath. Her vagina was newly shaven, scraped, reddening.

I stopped, inquired.

“I did that for you,” she whispered. “I thought…”

“…thought…?”

“Thought you preferred it,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Because your sister said I preferred hers that way?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“She really did tell you everything, didn’t she?”

She nodded. “Every twist.”

I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t live up to it? I’m a few years older, you know.”

“You will,” she said.

I smiled. “I like your confidence.”

I knelt again, pulled her panties aside.

I touched her clitoris with my tongue and she stiffened, pressing forward to meet my mouth. I lapped it once, twice… and stopped. She made a small sound of disappointment.

I rose and looked into her eyes. “You have a beautiful cunt. I would love to lick it for hours. But it’s not comfortable for you with it shaven, is it?”

She made a soft sound and shook her head.

I stood and took her face in my hands, looked into her eyes. “I think your hair is gorgeous. “ I took a lock, a curl, in my hand, ran it between my fingers. “But I liked it better black. Does it come in, fine, soft, light brown…?”

“… down there? Yes. So you like hair on…?”

“…your pussy? Yes. I mean, I like it shaved, too, but hair is very erotic for me because it reminds me of how women wore it when I was a teenager. Nostalgia for puberty is very arousing. Let it grow. I think you’d look sexy as hell with a thatch.”

She colored. “So I’m gonna be retro. I guess I’m cool with that. No one has ever licked my pussy before besides…”

I kissed her then, deep and long, and after wrinkling her nose at the taste of her own vagina on  my breath, she warmed to it, kissing me back vigorously, and pressing her body to mine. When I moved behind her, kissed her neck, she pressed back against me, her rounded voluptuous but muscular cheeks against my denim-covered erection. I pressed her forward to lean across the bar, reached under her skirt. pulled her thong free and dropped it down her thighs, then knelt behind her and gently licked her, then rose and used my fingers and the heel of my hand to make her come rapidly as I kissed her neck.

“God,” she breathed. “That was amazing. I’ve never come that quick before. No one ever made me come before except…”

I put my finger to her lips. “Don’t speak his name. I don’t think he should be here.” I lowered her, breasts heaving and eyes flashing, to the closest bar stool, kissed her fingers, and let myself out by the kitchen door.

The third time we were together, she told me about it. I’d just made her come with my penis for the first time, and she was lying beside me, the tears drying on her cheeks. “I cry when I come,” she’d said apologetically.

I hadn’t seen it when she’d come from oral or by manipulation with my fingers, so I assumed she was talking about intercourse orgasm only. “Your penis — your cock —” she said, landing hard on the consonants, “is very nice. Hard. Thick. Silky.” She took it in her hand gently, as if she knew I was tender after an orgasm. I was, but I hadn’t had one. “No penis has ever been inside me before except…”

She stopped abruptly. I knew what she thinking about.

“That’s not strictly true,” she said after a bit, as if willing herself to go on. “…He…my husband… was my first, yes, when I was only 17. But… about six months later, I was working in this restaurant and my boss…” her breath caught shakily in her throat.

“He forced himself on you. I know. She told me. I’m sorry.”

She turned to look at me. “My sister told you…?” she asked incredulously.

“She didn’t know the details. She said it was a rape, but that it wasn’t reported for some reason. She worried about you, said you were having nightmares about it.”

She was silent. “What else do you know about it?” she whispered finally.

“Nothing. I think you should tell me, if it would help to talk about it.”

She thought briefly, then sighed. “I was 18, and he was 31. The guy, Marco, ran this big fancy restaurant in Hyattsville. I was hired as the hostess, so I got to wear nice clothes and be glamorous, or so I thought.

“The boss dressed really expensively, a real show horse, my dad called him, drove a Jaguar, gold cufflinks, but he was Italian and not mafia, so my old-world dad was grudgingly proud of him. He used to flirt with all the girls, so nobody thought much of it when he did it with me.

“The night it… happened… he had opened a new restaurant in Baltimore, the Inner Harbor, and it was packed. He was so happy, he threw a party after it closed and got us all drunk. I was the hostess of the new place, but everyone else was new or from somewhere else, nobody I knew from work. He kept filling my glass, booze I didn’t usually drink, and I got way drunk and danced with him and all the waiters. The next thing I knew, everyone was leaving, and I was way too trashed to drive, so he said he’d take me home.” Her voice began to shake, and I told her she should stop.

She shook her head. “I need to get this out. I’ve been sitting on it for almost 30 years.”

“I mostly passed out, so he picked me up and took me to the car. I remember feeling his muscles as he carried me, he was very strong, and I think I felt his fingers on my legs. I remember his hand under my butt…but I was way too out of it to protest.

“When I woke up, it was pretty dark, and I was still very drunk, so it took me a minute to figure out that I was almost naked and in a strange bed. My underwear was missing, my skirt and top were gone, all I had on was this sexy underthing I had worn under my dress, kind of a bustier…no, a chemise… and I heard some moaning.

“In a second I figured out it was me. I was moaning because Marco was licking my …pussy…”

She gulped.

“Then…” she closed her eyes. “I… I came. I couldn’t help it, I was just waking up, and I was already on the verge of an orgasm, and i couldn’t stop just because it was wrong. He looked up at me from between my shaking thighs and smiled…

“Then …he just moved on top of me, stuck his tongue in my mouth and  his cock inside me. He didn’t ask, or act like there was any question I wanted it. He was big and thick and strong and determined and I was drunk and confused and…when I tried to move my hands to stop him, they were tangled in my chemise, which was under me… I had these big bracelets that were holding my wrists to my sides…” she gestured.

“… aaaand…” a loud sob escaped her but she kept on, “…he had his pussy-tasting tongue in my mouth and was fucking me, making all these… sex noise, grunting as he …thrusted into me…telling me how good it felt. I… I…I was making noises too.”

She stopped, collected herself. “It was very confusing. I was scared, humiliated,  I didn’t want this man fucking me, and I was crying…but…his cock felt sort of good in me anyway.”

