I know it was just a dream, but it felt so real. The sights, the smells, your weight on me...
The setting was unusual; it was a multi-use community building. Why I was there is irrelevant, as is all the friends I know that were doing various tasks. Because you found me.
I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor. I had just swept a clean space, with dust, dirt, and animal fur billowing in clouds as I cleared it from the tile and carpet. I dropped down, holding conversation with a friend that supposedly now lived in Ukraine but was visiting. She spoke in mono-tone as she, too, swept and scrubbed her section of the floor.
Suddenly, I was flat on my belly with a warm weight over my back. I laughed, thinking you were someone else. I continued to work with my arms outstretched in front of me, finishing my train of thought with the friend.
You started kissing the back of my neck, my hair conveniently in a bun and out of your way. I don't remember the words you first spoke, but I was still distracted and did not register who was on me. I continued to giggle and and responded in a playful manner.
Then your voice lowered, your lips finding my ear, "So you are interested in playing or being played with? I'm interested in doing the playing."
A shiver ran down my spine and I wiggled underneath you, closing my eyes to the bright lights reflecting off the white tile floor of the community center.
"I always want to play with you," I responded, still not catching on that you were not the person I expected.
"Oh, I believe that. Such a willing little thing, aren't you?" Your mouth moved in a slow trail across my neck, back to its starting position at the top of my spine. "Tell me," you whispered between kisses, "Am I what you expected?"
My stomach hollowed and my entire body froze. Your lips kept up their languid soft kisses but realization struck me that you were YOU and not the man I expected.
A deep and primal growl echoed in your laugh. You enjoyed the blind encounter and how long it took for me to become aware of just who had me pinned.
"I...um..." I sputtered, squeezing my eyes closed, refusing to break the intimate spell by looking for confirmation.
"Such a sweet little thing, aren't you?" Kisses still accentuated your words, the sensitive zone at the top of my back working against any logical brain function. My body started moving under yours, again; my nipples straining at my bra as my hips tried to rise up to yours.
"Tell me," your voice took on a gravelly edge, "Have you ever explored beyond your basic submission? Are you curious to run until you are pinned," kiss, "just," kiss, "like," kiss, "this?" Teeth sank into the back of my neck and all I could do was moan.
My stomach tightened and my cleaning implements went forgotten as my hands found the edge of the carpeted rug and clenched, bunching the soft pile between my fingers. One of your arms moved, no longer bracing yourself above me. Your hand, large on my frame, skimmed down my side.
"That wasn't an answer," you growled before taking another bite.
Another moan escaped my lips, but with my next breath, I whispered, "Yes, Sir." But then my face flushed as I realized what I had said. "I mean, I..." I trailed off, trying to remember the question you asked and how to answer.
You just laughed.
"How long have you been in the lifestyle?"
Your voice is erotic on its own and I realized I longed to hear you call me 'My Pet'.
"Um, I," I tried to clear my throat, "about 10 years, off an on. And we should discuss honorifics." Breathless. I was blowing this whole interview, I just knew it. "I, um, will need to know what to call you."
A gentle tongue worked across my neck to my earlobe as you laughed again. "All in due time. You will be fun, I can tell."
Your hands, both of them, moved up along my body to my arms, then easily skirted to my wrists. Somehow you kept your body above mine without crushing me. I suddenly felt small compared to you and my belly fluttered.
Ever so slowly, you pulled my arms so that my palms faced upward and my hands rested on my back.
"I do like what I see. Here's a small reward. Feel me," you pressed my hands to your front. I gasped at finding firm muscle covered in thick hair. You were shirtless! My fingers traced outlines of abs, but the body hair melted me. I was unsure if you knew the cause of my lip biting, but I didn't care.
"You, I think, will be perfect." Your hips pressed down and...
"Oh!" My hands stilled on your stomach as my brain processed the hardness pressing into my ass.
"Sadly, I must go. But," like magic, you lifted me as you stood so contact was never broken between my hands and your skin. "I do think, we will talk again soon."
With my eyes still tightly shut, you walked me backwards as you made your way to the door. Once outside, you leaned down to my ear.
"Count to twenty before you open your eyes. Don't look for me. I'll be in touch."
And with that, a cold breeze took your place. I shivered at the loss of your body, but I could still feel you....
Showing posts with label MF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MF. Show all posts
When I Can't Sleep
When the lights are out, the blankets are tucked up, the alarm is set, my hair is spread on the pillow, but my mind won't stop whirling, there is only one thing to do. Without you here to hold me, to make my body relax, I must tire myself out.
With a quick glance to make sure the door is actually locked, I wiggle deeper into the comfort of my bedding and slip my hand across my belly. Tonight should just be a quickie, so minimal physical foreplay is needed.
I close my eyes as my fingers brush along my clit. Mentally, I rearrange the room so I am home, with you, instead of this bland hotel space. In the fantasy realm, I am on top of our bedding, the soft over-blanket caressing my back. You climb onto the bed to join me, but instead of crawling up next to me, you hover over top of me. Your forearms brace your weight from beside my head, your hands gently stroking through my hair. Your warmth emanates and envelops me as you position yourself between my legs.
"Are you ready for me, kitten," your low timbre skates along my jaw as you trail kisses from one side of my neck to the other. A moan answers and you smile. Our lips meet as you thrust deep.
I arch up to meet your hips, the rhythm and pace you set relentless and fast. All I can think is how I need every inch of you and don't want you to pull away.
Your own sounds echo around me as you near your climax, building mine along with you.
"Please," I whimper, gripping your shoulders and holding on tight. That small beg is what sends you over. With one last grunt, you bury your face in my neck, biting and growling as your hips pin mine to the bed. Everything inside you spills out deep within me, sending me careening to my own release.
"Mine," you whisper as you begin pumping your hips again, sending me on to another orgasm. The world fades to black with me in your embrace.
When I wake, it is to the bright sun poking through the hotel curtains that I forgot to close the night before. The blankets have cocooned me into a human-sized burrito and drool has plastered the pillow to my cheek. As I sit and stretch, I can smell myself on my fingers. The downside to self-release until oblivion is the aftermath. A quick shower is in order before I can start my day. Only a few more nights on the road before I can see you again in person, but only a full work day of hours before I can hold you again in my mind....
A Lesson In Self Control
There really isn't a better place to be than on my back, shoved into the silk sheets while you are buried deep in me, one hand bracing your weight on the bed beside my head while the other wraps around my throat, pinning me down. As your fingers tighten with every thrust, my breath grows shallower and my hips buck up to meet yours. Your lips curve into a wicked smile as you brush them against mine, ever so briefly, before pulling away to stare into my eyes. I'm close. So close.
"No," you growl, deeply guttural. Shock-waves pulse from my ears down my chest, sparking out to my nipples before continuing on to my belly and further. Invisible fingers clamp on my clit as I grip your cock tighter, my orgasm riding just beneath the surface.
I whimper, unable to gain breath enough to beg please.
A single drop of sweat drips down your nose to my forehead and my eyes begin to roll back into my head. Your hand grips harder with each word, "I. Said. NO." But it is too late.
My heels dig in to your ass, stiletto tips pressing divots into your skin, as my fingernails scrape down your biceps. A scream tears from my throat as ecstasy takes hold and I cum hard, the pressure too much to contain any longer. I come undone beneath you, all control lost to the pleasure you've perfectly crafted over the last hour.
With one final curse from your mouth, you crush your lips to mine as you pump harder, giving me your release.
Feeling your cock spasm and burst deep within me triggers a second wave of pleasure and I'm a mess beneath you, sobbing and pleading for you to never let me go.
You kiss along my neck, your hand no longer stealing my breath, and I just float in your embrace. This is heaven and I never want to leave the warmth you have created.
"I'm never letting you go," you mumble in my ear as you begin to roll your hips, growing hard once again. "You disobeyed me, Little One," you growl. I'm too far gone to catch the warning in your voice. My hips rock with yours as I moan, relishing your weight above me.
Tonight's lesson in self control will need to be repeated again tomorrow night. I can't wait.
"No," you growl, deeply guttural. Shock-waves pulse from my ears down my chest, sparking out to my nipples before continuing on to my belly and further. Invisible fingers clamp on my clit as I grip your cock tighter, my orgasm riding just beneath the surface.
I whimper, unable to gain breath enough to beg please.
A single drop of sweat drips down your nose to my forehead and my eyes begin to roll back into my head. Your hand grips harder with each word, "I. Said. NO." But it is too late.
My heels dig in to your ass, stiletto tips pressing divots into your skin, as my fingernails scrape down your biceps. A scream tears from my throat as ecstasy takes hold and I cum hard, the pressure too much to contain any longer. I come undone beneath you, all control lost to the pleasure you've perfectly crafted over the last hour.
With one final curse from your mouth, you crush your lips to mine as you pump harder, giving me your release.
Feeling your cock spasm and burst deep within me triggers a second wave of pleasure and I'm a mess beneath you, sobbing and pleading for you to never let me go.
You kiss along my neck, your hand no longer stealing my breath, and I just float in your embrace. This is heaven and I never want to leave the warmth you have created.
"I'm never letting you go," you mumble in my ear as you begin to roll your hips, growing hard once again. "You disobeyed me, Little One," you growl. I'm too far gone to catch the warning in your voice. My hips rock with yours as I moan, relishing your weight above me.
Tonight's lesson in self control will need to be repeated again tomorrow night. I can't wait.
Old Habits
My keys jangled as I reached for my apartment door and I cursed when the lock held no resistance with the key turn. I had left my apartment unsecured yet again. How many times would I push my luck before I came home from work to find my place ransacked? I mentally chastised myself as I fell back against the door, closing the world out behind me. I dropped my purse on the little catch-all table but left the lights off when I slid my keys onto the hook next to the switch. The quiet darkness was comforting after the bloody nightmare of working the emergency room under the harsh bright fluorescence bulbs.
I barely took two steps toward the bedroom before I realized I was not alone. He did not make a sound, but I felt him watching me and I froze. From the corner of my eye I saw a shadowy figure move to turn on the side table lamp. I turned to see a naked man sitting on my couch. A handsome, dangerous man. A man I knew and feared. A man I swore I would never see again.
"What...what are you doing here?" I whispered, my mouth completely dry. I wanted to take a step back, but my feet would not move. "What do you want?"
"I want you to show me," his blue eyes burned bright, the intensity behind them reminiscent of a predator with cornered prey.
"Sh-show you?" I stammered, taking a deep breath, the instinct to run hammering my heart in my chest.
"Show me," his hands shifted in his lap and I cringed. My ex sat there with his clothes folded neatly beside the lamp, his cock standing proud, stiff, and large. His deep voice echoed through my head as he continued, "Show me what you think I missed out on when I let you go. Show me what you've learned since you escaped to greener pastures. Show me that you're not all talk."
I stared at his dick, thicker and longer than I remembered. I wondered if it was just as rock hard as it looked, if it was just as tasty as my mouth recalled. I licked my lips and managed to finally take a step back. "You need to leave," my voice sounded stronger, but still registered at a whisper, as I pulled my eyes away and looked him in the face; it was more of a difficult struggle than I would care to admit.
That damn smile that always melted me quirked his mouth. My heart fluttered. "Scared that I know the truth? That you aren't as good as you claim? That you are still as terrible as when we were together?"
