Gods and Monsters

It’s been a long time since I thought of you; your lean, wiry frame, your ready smile, your nimble thrusts. That body which seemed to defy gravity when it fucked me.

Long, flexible abdominal muscles, quivering. Your diaphragm rising sharply and falling with a low moaning imploration to the gods. Each well-defined muscle cast into sharp relief by flickering candlelight.

Your own physical confidence and aptitudes mirrored by my straining muscles. My knees drawn up, pressing the small of my back into the firm, cool hardwood. The tops of my thighs push against your back and your tight, round ass, forcing your pelvis towards me as my head hovers in the air.

I’ve raised my head to take your cock further and further into my mouth, to extend my tongue along the underside as I cup your balls in my hand. The angle of my throat allows for your thrusts as you surrender control to the deeper drives.

I want to finish you there in my mouth, to taste your semen, drink your orgasm and suck you dry, but my pussy burns with an agonizing emptiness. Unfolding my body, I push your hips firmly down my body, trailing your cock between my breasts and over my trembling abdomen.

When you push inside me, lights explode behind my eyes and I strain for every inch of your engorgement. I am only vaguely aware of your arms around me, your hands hooking onto the tops of my shoulders for leverage.

I become aware of the sounds of our lust, short moans and hoarse pants which wind together, a harmony of desire.

It’s been a while since I thought of you like that, naked and glistening, your lips swollen and your eyes burning. A memory of casual fun and heated embraces. There’s a lot to miss, but the memories sustain.

Fucking Fiction

Motion sensing security lights flicker on as we pass a graffitti-slathered wall. Bright colours, fine art in an alleyway, urban culture expressed through bold strokes. The tagging detracts from the art and I find myself angry at the defacement of a painting. Incensed that this gallery of unauthorized art is considered no better than adolescent ink excretions, primate territorial markings akin to chimpanzee shit-slinging or a canine who lifts its leg every half block to sprinkle another surface with urine.

The quickening dusk makes my companion’s features virtually indistinguishable. I stare into facelessness as a strong hand reaches around the small of my back and guides me towards one of the walls. Soon, my shoulders are pressed against it. The texture of the brick is translated through a thin summer shirt. A deep rumble in the distance echoes a building libido as a hand works its way down my torso.

My breath catches, just a bit, as a single fingertip lightly brushes the outside of my thigh. Scarcely making contact with skin, the finger slowly lifts the hem of my skirt. Denim rises to meet the thin fabric of my underpants, rapidly dampening without the help of the scattered raindrops which are beginning to fall onto us; around us. A flash of lightening illuminates my partner’s face, reflecting most strongly off spots where the rain has caught in his hair, or runs down the sides of his cheeks. I watch, transfixed as lips approach mine, a single drop clinging to the upper one.

I meet them with mine, sucking the water off, chasing my lips with my tongue, thirstily drinking the rain which now begins to stream down our faces. A crack of thunder prompts a gasp of breath and a thrust of my hips. Breathing becomes labored as I struggle with wet denim and leather. My underwear is gone, my skirt lifted and pressed between barely exposed abdomens. I wonder only briefly about its state, torn and crumpled in a gathering puddle at my feet.

Finally I free his cock, and feel it press against me, the heat of it cooled only momentarily by the rain. Strong hands press my shoulders into the brick. The storm has built now to its apex. Our gasps are muffled by the sound of water hitting pavement, the rumbles and cracks of thunder drowning out my quiet whimpers of pleasure. His cock moves up and down against my pussy, drawing me out, teasing me. I look along his arm, noticing the definition. Muscles standing out as he strains against me. A hand grasps my thigh suddenly, lifting my leg, level with his waist and he enters me quickly, violently. My chest heaves and my head arches back as we fuck in the rain. Time is lost to the rythm of the rain, the rumble of the thunder, the sensation between my legs. An explosion of pleasure brings me back to myself. A slowing of rain and rythm, slick bodies moving apart, wet clothes clinging to glistening skin, the spot is abandoned.

Tenderness

There are parts of a man’s body which are more than just skin and bones. More than the warm flesh of which they are composed.

When I press my body, naked against my lover’s skin, my hands seek out these parts more than any other. Fingertips running over the gentle curve of soft lips, eyes hungrily consuming the rise and fall of his body’s landscape.

