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?

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.

Her younger man

Dave wondered what explained it. Some sort of lunar-lunacy cycle-of-the-moon thing, maybe?

Normally a one-night-a-week, in-bed-after-the-kids-are-asleep person, Kate had been unusually hot, a firebrand tonight. She’d surprised him in the bathroom as he’d showered — even though it was Wednesday and they’d had theirs only Saturday — and they’d done it standing up, finishing long after the hot water had been used up, his feet shriveling along with the aftermath of his surprised erection.

But that was far from the end of it. Half an hour later, during dinner, as he’d skimmed the editorial page, he’d felt something brush his penis through his thin summer chinos, and had almost spit his mashed potatoes across the table. Slowly, the foot – for that was what it had been – had massaged him into a frightened erection.

Frightened because the person directly beside him was his daughter Carrie. He lowered the paper a bit, and looked over the edge.

Kate’s eyes caught his, and she grinned mischievously. Considering he’d just gotten a second helping of his weekly ration, he was astonished to find he was erect again.

Slowly, Kate used the sole of her foot to massage his bulge into an uncomfortably-hard knot, and smiled as she felt the oily dampness begin seeping though the linen. Kate was one of those women whose bodies tell you clearly when they like what is happening. Her nipples poked the cloth of her chemise, hard as buttons, her cheeks flushed as if she was feverish.

He caught a salty whiff of arousal and blushed. The smell of his juices were always strong after getting laid once, but he thought he detected her scent too, an acrid spoor that sang to his reptilian brain a song of danger and heedlessness. He sniffed loudly to warn her, but she ignored him.

“Please pass the musk mellon, Carrie,” she purred. Oblivious, the child did as her mother asked.

Then Dave felt his wife’s toes stroke across his penis, followed by a tug at his fly. He jumped, bumping the table with his knee, and Carrie’s eyes flew up from her plate. “Jeez, Dad. Calm down. George Will can’t be that exciting.”

Dave retreated behind his paper again, but kept his eye on Kate. She stared back audaciously, an impish grin on her face, like she’d worn that first day in the library. Even his head-shaking went unheeded. He grabbed her foot and moved it away, but as soon as his hand returned to the table, she started again. He knew what she was up to: if she pulled hard enough, the loose buttons at his fly would pop open.

He pondered. What could he do? Get up and leave the room, with his erection poking straight out like a beacon, and a wet spot growing larger by the minute? “Uhh… Carrie? Could you, um, check the mail?”

Kate laughed. “She’s eating dinner, Dave! Let her be.”

The child’s glance swept her mother and father’s faces, puzzling, then shrugged and went back to her plate.

Dave tried again. “Could you….?” But Kate shook her head, refusing to let him finish. It was just as well, since he had nothing. Then her toes seized the drawstring again, and tugged it open, popping the buttons below it. His choices dwindled to one – stay put until Carrie left.

He tried to worm away, but it was no use. Kate’s other foot rested hard on his chair rung, and her sole stroking his naked skin was electric. Ten seconds, fifteen, twenty, and he erupted silently, spilling his seed in and on his pants for the first time since high school, covering Kate’s foot in the process. Now the smell was undeniable, oily and mammalian.

He caught his breath, gulping softly, and Kate’s eyes flashed triumphantly. Avoiding her gaze, he focused on Carrie.

“Honey, could you excuse us? Your mom and I need to talk.”

“Sure, Dad,” she got up, wrinkling her nose. “Yuck! What smells like seafood?”

Dave flushed, and his wife snickered softly, as their daughter departed. The door to her room clicked behind her. They stared at each other a minute, and then both burst out laughing. Dave stood, and advanced on her in mock menace, his cock hanging limply out of his fly, and pulled her head toward his soaking crotch. Expecting her to resist as she normally did after sex, he was amazed when she nuzzled him, before proceeding to fellate him where she sat, licking him clean, then filling her mouth with warm mashed potatoes and gravy, she went down on him with more zest than he’d seen from her since their first year together. Next, she reached for her water glass, empty except for the ice, filled her mouth went back to work on him, alternating mouthfuls of ice with large drinks from her steaming coffee cup.

After a minute or so of intense sensations, he was hard again. With a groan, he pulled her to her feet, and rolled her skirt up to expose her shapely butt. “Grab your ankles, woman,” he said. She smiled and proceeded to do the trick that he’d only ever seen one woman do.

Spreading her feet wide, she bent double at the waist, and pulled her upper body down until her hands rested flat on the floor. He’d first seen her do it as a stretching exercise before a workout, and it had aroused him mightily. A few nights later, he’d worked up the nerve to ask her to add it to their sexual repertoire, and it instantly became his favorite. With her impish eyes challenging him from between her spreading thighs, it never failed to give him a last-ditch erection.

This time was no exception. As he grabbed the waistband of her pantyhose, she winked at him. “Just tear a hole in ’em!” she whispered. “They’re old.”

With a backward glance down the hallway toward Carrie’s room, he threw caution to the wind. What the hell, he assumed the kids knew more about sex than he cared to know. This was a rare chance. He ripped the thin mesh, and slid his finger into the wet heat of her cunt. Her eyes closed, and she arched her back, which he knew meant she was pretty hot herself.

He watched as she removed her hands from her ankles, stroking herself through the  hole in the hose, and, hands moving to her thighs, she spread them wide, tearing the hole larger. Her eyes fluttered and he saw the filmy look of arousal that was her trademark. His erection screamed with impossible tumescence.

He pressed himself into her, gently at first, trying to hold himself back, worried that he was being too rough, too soon. She moaned encouragement and pressed back against him, hard, burying him. He thrust back, gaining that important extra inch by sheer will, and she caught her breath sharply, her excitement matching his.

Hands on her hips, he rammed her hard, the way he knew she liked it. Brutal, without mercy. Thrusting, pounding, panting, he brought her orgasm in seconds, and she cried out involuntarily before biting her palm to muffle the sound. His own orgasm bubbled over and exploded inside her and he felt a second spasm as she locked her body onto his, squeezing him almost painfully tight.

In bed at last, their passion spent, he caressed his wife and marveled at her unexpected display of raw sexual need. Mostly joking, he asked her if she was making up for infidelity.

She laughed mischievously. “No. I’ve never feel like I should make it up to you.”

“Bitch.” He slapped her butt lightly. “So, who’s the man? Younger, right?”

She smiled. “Of course. And hung like a horse.”

“Liar. If he was, you’d give me up, instead of fucking me harder. What got into you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Or rather, who?”  She grinned. “Ahhh. So you’ve got a young stud, huh?”