"No, I..." he twitched his muscles, the muscles that forced his cock to wave at me. I felt like a cat being teased with a dangling toy. I gulped and took another step back. Fear gripped my stomach - or was that arousal? Both. But not fear that I would fail to prove that I was better now than I was then; no, it was fear that I would give in. Fear that I would not be able to escape him again. He was my ex for a reason.
"Well?" His hardened flesh bobbed again. I whimpered. "There's my girl, still hiding in there, after all! She should come out and play, don't you think?" I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat and tried to shake my head. His voice had dropped an entire octave, to that musically commanding sound that pulled me apart little by little. "Come here." I was helpless against that voice and he knew it.
"Y-Yes, Sir," I quietly submitted as I lowered my head, dropped to my knees, and scuttled forward like an animal. How easily I slipped back into the role of his pet scared me, but I had no control when that voice commanded. Shame flooded my system, flushing my skin, and soaking my panties. I thought I had locked this part of me away when I escaped. I was wrong.
He growled, "That's a good girl. Come and show me what you think I'm missing. Prove to me you can suck a cock like a good little slut."
I kept my eyes down, focused on the dick in front of my face. Every word was a lie, we both knew it. His favorite pastime was telling me I was worthless and useless as a cocksucker, nothing better than a wet cunt to fuck; I had spent my time on my knees doing what I could to make him say otherwise, fighting for even one single line of praise. In the five years we were together, I never once heard "good girl" in response to my lips wrapped around his cock. Why I thought this time would be different, I had no clue. I just knew that the desire to please him consumed me once more. I wanted to hear those two words. This time would be different. It had to be.
More than that, I wanted his cock down my throat.
I barely took two steps toward the bedroom before I realized I was not alone. He did not make a sound, but I felt him watching me and I froze. From the corner of my eye I saw a shadowy figure move to turn on the side table lamp. I turned to see a naked man sitting on my couch. A handsome, dangerous man. A man I knew and feared. A man I swore I would never see again.
"What...what are you doing here?" I whispered, my mouth completely dry. I wanted to take a step back, but my feet would not move. "What do you want?"
"I want you to show me," his blue eyes burned bright, the intensity behind them reminiscent of a predator with cornered prey.
"Sh-show you?" I stammered, taking a deep breath, the instinct to run hammering my heart in my chest.
"Show me," his hands shifted in his lap and I cringed. My ex sat there with his clothes folded neatly beside the lamp, his cock standing proud, stiff, and large. His deep voice echoed through my head as he continued, "Show me what you think I missed out on when I let you go. Show me what you've learned since you escaped to greener pastures. Show me that you're not all talk."
I stared at his dick, thicker and longer than I remembered. I wondered if it was just as rock hard as it looked, if it was just as tasty as my mouth recalled. I licked my lips and managed to finally take a step back. "You need to leave," my voice sounded stronger, but still registered at a whisper, as I pulled my eyes away and looked him in the face; it was more of a difficult struggle than I would care to admit.
That damn smile that always melted me quirked his mouth. My heart fluttered. "Scared that I know the truth? That you aren't as good as you claim? That you are still as terrible as when we were together?"
"No, I..." he twitched his muscles, the muscles that forced his cock to wave at me. I felt like a cat being teased with a dangling toy. I gulped and took another step back. Fear gripped my stomach - or was that arousal? Both. But not fear that I would fail to prove that I was better now than I was then; no, it was fear that I would give in. Fear that I would not be able to escape him again. He was my ex for a reason.
"Well?" His hardened flesh bobbed again. I whimpered. "There's my girl, still hiding in there, after all! She should come out and play, don't you think?" I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat and tried to shake my head. His voice had dropped an entire octave, to that musically commanding sound that pulled me apart little by little. "Come here." I was helpless against that voice and he knew it.
"Y-Yes, Sir," I quietly submitted as I lowered my head, dropped to my knees, and scuttled forward like an animal. How easily I slipped back into the role of his pet scared me, but I had no control when that voice commanded. Shame flooded my system, flushing my skin, and soaking my panties. I thought I had locked this part of me away when I escaped. I was wrong.
He growled, "That's a good girl. Come and show me what you think I'm missing. Prove to me you can suck a cock like a good little slut."
I kept my eyes down, focused on the dick in front of my face. Every word was a lie, we both knew it. His favorite pastime was telling me I was worthless and useless as a cocksucker, nothing better than a wet cunt to fuck; I had spent my time on my knees doing what I could to make him say otherwise, fighting for even one single line of praise. In the five years we were together, I never once heard "good girl" in response to my lips wrapped around his cock. Why I thought this time would be different, I had no clue. I just knew that the desire to please him consumed me once more. I wanted to hear those two words. This time would be different. It had to be.
More than that, I wanted his cock down my throat.
I licked my lips and stared at the twitching dick less than a foot away. I knelt between his knees, my hands clutching the edge of the couch, mesmerized.
"Don't hesitate now, my pet. You've had your freedom. Show me what you've learned," he growled.
My breath quickened and my chest heaved. I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. With a soft whimper escaping my mouth, I leaned forward and took the tip of his cock between my lips and sank my head into his lap.
Please, I mentally begged, just this once....
Behind Closed Doors (pt 2)
Saturday morning sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, the delicate light first illuminating an empty bed, then a couple entwined in a loving embrace on the plush carpet. June stirred at the incessant prodding of the orange glow and gently disentangled herself from her husband. She sat and stretched and watched Russel sleep for a few minutes before she stood and picked up hastily discarded and, to her dismay, ripped clothing. She frowned as she tossed the brand new shirt in the waste basket on her way to the shower.
The spray of water stung as it struck tender new carpet burns, but the heat dissipated the pain to a mere discomfort. After she was clean, June stood under the water and stared at the slate wall. The usually warm combination of muted green tones and the golden veins were instead lost in the cold grey stone. A chill flittered across June's skin as she thought back to the day it was chosen.
The sales clerk at the local Floor & Tile Warehouse had left the couple standing in the aisle to place the Garret's entire remodel order for delivery, so no one was near to see him pull her close against his hips and slip one hand around her body and into the front waistband of her skirt. There were no witnesses as he slipped his fingers past the soft curls between her legs and gently entered her wet and ready pussy.
"This, my sweet," his gruff voice fell to her ear, "to whom does it belong?"
Working to control her breathing, June whispered her reply, "You, Sir."
"Good girl," Russel kissed her neck as he increased the pressure from his hand. June began to whimper. "Quietly," he chided; June clenched her jaw. Her orgasm was short but still turned her legs limp. Russel chuckled into her ear, "I love that almost as much as I love you, my Pet." He held her upright for a few moments until she could stand again, and then removed his hand. She was slightly unsteady, but leaned against her husband in what she hoped would look like a normal embrace.
Russel hugged her close with one arm and reached up to run his wetted fingers across her lips. June smiled and licked him clean. He then pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear before pulling a simple brown envelope from his pocket. It had been folded and creased neatly to fit, unnoticed, next to the pen at his breast.
"I think it is time to give you your gift. Happy anniversary, my Pet."
June was confused. Russel had led her to believe the house remodel was her gift: the larger bathroom with its custom shower, the new guest bedroom add-on, the old guest bedroom to craft-space conversion, and the new bedroom balcony.... She gingerly took the envelope and carefully unfolded it. Inside was a single sheet of paper: a folded drawing. It was a scaled down version of the plans for the upstairs guest bedroom conversion, but it was different than what the contractor had on display. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what was different.
Tears filled her eyes as she realized what it was, and they seeped into her voice when she looked up at her husband, "Oh, Sir! Do you mean it?"
"Yes, my Pet." The plans for the new nursery crumpled between them as he hugged her tight.
June dried her tears with the bath towel. She looked at her reflection in the steam streaked mirror. With sunken eyes and slumped shoulders, she looked defeated and older than her thirty years.
"There's no point in crying," she scolded herself, "There are other options. We can still do this." Her hands drifted down to her stomach and an ache filled her chest. "Well, it may not everything we wanted, but we can't give up." One final tear fell down her cheek, and then she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her internal pep-talk would have to do for now. She still had a house to keep tidy and a husband to please.
The spray of water stung as it struck tender new carpet burns, but the heat dissipated the pain to a mere discomfort. After she was clean, June stood under the water and stared at the slate wall. The usually warm combination of muted green tones and the golden veins were instead lost in the cold grey stone. A chill flittered across June's skin as she thought back to the day it was chosen.
The sales clerk at the local Floor & Tile Warehouse had left the couple standing in the aisle to place the Garret's entire remodel order for delivery, so no one was near to see him pull her close against his hips and slip one hand around her body and into the front waistband of her skirt. There were no witnesses as he slipped his fingers past the soft curls between her legs and gently entered her wet and ready pussy.
"This, my sweet," his gruff voice fell to her ear, "to whom does it belong?"
Working to control her breathing, June whispered her reply, "You, Sir."
"Good girl," Russel kissed her neck as he increased the pressure from his hand. June began to whimper. "Quietly," he chided; June clenched her jaw. Her orgasm was short but still turned her legs limp. Russel chuckled into her ear, "I love that almost as much as I love you, my Pet." He held her upright for a few moments until she could stand again, and then removed his hand. She was slightly unsteady, but leaned against her husband in what she hoped would look like a normal embrace.
Russel hugged her close with one arm and reached up to run his wetted fingers across her lips. June smiled and licked him clean. He then pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear before pulling a simple brown envelope from his pocket. It had been folded and creased neatly to fit, unnoticed, next to the pen at his breast.
"I think it is time to give you your gift. Happy anniversary, my Pet."
June was confused. Russel had led her to believe the house remodel was her gift: the larger bathroom with its custom shower, the new guest bedroom add-on, the old guest bedroom to craft-space conversion, and the new bedroom balcony.... She gingerly took the envelope and carefully unfolded it. Inside was a single sheet of paper: a folded drawing. It was a scaled down version of the plans for the upstairs guest bedroom conversion, but it was different than what the contractor had on display. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what was different.
Tears filled her eyes as she realized what it was, and they seeped into her voice when she looked up at her husband, "Oh, Sir! Do you mean it?"
"Yes, my Pet." The plans for the new nursery crumpled between them as he hugged her tight.
June dried her tears with the bath towel. She looked at her reflection in the steam streaked mirror. With sunken eyes and slumped shoulders, she looked defeated and older than her thirty years.
"There's no point in crying," she scolded herself, "There are other options. We can still do this." Her hands drifted down to her stomach and an ache filled her chest. "Well, it may not everything we wanted, but we can't give up." One final tear fell down her cheek, and then she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her internal pep-talk would have to do for now. She still had a house to keep tidy and a husband to please.
The Broken
Though I had been living on my own for two years, enjoying a life of debauchery and sin, I did so as a broken man, estranged and separated from my wife. The day she became my legal ex is a black blur in my mind, even today: many years, two children, and a grandchild later. The day after, however, I remember in perfect clarity, as if it were just yesterday. That was the day I met Nikki.
The ink on the divorce papers was still wet when I let Nikki into my apartment. Still drunk and buzzing from the night before, I was ready to lose myself in another one night stand, certain the woman in front of me was just another online whore preying on a newly single, bitter, blogger.