The expanse of skin between the tops of his shoulder blades, just before the place where his neck takes root in his spine; I caress it with fingernails, lightly dragging them over each small rise and fall of bone. Reach back up with the ends of my fingers and press my palm there. It’s too high to be over his heart, but it feels like a part of his centre anyway, as if I can sense the pull of his lungs, drawing life into him.

I bury my face there; breathing him in; pressing my lips against smooth, tight skin. I am close to the curve between his shoulder and neck and I can follow that curve up to press my lips behind his earlobe, the scent of him purest there.

My hands can wander down to the bulge of his lats, muscles that stand out pleasingly when he lifts or when he presses his body up and down along mine. If he’s been climbing lately, they burst with definition each time he turns his body this way and that. If he hasn’t, they curve softly; gently expanding his chest and then narrowing to his waist.

The dip of his lower back and then the rise of his buttocks. My hand placed just over his tailbone, caressing that shape as I press my body against his. Our skin first feeling each point of contact like tiny electric pinpricks and then as our bodies relax into one another that intense comfort of not knowing where my skin ends and his begins. One warm, soft mass with nothing separating it.

When he stands, there is a faintly chiseled V between his hipbones, drawing the eye down further. If I touch it, tracing the curve of his hips, or the dip of his abdomen, it trembles and spasms. His breath catches in his throat and his penis jumps, if only briefly, to attention.

I cup his jawbone in my hand and caress up his cheekbone, tracing lines over his ears and down his neck. The soft skin just above his collarbone calls to my lips.

His eyes, the windows to his soul, intense and stormy grey in one moment and a sparkling, clear blue the next. Framed by lashes so long he inspires envy in even the most self-assured woman; they too draw my attention. I kiss each lid when they are closed. Admiring him as much as he lies asleep next to me as when he moves across my vision, active and engaged.

The backs of his knees, around to the inner reaches of his thighs where, if I touch with my palms, the backs of my hands brush against soft, receptive skin; A scrotum which leaps at my contact.

He sleeps beside me and I admire the landscape of his form and I want to wake him, to draw his penis out of slumber and to make love to every inch of him, to touch his skin as it heats and dampens with the fever of his pleasure. I also want to hold him, quiet and relaxed and just feel the closeness and the comfort of knowing that he is there, tonight and for many to come.

Equal to the love you make

I remember the last time we fucked. By candlelight and incense, we sat in the nude, face to face and cross-legged. Our knees barely touched and I could feel the hair on your legs tickling mine, the warmth of you radiating from behind it.

You’d made a lot of rigamarole about love and I’d been at first, alarmed. As I’d realized it wasn’t about me, wasn’t my love you were entreating, I felt a relief which gradually passed into disappointment. This body was mine tonight, but never after.

I remember trailing my finger lightly down your chest, never breaking contact. I paused for a moment over your heart and then allowed my fingers to cascade over your abdomen. As gradually tensing abdominal muscles tapered, I hesitated again, the tips of my fingers lightly tickled by dark curls.

I flattened my hand and felt the curls gathering between my fingers as my palm pressed against your half-erect member. My fingers curled underneath your scrotum, gathering your balls into my hand and I lightly brushed them against the base of your rapidly stiffening cock.

Your hands were on me, too, slipping back and forth between my clit and my opening, extracting soft, deep breaths which arched my breast towards you. It was as though my chest was being tugged by yours, areolae hardening, reaching out for contact with you.

I leaned forward and lightly touched my lips to your collarbone, my tongue flickering along it to your earlobe before trailing down your firm chest to envelop a small, rigid nipple. You called for the divine as I pressed your cock towards me, slowly massaging with my hand as I trailed my torso across your skin.

Your hands, no longer able to reach my engorgement, tensed and gripped my thighs, pulling me closer and then moving to the yielding flesh which rose and fell against your cock. I shifted to your other nipple and drew my body to envelop it between my breasts. Obligingly, you pushed them together and pressed through.