I pulled her into my arms. “You came with him inside you…”

“Yes,” she said softly, her cheeks wet. “Nobody ever says that about rape, that you come even if you don’t want it.”

“And he knew.”

“Yes. He felt it. And he was very proud of himself.”

“Did he come?”

“Not…right away. I got one hand free, and started to fight him, pushing up at him, and he stopped for a minute. I was crying really hard, asking him to stop! get off me!  let me up…He got really pissed. He said ‘What? I don’t fucking believe this. You liked it! Liked it so much you came, you little twat. Now you want to act like you don’t want it? Well, I get to come, too, bitch. Fair’s fair!’ and started to fuck me again, hard and fast.”

“Those are the words I hear in my dreams. ‘Fair’s fair,’ and ‘twat.’”

I held her as she cried. “I’m sorry you were raped, baby.”

She stopped abruptly. “He said …it wasn’t rape because I came. He said no cop would arrest him if they knew I came three times…he said they could tell if you came, they had a test…he said if I called the cops and charged him, I’d be arrested for false charges when they did the tests and found out I came.”

I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And you were a poor kid who didn’t know any better, so you believed him.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Three times.” She looked at me, took a deep breath. “He was really big, fucking me really hard and so deep it took my breath away, and I couldn’t stop him. He got rougher and it scared me…But when he came, I, I, I felt this jolt inside me, and then he put his hand under me and …stuck his fingertip inside my ass… It hurt like hell, but I came again, hard, crying…”

She stopped, and I told her to let it rest, we could finish this another day if she felt it was that important.

She agreed. And we sat for a moment, as she calmed herself.

Then she surprised me by reaching for me, taking my hand and guiding it to where her long, slender legs came together, and up to her cunt, which I discovered was soaking wet again, sticky with desire. She pulled me to her, and inside her incredible heat. We made love gently, softly, and she came again, crying quietly into my shoulder.

It was a few weeks later. Stoned this time, we had just fucked again, with more gusto than the last time, nastier and not so tender. After I’d eaten her for 20 minutes, she’d come hard and then yanked me on top of her, and we’d been unstoppable for nearly an hour. We lay in bed, after, catching our breath.

She put her hand on my ass as I leaned across to get my glass. She’d kept her hands on it the whole time, and stroked it after we’d come and lay entwined. “She said you had a great ass,” she said idly. “She was right. It’s adorable.” she sighed. “…His… is small, but not as rounded. He has muscle tone like you, but all the oomph is gone from it.” She leaned down and kissed my bum softly. I felt her warm breath on my butt and then her wet tongue traced down my left leg to the back of my knee, while her hand fondled me from behind, hardening me again.

“Your butt is awesome, too, Annalis,” I said, fondling it. I licked the crease lightly, then when she didn’t recoil, I touched my thumb to the hard bud of her anus.

I waited.

“He threatened to fuck me in the ass…” she said abruptly.

“Marco…?”

“Yes. He… said… next time, he wanted to ride my ass. When he was… fucking me, he called it riding. ‘I like riding you.’ Like that. ‘Cute, tight, little bum you got there. You liked it when I put my finger in it. Next time, I want to teach you about anal sex. I’m gonna ride that ass good.’ ”

“When did he say that?”

“After. When he drove me to my sister’s. He refused to let me call a cab, and it was so late I was afraid to go home, and going to Joel’s was out… I showed up at her house, he made me get out a block away, so no one saw him, I guess. She called dad and told him I’d had too much to drink and she’d picked me up. She calmed dad down. See, that was the other thing: I knew dad had beat our eldest sister when she … was caught having sex with a boy. And she never lived it down with him. I knew I couldn’t tell,” she finished in a whisper.

“So your sister didn’t insist you go to the police either.”

“No. You know her; she takes her cues from others. I told her I couldn’t and she gave in. But she was great; she told dad what he needed to hear to calm down, lied through her teeth. Her husband was drunk and asleep.

“She took me over to my boyfriend’s that night, and then a few days later, he went in with me and I quit. He stood there glaring at Marco, because I told him he’d been eyeing me and I was quitting because I didn’t trust him. I told the cashier I wanted my last check, and he sat there and wrote it out, handed it to Marco to sign, and Marco handed to me.

“Then he had his buddy, who was a cop, walk us out and tell us not to come back. My boyfriend was scared but he didn’t act it. He had pot on him and he was worried he’d get a criminal record and not be able to get into law school.

“Then, when I got home, I looked at the check and found what Marco had written on it, instead of a signature — ‘Don’t forget — I’m still going to ride your tight ass.’

“I used to wake up at night, scared out of my wits, heart pounding. Dream he was on top of me, inside me. I woke up once having an orgasm, like I did when he was eating me… A couple of times I woke up scared he was behind me, about to … put his cock in my ass. I stopped sleeping face down, because I’d often be aroused and terrified when I woke up…But when I slept on my back…

“I started to take sleeping pills, and that’s when I would wake up sticky, like someone had come inside me; sometimes I’d even wake up masturbating. The pills made me very groggy. One night after my husband and I had had sex after getting stoned and drinking, I got up and smoked a bowl alone because I couldn’t sleep and was afraid to take the pills with everything else. After about 20 minutes I was nice and drowsy, and was sort of playing with myself as I got ready to drift off. All of a sudden I got this idea to put my fingers up my ass…it just seemed like a sexy thing to do, so I did, nice and slowly, with a whole lot of lube, and when I came, I came so hard…” she stopped and her far-away eyes zeroed in again and locked on mine.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the ass, Ana?” I ran my hand across that gorgeous expanse of lushly rounded flesh. “Is that what you’re saying?”

She gulped, whispered. “It’s what I’ve aways wanted. It…wouldn’t bother you,  would it? She… told me you did it to her a lot, how you loved that. Said that she had done that before, with her husband and others, and sort of liked it, but with you she came that way, and came hard. How that was the way she squirted most often. She said… it’s almost your favorite thing to do… well, along with fucking her mouth.” She sighed. “My husband would never. He thought it was gross.”