She matched her profile fairly well, proving to be exactly the five-foot brunette described, and radiating that 'college girl with daddy issues' vibe. Nikki claimed to be just a fellow blogger wanting to check up on me; from my experiences, I knew that to be just a cover story. The night would see her sucking my cock, getting impaled on my dick, and then disappearing forever. Tomorrow night would be the same tale with a different fair maiden. That was my personal history since the separation, repeating itself nightly.
"Welcome to Castle Lannister," I greeted her; she claimed to be well read and my reference to a decently obscure novel did not go unnoticed. I earned a smile from her glossy lips.
"I do hope you don't intend to role-play with me as your sister, ever," she quipped as she followed my gesture and walked in.
"Only if you want to," I said as I shut the door, doing my best to ignore the noise from the dozens of kids running wild in the apartment commons. The brats' squealing and screaming were grating on my nerves and drawing out the beginnings of a headache that I had hoped would wait until after my disposable fuck-toy had left.
I turned to see her place her purse on the coffee table, her perfectly round ass pushed upward as she bent forward. My cock stirred and began to wake.
Not wanting to be accused of being inhospitable, I took a step toward her, "Can I offer you a drink?"
"If you have it, a Coke would be nice. If not, water's fine," she replied as she surveyed the tiny, cramped space. I lived in a single bedroom apartment, barely larger than an efficiency, with furniture hobbled together from garage sales and the discount warehouse across the highway; for a crazy moment, I almost apologized for my throw together decor.
"Coke it is. Have a seat, make yourself at home," I carefully made my way around the little living area to to the kitchen. It was barely big enough to house the stove, sink, and fridge, the latter of which was pretty bare of anything but takeout leftovers and the essentials: beer, Coke, ketchup, and cream cheese for the bagels on top of the fridge.
I opened the red aluminum can as I handed it to her and took a seat next to her on the ratty couch. The sleeper sofa had seen better days, none of them with me.
Nikki took a sip of the soda, then turned toward me. She brought a leg up on to the cushion, resting her drink in her lap while leaning an arm on the back of the couch. "So, Joe, how are you doing? You look like you partied hard last night."
I grimaced, "Call me Mark; Joe's just the alter ego I let loose on the internet. It was quite the pity party last night, and I'm sure my liver will be killing me soon as payback."
Nikki smiled a sad smile, the one no man likes to see - even when it leads to pity sex. "I figured 'JustJoeBlow95' was an alias. I wish I could have stopped by last night; it sounds like you could have used a friend."
"Oh, I had plenty of friends," I joked, "Jack and Jose's much cheaper cousins left quite a mess."
She rolled her eyes, "Well, Mark, you seem to have survived, which is good." She took another sip out of the can, "I just hope you are able to keep up with me, tonight. I mean, with you being so hung over and all."
I let loose the biggest debonair grin I could, "A little headache never killed anyone. Besides, there is a natural cure for such things." I winked.
From behind the cutest blush I had ever seen, Nikki responded, "I'm sure something can be done to help you out. I just want to give you fair warning, don't expect a lot from me; I'm no expert at anything."
While I didn't doubt her - she was young, after all - I figured she was being a bit modest. Nikki's blog, Nikki's Locks & Licks, detailed her sex life, which had, up until a month prior, been with her three year, college sweetheart boyfriend. She had described their encounters, her submissive nature, and their breakup. Since then, she claimed, she wrote out merely fantasies, cataloging what she would want in a man. I felt pleased to know that I fit many of those criteria.
"Surely there is something you are good at; you can't be all the klutz and technique void wench Whats-His-Nuts claims." My sincerity was lost in my laugh, "I'm sure that gorgeous mouth of yours is phenomenal."
My chest hurt at her reply: her eyes downcast and a disappointed look took over her face, "That is the one thing I absolutely suck at, no pun intended."
Never before had such a look tugged at me the way it did that night. The ache in my chest was just the beginning; the pain fell heavy down into my stomach and then into my groin. My cock woke fully, straining in my jeans. She looked absolutely beautiful and weak. I tried to ignore it, knowing it was wrong to push and explore the validity of her claim, knowing I could break the young woman before me if she was honest and I wasn't careful. After following her blog for awhile, however, the thought occurred that she could be playing coy to draw me in. The lingering alcohol in my blood wanted to force her head into my lap and test her right there.
My voice betrayed my inner struggle, "I'm sure he didn't know what he was talking about; most boys don't grow up until long after college." I spoke from experience with that fact; true maturity and sexual maturity were two different things and one did not necessarily mean the other was imminent.
Nikki's lips upturned in a shy, weak smile, "If you want, I can prove to you how bad I am. But you have to promise to not get mad."
"Mad? I will only get upset if you aren't trying."
"I will do the best I can," she said as she slipped off the couch. In one single motion, she placed her soda can on the coffee table and rested on her knees in front of me. Her eyes locked on mine as her hands moved to my belt, "Do you want this here, or in the recliner?"
Seeing the young woman on her knees, eager to please me, brought forth a growl as my inner voice screamed 'MINE!'. "Here would be fine, but," Nikki flinched minutely; again, my chest clenched, "I have a chair specifically for this in the bedroom." I grabbed her hands and helped her stand, then led her down a short, narrow hallway, past the kitchenette, to the bedroom, my throbbing cock pointing the way.
One of my random garage-sale finds was an old, low seated wingback recliner from the 1970s. It was upholstered in a soft, faux-suede that felt like velvet after so many years. It had been dubbed 'the blow job chair' because the low seating was just the right height and angled perfectly for optimal cock sucking and the well used cushion was a luxurious cloud consistency for any man to relax in.
"Here," I sat into the recliner and helped Nikki to her knees, "This is better." I lifted her chin to look in her face, "Don't do anything different. I want your best, but I want you. If I want you to change something, I will tell you. Understand?" She nodded. "That's not a clear answer. Where has your voice gone?" My slight stern tone surprised me.
She cleared her throat, "Yes, I understand," there was a tiny hesitation before she finished, "Sir."
I had never been called 'Sir' before. My cock twitched at the title. Something about the little minx in front of me was troubling me; no woman had ever pulled so much from me with so little. I mentally shook myself and relaxed into the chair, drawing her hands to my erect, trapped dick.
Tentatively, her fingers traced the outline of my hardness through my jeans. I watched as she bit her lower lip, but I could not say if it was in concentration or due to nerves; I can say it was cute on her. As her fingers reached the tip of my erection, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her breasts stretched her shirt, the rhinestone letters glittering in the dying light of the sunset peeking through the cheap plastic shades. The woman had not even begun and I suddenly feared an early ending - I was far from a teenage boy, but Nikki was sending me into a tailspin.
Her hands took hold of my belt and I had a moment of reprieve. The black leather slowly inched out of the gold buckle, then her fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans.
"Here, let me get that," I said as I brushed her hands aside. Most women smile appreciatively, but not Nikki. No, she gained a look of disappointment, like she had already failed me. I hated that look and a fire lit inside my chest; had that ex-boyfriend of hers already broken her? I wanted to hunt him down and beat his ass.
I squashed that sudden notion. I barely knew the woman in front of me, and, besides, I was no shining knight to defend the honor of any woman.
I unzipped my jeans, carefully adjusting my stiff cock as I did to let it out of my boxers. There would be no need to undress further until I had Nikki bare to the world first. I guided her hands to my exposed cock and watched her eyes take in what I had to offer. I knew I was not the biggest stud in the stable, but I held my own when it came time to compare qualities. Her mouth quirked into a faint smile before she licked her lips and lowered her head to my lap. Her hands wrapped around me first while her tongue darted out to lap at the tip, reminiscent of a kitten stealing a single taste of cream. Then there was another, longer lick, that started where her hands ended and brushed all the way up. Her hands never moved up, they remained locked around the base of my cock, her fingers intertwined, pulsing. She gently squeezed in time with her licks, the sensation of which felt amazing.
The tempo she kept with her fingers never changed. Her tongue drew circles around the head of my cock before she finally locked her lips around me. Her mouth was bliss. She worked agonizingly slow, lowering her head and removing single fingers from her grip with each dip down, replacing them again with each lift of her mouth. Her lips never lost contact with my dick, but as she fell halfway down my shaft, she removed her left hand and lightly scratched down my thigh with the tip of her long, manicured nails. I grabbed the arm of the chair, my knuckles white with my effort to not push her as far down as she could go. Her hand moved in time with her head, down to my knee and up to tickle my balls, reaching them just as her lips locked around the base of my cock. The pulsing of her fingers around my hard member was replaced by a warm, soft stroke of her tongue that spanned my entire length, with the head of my cock lost in her throat. The sensations of her deep-throating me, her nails dancing on my balls and tracing my thigh were overwhelming.
In a breathless moment, I gripped her hair and yanked her back, pulling my dick out of her mouth with a delicious 'pop' - noting as I did so that her teeth never once grated my skin. Expert skill, she had.
"You are a fucking liar," I growled, my passionate outburst surprising me; I had intended to stroke her hair and praise her, not roughly pull her off me to lean in for a kiss. The kiss never happened, though. Through my half-lidded eyes, I saw her terror, raw and painted pale across her face, and I froze.
I relaxed my grip, confused; part of me wanted to pin her beneath me on the carpet and fuck her brains out, claiming her on a very basic level as mine, while another wanted to take back my outburst, apologize, and pull her in to shield her from the world. I knew in that instant that she had not been playing me; the fear was too real.
"I...b-but..." Nikki squeaked.
"Hush," I shushed her as I drew my hand through her hair and down her cheek, resting my thumb on her plump lips. Her skin was soft and warm. Her lips, swollen from sucking my cock, held my gaze. They were mesmerizing. Her breath was hot on my finger. Focused on that one part of her, I whispered to her, "You are not a 'talentless bitch'."
Nikki tried to speak, but I would have no protests. I slipped the tip of my thumb past her open lips and rubbed her tongue.
"What you did," I continued, "was absolutely phenomenal." She started to suckle my finger, her tongue dancing under it just like she had done to my cock. "Yes, that," I moaned, "is what you do so well." I leaned down, pulled my hand away, and closed the distance between our mouths. Her lipgloss had smeared off onto my cock, but the taste of sugary watermelon remained.
The sweet taste went to my head and I found myself wanting more. I pressed further, opening my mouth wider, wanting to devour her. I caught her lips in my teeth and nipped at her flesh. It wasn't enough.
I pulled back and growled, "Stand up." Nikki stood quickly, her hair disheveled from my hand and her face flushed from the kiss. I remained leaned forward in the chair, and, with Nikki on her feet, her waist was nearly level with my head. I could smell how wet she was. It was a sweet smell. I wondered if she tasted as delicious as that scent implied.
I reached out and grabbed her around the waist and tossed her back onto the bed as I stood up out of the chair. She was light enough that it was no strain. I kicked off my shoes as I moved the few feet to the bed and dropped out of my pants, my boxers falling with the jeans. At the edge of the bed, I yanked her skirt down over her heels, and pulled her legs wide. She wore no panties, no thin strip of cloth, nothing. Aside from a very trimmed and playful patch of hair, she was shaved clean. She was drenched and glistening. Nikki just stared, confusion and arousal warring for control of her face.
