Is this the weal life…?

How is that a woman with a speech impediment that will not allow her to say an “r” has three of them in her name, he wondered. How cwuel is the universe?

It was cruel how much pleasure he got out of hearing her try, or twy, to say it. Weirdly, it was the sexiest thing about her. Once he’d heard that oddly childish sound come from her mouth, he was unable to think of her without a rush of sexual energy rolling over him. He often got hard just listening to her twy.

“Why? he heard her ask now, in his earphones. “It just happens that way. No particuwah  planning weally, it’s just coincidence.”

She also had trouble with l, he realized with a jolt, his ewection gaining some giwth. But onwy sometimes; in certain constwuctions.

He mused that many people, in her pwace, would probably go to great lengths to avoid words that contained those letters. She didn’t seem to plan that far ahead, or she would certainly have done so today, when giving a canned seminar over the company’s communications network.

He’d seen her do this in person, and her embawassment at the small-child sound of her mispwonunciations was vividly wevealed in the bwight bwush on her fweckled cheeks, bwought out by the owange-wed of her shouwder-wength haiw.

He wanted to fuck her, like nobody’s business. Not wape, exactly, just…to get cawwied away, both of them knowing it was wong, but unable to help committing the sin. He knew — or suspected, since he barely knew her — that she would see it that way.

He also knew, intuited weally, that happily mawwied or no, she was vewy attwacted to him too, that the magnetism was mutual.

Patwicia, he had to stop himself from saying. Miss Wedgwave. Couwd you wepeat that? He’d missed something important in huh nawative,

“Which pawt?” her voice came acwoss the tiny speakew embedded in his eaw. “The… bit about the wesowution, welative to the weconciwiation?”

“Ye-yes…” he said shakily, as he fingered himself, so close. Pwease, expwain that again.

“Ok,” said her voice, tickwing the haiws inside his eaw canaw. “It can be a bit twicky at fiwst. So, fiwst, you have to detewmine the desiwed wesult. Then…”

He muted his mic and ewupted silentwy into his twousews. Good thing he was wowking fwom home today. Oh, baby, is it those teeth, the front ones, slightly protruding, but not quite enough to call them buck teeth, just slightly gapped…is that what causes that heavenly lisp, or is it simply an extra added bonus for my boner?

In his mind, he always started in that mouth, between the soft lips between which was often caught a strand of her long red hair, the freckled cheeks going concave as she took him deep, bringing him up, up, until he pulled free and buried his raging meat in the warmth that lay between those freckled pale thighs…

 

After he caught his breath, he reached for a paper towel and sponged himself off. Whew. It was working now, but he could see a day when this would need to be real.

Patricia that was so helpful, he said when he could speak. Too bad we’re not working together or I’d buy you a drink to say thanks.

A long pause. Then he heard the click as she switched to the individual channel. Well, we could always meet up on my way home, she said softly. One dwink would cewtainwy be okay.

Debased on Base

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” She asked anxiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” She shuddered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unwilling, she felt herself lubricate nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” she croaked, ” let me up?”

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

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

Untitled musings, pt. 1

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

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

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

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

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

He grinned, blushed.

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

You… want to blow me…

You damn right.

He chose my cunt.

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

Like what?

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

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

I told him he was my first.

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

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

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

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

He filled every crevice there just right, too.

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

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

Is that possible?