Now I saw why she really wanted me. She’d just needed to trust me just a little before she broached the subject, asked me to help her bury the past. But first she’d needed to dig it up.

“Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward. “Please?”

The idea of being the first man inside her bum, between those perfectly sculpted globes, made me instantly rock hard, and she felt my reaction. But I wanted to be careful.

I watched her face in the mirror as I began to knead her butt, the cheeks taut and muscular under my hands, relaxing slowly, the cleft between them deep and inviting. I  took the lube from the bedside and eased my index finger in, wiggling it past her sphincter. Her breath hissed, and her eyes in the mirror showed excitement bordering on panic. Then I was in and her anus accommodated my finger quickly, letting me rub the lube into her tight folds, add a second finger. She squirmed and pressed her butt toward me, moaning softly. I squirted more lube and began to press in with my cockhead, slowly, gently. She lifted her hips from the bed and I slid a hand under to feel her cunt.

It was warm, taut, and shiny with desire. I slid a finger across her clit as my cock pressed the tight ring of muscle and then she was coming, rubbing herself on my hand. I pressed past the coil’s knot as she bucked and moaned under me, her tight ass gripping my cock like a fist. I had intended to just pause just inside and hold still, but this was too hot. I needed to really fuck her, slowly but firmly, driving deep inside the ravine between the twin mounds and down inside that snug bum.

“Oh, no!” she breathed. “Oh, Marco, please…” her body bucked, wriggled, pushed back.

Helplessly I picked up the pace, harder, thrusting ever deeper.

She jerked, began to sob. “Please don’t fuck my asssss… you naughty man…. Oh Marco. Please… no…”

My cock went impossibly hard as she got off again, this time with me madly thrusting, pounding into her amazing, perfect butt, and soon I was spraying the hot and sticky way up, deep inside her, and then out over those gorgeous cheeks, and even up across her back.

“Oh God, Keith, you fuck me good,” she cried, and then crash-dived face down on the bed.

My name. That was good. I had wondered if she knew who it was anymore.

Presently, she caught her breath, and rose on her elbows. “Wow. My first time.” Looked me over, like she was remembering who I was.

I bowed. “Satisfactory, I trust?”

“I needed to see if I liked it as much she said…as much as I thought I would. The answer is yes. God, yes,” she said smiling. Then her face fell. “It’s … just… I feel like I just cheated for the first time. That’s sort of crazy.”

Crazy part is that I knew exactly what she meant. I’d cheated on a lot of people in my life, technically, but never in any way that mattered. This, it seemed like, maybe did count.

Or maybe we were both just stoned.

A concubine’s tale

“Service me.” He spoke softly over his shoulder, for her ears alone.

She hesitated, her eyes casting about them.

“Here, Master?” she faltered. “But it’s so… open… and…anyone could…”

“Yes,” he agreed calmly, turning, his hazel eyes on her face. “Service me, my concubine.” His voice was mild, but firm. “Do not delay further lest you displease me.”

Hurriedly, she complied, scuttling around him and sinking to her knees on the wide path that bisected the marketplace. At this hour, the venue was nearly empty, populated only by merchants who had come to get an early start on the day; their shifting, shuffling sounds of setting up and unloading could be heard from the neighboring stalls along the midway, shops with their faces yet shuttered.

Opened his buttons with difficulty, she sought about for something to save her, but feeling his gaze upon her from above, she ceased to tarry and freed his heavy shaft from the fine cloth and took it into her mouth. Its warmth, as always, charmed her and she licked it long and lovingly, like a tasty treat.

“Obediance is all,” he said softly. “To your hands and knees, my concubine, and use your body, as you did last evening to such great effect.”

She did as she was bid, and felt him thicken, lengthen, the heavy flesh filling with hot blood and warming her mouth, the velvety glans pushing out from its hood. A silver drop of his pearly essence melted deliciously on her tongue. Despite her discomfiture she warmed quickly to the task, taking him deep in her throat and rocking her body to create the rhythm he desired. His juices seeped from him, gamy, salty, tasting of authority.

Then she sensed a presence behind her, a flitting shadow crossing her peripheral vision. Her eyes sought the master’s face anxiously. He gazed silently down at her, calmly taking her ministrations, registering the presence but making no move to change his activities.

She shivered. The master wanted her to be displayed. Humiliation leads to humility, she recalled his dictum from her training days. She dared not look over her shoulder without permission.

Then she felt the cool touch of air on her nether regions as the hem of her skirt was lifted and laid across the small of her back, baring her arse to the elements; Master had this morn bade her leave it uncovered by undergarments, as was his occasional wont. A cool finger then traced the swell of her buttocks caressingly, and then was withdrawn and dipped between her thighs, parting her suddenly, drawing an involuntary gasp from her. Her master’s eyebrows rose, and he cautioned her with his eyes; she was to remain silent.

The fingers, for there were now two, crept inside and were still, waiting for her heat to seep into their tissues. Their frigidity caused her to clench tightly about them even as she begged silently for their withdrawal, for the master’s words to command it so. The fingers, taking her heat, began to move again, coaxing the wetness from her, coating themselves with her slipperiness before being abruptly removed. Inwardly she sighed, her tongue and body never losing the rhythm. But the master seemed displeased nonetheless; his aura said so.

Her eyes sought his anxiously, but she dared not inquire how she had disappointed him.

“Concubine, I sense that your attentions lie elsewhere,” he said gently but firmly. “Please tell me what could interest you more than servicing your master?”

“Oh!  Nothing, Master. Nothing could be more important!” she shook her head for emphasis and renewed her efforts with alacrity, sucking him deep into her throat and milking him enthusiastically. His phallus lengthened and he smiled. “Please do not again let your attention wander, my child. What goes on about you is the master’s concern, yes?” She nodded eagerly, his cock buried again in her willing throat. He began to move slowly, pushing her body in a winsome fashion, like a swing.