"You are beautiful," I said, and I meant it, as I, none to gracefully, dropped to my knees and slid her open pussy toward me. The comforter bunched around her, but I didn't care. I wrapped my arms under her thighs and lifted her ass above the blanket, off the bed, bringing that sweet smell to my mouth. I buried my face between her legs, drinking down her juices like a thirst-crazed man. My tongue sank as deep as it would go in her pussy; she tasted like honey and I wanted every drop I could get. Like her kiss, I needed more. I held firm, digging my fingers into her legs, and pressed deeper. Nikki's flesh filled my my hands as she squirmed and her moans began escaping into the room. It was a heavenly sound. Basic logic dictated that if I wanted more of that sound, I should keep doing what I was doing, but I knew that wouldn't be enough. I shifted my grasp, lowered her a little, and brought my mouth down on her clit. The moment I made contact, she screamed, arched up off the bed, and drenched my chin.
That was when I dropped her, gently, and climbed up beside her. I propped myself on my elbow and watched Nikki float in ecstasy. She was a curiosity; she was young, naive, and convinced she wasn't worth a damn in bed. She was also making me want to show her how wrong she was, fold her in my arms and never let her go. She dragged forth a possessive quality I had never known existed within me.
Her haze-clouded eyes locked on mine, "That was spectacular." She sounded drunk, drawing out the words and slurring them together. I smiled, knowing I had done that to her. "C'mere," she reached up and pulled at my shirt - somehow we were both still wearing the pesky things - and her soft lips locked on mine. This time she made the kiss sloppy, exploring my mouth, my lips, my stubbled cheeks, and my chin. It caught me off guard when I realized what she was up to and I laughed.
"Do I taste good?"
"Mhmm," she continued, lapping her own juices off my face. Her eyes danced playfully when she backed away, "You didn't think I would leave you to get sticky face, did you? Besides," she giggled, "you gotta admit, I am the one that tastes good."
I couldn't argue with that, so I didn't try. I actually found myself at a loss for words staring in her eyes. For the first time in years, I felt content, happy, and like everything was right in the world.
"Mark..." Nikki's whisper broke through to me. Her eyes faded to a haunted, sad look. "Mark, why didn't you fuck me?"
"Because," I traced a finger down her face, "You don't deserve to be fucked," I grabbed her chin and kept her from looking away, "you deserve to be loved." I lowered and kissed her, silencing a protest I was sure would follow her gasp. As Nikki relaxed into the kiss, I spread my fingers over her cheek and down to the back of her neck, pulling her as close as I could. Her arching back pressed her breasts into my chest, and I could tell there was no bra between us - just the damn shirts.
The ink on the divorce papers was still wet when I let Nikki into my apartment. Still drunk and buzzing from the night before, I was ready to lose myself in another one night stand, certain the woman in front of me was just another online whore preying on a newly single, bitter, blogger.
She matched her profile fairly well, proving to be exactly the five-foot brunette described, and radiating that 'college girl with daddy issues' vibe. Nikki claimed to be just a fellow blogger wanting to check up on me; from my experiences, I knew that to be just a cover story. The night would see her sucking my cock, getting impaled on my dick, and then disappearing forever. Tomorrow night would be the same tale with a different fair maiden. That was my personal history since the separation, repeating itself nightly.
"Welcome to Castle Lannister," I greeted her; she claimed to be well read and my reference to a decently obscure novel did not go unnoticed. I earned a smile from her glossy lips.
"I do hope you don't intend to role-play with me as your sister, ever," she quipped as she followed my gesture and walked in.
"Only if you want to," I said as I shut the door, doing my best to ignore the noise from the dozens of kids running wild in the apartment commons. The brats' squealing and screaming were grating on my nerves and drawing out the beginnings of a headache that I had hoped would wait until after my disposable fuck-toy had left.
I turned to see her place her purse on the coffee table, her perfectly round ass pushed upward as she bent forward. My cock stirred and began to wake.
Not wanting to be accused of being inhospitable, I took a step toward her, "Can I offer you a drink?"
"If you have it, a Coke would be nice. If not, water's fine," she replied as she surveyed the tiny, cramped space. I lived in a single bedroom apartment, barely larger than an efficiency, with furniture hobbled together from garage sales and the discount warehouse across the highway; for a crazy moment, I almost apologized for my throw together decor.
"Coke it is. Have a seat, make yourself at home," I carefully made my way around the little living area to to the kitchen. It was barely big enough to house the stove, sink, and fridge, the latter of which was pretty bare of anything but takeout leftovers and the essentials: beer, Coke, ketchup, and cream cheese for the bagels on top of the fridge.
I opened the red aluminum can as I handed it to her and took a seat next to her on the ratty couch. The sleeper sofa had seen better days, none of them with me.
Nikki took a sip of the soda, then turned toward me. She brought a leg up on to the cushion, resting her drink in her lap while leaning an arm on the back of the couch. "So, Joe, how are you doing? You look like you partied hard last night."
I grimaced, "Call me Mark; Joe's just the alter ego I let loose on the internet. It was quite the pity party last night, and I'm sure my liver will be killing me soon as payback."
Nikki smiled a sad smile, the one no man likes to see - even when it leads to pity sex. "I figured 'JustJoeBlow95' was an alias. I wish I could have stopped by last night; it sounds like you could have used a friend."
"Oh, I had plenty of friends," I joked, "Jack and Jose's much cheaper cousins left quite a mess."
She rolled her eyes, "Well, Mark, you seem to have survived, which is good." She took another sip out of the can, "I just hope you are able to keep up with me, tonight. I mean, with you being so hung over and all."
I let loose the biggest debonair grin I could, "A little headache never killed anyone. Besides, there is a natural cure for such things." I winked.
From behind the cutest blush I had ever seen, Nikki responded, "I'm sure something can be done to help you out. I just want to give you fair warning, don't expect a lot from me; I'm no expert at anything."
While I didn't doubt her - she was young, after all - I figured she was being a bit modest. Nikki's blog, Nikki's Locks & Licks, detailed her sex life, which had, up until a month prior, been with her three year, college sweetheart boyfriend. She had described their encounters, her submissive nature, and their breakup. Since then, she claimed, she wrote out merely fantasies, cataloging what she would want in a man. I felt pleased to know that I fit many of those criteria.
"Surely there is something you are good at; you can't be all the klutz and technique void wench Whats-His-Nuts claims." My sincerity was lost in my laugh, "I'm sure that gorgeous mouth of yours is phenomenal."
My chest hurt at her reply: her eyes downcast and a disappointed look took over her face, "That is the one thing I absolutely suck at, no pun intended."
Never before had such a look tugged at me the way it did that night. The ache in my chest was just the beginning; the pain fell heavy down into my stomach and then into my groin. My cock woke fully, straining in my jeans. She looked absolutely beautiful and weak. I tried to ignore it, knowing it was wrong to push and explore the validity of her claim, knowing I could break the young woman before me if she was honest and I wasn't careful. After following her blog for awhile, however, the thought occurred that she could be playing coy to draw me in. The lingering alcohol in my blood wanted to force her head into my lap and test her right there.
My voice betrayed my inner struggle, "I'm sure he didn't know what he was talking about; most boys don't grow up until long after college." I spoke from experience with that fact; true maturity and sexual maturity were two different things and one did not necessarily mean the other was imminent.
Nikki's lips upturned in a shy, weak smile, "If you want, I can prove to you how bad I am. But you have to promise to not get mad."
"Mad? I will only get upset if you aren't trying."
"I will do the best I can," she said as she slipped off the couch. In one single motion, she placed her soda can on the coffee table and rested on her knees in front of me. Her eyes locked on mine as her hands moved to my belt, "Do you want this here, or in the recliner?"
Seeing the young woman on her knees, eager to please me, brought forth a growl as my inner voice screamed 'MINE!'. "Here would be fine, but," Nikki flinched minutely; again, my chest clenched, "I have a chair specifically for this in the bedroom." I grabbed her hands and helped her stand, then led her down a short, narrow hallway, past the kitchenette, to the bedroom, my throbbing cock pointing the way.
One of my random garage-sale finds was an old, low seated wingback recliner from the 1970s. It was upholstered in a soft, faux-suede that felt like velvet after so many years. It had been dubbed 'the blow job chair' because the low seating was just the right height and angled perfectly for optimal cock sucking and the well used cushion was a luxurious cloud consistency for any man to relax in.
"Here," I sat into the recliner and helped Nikki to her knees, "This is better." I lifted her chin to look in her face, "Don't do anything different. I want your best, but I want you. If I want you to change something, I will tell you. Understand?" She nodded. "That's not a clear answer. Where has your voice gone?" My slight stern tone surprised me.
She cleared her throat, "Yes, I understand," there was a tiny hesitation before she finished, "Sir."
I had never been called 'Sir' before. My cock twitched at the title. Something about the little minx in front of me was troubling me; no woman had ever pulled so much from me with so little. I mentally shook myself and relaxed into the chair, drawing her hands to my erect, trapped dick.
Tentatively, her fingers traced the outline of my hardness through my jeans. I watched as she bit her lower lip, but I could not say if it was in concentration or due to nerves; I can say it was cute on her. As her fingers reached the tip of my erection, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her breasts stretched her shirt, the rhinestone letters glittering in the dying light of the sunset peeking through the cheap plastic shades. The woman had not even begun and I suddenly feared an early ending - I was far from a teenage boy, but Nikki was sending me into a tailspin.
Her hands took hold of my belt and I had a moment of reprieve. The black leather slowly inched out of the gold buckle, then her fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans.
"Here, let me get that," I said as I brushed her hands aside. Most women smile appreciatively, but not Nikki. No, she gained a look of disappointment, like she had already failed me. I hated that look and a fire lit inside my chest; had that ex-boyfriend of hers already broken her? I wanted to hunt him down and beat his ass.
I squashed that sudden notion. I barely knew the woman in front of me, and, besides, I was no shining knight to defend the honor of any woman.
I unzipped my jeans, carefully adjusting my stiff cock as I did to let it out of my boxers. There would be no need to undress further until I had Nikki bare to the world first. I guided her hands to my exposed cock and watched her eyes take in what I had to offer. I knew I was not the biggest stud in the stable, but I held my own when it came time to compare qualities. Her mouth quirked into a faint smile before she licked her lips and lowered her head to my lap. Her hands wrapped around me first while her tongue darted out to lap at the tip, reminiscent of a kitten stealing a single taste of cream. Then there was another, longer lick, that started where her hands ended and brushed all the way up. Her hands never moved up, they remained locked around the base of my cock, her fingers intertwined, pulsing. She gently squeezed in time with her licks, the sensation of which felt amazing.
The tempo she kept with her fingers never changed. Her tongue drew circles around the head of my cock before she finally locked her lips around me. Her mouth was bliss. She worked agonizingly slow, lowering her head and removing single fingers from her grip with each dip down, replacing them again with each lift of her mouth. Her lips never lost contact with my dick, but as she fell halfway down my shaft, she removed her left hand and lightly scratched down my thigh with the tip of her long, manicured nails. I grabbed the arm of the chair, my knuckles white with my effort to not push her as far down as she could go. Her hand moved in time with her head, down to my knee and up to tickle my balls, reaching them just as her lips locked around the base of my cock. The pulsing of her fingers around my hard member was replaced by a warm, soft stroke of her tongue that spanned my entire length, with the head of my cock lost in her throat. The sensations of her deep-throating me, her nails dancing on my balls and tracing my thigh were overwhelming.
In a breathless moment, I gripped her hair and yanked her back, pulling my dick out of her mouth with a delicious 'pop' - noting as I did so that her teeth never once grated my skin. Expert skill, she had.