“Yeah. A graying teenager, in fact.” She swatted him with her pillow, then straddled his chest, teasing, and after a moment, pressed her groin to his face. He was eager to oblige, as always; he’d even learned to handle it when she expelled his own seed onto his tongue. Mixed as it was with her own raunchy brine, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Parting her lips gently, he stuck his tongue out, stiff, and she slid herself slowly over it, shivering as he clenched the muscles and made it stiff and pointed to dip deep inside her, then flattened it as she moved, making a wide sweep across her clitoris before she reversed direction. “My teenage lover. You always did… have a superior … tongue,” she said, her breath beginning to quicken.

After a bit, her breathing guiding him, he sucked her clitoral hood into his mouth, held it there with steady suction and used his tongue to swirl it, chase it around like she liked. A few minutes of that, her eyes slid closed and she began to squirm, and he knew she was ready for harder stimulation. He sucked harder, forcing the clit out, and swiped it hard with his tongue, moved his hands to her hips and squeezed her each time she thrust forward, letting her slide across his teeth when she liked. Harder, harder, her hips clenching under his hands, now grinding herself against his mouth, her breath screaming through her gritting teeth. He waited for the moment, then took her clit in his teeth and bore down just the right  amount.  Her body froze, tensed, jerked and then she was over the top, crying out as she thrust herself down, rubbing herself hard on his chin as she came.

“Oh, God, that was nice,” she gasped as she slowed to a stop and rested for a moment. “I think I’ll keep you for now; you’ve still got a few good years left,” she teased as she disentangled her legs slowly and stretched out beside him.

Her head sank to his chest and she began to hum softly, an old jazz song he couldn’t quite place. Soon her humming stopped and he knew from her breathing she was asleep, resting lightly like an exotic bird come to breathe excitement into his life for a time.

He knew he would wake up in a few hours, his neck stiff, arm both numb and sore from the gentle pressure of her shoulder, his breath loud in his ears, the taste of unbrushed teeth in his mouth.

She would be gone, back to the night world she inhabited, her uniform missing from the chair beside the bed, and he would wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing, whether it was an old memory replaying itself in his dreams, producing the juicy mess on his chin and the red dent in his left pectoral.

 

So what does that tell you? part one

She lies down on the bed slowly, uncoiling her body like rope, spreading herself out much thinner and longer than anyone would suspect. With her clothes on, she’s much more stolid, Jane Q. Citizen, a walking billboard for the Modern Successful Woman in a smart suit even when she’s hanging with the family at a cookout on the weekend.

On our trip to the store for some more ice and sodas, we’ve ducked into the house of a neighbor of my mother’s, who I know is on vacation, and who just happens to keep his key in the same place he did when we were kids.

“So that’s what he wants, I guess.” Her voice is softer here, too, more diffident than it is out in the real world, where she speaks in sharp declarative sentences, and is always making plans that remove obstacles that maybe only she sees.

In here, somehow, it’s always 1973.

“Hmmm. I see. So what do you want from me?” My voice is light, teasing, and she responds the same way.

“What else? The same great service as always. Teach me.You’ve done it, I assume?”

I grin. “Of course I have, Grasshopper. But you know, someday you must meet the world on your own.”

She smiles, her teeth peeking out around her thin lips, sad but still somehow genuinely pleased. “I think you’ll agree it’s probably too late for that,” she says. “You’re my teacher. We have established that.”

“Someday, the student shall surpass the teacher. After you snatch the fly from the air with chopsticks, of course.”

She grins again. “Silly. You’re mixing movies and TV shows.”

“Ahhh so. The million-dollar question. Just how big is this new guy?”

She holds her thumb and finger apart a few inches and says. “Mr. Vienna.”

“Wow. So why do you bother?”

“I don’t know. He’s good to me, and I just want to make him happy.”

“Well, I think you’d be better off with him, the first time,” I say, running my hands over her body and down to the tangle of fur that she has allowed to grow back from the thin ‘landing strip’ she had when I last touched her — what? About two years ago? So she planned this, I see. I run my hands over her pert little butt, as sexy as it was the first time I touched it.

“Well, I still prefer you,” she says. “I know you’re bigger, but you won’t hurt me. That’s another thing we have established, I think it’s safe to say.”

I yield the point. “Okay. But this is not something I think you should do immediately, dear. I think you need to prepare for it, practice relaxing.” I run my hand down across her compact butt and trace along the cleft with my forefinger. “Is he in a hurry?”

“He’d like it sooner rather than later, but I’ll put him off a week or so; tell him I need to research it,” she says easily.

“So… I get to take your virginity for the second time,” I say wonderingly.

Her eyes get that faraway look, and I know she’s remembering.

The week before the Doobie Brothers concert at the arena. Her boyfriend, who is a good five years older than she is, Randall, a loser from the bar where she and her underage friends hang out, cadging drinks. It’s still the ’70s, simultaneously a more-innocent and yet more-jaded time, when being underage doesn’t mean you can’t get inside the door of a bar yet without a fake ID. A halter top and a pair of low-riding jeans will get you in all but the most uptight of them. He has a Yamaha and a cheezy moustache, and he wears a T-Shirt that shows a kitten in a champagne glass and declares that Happiness is a Tight Pussy.

He somehow scored tickets to the show – probably stole them — and he’s taking her. He’s been pushing her pretty hard for awhile now, and she knows that he intends this to be the night she gives it up, and she’s resigned to it, but still scared. She often takes me with her to meet him because the pressure is less when younger kids are around, but it’s a drag for me, because he’s always trying to bribe me into going to the store to get him something — playing cards, donuts, a soda — anything to get me gone. She’s tired of the game, tired of the begging, pleading, wheedling, and she’s going to get it over with. Looks like making it to 16 is not in the cards, she tells me.

Wo ooh wo, listen to the music.

I am pissed. I have begun to hate the guy and his single-mindlessness. I tell her she doesn’t need to do this, but she says it’s okay. Lots of her friends gave it up at 13 or 14, and she knows it’s gotta be soon before she gets the wrong reputation.

You know, for being a frigid prick teaser.

I tell her I wish I knew her friends gave it up at my age, and she says that they don’t usually give it up to boys their own age. “Older men is what we all want. I wonder why?” I walk away toward the woods and prop my foot up on the log where I keep my Kool Milds. I stand and light one while I piss down into the culvert. Suddenly, I hear her, behind me. Too close behind me. “Hey, lend me a fag, man.”

“Hey, girl, I’m pissing here,” I protest, stuffing myself awkwardly back into my pants and turning away from the sound of her voice.

“I know,” she says. “Just toss me the pack.”

I hear the scratch of the match, and her inhalation. “Hey. I wanna ask you something.”

“Ok.”

“Don’t freak on me, alright?”

“Jeez. Just freakin’ ask, ok?”

“Can I… see it?”

“What??” I squawk. But I know what she means.

“I just wanna know what they look like. You know, I have only seen them in books. I just want to… you know, get ready for it…”

I decide quickly. “Ok. But you gotta show me yours too.”

She catches her breath and I know she’s about to say no.