My tongue flickered from my mouth, a quick, firm touch to the underside of your head, pressing briefly to the tip and following it with a soft kiss. Your sudden exhalation swept across my back, tickling the bare flesh and raising a scattering of goose bumps. I slid backwards on the blankets we had placed down, to arch my neck and take your penis into my mouth. Your hands fell to the floor behind you as your hips pressed ever so slightly upward. I remember pressing you in, deeply and extending my tongue to meet your scrotum, lifting your balls to brush them against the stud in my tongue. You rose and I fell, a well oiled machine, with the practice of lovers experienced in the motions of each other’s bodies, the intimacy and enthusiasm of a half dozen fucks culminating into the ecstasy of this moment. You straddled me and I lifted my head, drawing your cock back towards my face for more. I fucked you with my lips and tongue and hands, the back of my throat flexing and relaxing as your hips moved you through my mouth. You were harder than I’d ever seen you and my cunt burned for your entrance.

Grasping your hips I pushed you down my body, my heart beating wildly and my breath coming in short, building gasps. I dragged my clit back and forth over your dick, which stiffened and grew even more before plunging inside me, my pelvic bone pressing my clit into the vee at your base.

I grew and throbbed against the dark hairs, now plastered flat by the juices which slid you in and out of me so smoothly. A high pitched cry, matched by a tenor of a groan accompanied our orgasms, bodies trembling and shaking.

You collapsed on top of me, sweat dripping through my hair, my hands stroking your back, your ass, your thighs as I trembled with depletion.

We lay there a long time like that, faces buried in one another’s necks, hands tender and thankful. Lips gently caressing now and then. Your penis softened gradually between my legs and eventually slipped out of me, brushing against a still sensitive clit and I gasped one last time.

Pria’s New Toy pt. 2

I promised you all the full story of my newest toy. It’s a bit late in coming, I’ve been very bad about my updates lately but I hope you can forgive me when you hear just how the experiment went.

As my more faithful readers know, I had long fantasized about the opportunity to strap one on and have my way with a willing lover, to feel, if only as a pale simulation, the power and intensity of being the one who fucks rather than the one who is fucked.

That night I prepared in secret, a long shower and shave, paying attention to all my bits and peices. I made up the bed and loaded up my cock with batteries. I placed my favourite lube close at hand and with a sly and knowing smile. I led my lover into our bedroom.

It seemed appropriate that I take control of the situation, perhaps my now vibrating cock gave me that drive, dampening my essential submissiveness and bringing out a new Pria, a Pria who took control of her sex.

Slowly, my mouth entwined with his, I lowered my lover to the bed, running my hands over his body, a firm touch massaging and gripping at each opportunity. I ran my tongue seductively across his lips and smiled as his dick twitched and grew, standing just a bit further out from his thighs.

I slid into the harness as I took turns nibbling at each of his erect nipples, flickering my tongue down his chest while I slipped the thick end of the double dildo into me and turned the dial for a low level of vibration. The sensation spread through my body like a flash flood, drawing my head back and a surprised cry from my throat.

My lover grinned and grabbed behind my head, reasserting a masculine control as he drew his warming cock along my torso, watching my face as it struggled to regain the composure the sudden sensation had robbed from it. My thighs and abdomen trembled as his smooth, stiffening head brushed lightly against my lips.

My tongue approached slowly, lips parting over it not with reluctance but slowly still. Teasing, I drew back, my lower lip pulling away from my teeth, caught momentarily on the ridge at the top of his growing shaft. A hand adjusted the base of my new dick, pressing it against my clit, thrusting the penetrative end deeper inside me. This time I swallowed hard, blinking back my building lust and containing the urge to let this man take me.

Lube warmed in my hands as I spread it over the tapered head, down to the base and back up again. Gently I probed at his opening, curling my spine, catlike to flicker my tongue over his straining penis. He gasped and thrust to feel the vibrations against him and his ass opened up to penetration

.

Frantically I sucked at licked at what parts of his throbbing, thrusting member I could reach, gently guiding my cock further and further against his insistent grinding. His breaths were short and shallow and I took a moment to trail my tongue over his exposed throat, feeling the vibrations of his ecstatic moans. My hands were on his body, grasping and stroking. Palms pressed to his hips, I pulled him against me as he often pulled me against him, relishing the feeling of my own hipbones pressing into quivering thighs.

Suddenly he pulled away, grasping at his dick and stroking it furiously as he turned over and raised his hips to me invitingly. I pulled up to my knees and entered him again, this time from behind, reaching one arm around to grasp at his cock; to stroke it inversely with each thrust of my hips.