"You are a fucking liar," I growled, my passionate outburst surprising me; I had intended to stroke her hair and praise her, not roughly pull her off me to lean in for a kiss. The kiss never happened, though. Through my half-lidded eyes, I saw her terror, raw and painted pale across her face, and I froze.
I relaxed my grip, confused; part of me wanted to pin her beneath me on the carpet and fuck her brains out, claiming her on a very basic level as mine, while another wanted to take back my outburst, apologize, and pull her in to shield her from the world. I knew in that instant that she had not been playing me; the fear was too real.
"I...b-but..." Nikki squeaked.
"Hush," I shushed her as I drew my hand through her hair and down her cheek, resting my thumb on her plump lips. Her skin was soft and warm. Her lips, swollen from sucking my cock, held my gaze. They were mesmerizing. Her breath was hot on my finger. Focused on that one part of her, I whispered to her, "You are not a 'talentless bitch'."
Nikki tried to speak, but I would have no protests. I slipped the tip of my thumb past her open lips and rubbed her tongue.
"What you did," I continued, "was absolutely phenomenal." She started to suckle my finger, her tongue dancing under it just like she had done to my cock. "Yes, that," I moaned, "is what you do so well." I leaned down, pulled my hand away, and closed the distance between our mouths. Her lipgloss had smeared off onto my cock, but the taste of sugary watermelon remained.
The sweet taste went to my head and I found myself wanting more. I pressed further, opening my mouth wider, wanting to devour her. I caught her lips in my teeth and nipped at her flesh. It wasn't enough.
I pulled back and growled, "Stand up." Nikki stood quickly, her hair disheveled from my hand and her face flushed from the kiss. I remained leaned forward in the chair, and, with Nikki on her feet, her waist was nearly level with my head. I could smell how wet she was. It was a sweet smell. I wondered if she tasted as delicious as that scent implied.
I reached out and grabbed her around the waist and tossed her back onto the bed as I stood up out of the chair. She was light enough that it was no strain. I kicked off my shoes as I moved the few feet to the bed and dropped out of my pants, my boxers falling with the jeans. At the edge of the bed, I yanked her skirt down over her heels, and pulled her legs wide. She wore no panties, no thin strip of cloth, nothing. Aside from a very trimmed and playful patch of hair, she was shaved clean. She was drenched and glistening. Nikki just stared, confusion and arousal warring for control of her face.
"You are beautiful," I said, and I meant it, as I, none to gracefully, dropped to my knees and slid her open pussy toward me. The comforter bunched around her, but I didn't care. I wrapped my arms under her thighs and lifted her ass above the blanket, off the bed, bringing that sweet smell to my mouth. I buried my face between her legs, drinking down her juices like a thirst-crazed man. My tongue sank as deep as it would go in her pussy; she tasted like honey and I wanted every drop I could get. Like her kiss, I needed more. I held firm, digging my fingers into her legs, and pressed deeper. Nikki's flesh filled my my hands as she squirmed and her moans began escaping into the room. It was a heavenly sound. Basic logic dictated that if I wanted more of that sound, I should keep doing what I was doing, but I knew that wouldn't be enough. I shifted my grasp, lowered her a little, and brought my mouth down on her clit. The moment I made contact, she screamed, arched up off the bed, and drenched my chin.
That was when I dropped her, gently, and climbed up beside her. I propped myself on my elbow and watched Nikki float in ecstasy. She was a curiosity; she was young, naive, and convinced she wasn't worth a damn in bed. She was also making me want to show her how wrong she was, fold her in my arms and never let her go. She dragged forth a possessive quality I had never known existed within me.
Her haze-clouded eyes locked on mine, "That was spectacular." She sounded drunk, drawing out the words and slurring them together. I smiled, knowing I had done that to her. "C'mere," she reached up and pulled at my shirt - somehow we were both still wearing the pesky things - and her soft lips locked on mine. This time she made the kiss sloppy, exploring my mouth, my lips, my stubbled cheeks, and my chin. It caught me off guard when I realized what she was up to and I laughed.
"Do I taste good?"
"Mhmm," she continued, lapping her own juices off my face. Her eyes danced playfully when she backed away, "You didn't think I would leave you to get sticky face, did you? Besides," she giggled, "you gotta admit, I am the one that tastes good."
I couldn't argue with that, so I didn't try. I actually found myself at a loss for words staring in her eyes. For the first time in years, I felt content, happy, and like everything was right in the world.
"Mark..." Nikki's whisper broke through to me. Her eyes faded to a haunted, sad look. "Mark, why didn't you fuck me?"
"Because," I traced a finger down her face, "You don't deserve to be fucked," I grabbed her chin and kept her from looking away, "you deserve to be loved." I lowered and kissed her, silencing a protest I was sure would follow her gasp. As Nikki relaxed into the kiss, I spread my fingers over her cheek and down to the back of her neck, pulling her as close as I could. Her arching back pressed her breasts into my chest, and I could tell there was no bra between us - just the damn shirts.
The Burglar
Cynthia pulled at the restraints tying her to the wall. They were neither too tight or too loose and held firm as she tugged; the work of a master. She smiled. Her master.
She closed her eyes and relaxed against the solid brick against her bare back. A sigh slipped past her lips as she thought of the fun to come when Sir returned home from the store, just a few blocks away. He would probably walk, prolonging Cynthia's anticipation; he had a tendency to wander off and run errands while she was tied up. She jokingly called it inhumane torture, he called it foreplay.
The sound of footsteps down the hall startled her. Sir had left for the store not too long ago and had very loudly shut the front door. The person walking in her house couldn't be her lover. No, the fall of the steps weren't his, either; they were too soft and too closely spaced. Cynthia's heart began to race. Dare she call out? If it were Sir pretending to be someone else, or someone Sir invited in, she would be punished. Was making her presence known worth the denial of an orgasm? She straightened up the best she could while splayed in an X against the wall, scratching her stiletto heels against the tile in the process. The footsteps stopped.
When silence clung to the air for a full ten minutes, the footsteps started again, headed straight for Cynthia. She carefully slowed her breath, bit her lower lip, and prayed she would be well rewarded for keeping her silence.
"This is unexpected."
Cynthia's eyes flashed open and locked on the figure in the doorway. Her heart thundered violently in her chest, threatening to escape and building a pressure so great, her attempt to scream failed. Her mouth hung open and her shock showed quite visible. This man was not her lover and would never be one of his invited guests. He was one of Cynthia's coworkers.
"My, my," the man slowly entered the room, approaching Cynthia as he spoke, "when you said you were going on vacation, we all assumed you meant a week away. On the beach." He stopped a few feet in front of the tied woman, "Not hanging around here." He laughed at his own joke.
"Spencer! What?" Cynthia struggled to speak as she pulled at the ropes binding her, "What are you doing here?" Her restraints were too well done, she couldn't release herself. She couldn't cover her nakedness. She couldn't escape the mail room clerk before her.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be on vacation!" Spencer spat at her. "You are supposed to be the darling paralegal off in the Caribbean, spending the money you hoard." He took a step closer, shoving his finger in her face, "You are supposed to be gone so that I can slip in here and take something of yours," his finger slammed into her shoulder to emphasize his point. "Something that belongs to me!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Panic never really surged in Cynthia, but anger was a quick blink away. She forgot her lack of clothing in an instant. He was there to rob her. He was going to steal from her. "What do I have that is yours?"
Spencer chose that moment to realize Cynthia's nudity. "Well, you have a lot that I want," he sneered. "I was thinking just a few odds and ends, things you wouldn't miss. But this?" He motioned at her bound state. "This is something better." He took a step back to evaluate the exquisite human form before him.
"Spencer, don't be an idiot. You don't--"
"AN IDIOT?!" Incomprehensible anger lashed out at Cynthia and she froze. "I am no idiot! You stole from me, now I steal from you! But what?" He turned a slow circle through the room, taking in the small space but barely registering anything beyond the woman tied to the wall. He stopped, his eyes narrowed and met hers, "You. I will have you right here, right now, and then take something you will never get back. You took my Alisha from me, my darling baby, so I will take your baby. Your first born will be mine!" His hands flew to his jeans and pulled apart the belt, violently threw the zipper down, and fished out his cock.
Cynthia stood in complete shock. Alisha? She had been the paralegal Cynthia replaced, but it wasn't Cynthia's fault - the woman was a complete idiot and slept around the office. It was her attempt at seducing one of the senior partners that pushed her out of the company. And Spencer blamed Cynthia.
"I didn't take Alisha from you!" Cynthia yelled. "She did it to herself!"
Spencer's hand left his hardening dick and backhanded Cynthia, "LIES! You took her from me!" He returned to pumping himself, staring at her flat stomach, "You took her. You made her go away. And now, I will take your baby." His left hand reached out and stroked Cynthia's waist, tracing over a thin chain tattoo that trailed from her hip to her navel. His voice lowered to that of a man in a trance, "Such a pretty home. Soft skin, yes, soft." Cynthia tensed as his hand traveled higher, "And plenty to eat. Big breasts. Perfect breasts." He lowered his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth. His hand slid over his cock, trapped between their bodies. He moaned.
Cynthia struggled, but no matter how hard she pulled, she could not loosen the ropes. Though she fought, she realized she was getting turned on; the struggle, the nipple sucking, the cock brushing against her hip, all worked in tandem against her mind's wishes. She was too conditioned to enjoy the situation. When his teeth nipped gently, her body froze and a small gasping moan escaped her lips. No! Not this! Proper fear gripped Cynthia in that moment, but her body was lost to her.
Her moan urged Spencer's hand along. His teeth released her nipple and his mouth moved on up to her neck. "Oh, so soft. So sweet," he muttered between kisses. "Just perfect." His lips clamped down on her neck, one hand still stroking between them, the other gripping her waist, pulling her off the wall. Cynthia's wrists and ankles strained in the rope, rubbing against the rough material. Her orgasm was sudden, loud, and wet. Spencer pulled away and looked at his captive. "So perfect. Oh so perfect."
Through a haze, Cynthia watched as Spencer released his cock and grabbed her hips with both hands. No, please no.... Her silent pleas were lost in her post-orgasm mindlessness. She tried to look away, but stared and watched in horror as her would-be burglar plunged deep inside her body. The force of his entry sent shock waves up her spine, throwing her head back and releasing a scream of ecstasy.
Spencer waited until he was ready to burst before taking what he felt was his. The moment he was as fully immersed in Cynthia's warmth, he came. A single thrust released all of his pent up energy; his rage, his lust, his need, everything. Gush after gush filled her with his seed, claiming her womb as his for the next nine months. Cynthia's first born would be his.
Cynthia's sobs broke the magic. Spencer pulled out and away and wiped a tear from her cheek, "Shh, what's wrong?"
"P-please," Cynthia, whispered, "Please, Sir, t-tell me you meant it?"
Spencer looked into the shining eyes of his pet, "Meant what, Darling?"
"Th-the baby? Did you," Cynthia swallowed the lump in her throat, "Did you meant it?"
A smile spread on her lover's face, "Yes, Darling, I did." He leaned in and rubbed his cheek to hers. "Now, let's get you down and off to bed. We can make the official first attempt properly."
She closed her eyes and relaxed against the solid brick against her bare back. A sigh slipped past her lips as she thought of the fun to come when Sir returned home from the store, just a few blocks away. He would probably walk, prolonging Cynthia's anticipation; he had a tendency to wander off and run errands while she was tied up. She jokingly called it inhumane torture, he called it foreplay.