“Fair’s fair,” I say. “I’m almost 14, and I need to get ready for it, too.”

Without another word, she lays down on the grass and pulls her skirt up. I can see her white cotton undies stretched taut over … whatever is there. I start to hear buzzing in my ears when she grasps the waistband and gets ready to pull it down.

Then she stops. “You first.”

The next thing I know, I have dropped my pants again, literally because they were already open, and she’s squinting into the sun to see my penis, which is embarrassingly getting harder and longer. “Wow,” she says wonderingly. “I didn’t know that they were that big. It looks like it might hurt.”

“You mean you never touched his…?” I had enough of a sense of things to suspect otherwise. But she shook her head. “Not… really. He rubs it against me through his pants, and puts my hand on it, but it’s hard to tell what it looks like. Seems like a knot more than a… pole. Wow.” She sits up to take closer look. “It’s getting a lot bigger.”

I am embarrassed. “Well, take off your panties. You promised.”

She looks at me, blushing hard, as she lies back again and, bending her knees, pulls them off, and I catch my first glimpse of actual pussy. Her skin is pale white, the hair soft brown and thin like on a baby‘s head. I can see a line, a separation of flesh extending down from the hair into her flesh, that extends out of sight between her parted legs. I wonder if it’s the same cleft that runs between her ass cheeks, and lean in for a closer look. She struggles into a sitting position and I see with shock that she is reaching for me.

“I just want to touch it,” she says. “Please. It’ll make it easier when I have to do it … later.”

She takes my cock into her sweaty palm and uses her fingers to push back the foreskin which is already pulling away on its own. It gives a leap at her touch and she jumps, then laughs. “Whoa,” she says as a sticky drop appears and wets her hands. I reach down and nudge her knees apart again so I can see. I don’t even ask; I just touch her crease, and it opens around my finger. I am surprised by the heat and the oiliness, and my finger slides inside. “Oh!” she says softly, and then I am rubbing and she is sighing, then suddenly I am lying on top of her, clumsily nuzzling her neck and pressing myself to her, seeking out the wetness. She gasps but doesn’t try to stop me and as I slide my cock into her slick warm pussy, I feel her hands on my bare ass, urging me on.

The heat of being inside her body electrifies me, and I press hard, trying to go in as deep as I can. She squeals as my cock presses against some sort of barrier and then she squeezes my ass harder, pulling me into her, and I feel it give. She cries out and I stop, but she’s murmuring that it’s okay, it’s supposed to be that way, it’s the hymen. I don’t know what she means, but I follow the heat of her, puahing way inside, until my cock is buried in her up to the balls. “Oh!” she says again.

“That feels good,” she says breathlessly.

“What now?” I ask.

She looks at me and laughs, her voice still breathless. “Move,” she says, and her hips push against mine, lifting her ass off the grass and then we begin pushing, pulling, in, out, over and over, faster and faster, as the feeling of hot flesh rubbing me wetly takes over. I grab her ass and blindly thrust back, hearing her breathing quicken in my ears, moaning into my neck whenever I go in all the way.

When I explode inside her, it feels like death and heaven all wrapped up in one, and her breathless voice in my ear suggests the feeling is mutual.

I wonder briefly if being the first one in her ass twenty years later will feel somewhat the same. It really does, actually.

When she shows up at the appointed place a week later, she’s prepared. “Which kind do you prefer?” she asks as she unpacks two boxes of condoms from her bag, along with the tube of gel I specified.

“Well, it’s up to you if we use one or not,” I tell her.

She colors. “I assumed…everyone would. For, you know, hygiene…”

“Well, we can, if it will make you feel more relaxed,” I tell her. “But… it hurts more the first time if you do. The latex sort of burns. If you did what I told you, about when to eat and what… and the enema to be safe?” She nods. “Then there’s no real need.”

She stands and bends over the bed, and hauls up her skirt. Her pale pink ass is naked under it, and I feel myself respond like a programmed robot. I rub my thickening cock against her cleft as I squeeze lube into my fingers and she moans.

“Wow, that’s cold,” she says as I slip my oily finger slowly inside her ass. She tenses up slightly but seems pretty relaxed for a first timer. She listens so well. I want to ram it into her tight little ass, my unsullied prize; it’s mine, and I want it.

“Baby,” I say. “It’s easier the first time if we do it from the front. I mean I love to look at your ass,  and I know it would be good for me this way, but…”

“What…?” she says. “how?”

I show her, pushing her onto the bed supine and pressing her knees to her chest, then I reinsert my finger, working the knuckle past the sphincter and then following it with another. She gasps as I turn both slowly, and her breath starts to come faster as I press my hard cockhead into her cleft.

God, she’s tight, but the lube lets me slide right in, and she flinches but doesn’t pull away. I go in slowly, all the way, and stop fully inside her. “Just relax and get used to the feeling,” I say, as her breath races.

“Ok,” I say breathlessly, excited like a teenager, despite my best attempts. “When you’re ready, I am gonna fuck you.”

She swallows and blinks, her ass tight around me, but her body is slowly losing that panicked tenseness, her legs relaxing to let her lower back touch the bed again, and her cheeks rest on my thighs. “God,” she says. “You’re big. I always forget how big.”

Then she nods, and I start to move.

“Oh, Jesus,” she says as I slide almost all the way out and then start in again.

It’s like the first time all over again, she’s so tight that I am waiting for something to tear. I take her small breast in my hand and her heart thumps against my fingers like a scared rabbit, her breath whistling through her clenched teeth.

“Want me to stop?” I ask. She senses how much I want this and shakes her head.

“Just go easy… at first,” she gasps, closing her eyes

I take her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeeze. She jerks toward me, her eyes slam open again. I slip smoothly into her to the hilt and she groans.

“That…felt nice,” she gasps as I hold still inside her. “Do it again.”

I pull out and thrust in again, pushing her sphincter open again, rougher, faster, pinching both her nipples now to distract her.

“Oh, God,” she moans. “Do that some more. It’s so … nasty good.”

I slide my hand under her and lift her higher, folding her in half, her thighs touching her breasts, and begin to thrust harder, faster. I pound her ass, pulling her calves up to encircle my shoulders.

“I am fucking your ass, dear. How’s that?” My breath is coming fast, panting, her ass is fire, tight as a vice.

She stops me, and gets up. I think she’s going to the bathroom to cry and clean up, but she bends over the bed and pulls her cheeks apart for me. I slide between the familiar yet shockingly new compact rounded buttocks and nudge apart the puckered flower of her rectum. She meets my gentle thrust, burying me in her snug bunghole.

My animal takes over, like the first time. I ride, ride, ride, until I come hard. She cries out as I start to spurt, and then I go rigid and hold my cock deep inside her, and she moans, shudders to orgasm as my semen surges into her, filling her little ass.

“You know I never did…” she says when she gets her breath back.

“Never did what?”