I flattened my other hand against his tailbone, the soft rise of his buttocks providing ample leverage. As I stroked the base of his cock, his own hand ran feverishly over the tip. His face rested, turned to one side against our pillows, pink cheeked, mouth slightly agape, eyes squeezed shut in a rictus of pure pleasure. The sound which escaped his throat teetered back and forth between gasps and moans as he slammed his ass against my hips, over and over again.

As my own pleasure built, egged on by the vibrations which filled my dripping cunt, my hands wandered, grasping at handfuls of him at a time, then wandering up my own abdomen to squeeze my breasts, tease the nipples, tickle my engorged clitoris and then return to his enormously erect penis.

When he came, I caught the spray in my palm, wave after wave of his pleasure filling my hand. I gently rubbed the tip, drawing out his orgasm as my other hand attacked my clit, inciting cries of lust from my throat.

Slowly I slid from him and collapsed on my back, my new toy standing straight out from my abdomen, rising and falling with my heaving breaths. I turned off the vibrations and turned to look at my lover. His face showed awe and his eyes sparkled. We kissed.

October 26th 1991.

The ache of losing the last boyfriend was still heavy in my chest. The air that year had stayed hot. It had been an exceptionally warm summer and was turning into an unseasonable autumn. I sat on a picnic table, a light denim jacket wrapped around my shoulders as twilight settled over me. It was the first time I’d been back here since early June. This party wasn’t as wild. There were more teenagers and fewer adults, true, but the heavy sense of impending winter was prevalent. It was clear we were bidding goodbye to summer, rather than engaging in the Dionysian excess of welcoming it.

Old habits die hard, especially in me, and I was staring, unnoticed, at his profile. His hair had grown longer over the summer. It still curled tantalizingly at the back of his neck though, thick strawberry coloured rings hidden to all but the most intimate observer under the length of blonde on top. I longed to run my fingers through that hair, feel it softly brush against the back of my hand, curl around my fingers. I longed to stand close to him and breathe him in, to touch him confidently and be touched back.

His blue eyes flashed over in my direction and he saw me and grinned. He never smiled; he grinned and like Alice watching the cheshire cat, all I could see was his mouth; a flash of red and white. He half strode and half ran to the sun porch to change the music. A moment of silence and the first few bars of The Beatles’ white album ring out over the field.

I hadn’t listened to the white album since the last time I’d been with the one who had so recently broken my heart. A deep empty melancholy settled over me. Hot on the heels of the melancholy were some new feelings. Resentment, Vengeance and a healthy helping of Unfinished Business raised their heads and led me to the porch. I took a seat across from him. We looked at each other, uncomfortably sizing up the other’s positions for a while. Apropos of everything and of nothing the track changed and the pedestrian rhythm of Why Don’t We Do It In The Road began.

“I like this song” (“At least”, went my subtext, “I like where it could lead us.”) He turned his head to one side and gave me a penetrating stare. That stare that attempted to see right into me. It never seemed to get right to my core, that stare, but I loved that he tried. It made me feel interesting.

I shrugged when he commented that it wasn’t usually a favourite. “The first time I played this one for my ex-boyfriend, (“I’ve moved on from you, you know, and on and on and on” The subtext screamed “but I’m single right now”) “He was properly shocked. It was amusing, given the circumstances” (a look meant to convey that the circumstances should have precluded shock about a Beatles song).

He considered me for some time and I tried to play it cool, all the while a heat rising slowly up my neck. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I looked at him again he was still staring at me with those piercing blue eyes. He had leaned forward in his chair. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” He enquired finally.

My heart skipped a beat and I was glad I was sitting down or else I think my knees would have buckled and my legs would have melted out from under me. A sharp stab of something darted at supersonic speeds up my centre, leaving in its wake a tapering heat. I went for casual, but my face was burning and my speech betrayed me. “I d-d-dunno” I shrugged “I figured probably in Sally’s room”. He nodded. “Well, I’m heading up to the attic now. You’re welcome to crash up there if you like.”