Suddenly the fingers returned, parting her swiftly and holding her open to allow the head of a penis to be pressed just inside her opening. She did not dare to stop moving, to resist the rocking motion the master desired, even though moving backward drove the foreign phallus ever deeper inside, filling her achingly, though not seeming to reach the end of the massive shaft now cleaving her like an oak.

Her thighs quivered with fear and tension; would the master allow this invasion to continue even unto hurting her, injuring her with its massive brunt? Even as she had the thought, she felt the foreign member’s head brush her cervix, then nudge into the mouth of her womb. Around the girth of the master’s cock, she heard the sounds of her fear and pain escape, and was ashamed. But the master did not chastise her, immersing himself instead in his driving motions, which now seemed to coordinate with the stranger’s; she could feel them both begin to accelerate, growing harder and boring ever deeper into their respective orifices, playing her like an instrument between them, sending her back and forth like a bouncing ball until they both reached the summit at the same approximate moment, the master holding still for an instant before gushing forth with the nectar he had taught her to love. His essence slipped down her open throat and into her belly where it settled warmly; the other boiling into her womb with scalding fury, the new penis stretching her walls further than even the master’s, perish the thought, and yet she still felt not the thump of the appendages upon her straining arse. How large must he be, this unseen swordsman the master had allowed to have her from behind? She dared not even a glance over her shoulder.

Upon his deposit, the stranger abruptly ceased his assault and she heard him exclaim wordlessly as he held himself rigid inside her for a long moment, before withdrawing shakily. Then to her horror, he moved into view. A moor, no less, his phallus extending fully to his knee, shrinking not at all with completion.

“Thank you, my child,” he beamed and seemed about to say more when the master interrupted.

“There is no need to thank my concubine,” he said, his voice mild, he betrayed no anger, yet his words bared his displeasure. “She does naught for thee, but rather for me. You have not made of her a conquest; I have, and you would do well to remember that, young serf. It will stand thee well.”

The moor’s eyes flashed warning but he bowed his head and hid them quickly. “Yes, Sire,” he said softly. “My most deep and humble apologies…I did not mean to give offense, but merely to…”

The master held up his hand and the moor’s words left him.

“I think you would do well to show your humility,” he said, motioning her aside, and taking his still-thick penis in his hand. The moor’s face flushed even darker under his dusky skin, and he cast a sidelong glance at her, but he meekly sank to his knees and applied his long pink tongue to the master’s sword, washing it clean of the stickiness that had come from both herself and the master’s own core, taking it deeply in his mouth though it choke him. The master, ever in control of his body, began to harden and thrust, then, as the moor’s throat convulsed with the unaccustomed task, he seemed to take pity and crested quickly, heaving the first explosion into the moor’s mouth and down his throat, before allowing the second and succeeding rounds to spill down his lips and across his shining chest. Hitching, the young man sagged to the ground and lay at his feet gasping with the attempt to hold his gorge.

“You would do well to retain this lesson, Cletus,” the master  said, his voice mild even when breathless. “Should there be a next time that you displease me,  I shall use you as a woman,” he said mildly, grazing the young man’s raised buttock with his finger meaningfully.

“And recall, as well, this: She has not succumbed to you, nor will she ever. Should I deem fit to ever let you touch her again, it will be by my authority she submits and only for my pleasure. And were I ever to instruct her to pleasure anyone, whether I were present or not, it would be my approval she sought, and not yours.”

He spoke with the confidence that no one dare gainsay him, and she thrilled at his power, at her closeness to it, and to her value as his chattel.

And with that, he turned on his heel and moved away. The Moor’s eyes caught hers and through his humiliation, he sought her hungrily. She gave him the briefest smile before turning guiltily and hurrying after the master.

Hue

“It’s over. The verdict is ‘not guilty.’ Will the Caucasians riot?”

She grinned impishly at him, her teeth gleaming whitely against her mottled skin, and he remembered how much he wanted her. Come on, he thought. A smart rejoinder is absolutely called for here. Tongue-tied at being in her presence again, so completely unexpectedly, he could think of nothing.

“Trial of the century, huh?” She went on. “Does that refer to how long it took?”

“Yes,” he said weakly, full of the knowledge that the time had come to act on his intention. But he could not formulate the question, regardless of how obvious it seemed that the answer would be yes. So he simply looked, drowning in her, and held out his hand.

She looked stunned. “I… don’t get off for an hour… uh…”

she looked around for coworkers. “Come back?”

He nodded.

The trial had lasted a year, with every pundit in the land pontificating about how the opinions, divided along racial lines, did not bode well for the country’s health. They’d been dissecting it in their own way when he last saw her. Her views, uniquely her own, always interested him, especially her humorous assaults on stereotyped racial reactions to the events unfolding on TV day after monotonous day. Then she’d disappeared from the office building where he worked, and from his life. Now, on the last day of the long ordeal, she was back, and he couldn’t care less about the outcome of the event which had dominated office chat for so long.

An hour. He wandered over to the library, passing through the section of town known as ‘the Dump’, a haven for poor black, ‘white trash’ and Latino families. He stood out in his tie and jacket, but the jeans and sneakers made him more acceptable. No one threw anything. Inside, he leafed through familiar novels and pondered the definition of adultry.

When the hour was up, he walked briskly to the Jeep, still parked in the lot at Roy’s, and waited for her to emerge. He craved a cigarette, but didn’t know if she’d find it disgusting, since he didn’t know whether she smoked. He didn’t know her name either, but that didn’t seem quite as important as the turnoff of death-breath to a non-smoker.

She came out, cautiously looking around. He flashed the lights. She walked with exaggerated casualness toward his car, carrying her uniform hat and apron, then jumped in and hissed “Drive!”

He peeled out of the lot and up the alley. Beside him, she giggled. “Boy, you do know how to be unobtrusive!” Then, softly, “What do you want to do?”