“Never did give it up to Randall,” she says. “After you, he was just not very exciting.”

A full year later…

We only have a few minutes and she’s not wasting any time.

She slides to the floor and takes me in her mouth, sucking me in deeply and begins to work on me. In a flash, I am stiffening, reaching into her throat as deep as I can. She catches my gaze and holds it as she pulls me in, lengthening me quickly, and my blood begins to pound in my ears.

I let her drive, ducking her head in and pulling back, faster then slower, harder then softer and deep, just like she knows I like it. Soon I am spurting into her mouth and throat, holding myself rigid while she milks me gently.

She swallows and toys with me for a second, teasing. “You’re still so easy. Even after all this time, I guess nobody sucks you like your little sister, huh?”

“You’re not my little sister,” I say peevishly, and push back into her mouth. She obliges, and I feel myself hardening right away. “You’re almost three years older than me.”

Then I feel the rush of it all again, so soon, the furnace heat of her mouth, the brush of her tongue  across my glans, the soft bump of her palate meeting it as she moves her head in and out, bringing me right back to the moment. And I begin to move, thrusting into her mouth like I would in any of her orifices, the tide bubbles up and then rushes out, taking me with it. My groans sound strange even to my ears.

She hitches a bit, then quickly engulfs me completely, sucking me forcefully into her throat, the better to swallow it all quickly. But I stop.

As I push her down onto the rug supine, she makes a sound of surprise. “You haven’t wanted to fuck that way in… in years. Wow. God, that feels good,” she pants as I slide into her and start to pump.

Her pussy is as tight as I remember, though without the hymen. I feel her clasp me tightly just as she did all those years ago, and as I ram myself deep inside, I brush my groin against hers and rub it, just as I know to do, to tug the vaginal lips and give her clit the right amount of stimulation. I feel the squeeze as she begins to respond, and soon her spasms start, bringing the whimpering sounds that signal her orgasm.

So why do we keep on doing this, after all these years? When we were kids, maybe the first time was understandable; simple childish curiosity. But we have known better for decades. It’s not like we are poor rednecks from Appalachia. Incest is a major taboo in this society, and we’re mostly people who follow societal norms. In every other part of our lives we are normal.

She was married, I have never been. But I date a lot, various and sundry bimbos who praise me to their friends, tell them all how funny I am, how charming, how absolutely amazing in bed. Some are more serious, some are just pieces of ass.

But every so often…

It can go years, as it sometimes does, between times, and then sometimes it’s a few weeks. Often at family gatherings, but not always. Somehow no one ever seems to suspect.

I remember the day, several years ago, when she brought the guy over again who had wanted anal sex. I thought this must be someone special, if she was willing to try something like that. And her bringing him back again to a family gathering four months later seemed to confirm that.

I wasn’t sure that we’d do anything this time. Not unusual for us to just totally stop for a long time with no real discussion. Especially when one of us has a new someone. But when I heard her say she needed to go get something in the garage freezer, saw her incline her head in what seemed like an invitation, I followed a few minutes later, slipping off the deck when her date headed inside, I assumed to the can. But when I rounded the front, there he was, headed toward the building. Uh-oh. Close call. I followed, but kept my distance, stopping to smoke a cigarette, my alleged reason for leaving.

Eventually, I walked to the outside wall of the garage, and listened. The sound of rapid breathing and soft slurping came from the open window, and I chanced a peek.  She knelt with her skirt pulled up to avoid the dirty floor, his cock in her hand and mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if she could not look.

What a surprise. The man’s cock was huge, red and thick, a good nine inches. Her lips strained to go around it and when he thrust forward, she hitched and tried to take half of him into her throat, her eyes bugging. Vienna sausage, my ass.

Well, her ass, actually.

Eyes still closed, he pulled her to her feet and she came reluctantly, bending at the waist and holding her skirt high. He positioned himself behind her and lined up his massive rod with her pussy, and she grimaced as he entered. But after a few deep thrusts, he pulled his cock out, shiny with her juices, and pressed it against her puckered anus. This kinky son of a bitch was going to fuck her in the ass right here at the Easter dinner. She caught her breath and her eyes zoomed wildly from side to side as he made his way laboriously into her ass, but she did not cry out, standing braced, her head hanging as if being lectured, as he skewered her. Her body language suggested she was being punished rather than pleasured, her limp and motionless form such a contrast to the way she was with me, when she was a full partner in the motion.

He seized her hips and buried his thick cock between her pale cheeks apparently all the way in, his heavy balls resting against her, and began to pump. She began to whimper, almost sobbing, but underneath it I thought I could hear the sounds that could signal orgasm.

I walked to the back of the building and loudly slammed the door. The sounds ceased abruptly.

Sylvia’s Mother pt. 1

This is the story of a family. A close family. A loving family.

Try again.

She called him a homewrecker, a cuckolder, a fox in the henhouse. She said her daughter would regret ever having met him. Then she really went to town on him.

Oops, too fast.

Thursday afternoon. Cool, drizzling. Sylvia had taken the kids to the movies, and mama was enjoying the first bit of privacy she’d had since she’d gotten off the plane from Nebraska. A long, hot bath was what was needed. Maybe even sneak one of that no-good son-in-law’s lime-flavored wine coolers. Maybe two. Oops, better be careful; don’t want to be a souse like he is. (Yes, she knew the word was ‘lush’ but that was too nice a word for someone like him.)

Soaking, lazily masturbating, her eyes fastened on that hanging shower massager, and her eyes gleamed. Rhythm picked up. Eyes glazed over, she floated, directing the spray to much-neglected tissues, purring as she adjusted the pulse. Harder now, cheeks flushed all the way to the roots of her greying bun, coming undone slowly, damp tendrils escaping.

Maybe a little less heat.

Eventually.

Oh…! eventually. Her toes curled and a smile stole over her stern features.

She sighed, whispered the name on her lips, languorously reaching for the faucet.

With a start she sat up, as the water seared her tender flesh, and the word was wrenched from her aloud. “DaaANNNNN…!”

Immediately, she choked it off, aghast. Running steps outside the bathroom ended as the door was flung aside, and there stood THE SON-IN-LAW.

Her face flaming, she struggled to pull herself up out of the steaming stream of water, then as her buttocks cleared the water, she sat abruptly back down and flailed at the faucet, her hands turning instantly pink.

With a sudden dip, and twist of his wrist, the water was silenced.

“I’m sorry. This shower is hard to get used to. I should’ve warned you.” He stood silently for a second or two, then reached for her hand. “Let’s see if you’re hurt.”

She demurred, pulling away. He stared at her in amazement, as she slid further back into the soapy water, lapping at her chin. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Winnie. Get over it. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

She colored deeply, and looked away. “You just walk into a lady’s bathroom… when she’s… nak…indisposed…” She stopped. “Why… the door was locked…”

He waved his hand in irritation. “My bathroom. Door’s broken. You called me. Twice. Now, don’t be silly. Let me see if you’re burned.” He held out his hand again.