He got up and stood in front of me, staring expectantly. I rose on shaking knees and followed him mutely up the three flights of stairs to the room he shared with his cousin. I was shocked and titillated to find that he had gone through with his plan to mount a mirror on the ceiling and a line from an Eagles song flitted through my head, reminding me of our first date, when he’d bought the album on vinyl from a garage sale we’d walked past. Sleeping bodies were strewn all around the half of the room that he and Spaulding had set up with wall to wall matresses and cushions. He tossed me an old t shirt of his. Offering it to me to sleep in. I turned my back shyly and slipped into it. When I turned back he was looking at me quizzically. I blushed to the tips of my ears.

We got into bed and I curled up next to him, my forehead resting against his shoulder. He put his hand on my waist, his fingers lightly brushing the small of my back and I swallowed hard to chase away the shivers. Slowly and tentatively my hand crept across his chest. I looked up at him and he was looking down at me. Our lips met softly.

His hand worked its way slowly up inside the top I had just put on and rested alongside my breast. “Your heart is beating so fast” he commented. I shrugged again, I seemed to do that a lot with him, he left me at a loss for words.

Slowly and gently we explored one another with our fingers. I was in heaven. Breathing him in, my hands pressing against his chest, his back and up the back of his neck to those secret curls, hidden under layers of straight blonde hair. The door to the room opened and light flooded in. Tim shielded his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a boy who had been introduced to me as Frank. He was stumbling drunk and he was looking for Spaulding. Tim advised him that Spaulding was sleeping and Frank blinked into the darkness. He squinted in my direction. “Do you have a chick up here?” Tim clarified that Frank was not welcome at the moment and Frank swayed in the doorway a few minutes. “Hey, is that a mirror on the ceiling?” he blurted out finally. I hid my face in Tim’s chest. I was beginning to giggle, but it was clear that Tim was not amused. Frank stumbled over to the bed and fell onto it, reaching out and blindly groping me with his free hand.

Tim’s hackles went up. It surprised me, the forceful possessiveness he suddenly adopted. “Don’t touch her Frank. Go home” But Frank didn’t heed. As Tim got more riled up, I became more interested in this side of him that he’d never shown to me before. “It’s ok” I found myself saying “he’s drunk, just let him pass out and be done with it.” We found a spot closer to the wall and resumed our activities. When Frank’s hand made another appearance, this time on my ass, there was nowhere left to go. At Tim’s insistence, we switched spots, and Tim so firmly fended off Frank’s next attempt to get in on the action that Frank stumbled out of the room.

Our bodies relaxed into one another. I was thrilled to find that I fit so comfortably up against him. Our torsos seemed perfectly matched so that as he grew his penis pressed up against me pleasingly. I was absorbed in kissing those lips. They were so soft and so red. I had gone to sleep so many nights dreaming of them and I never wanted to stop kissing them now. He rolled me over onto my back and climbed on top of me. He looked down at me, his long bangs tickling my forehead. “Are you ok?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice not to betray me. He pressed his legs against the outside of my thighs and leaned his head down to kiss me again when I was struck in the face by a beam of light. I covered my face as Tim leapt off me and turned, visibly annoyed, to face the door.

Sally stood there. “Pria?” she asked. I peered through my fingers at her sillouette. “uhhuh?” I asked. “Um, I’m gonna go to bed soon, I just wondered…” her voice trailed off. “It’s ok Sal, I think I’ll sleep in here tonight” Sally looked at me uncertainly. She was far smarter than her 13 years would suggest but it was clear that she was unfamiliar with the situation. “Is everything ok?” she asked. “It’s fine Sally, it’s great in fact. I’ll see you in the morning ok?” She stood there a moment longer until Tim threw a pillow at her. “Get out Sally!” he demanded and she turned and scurried away. Tim rose and closed the door and came back to the bed.

He lay on his side next to me and after a few minutes of kissing he slid his hand under the waistband of my underpants. I gasped audibly as his fingers entered me and urgently pressed my body up against his. With his free hand he led one of mine down towards the waistband of his own pants, leaving my fingers hooked just under it. I reached down and took him into my hand when the door swung open again. Both my hands flew to my face now as Tim sat bolt upright. I made a noise of frustration. Tim’s sister’s voice floated through the darkness at me.

“Tim, Sally told me to tell you that she doesn’t need this from you right now”. I let out an exasperated sigh and raised my head to scowl at Sharon. “Who doesn’t need what from me exactly?” “I don’t know,” she looked at me uncertainly “Pria doesn’t need you raping her right now or something”. My head flopped back onto the pillow. “Shar, tell Sally I’m fine.” Sharon stood there, uncertainly a few more moments. I could feel Tim’s body, tense against my legs. I longed to hold him again, I longed to kiss him again but mostly I longed for a lock on that goddamned door.