There was no discernible hint of suggestion in her voice, but he reacted as if it were a proposition. “I… uh…. are you married? And what’s your name?”

She laughed, a deep, rich roiling noise. “No. I’m Anika, and I’m too young to be married. I’m only twenty.”

He choked.

“It’s okay,” she murmurred, her voice a caress in his ear. “I won’t tell anybody.” Her breasts rose and fell in his peripheral vision, filling themselves like bellows, large and full, soft-looking, like all of her. Her hand lay on his arm, warm as a heating element.

He took her to his house. It was the single largest no-no in the world. He wondered if he wanted to get caught.

Inside, she reacted with awe. “This is all yours?”

He shook his head mutely.

“Ahhh. Your wife’s?”

“Both,” he said softly. “You want to go?”

She looked at him, her eyes soft, moist, liquid brown, melting chocolate, and shook her head. Before he knew what was happening, he had her in his arms, kissing her full lips wetly, his hands on her shoulders, hers on his hips. She ground herself against him like a cat, rubbing her groin to his. Then she extricated herself and stepped back, and with a deft motion behind her hips, she stood in her underwear, pants puddled around her feet, the thin white silk slicing sharply between her brown legs, her orange Roy Rogers shift still tenting over hard nipples.

With a groan, he threw himself at her, his pants pointing obscenely as his fingers groped under her shirt, releasing her full melons into his hungry palms. She laughed throatily, and her hands smoothly located his belt, lowering his trousers to his socks.

Holding up a finger, she stepped smoothly out of her pants, and motioned for him to follow her. He tried, and tripped on his own pants.

“Easy, big fella,” she whispered. He tugged the pesky trousers from his feet, shoes and all, and followed her toward the sofa, shedding his shirt as he went, and then, irresistably drawn to her, reached around and captured her retreating breasts, sliding his hands under the shirt to fondle them reverently. She stopped, and his erection, pressing his shorts, bumped her silk-covered cheeks hard.

She gasped softly, and reached behind her to seize it in her warm, strong fingers. “Oh!” she giggled, as her hand, freeing him, encountered the slippery wetness. Then, as he watched, she looked over her shoulder and licked her sticky palm teasingly. Her other hand on his hip pulled him closer, nestling her bare thighs around his equally-bare penis.

His basest impulses took over, and, gripping her breasts painfully tight, he thrust himself between her firm thighs, sliding over the thong a few times before catching and pressing the cloth into her folds, and up inside her body. She caught her breath in surprise, but did not stop him, as he thrust his silk-covered erection inside her again. “Oh, my!” she said, chuckling again. “You are a big fella in a hurry.”

In answer, he pressed hard, as deep as the restriction allowed, and held her breasts tightly. Faster, faster, the cloth adding an almost painful friction, then he pulled out, and came quickly, spilling his sperm down her legs.

She sighed.

When he’d caught his breath just a bit, he pushed her firmly onto the large sofa, and attacked her large breasts with his tongue, worrying each nipple to hardness, slurping them into his mouth, and nibbling them until she moaned. “God!” she said at one point. “You do know how to work titties.” He slid his hand into her cunt, and zoomed in on her clit with his thumb.

After about five minutes of her lusty moans, he was – miraculously! – hard again. With his head still nestled firmly among her globes, he parted her with a lunge, and she sang out as his turgid member went straight in to the hilt, deeper than had been possible with her underwear barring the way. “Oh, boy. Here we go again,” She rumbled with pleasure.

This being the the second time, he was able to last a respectable ten minutes, and her appreciation was evident. “Oh!” she moaned several times as he thrust particularly deep. She was slick and warm, snug, sheathing him like a wet suit. Her breasts heaved and shook with his pumping, and his mouth, still busy, made her nipples stand up like fingertips.

Finally, he went rigid inside her, and she moaned appreciatively again. Then, as she felt him burst, she whimpered, “Oh, no. Not yet, not yet…”

“Sorry…!” he gasped helplessly as he spent himself deep within her.

“Then do it real hard with what’s left!” she begged. He gave it his best shot, throwing himself at her with abandon, his hip bones banging hers, flesh smacking flesh, and she moaned with lust and despair. It was over too soon.

“Sorry,” he said again.

She held him to her breast again. “S’okay,” she murmurred. “It was pretty good anyway, and it’ll be better next time.”

His penis, resting pale and dispirited on her chocolate thigh, gave a last, frightened leap at the words. Next time?

***

When he met her, she was working as a cleaning woman in our building. Her breasts, naturally, were what most men noticed, but her personality was hard to miss as well. Outgoing and friendly, she almost bubbled over with goodwill, a sharp departure from the other people on the cleaning crew, most of whom could not even be bothered to return your greeting.

She walked among the scowling ladies, a motley crew of dour older women blacks, like an ambassador of sex appeal and friendliness. Office workers, evenly divided between those who were just naturally rude to those who they considered their inferiors, and those who’d lapsed into silence after being rebuffed by one or the other of the two he called The Sullen Twins.

She came in that first morning, tripping through the office like a Brownie Scout, singing out names of those she passed, leaving a string of startled people in her wake. Most had forgotten the name plates located somewhere in the vicinity of their desks, and stood in clusters pondering how the new girl could know all their names. Was she psychic? No one even felt the need to laugh at her stumbling, heroic attempts to pronounce the consonent-laden Eastern-European surnames which dominate our division.

For the entire summer and most of the fall, she’d been the source of sunlight for a number of the white-collar drudges in that windowless hole. The women, though most of them were minus the obvious physical attributes the girl seemed so unaware of, could not seem to muster her the ill will necessary to make their usual catty remarks, even though they all noticed with dismay the effect she had on the men, from the young just-graduated Midwesterners to the eldest, most jaded East Coast Wasps. Though the office harbored a number of not-so-muted racists, he’d never heard anyone speak disparragingly of the office’s dusky ray of sunshine.