“For Christ’s sake, Winnie! If you’re so uptight, wrap a towel around you.” He glared at her, his bare chest heaving. Why was he half-dressed? He tossed her a towel, and turned as she wrapped it around her quivering breasts. She made sure he was looking away, then rose unsteadily from the tub. He put a hand out to steady her, and she flinched.

Gently, he guided her to the toilet, and she sat, her knees jerking. He held her hands a moment, as her breathing eased. Then he asked gently, “Where did you burn yourself?”

Immediately, she jerked away. “I’m okay. Just let me be!”

Looking her squarely in the face, he asked. “Then why did you call me?” Dumbly, she shook her head. Shrugging, he pulled her back down, and proceeded to look her over. Chin trembling, eyes tearing, she began to shake violently.

He pulled the towel away, and she felt his hands, gingerly touching her stomach, ribs, and breasts, then parting her thighs, checking for marks.

She groaned as the oily, animal scent filled her nostrils. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then her fingers were working up into his wiry black hair, pulling his head down to her breast. His fingers pressed inside her, and she knew it was over.

Damn it, then. She slid to the floor, and the bathmat pressed patterns into her buttocks, as he undid his shorts. She held her breath in anticipation, her eyes scrunched closed, and soon was rewarded by the blunt, sudden intrusion she craved, coming like a blow to her cervix, filling her and withdrawing to fill her again and again and again, his breath rasping in her ear, and the name she’d murmured earlier rose and burbled from her in a flood, as her tender flesh was once again seared by scalding liquid.

Too soon, always too soon.

* * * *

For his part, Dan was having trouble assimilating the fact that he’d just poked his mother-in-law. It was bad enough that he’d been obliged to treat her politely, since she’d been super-rude to him from the day he’d been identified as the other man in her daughter’s life, and kept it up even after her divorce and the subsequent wedding; now he’d have to compliment her, too? Especially after having seen her in the nude?

He had to admit that, since her arrival, he’d been getting a kick out of hearing her try to masturbate in the next bedroom at night. She was so incompetent; like a pubescent child taking her genitals for a test drive, she’d freeze if anyone rolled over in bed. He could always tell when she was doing it, because her room was below his, and the vents for the two rooms were connected. Also, she moved her whole arm instead of just her wrist, and the whole bed squeaked.

So, just for the hell of it, he’d roll over loudly and cough a lot when she was about to get into gear. Sylvia, who’d laughed over it with him at first, got really irritable when he kept it up for a few weeks. “So she’s horny!” she mumbled tiredly. “She probably doesn’t get much at home. Dad’s too old and too fat.”

He’d snorted with laughter at the thought of his three-hundred-pound father-in-law mounting Winnie’s slight frame. “Maybe she could be on top?”

“Don’t be crude. Besides, it’s not just the weight. A big belly gets in the way. Remember?”

Uncomfortably, he changed the subject. “Maybe she could have an affair.”

“Maybe you could just leave her to her finger.” Sylvia yawned. “Mom loves Dad too much to hurt him. Their generation doesn’t do affairs when they’re in love. It’s more than just sex when you’re sixty.” She poked him. “Go to sleep, you perv.”

Twenty minutes later, he heard the bedsprings below start up again. “Eeeannch…. Awnnch….” Automatically, he cleared his throat. The noise stopped.

When he got home from work Monday, Sylvia’s car wasn’t in the garage. No kids came to greet him, and he’d have thought the place was his, except for the hum of that infernal water heater. Sitting in the corner of the garage, instantaneously heating water when it was turned on, it alerted him to the presence of another person. He soon guessed who it was.

Letting himself in softly through the kitchen, he immediately heard the sound of a shower massage set on Maximum Throb, and he chuckled to himself. Her Royal Dryness was getting it on in the tub, eh? He tiptoed closer, unsure of what he was going to do. Clear his throat loudly, letting her know for certain, finally, that he knew what she was up to? Yell Hello? Knock loudly? Or just let her go about her business as Sylvia said. Maybe it was time to lay off, and let the old bag have her fun.

Maybe not.

His ears caught a hissing, whispering sound, and he wondered if she were perhaps not alone. Would she actually…?

He moved closer, his ear to the door.

Then he understood, with a sudden jolt, what she was whispering. “Da…n… you ba….stard…. Daaaa…”

“….AAAAANNNNN!” He jerked his head back, unbelieving, as the last syllable screeched up at him, tortured, and subconsciously, Dan recognized the cry of pain, a call for help. He jerked the door open, and blundered into the room.

Sylvia’s mom, her naked, pink body partly obscured by soap suds, sat flailing helplessly at the faucet, the showerhead still pounding its steamy rivulets into her reddened groin —

“Grey!” his mind screamed. “Her pubic hair is grey!”

— her sagging breasts stiffening in fear, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. As he moved into the room, she dropped her hands to cover herself, then slid back into the water, mewling as the hot water splashed her flesh.

Quickly, he turned it off, and reached for her. “Let’s see if you’re hurt.”

She shook her head, and slid further under the water.

The bitch thought he wanted to see her old ass! Geez. He turned and handed her a towel. After a minute, she took it and stepped gingerly from the water, staying as far away from him as she could.

Finally, she sat in the chair, and he tried again to examine her.

She still pulled that “Leave me alone” shit, but eventually he did manage to check her for burns. That was when he smelled the alcohol, and remembered with shock that she didn’t drink. Then she opened her legs, freeing the powerful scent that resided there, and closed them around his hand, and her stench rose up and pulled him onto the floor with her, next thing he knew he was rock hard inside her, tight as a drum, oily and hot like a furnace, riding as if life depended on it. His name spilled from her lips like a curse, drawn out and twisted, a dark, malevolent monstrosity.

Ain’t love grand?

Time should heal all wounds, if cliches were true, but one wonders how much time it takes to heal when you tell the wife you’re fucking her mother, whom you can’t stand, or tell your daughter you’re screwing her husband you despise.

For Dan’s part, the idea itself was revolting enough, and he could hardly admit it to himself, much less anyone else. He maintained it had been a bizarre slip, and would not be repeated.

But, as a man who was used to slipping out for extra-domestic sex, he did not have the same problems with it as Winnie was experiencing. For her part, the fact that she’d had sex with anyone other than her man — or her hand — was a moral crisis. She’d condemned Sylvia for her adultery, and now she herself was guilty of it. She’d assumed that Dan was a lower life form because he’d been the cuckolder, and now she was down there in the muck with him. Literally.

Nonetheless, after Sylvia and the kids returned, had dinner, and went to bed, Winnie’s hand found its way down to the scene of the crime, and Dan and Sylvia heard their first uninterrupted session. Dan, for once, did not have to be coaxed to hold his peace. In fact, the background noise served as the impetus for Sylvia’s oral assault on him, and they made love to the sound of mother’s rasping breath.