The sound of footsteps down the hall startled her. Sir had left for the store not too long ago and had very loudly shut the front door. The person walking in her house couldn't be her lover. No, the fall of the steps weren't his, either; they were too soft and too closely spaced. Cynthia's heart began to race. Dare she call out? If it were Sir pretending to be someone else, or someone Sir invited in, she would be punished. Was making her presence known worth the denial of an orgasm? She straightened up the best she could while splayed in an X against the wall, scratching her stiletto heels against the tile in the process. The footsteps stopped.
When silence clung to the air for a full ten minutes, the footsteps started again, headed straight for Cynthia. She carefully slowed her breath, bit her lower lip, and prayed she would be well rewarded for keeping her silence.
"This is unexpected."
Cynthia's eyes flashed open and locked on the figure in the doorway. Her heart thundered violently in her chest, threatening to escape and building a pressure so great, her attempt to scream failed. Her mouth hung open and her shock showed quite visible. This man was not her lover and would never be one of his invited guests. He was one of Cynthia's coworkers.
"My, my," the man slowly entered the room, approaching Cynthia as he spoke, "when you said you were going on vacation, we all assumed you meant a week away. On the beach." He stopped a few feet in front of the tied woman, "Not hanging around here." He laughed at his own joke.
"Spencer! What?" Cynthia struggled to speak as she pulled at the ropes binding her, "What are you doing here?" Her restraints were too well done, she couldn't release herself. She couldn't cover her nakedness. She couldn't escape the mail room clerk before her.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be on vacation!" Spencer spat at her. "You are supposed to be the darling paralegal off in the Caribbean, spending the money you hoard." He took a step closer, shoving his finger in her face, "You are supposed to be gone so that I can slip in here and take something of yours," his finger slammed into her shoulder to emphasize his point. "Something that belongs to me!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Panic never really surged in Cynthia, but anger was a quick blink away. She forgot her lack of clothing in an instant. He was there to rob her. He was going to steal from her. "What do I have that is yours?"
Spencer chose that moment to realize Cynthia's nudity. "Well, you have a lot that I want," he sneered. "I was thinking just a few odds and ends, things you wouldn't miss. But this?" He motioned at her bound state. "This is something better." He took a step back to evaluate the exquisite human form before him.
"Spencer, don't be an idiot. You don't--"
"AN IDIOT?!" Incomprehensible anger lashed out at Cynthia and she froze. "I am no idiot! You stole from me, now I steal from you! But what?" He turned a slow circle through the room, taking in the small space but barely registering anything beyond the woman tied to the wall. He stopped, his eyes narrowed and met hers, "You. I will have you right here, right now, and then take something you will never get back. You took my Alisha from me, my darling baby, so I will take your baby. Your first born will be mine!" His hands flew to his jeans and pulled apart the belt, violently threw the zipper down, and fished out his cock.
Cynthia stood in complete shock. Alisha? She had been the paralegal Cynthia replaced, but it wasn't Cynthia's fault - the woman was a complete idiot and slept around the office. It was her attempt at seducing one of the senior partners that pushed her out of the company. And Spencer blamed Cynthia.
"I didn't take Alisha from you!" Cynthia yelled. "She did it to herself!"
Spencer's hand left his hardening dick and backhanded Cynthia, "LIES! You took her from me!" He returned to pumping himself, staring at her flat stomach, "You took her. You made her go away. And now, I will take your baby." His left hand reached out and stroked Cynthia's waist, tracing over a thin chain tattoo that trailed from her hip to her navel. His voice lowered to that of a man in a trance, "Such a pretty home. Soft skin, yes, soft." Cynthia tensed as his hand traveled higher, "And plenty to eat. Big breasts. Perfect breasts." He lowered his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth. His hand slid over his cock, trapped between their bodies. He moaned.
Cynthia struggled, but no matter how hard she pulled, she could not loosen the ropes. Though she fought, she realized she was getting turned on; the struggle, the nipple sucking, the cock brushing against her hip, all worked in tandem against her mind's wishes. She was too conditioned to enjoy the situation. When his teeth nipped gently, her body froze and a small gasping moan escaped her lips. No! Not this! Proper fear gripped Cynthia in that moment, but her body was lost to her.
Her moan urged Spencer's hand along. His teeth released her nipple and his mouth moved on up to her neck. "Oh, so soft. So sweet," he muttered between kisses. "Just perfect." His lips clamped down on her neck, one hand still stroking between them, the other gripping her waist, pulling her off the wall. Cynthia's wrists and ankles strained in the rope, rubbing against the rough material. Her orgasm was sudden, loud, and wet. Spencer pulled away and looked at his captive. "So perfect. Oh so perfect."
Through a haze, Cynthia watched as Spencer released his cock and grabbed her hips with both hands. No, please no.... Her silent pleas were lost in her post-orgasm mindlessness. She tried to look away, but stared and watched in horror as her would-be burglar plunged deep inside her body. The force of his entry sent shock waves up her spine, throwing her head back and releasing a scream of ecstasy.
Spencer waited until he was ready to burst before taking what he felt was his. The moment he was as fully immersed in Cynthia's warmth, he came. A single thrust released all of his pent up energy; his rage, his lust, his need, everything. Gush after gush filled her with his seed, claiming her womb as his for the next nine months. Cynthia's first born would be his.
Cynthia's sobs broke the magic. Spencer pulled out and away and wiped a tear from her cheek, "Shh, what's wrong?"
"P-please," Cynthia, whispered, "Please, Sir, t-tell me you meant it?"
Spencer looked into the shining eyes of his pet, "Meant what, Darling?"
"Th-the baby? Did you," Cynthia swallowed the lump in her throat, "Did you meant it?"
A smile spread on her lover's face, "Yes, Darling, I did." He leaned in and rubbed his cheek to hers. "Now, let's get you down and off to bed. We can make the official first attempt properly."
The Hunt
The following is a submission for Aisling Weaver's #FuckMeFriday prompt for May 27, 2011. To read more submissions, click [here]
She stands in my cross-hairs,
Innocent and naive,
Scarcely more than a fawn,
Unaware of the hunt...
The trap is set,
Time to pull the trigger,
Move in for the kill,
Another trophy for the wall.
My cock twitches at her gasp,
A blood tipped arrow shot deep;
My smile spreads wide,
Virgins are my favorite game.
She stands in my cross-hairs,
Innocent and naive,
Scarcely more than a fawn,
Unaware of the hunt...
The trap is set,
Time to pull the trigger,
Move in for the kill,
Another trophy for the wall.
My cock twitches at her gasp,
A blood tipped arrow shot deep;
My smile spreads wide,
Virgins are my favorite game.
Denial
I sit in front of you, your fingers fucking me while you stand back, cold and isolated, watching, your eyes hiding the warmth I know lives inside your soul....
I am your slut, dancing like a puppet to your hand's command. I writhe beneath your touch, my teeth biting my lips to remain quiet, doing what I can to obey commands of no noise, no sound. Sharp gasps quiver my jaw; I plead with my eyes, locked to your stone mask, begging to speak, begging for acknowledgement. With no smile, no show of pleasure or emotion, you nod.
"P-p-please? M-may I..." I whimper as your fingers pick up pace, "S-sir! Sir, m-may I..." another increase in tempo distracts me and my eyes flutter closed. A moan slips past my lips seconds before your free hand slaps hard on my thigh. My eyes snap open, focus slow to fixate on our face. "S-sir, thank y-you," I whisper, "for correcting me."
Your jaw clenches, your only sign of emotion. The fingers in my cunt continue without hesitation.
"Please, Sir," I begin again, "May I," I do what I can to suppress another moan, "come? S-sir? Please?"
Everything stops. I whimper as you pull away, "No."
I am your slut, dancing like a puppet to your hand's command. I writhe beneath your touch, my teeth biting my lips to remain quiet, doing what I can to obey commands of no noise, no sound. Sharp gasps quiver my jaw; I plead with my eyes, locked to your stone mask, begging to speak, begging for acknowledgement. With no smile, no show of pleasure or emotion, you nod.
"P-p-please? M-may I..." I whimper as your fingers pick up pace, "S-sir! Sir, m-may I..." another increase in tempo distracts me and my eyes flutter closed. A moan slips past my lips seconds before your free hand slaps hard on my thigh. My eyes snap open, focus slow to fixate on our face. "S-sir, thank y-you," I whisper, "for correcting me."
Your jaw clenches, your only sign of emotion. The fingers in my cunt continue without hesitation.
"Please, Sir," I begin again, "May I," I do what I can to suppress another moan, "come? S-sir? Please?"
Everything stops. I whimper as you pull away, "No."
Winter's Touch
I wake to sunlight filtering into the room, the sun's rays gently rubbing across my shoulder, asking if I am alive. I roll over to escape the warm touch and wince; my body is stiff from top to bottom, every muscle protesting movement. The heat intensifies on my back as the minutes tick by; the sun rises like a father leaning over the bed, checking on his child the morning after an all night illness.
That is when the first tear falls, every morning, without fail. I dread the day, the warmth, and the loneliness. The pains in my body echo those in my soul and I cling to them, bury my head in their dark depths and wait. I am a lover sniffing at the tail edge of the neuron firings like remnants of a shirt, finding comfort in your cologne, your musk and sweat, and our sex spilled over the sheets.
There is no life for me in the light and I exist as a zombie, doing what is necessary to sustain health and social status, but I am empty and hollow inside. By mid afternoon my spirits shift; the tears of sorrow dry and the void in my stomach opens. The depths of my core bubble and well with anticipation. And dread. The fear never falters, never leaves, she just entwines my soul and clenches as the night draws near.
Darkness claims the sky and stars paint the black. Tears of joy rain down my face as you enter my room, clad only in a cloak as thick as the midnight air. I kneel before you and bow low, kissing the floor before you and murmuring low, incomprehensible. Your cloak falls to your feet, silent. Never have you uttered a sound and tonight is no different. Strong hands pick me up, gently, the way our nights always begin, and place me on the soft bed. I am how you want me, an offering to a god, dressed only in a soft sheer robe; my robe spills open around me as you cover me. I smile, the smile of a mad woman, locked away for years. You never look at my face, never acknowledge me with your eyes, but I can always tell when you are pleased. Already hard and thick when you arrive, you pulse atop my stomach. Your skin is cold, chilled from the night air and I gasp.
My sharp breath is your cue; your support drops to one arm, while the other pins my wrists. Your knees spread my legs wide and you thrust your cock deep, an icicle splitting me in two. I scream, part pain and part pleasure. The ecstasy wells up, the onslaught has begun: your touch is far from gentle now. You jerk my head to the side and bite my neck, teeth digging deep. With your mouth locked, you release my chin to search out my breasts, nails tearing into my flesh as you pinch nipples, erect and reaching to brush your chest. Your pleasure builds and echoes through your hips, and as pinned as I am, I cannot buck with you; bruises form where our bodies meet, invisible now but they will be vivid tomorrow. Screams and moans mate in my throat, gurgling forth as I writhe beneath you.