The effect of Anika’s presence was palpable. We all talked a bit more nicely to one another, less afraid to interrupt someone’s work to say good morning, more apt to compliment a coworker on a nice outfit; less concerned about the ever-present spectre of sexual harassment misunderstandings. When Anika breezed through, the air seemed less stuffy, and many of us would invent reasons to keep her there. More than one old man would find himself in the corner booth – the private one – of the men’s room after she left for the day. But I never heard an off-color remark about her.

Then one day she vanished.

The office rocked with disappointed men, and not a few women. The other people on the cleaning crew were as uncommunicative as ever. When someone finally got the nerve to ask, we discovered we had no name to go with the face. “What girl?” they wanted to know. “We change peoples all the time. Dey leaves.”

We never saw her again until the day a few months ago when a couple of us walked in to Roy’s and saw the place light up with her personality. “Hey, guys. How you like that TV coverage of the trial?” she smiled.

We began to develop a taste, almost every day, for fast food.

It’s been a few months now. He comes into the lot late, certain nights, about once every two weeks. Not the Roy’s lot, like the first time; now he prefers the lot of the repair shop a few blocks away. She meets him there, driving her own car, and then follows him to the place where this week’s assignation will take place.

After the first time, he tried to stay away, haunted by the thought that, rather than a one-night fling, he was beginning a protracted deception. He was realistic enough to know that the risks would increase with each meeting.

But the temptation was too much for him, as temptation usually is. He’s not very good at restraint, and his excuse, of course, is the same one she alluded to earlier: he needs to make it up to her. Even when he’s finally learned to make her come repeatedly, some months later, when it’s obvious that the imaginary debt has been satisfied, he’s unable to break off the affair.

He’s hooked.

A few weeks’ withdrawal always brings him back, shaking with the need. And she’s always willing, always expectant, never demanding.

His conquest, as he sees it, is complete. He can bring her violently to climax anytime he wants, in seconds. She’s never boring, always exciting, and he can’t stop it, even though he knows the time is here.

She surprises him. Lying in the sand on the pitch-dark beach, she pulls him to her by his testicles, then climbs into his lap, screwing down on him so suddenly that he cries out. Is there sand inside her?

She shushes him with a breast in his face, like a baby, suckling, pressing him supine. In the dark, nearly invisible but for the occasional moon’s glint reflected in the liquids on her body, she is even more mysterious than usual. He thrusts upward, screws the darkness, formless, wet and inviting, and it responds with incoherent demands and exaltations, grasping, tugging, prodding, the flesh which touches his altering; firm, pliant, smooth, hairy, slippery, gritty and ultimately painful.

The breast in his face seems to have grown wiry hair, and his tongue finds its way into the musky tunnel, just as his penis is clamped again by a wet, superheated clamp, pressing down upon him. He protests and his flailing tongue brings a clenching reaction from above, his voice muffled. He clasps the flesh above to him, his hands slipping in the liquid, and his tongue, tracing, slides between the globes, into a tightening cleft. The flesh above him stiffens, strains as he touches the bud lightly with the tip of his tongue, then presses it firmly with his thumb. The shriek that greets his ears is followed by a sharp pain in his own anus, and he comes, violently, into the fleshiness which clasps him.

He feels the vacuum as she drinks him dry, pressing deeper into his rectum until he gives up all he has.

She withdraws her finger, and the nail grazes his inner thigh. Words he realizes he has been dreading chill him to his soul. “I want you to promise you’ll never leave me,” she says distinctly.

The silence lengthens, then:

“We’ll have to get rid of her,” he responds mechanically, his voice vacant and uninflected.

She sighs contentedly, and nestles her head in his lap. “Whatever you say.”

Somewhere a man, condemned by a majority in a racially-divided nation of getting away with murder, finds some inexplicable measure of peace.

Humpday

Saturday. 

She was ripped. Her moon-wide, pleasant peasant face looked blearily happy as usual, but this time there was something puzzling her.

“Tell me,” she said, slurring slightly. “What is ‘CT’?

I choked on my scotch, and almost spat.

“Why do they call me that behind my back? What does that stand for?”

Even though I was looking right at the reason, I pretended ignorance. But she wasn’t buying.

“I know that you give the nicknames around here. Junior is ‘DB’; that’s easy enough to figure out. But what’s ‘CT’?

“I admit I did come up with Douche Bag; I applied it to the other guy, the excessively pretty one, but you have to admit it fits Junior pretty well. The others adopted it, abbreviated it. But I didn’t have anything to do with the other one.” Not strictly true, but I was pretty convincing and she was pretty smashed.

“But you know what it means.”

I shook my head, but this time I wasn’t lying quite as well. Maybe because I made the mistake of glancing down at her pants, where the extremus appendages of a large, humped ruminant quadruped of the genus Camelus, dead in front of me in all its glory, all but waved hello.

“Come on, of course you do. I can tell by your face. Don’t be afraid; we’re not at work. Spill it. What the fuck’s it mean?”

She looked at me, winked conspiratorially. “It’ll be our little secret.”

My boss was drunk tonight… and this secret was anything but little.

“I’ll show you,” I took a breath. “But you have to promise that this stays right here.”

“Ok. I won’t tell anyone you squealed.” She hiccuped. I wasn’t sure she’d remember tomorrow.

“And if I’m the one to show you, I can’t be called on the carpet for that,” I prompted.

“Ok,” she said finally. “I won’t ….kill the messenger. Or fire him. Or…write him up. I promise. Ollie Ollie Ox in Free.”

I smiled. Decided. This job was soul death. Not that I wanted to be unemployed, necessarily.

“Turn around.”

She did, slowly, unsteadily.

I took a deep breath. It was a long shot I was taking, and it could be a big mistake. I walked behind her, leaned in closely. Her breath smelled of gin. I hate gin.

I also hate the way she dresses, like some sort of yard-sale queen designed her clothes. Fuck it. I reached around and put my hand on her crotch, traced the dromedary’s toe.

“Oh!” she said suddenly. I couldn’t tell if she was suddenly registering what everyone else saw, or if it was anger.