Sharon’s fears finally assuaged, she left, once again leaving the door conspicuously open. Tim got up and shut it, then leapt on top of me. Our kisses were more fervent this time, our hands trying to make up for lost time, trying to get everything in before the next distraction. He slipped first one leg, then the other between mine and effortlessly pushed them apart. I could feel his penis pressing hard against me through my underpants. The door swung open again. Tim lay down on top of me and I buried my face in his neck. “What the fuck is it NOW?” Tim demanded.

His father’s voice rang through the room. “Boys, who’s up here?”. Tim answered. “Well, Spaulding and Karla are sleeping over there. I think there’s a few people asleep on the rug over there and me and umm…Pria, I think.” The door swung open a little wider, letting in more light. “I want the girls out of there now” Tim protested. “Now, Tim!” answered his father as he turned and strode to the stairs. Spaulding’s voice rose from the bed a few feet away from us. “I’m not waking my friends up to tell them they have to leave” he muttered petulantly, not nearly loud enough for his uncle to hear. Tim kissed my nose. “I’ll be right back” he promised.

I lay for a long time waiting for him. He came back and began to get dressed. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m going to my mom’s” he muttered. He put on some jeans, did a double take and took them off again. He had put on my jeans. He grabbed his motorcycle helmet, threw on his leather jacket and walked out. I slept fitfully that night and avoided his father the next day, grabbing a ride from a friend of a friend as far as the bus station to go home.

He called me the next day to apologize. He was at his mother’s place, but it was packed to the rafters with bikers at present or he’d invite me by. We’d see each other soon though. We would always see each other soon.

and a she makes three

I forgot how much firmer I was when I was young. Touching her now, I was surprised at the taut skin. Her breasts, full and round, rose to meet my hand and I sqeezed, gently testing the resistance. The skin yielded little but the woman’s lips parted, a flash of white teeth showing briefly between lips flushed and swollen with our kisses.

I was entranced by her face, spasms of pleasure distorting her smooth features as our partner’s mouth lightly fluttered over her labia. My hand crept to my own pulsing clit, wet already though it had not yet been touched tonight. I lowered my lips to the nipples which stretched toward me, never taking my eyes off her features.

Her throat expanded to allow a small sound, something between a moan and a cry which escaped her lips and was chased away by the glistening tip of her tongue. I ran the tips of my fingers over those lips, now pulling the lower one down slightly to meet my approaching kiss. My body slid over the sheets, drawing itself against hers to press my wetness against her thigh.

A small sound escaped the lips of the man between her legs and he grasped at his own cock, turning it towards me. Obligingly I slid my body down her leg, a trail of my juices tracing the friction of her smooth, tight skin against my clit. Locking my legs around his, I slid myself across his cock. It had grown huge, standing out as it had never before. It throbbed against me and burnt to the touch.

His lips broke free and he grasped her hips with muscular, sinewy hands to pull her with him as his body turned to accomodate me.

I knelt above him and continued my traverse along his trembling form. Settling my cunt against his ankle, I lightly trailed my hands over his abdomen and up the inside of his thighs. As his legs parted, his ankle drew up between my lips, pulling tightly against me and it was my turn to moan before plunging his cock deeply into my mouth.

She had settled on her knees and braced against the wall and now she ground herself against his furious, frolicking kisses.

His hands clasped over the blankets, gripping them tightly and taking up fistfuls of the bed as his body arched to our ministrations. They let go abruptly to feel up her body to her breasts. Feverish fingers trailed over her lips and then slid rapidly back down to her hole. Gently, slowly he pressed two inside as he turned his tongue to her swollen clit.

She cried out first and he tugged his cock out of my mouth as it twitched, threatening to explode down my throat. Gently he lay her down, lifting her legs as he trailed a taut torso over her breasts and then plunged himself inside her. I lay next to them, watching, spying, observing their bodies intertwined.

I bit my lip and my fingers tensed on my abdomen to see their embrace. The subtle shifts of their muscles as they strained against one another led a near painful warmth through my middle.