Your climax hits like a sudden blizzard; silence surrounds me as your body stills and I feel you melt inside my very core, closing the void and feeding the emptiness. I ride your release, soaking in the chill escaping from your skin and drinking all that you drip within my core. With your final twitch, your body relaxes against mine and your grip on my wrists slackens. Nails rake from my chest to my neck, tracing your teeth marks, pulling whimpers of delight from my lips. I am panting, waiting for you to allow me to cum. Your finger trails down my should and jumps to my hip, continuing lower as your mouth draws closer to my neck again. Just as your hand slides between me and the bed, you thrust one last time and bite at the bruise. I convulse around your cock and scream into the night. Your cool breath whispers across my skin like a soft winter breeze and I can feel myself peaking higher than before; my sight begins to fade as reality is sucked away with your receding touch.
I am asleep before you leave the bed. I dream of nothingness, of emptiness blooming into something beautiful. It tears me apart, rips me to shreds, and grows outward and upward and on to the heavens, searching for you. I wake to sunlight's tap on my arm, my bed empty and warm once more.
That is when the first tear falls, every morning, without fail. I dread the day, the warmth, and the loneliness. The pains in my body echo those in my soul and I cling to them, bury my head in their dark depths and wait. I am a lover sniffing at the tail edge of the neuron firings like remnants of a shirt, finding comfort in your cologne, your musk and sweat, and our sex spilled over the sheets.
There is no life for me in the light and I exist as a zombie, doing what is necessary to sustain health and social status, but I am empty and hollow inside. By mid afternoon my spirits shift; the tears of sorrow dry and the void in my stomach opens. The depths of my core bubble and well with anticipation. And dread. The fear never falters, never leaves, she just entwines my soul and clenches as the night draws near.
Darkness claims the sky and stars paint the black. Tears of joy rain down my face as you enter my room, clad only in a cloak as thick as the midnight air. I kneel before you and bow low, kissing the floor before you and murmuring low, incomprehensible. Your cloak falls to your feet, silent. Never have you uttered a sound and tonight is no different. Strong hands pick me up, gently, the way our nights always begin, and place me on the soft bed. I am how you want me, an offering to a god, dressed only in a soft sheer robe; my robe spills open around me as you cover me. I smile, the smile of a mad woman, locked away for years. You never look at my face, never acknowledge me with your eyes, but I can always tell when you are pleased. Already hard and thick when you arrive, you pulse atop my stomach. Your skin is cold, chilled from the night air and I gasp.
My sharp breath is your cue; your support drops to one arm, while the other pins my wrists. Your knees spread my legs wide and you thrust your cock deep, an icicle splitting me in two. I scream, part pain and part pleasure. The ecstasy wells up, the onslaught has begun: your touch is far from gentle now. You jerk my head to the side and bite my neck, teeth digging deep. With your mouth locked, you release my chin to search out my breasts, nails tearing into my flesh as you pinch nipples, erect and reaching to brush your chest. Your pleasure builds and echoes through your hips, and as pinned as I am, I cannot buck with you; bruises form where our bodies meet, invisible now but they will be vivid tomorrow. Screams and moans mate in my throat, gurgling forth as I writhe beneath you.
Your climax hits like a sudden blizzard; silence surrounds me as your body stills and I feel you melt inside my very core, closing the void and feeding the emptiness. I ride your release, soaking in the chill escaping from your skin and drinking all that you drip within my core. With your final twitch, your body relaxes against mine and your grip on my wrists slackens. Nails rake from my chest to my neck, tracing your teeth marks, pulling whimpers of delight from my lips. I am panting, waiting for you to allow me to cum. Your finger trails down my should and jumps to my hip, continuing lower as your mouth draws closer to my neck again. Just as your hand slides between me and the bed, you thrust one last time and bite at the bruise. I convulse around your cock and scream into the night. Your cool breath whispers across my skin like a soft winter breeze and I can feel myself peaking higher than before; my sight begins to fade as reality is sucked away with your receding touch.
I am asleep before you leave the bed. I dream of nothingness, of emptiness blooming into something beautiful. It tears me apart, rips me to shreds, and grows outward and upward and on to the heavens, searching for you. I wake to sunlight's tap on my arm, my bed empty and warm once more.
The Sleeper
Joe walked into the bar, nodded a greeting to the bartender in passing, and sat, alone, at the table in the corner. His back, still hidden beneath a thick and dirty leather duster, was stiff and pressed to the wall through the chair. He lowered his hat and leaned his head down, crossed his hands over his chest, and waited.
Charles paced between his car and the next in the parking lot. Long, willowy fingers fidgeted with the lock of the briefcase held in his hands. Wire-rim glasses slid along a sweat-soaked nose and were promptly pushed back in front of dilated hazel eyes. His thin lips muttered senselessly as he walked the tight circle considering his options. Calculations ran quickly through his mind, first accepting his choice, then shying away from the act.
A car sputtered, the bang of a backfiring engine startled the indecisive man and sent him, adrenaline pumped, into the dimly lit and smoke filled bar.
Charles did his best to keep the wild-look of fear and anxiety off his face as he nudged his way through the growing crowds. He finally approached the rear wall and halted, scanning for the first time for the man described in the email. On his second sweep of the tables, Charles realized the sleeping man was not really sleeping, instead he was watching the room. Charles approached, hesitant about pulling out a chair, debating once again pacing in place.
Joe tapped his fingers, a small gesture meant only for Charles. Charles sat. Silently, he lifted the briefcase, unlocked the combination, and cracked the lid. He turned the opening to the other man and waited for some form of acknowledgment. Joe moved slowly, as if roused from a much needed slumber. His thick fingers traced the locks while his sharp eyes peered quickly inside. The case snapped shut and disappeared beneath the table, safely resting against Joe's leg.
Charles squirmed as Joe returned to his "sleeping" state. Realizing his dismissal, he stood and walked out in a daze. It is done, then, he thought to himself. The lying, cheating bitch will get what she deserves!
Two days later, a woman walked into her lover’s apartment. Her keys slipped on the hook as her purse landed atop the hallway table. Her coat fell down her arms and the chill of the air unit blasted her skin. She shed her clothing, little by little, as she wandered through the rooms. She crawled under the covers into bed and snuggled against the man sleeping in the dark.
Instantly she stiffened, but before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth and a stranger’s body rolled her onto her back. The muscled bulk of a well toned and brawny man crushed her petite form. Fear seared through her body as she realized every inch of the man touching her was skin; she was in bed, pinned, by a naked man, a man that was not her lover. This man was also very firm, pulsing, and ready. She froze.
The smell of leather and smoke permeated his flesh and penetrated her nose as he leaned down to whisper, gruffly, in her ear, "Your husband, Charles, sends his regards." Pain radiated from her core as he sank deep, thrust without mercy, over and over again.
Charles paced between his car and the next in the parking lot. Long, willowy fingers fidgeted with the lock of the briefcase held in his hands. Wire-rim glasses slid along a sweat-soaked nose and were promptly pushed back in front of dilated hazel eyes. His thin lips muttered senselessly as he walked the tight circle considering his options. Calculations ran quickly through his mind, first accepting his choice, then shying away from the act.
A car sputtered, the bang of a backfiring engine startled the indecisive man and sent him, adrenaline pumped, into the dimly lit and smoke filled bar.
Charles did his best to keep the wild-look of fear and anxiety off his face as he nudged his way through the growing crowds. He finally approached the rear wall and halted, scanning for the first time for the man described in the email. On his second sweep of the tables, Charles realized the sleeping man was not really sleeping, instead he was watching the room. Charles approached, hesitant about pulling out a chair, debating once again pacing in place.
Joe tapped his fingers, a small gesture meant only for Charles. Charles sat. Silently, he lifted the briefcase, unlocked the combination, and cracked the lid. He turned the opening to the other man and waited for some form of acknowledgment. Joe moved slowly, as if roused from a much needed slumber. His thick fingers traced the locks while his sharp eyes peered quickly inside. The case snapped shut and disappeared beneath the table, safely resting against Joe's leg.
Charles squirmed as Joe returned to his "sleeping" state. Realizing his dismissal, he stood and walked out in a daze. It is done, then, he thought to himself. The lying, cheating bitch will get what she deserves!
Two days later, a woman walked into her lover’s apartment. Her keys slipped on the hook as her purse landed atop the hallway table. Her coat fell down her arms and the chill of the air unit blasted her skin. She shed her clothing, little by little, as she wandered through the rooms. She crawled under the covers into bed and snuggled against the man sleeping in the dark.
Instantly she stiffened, but before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth and a stranger’s body rolled her onto her back. The muscled bulk of a well toned and brawny man crushed her petite form. Fear seared through her body as she realized every inch of the man touching her was skin; she was in bed, pinned, by a naked man, a man that was not her lover. This man was also very firm, pulsing, and ready. She froze.
The smell of leather and smoke permeated his flesh and penetrated her nose as he leaned down to whisper, gruffly, in her ear, "Your husband, Charles, sends his regards." Pain radiated from her core as he sank deep, thrust without mercy, over and over again.
Behind Closed Doors (pt 1)
Russel buried his head in his hands as his wife reached an arm across his back. The doctor excused himself and slipped quietly from the room, leaving the pair to grieve their loss. For two years, the Garrets had tried to conceive their first child but to no avail. The test results crumpled in Russel's hand explained clearly why: he was sterile.
The pamphlets Dr. Wong had pushed across his desk glared up at June. Smiling men and women with newborn babies plastered their covers, each offering a different and expensive option to fix the problem at hand. She turned her head into her husband's shoulder and wept. She cried, not for the news, but because her husband, her Master, was hurting and she could do nothing to ease his pain. She had feared it was her fault, thought that she was barren, but never did it occur to her that there was something wrong with him.
After a silent drive home, Russel spent the remainder of the day pressed deep in his recliner, whiskey in hand, watching June as she wandered from room to room, tidying. He sat in contemplative silence as she cooked dinner, set the table, and served a full four course meal for two. It was only after the table had been cleared, the kitchen had been cleaned, and the bed covers were pulled back that he spoke.
"I release you from our bond." His gravelly voice startled his wife. She froze, blouse buttons trapped between long, graceful fingers.
"Sir," she whispered, frightened, "What have I done to displease you?" She fought to keep her head bowed, but not to hide the quiver in her voice.
Russel moved around the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his wife's body. Pain radiated through his words, "Displease me? No, never My Pet!" He buried his face in her hair, inhaled deeply the scent of wildflowers and honey. The knife of ultimate loss twisted in his gut; he did not deserve to own such a sweet little pet if he could not give her everything her heart desired and her heart, as well as his, cried out for a child.
His lips burrowed until they met her ear. A gentle kiss atop the elf-like tip preceded his whispered reasoning, "If I cannot provide for you, then you should be free. Free to find another owner, another husband, another..." his voice caught. "Another to father your children."
June tensed in his embrace. She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and turned to face her husband. She pulled away, disengaged his arms, and stepped back from him. Her reply came in one word, formed firmly between her perfect lips, with a force she had never exerted when speaking to Russel. "No."
Relief washed over his face as he sank down to his knees. His tall form bowed as his arms, outstretched, grasped for her waist. She was lost when he clung to her, pulled her near, sobbing, "Forgive me, My Pet, forgive me!"
June stood still as her husband wailed and begged, confused as to what to do. She had never seen him break down, had never seen him show an ounce of weakness. He was always in control, always hidden behind a mask of indifference.