Or if It was neither.

She pressed herself into my palm, hard.

It was what I was hoping for; the long shot had come in. I bumped her butt hard with my erection, and she caught her breath.

“How much do you want to fuck your boss right now, James?” she asked breathlessly. “How bad do you want me?”

“Pretty bad,” I agreed. “Which is exactly why I’m gonna fuck you right now. Right here on this sofa.” I yanked her pants down in one motion, then took her breasts in my hands, reaching up under her top as I ground myself into her pale, wide still-pantied ass.

“Ooh!” she said, surprised at my boldness, and, I hoped, madly turned on by it.

“I want you, too,” she said, her voice dropping to a lower register, like she’d probably watched too many cheesy mommy-porns. “Oh, yeah. But we shouldn’t.” Grinding herself against me, hands behind her grasping at my package as she spoke.

I opened my pants and let them fall. She traced my cock through the underwear. “Wow,” she said under her breath. “You really want me.”

I slid a hand inside her panties and down through the tangle of hair, seeking the wetness. It sprang at me through the gap between the swollen, protruding lips that had been the occasion for our current carnality; her outsized clit, already extended as I had hoped it would be. I teased it with my finger, and she gasped, sagging forward weak-kneed, landing on her hands on the sofa as I lightly traced its length.

I pulled her panties off and sank to my knees to examine her glistening cunt with my tongue.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, muffled, head in the cushions. “Oh…God.”

It didn’t take long at all. I pressed my face into her taut white body from behind, split her open and began to fuck her with my whole face, my nose thrusting inside her as my tongue strummed that massive clit, sucked it as if it were a small dick, chin bumping hard into her mound.

I mean a lollipop. What the fuck did I say dick for?

She came quickly, hard, screaming. “Oh, Jesus fucking God.”

I wasn’t sure what that curse meant, but it sounded kinky enough that I decided I liked it.

She pulled me, face dripping, up behind her. “I had no idea… Wow. I want you inside me,” she gasped. “Please? Hurry!” She tugged at my underwear, and I helped her, freeing my raging boner. She took it in her hand, marveling. “My God, it’s…fucking gorgeous.”

She turned back, leaned forward. “Do it, James,” she rasped. “Put that big angry thing inside me.”

I did as she asked. Slid my engorged phallus up between her mayonnaise-colored thighs and stroked straight up into her soaked, hairy snatch. It was heavenly tight, and I loved the way she squirmed and squealed as I rammed it into her, pounded her dromedary-resembling pussy until she came again, moaning like she was dying.

I loved even more the way she shrieked when two days later, I thrust it between those milk-white cheeks again.

Monday.

I sauntered in as she took her coat off. “Nice skirt,” I said.

She blushed beet red. I’d told her on Saturday when she was hammered that she should wear skirts more, show off her legs more. She didn’t want to acknowledge — yet — that she had remembered and followed my orders.

She didn’t know yet that she wanted to.

“Close the door!” she stage-whispered at me.

I did. The woman had listened. I liked her in a skirt.

“Do we need to talk?” She turned her head, blonde curtain covering her face.

She was always a late-arriving boss. Me, I’d been here since 5, and I was way ahead of her.

“Not as far as I’m concerned.” I moved behind her quickly, pulled her skirt up. “This doesn’t require that much discussion.”

She squeaked. “No! We Can’t!! Not here!!!!” She turned to move away from me, but I caught her hips as she did, pinned her against the desk, pressing her forward over it so she could feel my package against her ass.

“Please,” she whispered urgently. “Listen to reason…”

I touched her cunt through the panties, and it was oozing. I yanked them off.

I opened my pants and pressed my hard self down, coming up against her dripping pussy, rubbed myself across it, soaking it in her seeping juices. She whimpered with anticipation, but I suspected she had no real idea of what was to come.

As I pressed between her cheeks and into her anus, a startled cry escaped, a wounded sound. My hand firmly covering her mouth, I reared back and rammed myself between her pale cheeks, spearing them apart and cleaving her center like a knife. Under my hand she screamed silently, bucked, her eyes wide.

“Hold on, CT,” I said in her ear. “Hold on.”

I rode her hard, thrusting into that wide, wanting ass, taking it brutally, punching in anew each time and going deep. Felt like maybe it had been awhile for her.

Her body jerked with each new violation, but I soon noticed her eyes had glazed and she no longer seemed to want to fight it.

I realized she was trying to say something, and I relaxed my grip on her mouth a bit. “Do it harderI” She begged in a ragged whisper. “Oh, God, Jamesnnn….uhhhhh…”

Abruptly, she started to come, and kept coming, squeezing my cock with enormous force as her orgasm rocked her, her eyes rolling upward, tears streaming, her breath sobbing against my hand. I felt her hot salty ejaculation wash across my groin like a cup of warm coffee spilled across my balls. It sent me over, and I squirted about a quart of boiling jism into her wonderfully tight ass, restraining myself from the urge to cry out.

Afterward, there was little to say. I rose shakily, and she lay where she was.

“Okay?” I asked, putting myself back into my pants. She nodded, waved her hand, her face still hidden.

“Wear your hair up tomorrow,” I said as I let myself out, locking the door after me and returning to my cube.

Tuesday

She called me in her office, stayed behind the desk. She seemed about to start a few times, then stopped before words came. Finally…“If we’re going to do this, we need to be a little more careful,” she said primly, her blonde hair folded and pinned upward, lying at the back of her neck like a librarian.

“Oh?” I said. “Do tell.”

She colored, as she always did when she encountered something that looked like insubordination from her staff. “I had a bit of an uncomfortable day yesterday. For a few reasons. I didn’t… know you were going to …fuck me in my ….office. I thought we could keep this outside of work, if we…”

“Is that all?”

She went positively livid. “I didn’t know you would…come… in…ugh… Or even put it in my … at all, for that matter. I don’t have much knowledge about that.”

“About what? Sex?”