Dan excused himself shortly, and went down to take a bath. This time it was he who was surprised, as he filled the tub, to feel a light hand on his shoulder. “I think we need to talk.”

Without a word, he pushed Winnie out the door, and led her down the hall onto the deck. “Now,” he began. She put her finger to his lips, and led him off toward the woods. As he followed, he wondered about the scent which clung to her fingers. Intoxicating, vaguely familiar, yet maddeningly just out of reach, it brought memories of his first sexual experience, his deflowering at the hands of a younger woman.

When Winnie felt they were safely out of earshot of the house, she turned to him, and sighed. “Dan, you know I …” her breath caught, for her son-in-law was looking at her strangely, his eyes glassy, and she followed his gaze as it swept past her into the distance.

“Winnie,” he murmurred, “Is..that you I smell?” Her eyes dropped guiltily as she put her hand to her face and her own rich scent filled her nostrils. Her hands fell to her groin as she recalled. With a groan, he thrust her hands aside and his fingers sought the source, pulled aside her thin skirt and pressing inside her underwear, into her folds and finding the bud of her clitoris. “No, no, no….” she moaned. “Not again.” But she made no move to stop him.

Dropping to his knees, he traced her with his tongue, and she froze, her eyes tightly closed. For the next five minutes, all that was audible were the choked sounds of her mounting lust, and the soft liquid sounds which produced it. Then from her, suddenly, a squealing peal of laughter as she reached her peak, and collapsed as her knees buckled beneath her.

Dan fell with her and lay, his face pressed into her, drinking her scent. Then, with a groan, he rose, and unbuckled his pants, and prepared to mount her where she lay. She eyed his reddened organ and moaned with despair and anticipation.

As his turgid penis parted her, she was amazed to find she was having yet another orgasm, before the waves of the first had subsided. Filling her, he pressed and pulled, buried deep within, and she clasped his buttocks tightly, molding him to her as she rode the heady gush of her climax, up and up and up, her voice groaning a wordless stream of vowels.

After a time, she stopped him with a word. Then, with a sudden lurch, she rose to her knees, seized his penis, and engulfed it with her mouth.

Her greasy scent filled her nostrils and she wondered if it was proper to do this after the act, which she still wouldn’t call fucking. An oral novice, she’d only read about it in books; never even seen it on film. Dan’s reaction, though, decided for her. Eagerly, he pressed toward her, his cock swollen obscenely huge in anticipation. She gulped, then took him in again.

What to do? Where does one’s tongue go? How to breathe? Encouragingly, he pulled her head toward him, and she came slowly, hitching as his phallus pressed into her throat. How…?

Pulling back, she tongued him experimentally, and he responded with a twitch and grunt. Then he thrust into her mouth again, and she sucked on him like a lollipop. His motion increased, and then he was rocking in and out of her throat faster than she could keep up. His penis thumped uncomfortably into her throat and she gagged, but gamely tried. He seemed to approve, as he lunged, grunting, even further into her mouth. Furiously, she licked, hoping it would be over soon.

It was. In a minute or so, she felt him grow harder, and then her throat was filled with warm stickiness. She choked, unable to swallow properly, and his seed spurted out around his pistoning prick and ran down her chin, onto her breasts. Hitching, she held on ’til he was done, then slid slowly to the ground. Her throat afire, she nonetheless perked up when she heard his voice, husky with emotion. “What?”

“I said, you’re great. You give great head. What other secrets have you been hiding from the family, mom?” He smiled and placed his cock back in her mouth. Hesitantly, she obliged by licking him clean, swallowing all the ropy stuff  which clung to his shrivelling penis.

She shivered. Two weeks ago, she could not even form the word penis in her mind, much less on her lips.

Wordlessly, they walked back to the house, where her daughter and his wife slept.

Ruby in Green Lace

They were bulky, older-womanly, almost matronly, but somehow she hoped he’d still find them fetching. These were not the boobs of a girl.

The thighs, too, were less than the imaginary ideal; they were shapely, but thick. Calves better, harder; her job made sure she ran around a lot, chasing all over the state to contain new threats as they were found. But they would need a smooth shave, first time in years she’d shaved her legs two days running.

She held the green teddy in front of her, stepped through, pulled it up over her thighs. and studied the effect. Wondered how he would see it. You could see her bush through the sheer satin, she noticed. Her natural response was to be embarrassed. Should she trim a lot and hope for the best? She’d heard some men these days liked *that* completely shaved, too, and some women. It felt sort of sexy, they said.

She wondered how it would feel to touch herself with it all bare. She shivered, but couldn’t be sure if it was excitement at the idea of having it all slick and smooth down there, or the fear of touching her tender parts with a blade.

On the other hand, it might be considered sexy to have it framed by secret intimate hair,  some men like a wiry, naughty thicket to wade through. She must’ve seen that in a magazine somewhere, maybe the waiting room at her office.

Both made sense, but it had been so long since she’d considered such ideas, she was completely clueless as to which was likely to be true.

She sat on the bed, half-tempted to call the evening off. Was it hopeless? I mean, a woman just about to hit 50, cute once, sure, maybe even sexy, but now graying and frumpy, a stereotyped female scientist. Could there be any way to make such a thing seductive? It was probably best to admit defeat rather than risk mortifying failure. How she hated to look ridiculous.

But she remembered how it made her feel to have him around, how it made her blood effervesce in her veins to get the familial hugs that never seemed completely innocent even though there was nothing overtly untoward in his touch. How she glowed and yearned for hours after, the bright detail of the daydreams she had over the next few weeks. How it felt to touch herself and pretend it was his hands doing the caressing.

How sometimes touching wasn’t even necessary.

The chance to do something about it was finally here, and she knew she had to give this a shot.

She drew a bath, something she rarely did, trailing her hands through the water as it filled. Lowering herself into the water, warmer than usual, she felt its moist heat first on her sensitive vaginal area. Wow. She felt herself moisten from within as well, lowered herself down into the tub, following her groin with the shower head.

She reached for the shaving cream, lathered herself up slowly. Took the razor in her hand, slid it up her leg, taking off the minute frizz that had reasserted itself since last night. Should she move the blade on up a bit…? She lathered her groin and inner thighs. Again, wow. The cream was cold on her warm body, delicious. She sank her fingers inside, peeled her clitoris for the shower’s stream, and gasped.

Should she save her libido for her date? But God, she couldn’t wait. Besides, there was so much of it these days, plenty to go around. She ground the shower head against her pubic bone, summoning him up from her memory, that one not-completely-innocent kiss they supposedly both regretted. Oh, God, Oh God…!