His hands on the back of her knees he pressed them back and he fucked her harder, looking deeply at me as my own knees spread to accommodate my venturing fingers. I watched, transfixed as his abdomen tensed with his thrusts. Suddenly there was another hand on my cunt and she murmerred my name as her fingers skillfully found their way between my lips.

A light touch, lighter than I might have touched myself, over each part of my pussy, pressure applied in just the right way and my eyes squeezed shut, my hands stretching over my head in a simulation of being bound. When my eyes opened again it was just in time to see his forarm moving across the back of her knee.

A cry came from my mouth as my eyes shut again. As his dick plunged in and out of her, he thrust two, then three fingers up my own writhing cunt, matching the rythm and pressure inside her. He arched his back and strained deeply into her, shouting as he emptied himself. His body twitched and pulsed with his orgasm and the hand in my cunt translated each wave of his pleasure.

I watched his body tremble and shake and my pussy throbbed for more. Grinding my hips against the hands that eagerly grasped, juices flowed and my orgasm came, through my pussy and through my mouth, wracking my body with each pulse. Spasms of pleasure brought with them smaller orgasms and I came again and again, coaxed and urged by tireless hands, both rough and masculine and tender and smooth.

He collapsed now atop us as our frantic breaths slowed and deepened and a layer of sweat separated our skin. As he eased his exhausted cock out of her, our hands delicately explored one another, taking the time to know the folds and crevices our lust had not yet had the patience to map.

I awoke once in the night, to find his head on my stomach, his arm across the soft curve of her hip and smiled at his peaceful face before drifting back into deep and contented slumber.

Sex and Loathing

Remember when you were more easily led, Behind the cricket pavillion and the bicycle shed? Trembling as your dreams came true, You looked right into those blue eyes and knew. Pet Shop Boys – Can You Forgive Her, 1993

He wasn’t particularly handsome. His face seemed stretched somehow sideways, his mouth too wide and his eyes a little further apart than average. He was unevenly freckled and the adolescent acne of his past had left a few marks here and there.

He wasn’t particularly handsome, but his lean wiry body was just the sort which attracted me, had done since I was very young.

He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was clever and gave good conversation.

He wasn’t particularly nice to me, but then, I wasn’t particularly nice to him either. It’s safe to say we didn’t really like one another very much. In a group we could just barely manage a passable civility and alone we called one another names, spitting hateful epithets with true vehemence. We had gotten off on such the wrong foot with one another, it seemed we would never resolve it. Both dominant personalities, both straining against one another, rebelling against our perceptions of the other’s attempts to dominate.

We were at a party together, just barely legal to watch the R rated movies on the screen, not quite legal to drink the beers in our hands. Young, anyway. Teenagers. There was to be a beer run, we’d run out. Gianni was going and he was going with. Gianni had the car, Jeff had the fake i.d. I passed off a fiver to him, enough at the time for a good share of a case of Molson’s Canadian. He sneered and asked what was in it for him.

I shrugged. What did I have to offer, really? A skinny little punk with a chip on her shoulder, a grade behind him in high school, no particular position of advantage. He’d been complaining of a wrenched shoulder, the result of the day’s sporting competition, so I offered him a massage. I was known to be good at it and I figured a few minutes of muscle rubbing was worth four or five beers. He agreed.

When they returned, I took up a position, obediently behind him, crosslegged on the floor. As I rubbed his back, we chatted. Pheromones filled the air.

Anyone who ever was an adolescent knows exactly that moment when both of you decide to go for broke. When the control is surrendered.

I slowly sipped my first beer of the evening as he drank deeply of his third and then fourth. First his left then his right hand found its way to my knees, my thighs. At first they just rested there, aiming for casual, though the position musn’t have been very comfortable at all. I remember that he was left handed and it was that hand that first made its way to the top of my damp tights, one finger lightly stroking there a few times before it travelled back down my thigh. My own hands stroked his shoulders less and his chest more, marvelling at the definition of his pecs, despite their slender placement. The next time his hand travelled up my leg, it slipped under my tights. I repaid the favour of his stroking, slipping my hand down his tight stomach and over the bulge in his jeans. I could only feel the tip of his cock, straining against the zipper. I considered freeing it, allowing it to burst forth from the denim, but a glance around the full room dissuaded me. I made eye contact with a girl I barely knew and she winked at me knowingly. Suddenly horrified by my own forward and public groping, my hand quickly retreated back up to his shoulders. He was not so easily dissuaded, thankfully and he slipped his finger around my soaked underpants and plunged it deeply inside me. Hungrily my pussy enveloped him and I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly a few times before he leaned back to slide another finger effortlessly inside. I was young and still quite tight, but my juices easily made up for it, dripping down his palm as he rapidly slid his hand up and down and craned his neck back to rest his head on my shoulder.