“About… that…”

“Anal.”

She ducked her head, nodded.

I was shocked silent for a second at the thought. Then I lifted her chin. “Were you… a virgin?”

She blushed tomato red. Averted her eyes again. “No.”

“Wow.” It took me a minute to process it. “Wow. I’ve never fucked a virgin before.”

“I was not!” she protested hotly, lying her chubby white ass off. “Please stop saying that.”

“Anally. You had never had a penis inside your butt before, right? Deny that, I dare you.”

“Oh, alright,” she whispered finally. “I had never been” — her voice dropped to a whisper — “fucked in the ass before you did it to me.”

“But how…?” I was floored. “Your… whole generation talks about it like it’s de rigeur. If … if I’d had any idea you might not want to, I’d have asked…”

“Did I seem to be complaining about that?” she said softly. “I’ll admit it was a big surprise, but…”

“But you liked it. Clearly. How could you have gotten so turned on by it so soon if it was your first time? All that thrashing, screaming my name, begging me to do it harder, crying when you came… You fucking came, you squirted, for fuck’s sake! That doesn’t happen the first time.”

She went hard red again. “I…can’t explain it. It hurt horrendously when you first did it. That’s why I made that noise…”

“… that squealing, injured-kid sound? I thought that was weird. But… then you started to come…”

“I did. I don’t know if it was the pain that threw me over so quick, but I just got way, way into you… into what you were doing. I wanted you to fuck me like you were trying to get inside me… all of you inside me…” she was breathing hard. “I came and kept on coming for a long time, after you left.”

“Wow. So… what’s the problem?”

“When you fucked me the first night, you left me a bit sore around the…hips…but yesterday, in the office, was…” she shifted against the edge of the desk. “Real painful. I can’t really… sit.”

“But you came …”

“Oh, quit congratulating yourself on that, you fucker. It hurt like a bitch, James, when you fucked me…in … in my office,” she blurted. “Made me come. Here. Where I work. While I was…It was naughty.”

“Naughty…?”

“Well, unprofessional then. Not kosher. I could have… made noises… someone could have heard.”

She shifted again. “I could barely sit all afternoon, I was so sore… and so sticky…” She blushed again.

“Ahhhh…” Now I started to get it. “Messy…?”

She nodded, dropped her eyes.

“It happens. Next time you’ll know,” I shrugged, walking away. At the door I looked back. “Put paper towels inside your underwear.”

She stared at me, stunned by my unconcern, my lack of apology.

I locked the door and walked over to her desk. Climbed up on it, on my knees. Opened my pants. My hardening penis on display, almost brushing her chin. She licked her lips. “James, really, we need to talk this out…”

I stopped her words by lifting my thickening cock, brushing the skin back and putting the head against her lips. “Blow me, Maggie,” I said matter-of-factly. “You know you want to.”

“Oh hell.” Her mouth opened and she licked her lips. “It’s just so…gorgeous,” she gulped under her breath before opening her mouth to take me in. Her body trembled with excitement. “Oh, fuck, what am I doing? I was trying to tell you why this can’t happen in the office again…”

I pressed myself rudely into her mouth and she choked a bit, then gulped my cock greedily.

“You want this a lot,” I said. “Admit it.”

She was sucking lustily now, sliding me in and out of her mouth with wet gusto, so apparently she didn’t think the situation called for an actual reply.

I pulled out of her mouth. “What?” she panted in surprise.

“Admit that you want this a lot,” I said firmly.

She sighed, caught her breath a bit. “I want it,” she whispered. “I want it pretty bad right now, James.” Her right hand had strayed unconsciously to her crotch, and she was massaging herself through the skirt.

“Admit that none of your MBA-worhipping Gen Xers have ever given you this kind of pleasure. That it took an old man like me.”

“Oh, Christ. Yes, you narcissistic old geezer, you can fuck. Now shut up.”

I smiled, took the back of her head and thrust it back into her warm wet mouth, driving in and out as if I was fucking her chin. She gagged but quickly recovered, caught the rhythm.

“You want me to drop a load of hot sperm inside you,” I said. “The idea makes you very hot.”

Her breath came faster as she sucked me. I dipped deeper just to show her I could still choke her.

“You want me to put some sperm inside one of your orifices,” I prompted. “Inside your tight, uncharacteristically hairy yuppie pussy.” She gasped and sucked me harder. “Up between those creamy white cheeks and rammed into your sore bum.” She made a choking sound and took me deeper.

“…or…way down inside your awesome throat,” I finished, ramming my cock home and holding it deep inside as my semen filled and flooded her mouth.

She took my whole load, hitching, swallowing hard, her eyes looking hunted, her face red and flushed. Finally, she pulled away, choking, dripping, swallowed hard a few more times and lay face down across the desk, her wheat-like hair spilling over my thighs.

Presently, she raised her head to look at me. “Oh, my God,” she said in a shocked whisper. “That was so fucking hot. Awfully humiliating, but hot.”

I looked at her a full minute.

“What?” she said, flushing again, ever defensive.

“You like being bossed around. Ordered.”

She stopped. Considered. “Yes, I guess I do.”

“Used. Degraded.”

She said nothing, her face fearful.

“Admit it.” I snapped.

“I… yes, I must.”

I grabbed her hair in my fist. “You’re my bitch. You’ll do what I want and like it?” I said, making it a question, but only barely. I pulled her to my groin and thrust myself back into her mouth. “You’ll blow me when I tell you to. Whenever, wherever.” She choked and took me all the way in, nodding her head. “I can rape your mouth again, just like that, anytime.”

“I… don’t call me names…”

“Camel Toe. You want me to abuse you.”

“I…

“You like it, because you like to be out of control. All control freaks secretly do, and you’re no exception.”

I let go of her hair and slid down off the desk. “Depilitate the toes, CT.”

“What…?”

“Shave that hillbilly beaver before tomorrow, hippie. This isn’t 1975.”

I went back to work. Tomorrow was humpday.