Later, she rose shakily from the tub. Was it only ten minutes, by her watch? A third wow. Dazedly she reached for the teddy, pulled it on, and covered it quickly with a dress. one she hoped wasn’t too dowdy. She had wanted to wear nylons, because her legs looked better that way, but how does one wear hose with a teddy? In the end she went barelegged, daring to showcase her best assets.

It was just a dinner,  nothing incriminating or scandalous; still time to back out and make it as innocent as it looked. But… she hadn’t told her family she was meeting him while she was in town for the conference and she hoped he hadn’t either.

The small talk flowed well at dinner; she’d been worried that they’d have nothing to say to each other, but he seemed at ease, and not much of the conversation was about family or other people she didn’t want to think about right now. But it was over far too soon; somehow she’d assumed it would last longer. The band was just setting up.

She felt silly, having chosen this place with some lame idea that they would linger hours over dinner. To make it last a bit longer, to give her time to decide what to do, she ordered dessert, something she almost never did. A lemon tart. A tart for a tart. Instead of coffee, she asked for a dessert wine, and he raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you drank, Ruby,” he said.

“There’s probably a good deal you don’t know about me,” she said, then flushed as she realized how daytime TV that probably sounded. “I like a drink after dinner, but I don’t do it at home, at least when the kids are there. Not a good example and all that,” she added quickly.

He smiled, gave no sign that she’d said anything unusual or out of place. “Well, in that case, I’ll have a sherry.”

The band started just as they finished, a soft, lazy jazz song. He was helping her on with her coat when it started, and then without a word he took it off again, laid it across the chair, took her hand and led her to the floor. They were the only couple out there, which should have made her hugely self-conscious, but he seemed serene and unruffled about it, taking her in his arms gently and leading her around the floor. She relaxed and laid her head on his chest, letting him lead. The song lingered on and on, and the wine — and his arms — made her feel wonderful. She felt his muscled torso under the jacket, his hand resting lightly on her hip, and snuggled in a bit.

When the song ended, he led her back to the table, and collected her wrap. He held it open and she slipped in. “Shall we go?” he held his hand out and she took it.

In the elevator, she checked her voice mail; as he did the same, she looked at him in the mirror, checking for any sign that would give her direction. Catching her eye, he smiled, but didn’t wink or give her anything to go on, one way or the other.

At the door, it was decision time. She screwed up her courage. “Come in a minute? I want to show you something.”

He smiled. “Sure.” Took the key card from her hand after she dropped it the second time.

Inside, she waited for him to help her off with her coat, but he made no move to do so. She moved into the kitchen and opened the bottle of brandy she’d bought, poured him a  finger or two. “Have a seat,” she said with exaggerated casualness. “I’ll be right back.”

In the bedroom, she ripped the coat and dress off, smoothed the teddy in the mirror, and then replaced the coat. It would have to do. As she walked back in to the living room, she noticed he’d moved from the kitchen to the couch, turned on the cd player she’d had on the coffee table, but not the lights. “What did you want to show me, Ruby?” he asked softly.

She stood for a moment, then walked to his chair. “This,” she whispered, and dropped the coat from her shoulders. It landed in a puddle at her feet.

“Well, well,” he said, setting his drink on the coffee table. Looked her over slowly, appraisingly? Stood and walked to her, took her chin in his hand and kissed her.

My God, that kiss. It fulfilled everything she had dreamed of since that first little innocent one, everything she’d imagined a real kiss to be. It had been years. Not one of those awkward too-much, too-swift tongue kisses she’d tried to navigate as a teenager, the man knew how to use his lips, touching lightly, nibbling, pressing hot and hard… and his hands…on her chin, her hair, touching her breasts, slipping down to cup her buttocks. The kiss went on forever, until finally she pulled away, panting.

He sat, smiling, reached out, pulling her back to him, kissing across her breasts, and hands all over her body, setting off a chain of sparks under her skin wherever he touched. She closed her eyes and trusted him to lead her. As the music changed to a Latin number, his hands moved to her hips, moving her to the beat. “Dance for me, sexy Ruby,” he whispered in her ear.

Just like that, she felt sexy. Why not? She found the beat, rotating her hips and swaying her upper body, shaking the straps off her shoulders and feeling the teddy slip down across her breasts, a sexy, silky motion. She refused to open her eyes or fret about how she might look.

“Very nice,” he said in a low voice. “Very sensual.” She heard his voice from somewhere low in front of her, then felt his hands on her, leading her in a circle, fingers touching her inner thigh, pulling the teddy aside. She felt the backs of her legs touch the sofa and realized he’d turned her around. What he was doing, she didn’t know exactly, but she suspected she would like it.

“Dance on, sexy Ruby,” he said.

A moment later, his cool finger touched her shaved skin, and she caught her breath with the deliciousness of it. Then his wet tongue touched her vulva and moved inside. She gasped and tried to dance as he’d instructed, but it was hard to concentrate on what movement her hips might be making when he was causing all manner of chaotic sensations below. God. Is this what people did now? She was glad she’d spent so much time on her genital hygiene earlier in the evening.

Then his tongue began to circle, across her clitoral wings and she stopped thinking, She’d had no idea….ahhhhh….

The speed and power of her orgasm took her by surprise, abrupt and all-consuming, like a wildfire racing up her body. She gasped, pulled the air deep into her lungs as if preparing for a dive, and threw herself into its embrace, moaning his name as it took her body over. Wave after wave rolled over her, pleasure like she’d never imagined. Her knees shook with the tension and she sank down, down, his tongue following her, into a pool of ecstatic sensation.

As the orgasm receded, she lay panting on the sofa, and heard him chuckle softly. “My God, I love the way you come,” he said, his voice further away, above her.

She opened her eyes and saw him rise to stand, pulling off his shirt to stand before her half nude. God, that was hot, like he was the one being pursued. Which, in a way, he was. She took a deep breath, reached for his pants and unfastened them with shaky hands. His penis jutted out from his abdomen, thick, stiff, red, and she gasped at the sight.

He smiled, and touched her again, stroking her, opening her with his fingers. “Oh, my Lord,” she said as he lowered himself toward her, kissing her neck as he sank into her. She felt his thick penis open her, pressing deeper, ever deeper. Then he pulled out and thrust in again, more firmly, his penis getting ever harder.

The orgasm, receding, came back with a roar. As he slid his rigid cock deep into her soaked vagina, she began to sob. “Oh, please, oh, please, please…”

“Please what?” he said, gently teasing.

“Please… make love to me,” she choked out. “Please … make this okay.”

He cupped and caressed her buttocks, then drove himself deep inside her, claiming her in a way she’d never felt, taking control from her utterly and irrevocably.

As she felt him stretch and lengthen inside her, she decided her conscience could afford this one luxury. The guilt would come later, but now was not the time…

She’d never felt this young.