"Oh, My Pet," his voice broke through his tears, rougher with emotion and painfully pleasant to her ears. She reached down to smooth his hair out of his face. Her soft fingertips brushed aside his black hair as she shushed soothingly. Russel's lips, pressed against her shirt, left off mumbling and began trailing kisses over her belly.
It took little coaxing for Russel to pull June to her knees, his kisses traveling up as she lowered. Salt-stained lips captured her mouth; she tasted his need before she felt him press against her thighs.
The emotional drain of the day left him hungry for her in a way he had never felt before. A desperation filled his soul; years of skill lost with the crumbling of his inner sanctum. His hands fumbled at her clothing as if he were a teenage boy again. Awkward movements gave rise to momentary frustration, peaking with torn fabric and a triumphant growl. June gasped when his needy aggression spilled her backwards onto the carpet, his weight falling atop her body. He took her quickly, quietly devouring her moans as he thrust deep.
Russel gave one last push and spilled himself deep within her core. His tears continued to stream down his cheeks, splashing and rolling down her face. He buried his face in June's neck, arms still wrapped underneath her body, cock still nestled in her warmth. He could barely feel her trembling hands stroke down his back or hear her tender murmurs.
What seemed like hours passed before he rolled sideways, pulling her partly off the carpet as he rested on his back. "My Pet," he whispered, "I love you."
The pamphlets Dr. Wong had pushed across his desk glared up at June. Smiling men and women with newborn babies plastered their covers, each offering a different and expensive option to fix the problem at hand. She turned her head into her husband's shoulder and wept. She cried, not for the news, but because her husband, her Master, was hurting and she could do nothing to ease his pain. She had feared it was her fault, thought that she was barren, but never did it occur to her that there was something wrong with him.
After a silent drive home, Russel spent the remainder of the day pressed deep in his recliner, whiskey in hand, watching June as she wandered from room to room, tidying. He sat in contemplative silence as she cooked dinner, set the table, and served a full four course meal for two. It was only after the table had been cleared, the kitchen had been cleaned, and the bed covers were pulled back that he spoke.
"I release you from our bond." His gravelly voice startled his wife. She froze, blouse buttons trapped between long, graceful fingers.
"Sir," she whispered, frightened, "What have I done to displease you?" She fought to keep her head bowed, but not to hide the quiver in her voice.
Russel moved around the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his wife's body. Pain radiated through his words, "Displease me? No, never My Pet!" He buried his face in her hair, inhaled deeply the scent of wildflowers and honey. The knife of ultimate loss twisted in his gut; he did not deserve to own such a sweet little pet if he could not give her everything her heart desired and her heart, as well as his, cried out for a child.
His lips burrowed until they met her ear. A gentle kiss atop the elf-like tip preceded his whispered reasoning, "If I cannot provide for you, then you should be free. Free to find another owner, another husband, another..." his voice caught. "Another to father your children."
June tensed in his embrace. She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and turned to face her husband. She pulled away, disengaged his arms, and stepped back from him. Her reply came in one word, formed firmly between her perfect lips, with a force she had never exerted when speaking to Russel. "No."
Relief washed over his face as he sank down to his knees. His tall form bowed as his arms, outstretched, grasped for her waist. She was lost when he clung to her, pulled her near, sobbing, "Forgive me, My Pet, forgive me!"
June stood still as her husband wailed and begged, confused as to what to do. She had never seen him break down, had never seen him show an ounce of weakness. He was always in control, always hidden behind a mask of indifference.
"Oh, My Pet," his voice broke through his tears, rougher with emotion and painfully pleasant to her ears. She reached down to smooth his hair out of his face. Her soft fingertips brushed aside his black hair as she shushed soothingly. Russel's lips, pressed against her shirt, left off mumbling and began trailing kisses over her belly.
It took little coaxing for Russel to pull June to her knees, his kisses traveling up as she lowered. Salt-stained lips captured her mouth; she tasted his need before she felt him press against her thighs.
The emotional drain of the day left him hungry for her in a way he had never felt before. A desperation filled his soul; years of skill lost with the crumbling of his inner sanctum. His hands fumbled at her clothing as if he were a teenage boy again. Awkward movements gave rise to momentary frustration, peaking with torn fabric and a triumphant growl. June gasped when his needy aggression spilled her backwards onto the carpet, his weight falling atop her body. He took her quickly, quietly devouring her moans as he thrust deep.
Russel gave one last push and spilled himself deep within her core. His tears continued to stream down his cheeks, splashing and rolling down her face. He buried his face in June's neck, arms still wrapped underneath her body, cock still nestled in her warmth. He could barely feel her trembling hands stroke down his back or hear her tender murmurs.
What seemed like hours passed before he rolled sideways, pulling her partly off the carpet as he rested on his back. "My Pet," he whispered, "I love you."
For A Filthy Fuck
Something in your smile caught my eye. Was it the explosion of neon light reflecting off nicotine stained teeth? Or the lewd promises your tongue traced over bruise-bitten lips? Something in your scraggly face called to me, tugged the corners of my mouth up, and pulled at the strings of my soul.
Triumph lit your eyes like the red tipped cigarette that bounced joyously as you ordered another whiskey. The bartender watched as I sauntered closer. My mascara thick lashes flashed a wink in his direction. His jaw dropped and he overfilled your glass, spilling the precious amber liquid.
Stiletto boot heels clacked across the dark stained concrete, echoing hollow as I halted by your side. With honey-bronze eyes locked to yours, I swallowed down your drink; smooth burn singed my throat while cool drips traced down my neck. A finger twitched at your side, control slipping - the gleam in your eyes belied your desire to lick me clean.
I smirked. Clean? Not how I intended to spend my lonely Saturday night. I curled a perfect manicured hand around your dust covered jacket and pulled you to the edge of your stool. Crimson lips crushed chapped cracks, cigarette dropped in surprise. As the bar top burst into flame, I whispered, "Your place or mine?"
Triumph lit your eyes like the red tipped cigarette that bounced joyously as you ordered another whiskey. The bartender watched as I sauntered closer. My mascara thick lashes flashed a wink in his direction. His jaw dropped and he overfilled your glass, spilling the precious amber liquid.
Stiletto boot heels clacked across the dark stained concrete, echoing hollow as I halted by your side. With honey-bronze eyes locked to yours, I swallowed down your drink; smooth burn singed my throat while cool drips traced down my neck. A finger twitched at your side, control slipping - the gleam in your eyes belied your desire to lick me clean.
I smirked. Clean? Not how I intended to spend my lonely Saturday night. I curled a perfect manicured hand around your dust covered jacket and pulled you to the edge of your stool. Crimson lips crushed chapped cracks, cigarette dropped in surprise. As the bar top burst into flame, I whispered, "Your place or mine?"
What I Want
Skin: that is what I want to feel, what I want to taste. Soft gentle kisses trailing over silky and smooth skin. I don't care if you have stubble; your cheek is not where I want to be. On the edge of sanity is where I want to lead you, kiss by kiss. Lips teasing slowly, trailing from hip down, following the creases of your skin, letting the hair of your legs tickle my face. Glossless, my mouth bare to your flesh, I want to feel your body warm with my breath. I want to nuzzle you in your sleeping state. I want to wake you, gently, with kisses. As I go lower, deeper between your legs, I want to lick the fleshy folds supporting your cock. I want to taste you, open my mouth just enough, and suckle on that soft velvety skin. I want to take my time and explore every inch before moving back up the other side. I want to take you in my mouth, fully, while you are still soft, asleep. But the skin my lips press against will no longer be pliable; you will have stirred, I know. You will be pressing against my face begging. As much as I would love to swallow you down, that is not what I want. Not yet. Before I begin, if I ask you to think about baseball, will you?
A Root Grown In The Wall
Against the wall I lean, standing in line to wait my turn to talk to a manager. It could take awhile. I relax, my back flattens; cool, painted, plaster-coated sheetrock seeps through my shirt. Shock rattles my spine - a lost memory surfaces unexpectedly, taking me back to years ago.
I was a twig, thin and light, lifted and slammed into a wall. I was pinned, mercilessly, feet off the ground, by a cock as thick as a log. Helpless was I to the new sensations awakened within - growing seeds of lust confused for love, sprouting and spreading, planted deep in my core. My back flattened, hips thrust forward, the orgasm unfurled upward like leaves searching for the sun. My mouth opened but silence seeped through the hand clamped over my parted lips: breathless joy found under the shade of newly rooted bliss.
I smile as my body reacts to that time long gone; I stand straight once more and advance a step in line, careful to step over the root grown in the wall.
I was a twig, thin and light, lifted and slammed into a wall. I was pinned, mercilessly, feet off the ground, by a cock as thick as a log. Helpless was I to the new sensations awakened within - growing seeds of lust confused for love, sprouting and spreading, planted deep in my core. My back flattened, hips thrust forward, the orgasm unfurled upward like leaves searching for the sun. My mouth opened but silence seeped through the hand clamped over my parted lips: breathless joy found under the shade of newly rooted bliss.
I smile as my body reacts to that time long gone; I stand straight once more and advance a step in line, careful to step over the root grown in the wall.
Comfort Food
I would rather be sliding down your cock right now, feeling you penetrate slowly, stretching me open; my body sighing liquid relief at your presence. Such a joyous pressure building with each inch in, feeding my hunger with this perverse comfort food, the best remedy for my stressful day.
Yes, I would rather be sliding down your cock right now, but it is three o'clock and the meeting is beginning. I grab chocolate instead.
Yes, I would rather be sliding down your cock right now, but it is three o'clock and the meeting is beginning. I grab chocolate instead.
#FlashFuckingContest - Overtime
Forty hours a week, a slave to this desk, what more could I ask? Five o’clock, the office empties. I remain, faithful to the deadline, pen scratching paper. His voice catches my attention, calling my name from around his solid door. My heels clack on tile, the short trip into his office echoing in the silence. He presents a marked draft, bleeding bright red; I gasp and my cheeks flush. Bowing my head, I hike my skirt, pantiless, and bend over his desk. For each stroke of red, he delivers a stroke of cock, hard and rough, like the draft.
Fare
Hailing a cab with the last of my cash,
Another night sleeps with the rising sun,
Bone weary and hungry I beg a ride home,
Though I am short a dollar or ten -
- offer up the rest in kind.
Yellow light dims 'Off Duty'
No bags to toss in the rear,
Front passenger door clicks open,
Tattered rags for clothing slide in,
Seat belt forgotten as tires peel away.
Stained teeth grin in a weathered face,
"Where is home my darling sweet?"
I bow my head as my heart cringes,
An old pet name haunts me even here;
Address proffered for actions bartered.
The daily morning press ran the news:
An Off Duty Cabbie And His Fare;
Had I but seen the paper just once,
Would I be alive and free of bonds
Or still bound but in another John's bed?
Another night sleeps with the rising sun,
Bone weary and hungry I beg a ride home,
Though I am short a dollar or ten -
- offer up the rest in kind.
Yellow light dims 'Off Duty'
No bags to toss in the rear,
Front passenger door clicks open,
Tattered rags for clothing slide in,
Seat belt forgotten as tires peel away.
Stained teeth grin in a weathered face,
"Where is home my darling sweet?"
I bow my head as my heart cringes,
An old pet name haunts me even here;
Address proffered for actions bartered.
The daily morning press ran the news:
An Off Duty Cabbie And His Fare;
Had I but seen the paper just once,
Would I be alive and free of bonds
Or still bound but in another John's bed?
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