The ages of things

She would meet me at the old house, slipping out when her mother was occupied with her own lover, or she would come up with excuses, something that didn’t require a car; visiting a friend who lived close, a basketball game, something that could be an excuse for slipping out and walking a few blocks in the wrong direction before doubling back and streaking through the woods over to the old house. The house where we used to live chastely together, me as her father’s guest, a friend from out of town come to stay for an extended period, she as his dutiful beautiful underage daughter. The house was somehow still empty, years after her dad and stepmom had moved up the coast to Nimbin and joined a community of pseudo-hippie-hedonists like themselves.

She looked every bit the voluptuous hippie girl herself, buxom, bursting with health. Her body was near perfection, with a rounded hour-glass aspect, clearly a woman’s shape animated by a girl’s vitality; a bit of baby fat lining the lush, graceful curves, but it just made me even more molten for her. Especially in the days before, when I looked only from afar.

She has these sultry, pouty lips, with a line of fine muscle around the border, full expressive lips that you just need to kiss, softly, gently, taste them like they’re a delicacy, an appetizing morsel to tempt you before the coming feast. And then after a bit, you press harder against them, tickle them with your tongue, then move inside and explore her mouth, engage her tongue, withdraw and then meet again, harder, then catch the corner of her lip softly in your teeth as you separate, nibble softly along the ridge until you feel her breath speed up.

Lips you bite lightly when she’s highly excited, so hot she’s about to crawl out of her skin, when light pain gets all mixed up in your brain with pleasure.

Her face is an oval, almond-shaded, framed by dark pixie hair, her nose aquiline yet soft, with a lock of her hair always hanging not-quite-across one eye, curling alongside her nose like an accent, her skin feathery to the touch almost like it’s been powdered with sugar. It tastes just as delicately delicious.

Her eyes are soft brown one minute, gentle, then black-purple the next, almost dangerous looking, a change that alters her every feature, making her seem an almost-constant mystery, a stranger that you somehow know without really knowing, need even when you can’t recognize her.

Even when I am the one making all the moves, doing all the seducing, while she silently — or not-so-silently — registers her surprise and pleasure at all the new things I do to her, it still feels like she’s somehow the one controlling everything.

I dip down, kneel, and explore under her soft white cotton skirt, and her sighs and whispering cautions show her appreciation and inexperience, and the novelty of sliding my tongue into that subtly sweet, tangy, sticky slit and knowing I am in all the likelihood the first tongue to ever taste her, the Columbus of Carnal Knowledge.

I make my tongue soft and broad and slip it gently across the opening in her softly-furry mound, up, up and then slowly inside at the tip so softly, it’s like a whisper. She grabs my head, her fingers entwining into my hair, vocalizing but saying nothing, soft liquid sounds issuing from her mouth. I set a steady, gentle pace and she starts to undulate slowly, her hips describing a soft determined semi-circle, the intensity of her thrusts slowly building until she’s rubbing herself against my lips, my tongue, my chin, moaning softly.

I suddenly make my tongue go stiff and clenched, pointed, and thrust inside, darting swiftly into her gooey center before resuming the gentle vertical swipe. She goes rigid for a second with a sharp intake of air, and then grinds herself against me. “Do that again,” she gasps. “Please?”

I take off then, launch all my skills and technique, all the things her gender across the country and the world have painstakingly taught me over the years. In minutes, no, seconds, she’s coming, moaning, sobbing, grinding against me, her hands clasped tightly to both sides of my head.

“My God,” she says shyly when she can speak again. “I had no idea it could be like this. Jeez.”

I stand, sliding up her body to her perfect breasts, touch her perky nipples each in turn, then lean in to taste each, my hands gripping that perfect meaty, shapely butt. She groans and presses herself against me, her sticky cunt suctioning to my thigh. I nudge it with my knee and she murmurs approvingly. “I guess there’s some compensation for being my age,” I say softly. She smiles, nods.

I often think back on that, the way it was at first, as she stands before me these days, her face defiant and full of scorn, disgusted at my continuing physical decline, yet she comes when I call her, grudgingly unwilling, moving across the room in that strange splay-legged gait that looks like her thighs are scraping together.

I know the signs, and I know them well. She’s the only woman I have ever met who needs sex as much as I do, her body signaling that need as clearly as if she had a neon sign on her head – or a bulge in her pants. Her labia suffuse with blood when she’s in need, and push out, rubbing against each other, making her walk bowlegged, until she needs to scratch it like an actual itch. If she doesn’t get what she needs, she’ll go home and masturbate in her strangely violent way, scratch herself until she comes. She does that out of spite, not pleasure. She only wants me, but it’s not personal – her cunt likes my cock. It’s not like she desires me as a being, or even likes me very much anymore. In fact, most days she says she hates me.

But the sex is every bit as mind-blowing; every time is like the first time, if not always in the same gentle style, it matches that first time in intensity. She still needs me to take over and dominate, even as she loathes me, hates that she needs it. Some nights she sobs while she rides me, cursing me with her eyes while out of her mouth tumble tiny, surprised mumbled words of effusive praise, helpless in her gratitude for what her body is getting from its melding with mine.

It’s a mutual need, an addiction for both of us.

The first time I parted her with my finger and thumb and held her apart while my penis entered her, it was like an explosion of emotion and sensation, grabbing us both and throwing us into each other’s orbit, trapping us with the centrifugal force, making us cling to each other and gasp with wonder at what had been unleashed. It seemed an awesome, fearsome thing, capable of life without our consent, and of fierce destruction if it should decide to — and it still does.

That day, we moved slowly, tentatively yet somehow deliberately, tenderly meshing our bodies, learning our parts, interlacing my suddenly-rigid cock in her soft tissue-paper-like tensile wetness, lest we break something, start a chain reaction, initiate a meltdown. But the energy spooled up anyway, spilling over us, heating our thighs and flushing our faces and limbs with racing blood, even as we moved slowly, deeply restrained even as we buried my most impressive erection ever inside her innocent babe-flesh.

When my orgasm came, there was no question of holding it back even for a moment, it blasted its way up and out like a geyser, flooding her insides like a firehose and then suddenly she was coming with me, her tiny cunt clamping ever harder, milking, and she screamed into my ear, a ragged bird-like cry, dredged from some forgotten part of the brain that humans had long ago abandoned. I felt the force of my spasm as a pressure in the fillings in my teeth, in my toenails, in my soul. With the rush of blood to my head, my ears began to hum, rumble, sing, and the world went blurry and indistinct, her cry of primal primacy sounding robustly feline and childishly fragile at the same time inside my head.

Back then, she would always lay her head down on my chest, her hair matting and bonding to my damp skin, and sleep, stirring with my every move, kissing my chest in her sleep, murmuring. Sleeping exactly an hour, then waking cleanly and departing with a secret backward smile.

These days she leaves as I lie, still gasping, not daring to call to her lest the pounding in my chest be accompanied by a sharp, lightning pain down my arms.