His lips brushed momentarily against the upward curve of my jaw, just under my ear before he murmurred a command. “Go lie down under the blanket on the futon.” He withdrew his hand abruptly and stood up, leaving the room.

My legs trembled and my pussy burned with the hot blood which swelled my clit and spread my lips aside. Shaking, I climbed onto the futon and wiggled down under the thin blanket. I waited, barely breathing, wondering if he was going to come back, wondering what he was doing, desperately trying to keep my hands off my clamouring cunt.

After a few minutes, he came back and sat down on the edge of the futon. Leaning back on one hand, his back to me, he reached back and resumed his rubbing. Blood rushed to my face. He ignored me completely except for his one busy hand, tucked under a blanket, stroking, pinching, penetrating. As my breath came in shallow gasps he casually held up his end of a group commentary on the film on the screen. I still remember that it was a brutal film, set in a Southern military academy. Some people associate Dixie with racism or slavery. I associate it with the titillation of being coaxed to orgasm by an indifferent adversary.

I tried to keep silent, to pretend to be simply sleeping behind him, but as my peak hit, my jagged breaths took on a high, quiet pitch. I bit my lip until blood sprung into my mouth. I held my breath and I came hard, for the first time daring to show my pleasure by pressing toward his hand.

When the spasms finally subsided he lay next to me for the first time. Bringing his face close he issued another command. “Meet me in the second floor bathroom in ten minutes” and again he was up and gone.

I used the next ten minutes to gather my senses about me and then crept like a thief down the stairs. I stood outside the bathroom door for several minutes, nervous and unsure before finally turning the handle. I found him behind the door, stripped naked, his hard-on bright red and pointing straight at me.

For all the under-the-covers fumbling I’d engaged in as a horny young teenager, this was the first time I’d found myself faced with stark nudity. With a penis standing at attention, with balls drawn up in anticipation. He pulled me towards him and undressed me, fondling my breasts, my ass. He drew my hand towards his cock and I took it into my palm, wrapping my fingers around it and tugging it toward me.

I held it firmly and massaged, I withdrew and tickled it with my fingertips, running them lightly up and down the shaft and over the tip. A dribble of precum escaped and spread between my fingers. My right hand took over the manual ministrations as I lifted the left to my lips, to lick the fingers clean.

He moaned and his knees buckled as my tongue ran down one finger and up the next. He seized a towel rack and thrust his cock towards me, burying it for a moment between my legs before drawing it back, slippery and sticky with our combined fluids.

My hands teased him for an hour, drawing him to orgasm and then retreating, leaving him with shaking legs and a cock more and more swollen. Finally he was pleading with me to let him sit, to finish him as he sat, because his legs couldn’t hold him any longer.

I pulled down the toilet seat and directed his body down, straddling him. Licking dry lips he asked if I had a condom and I had to admit that I didn’t. He tilted his head back and pressed his face against the cool tile wall, suffering to draw his cock up and down my labia instead of plunging it deeply inside me, where it clearly longed to be.

I cupped my hands over the top and let him grind against the soft, slippery skin between my legs, occasionally reaching down inside me to draw more lubrication between us. His dick throbbed with every beat of his heart, the skin stretched tightly over the swelling head.

I slid off his lap and knelt on the bath mat, both hands rubbing him trying match the ferocity of his thrusts. He cried out when I finished him there on my knees, his shout retreating into a long, low moan as I devoured the semen which dripped down his cock, between his legs.

We went our separate ways, never speaking, for good or ill, again.

Indiscretion

Did I bring it up?
It’s my fantasy so I must have. I can’t imagine the opposite scenario and yet can’t quite remember where it came from. Deep in the recesses of my depraved brain, no doubt. I remember the conversation leading in. Did I really plan that far back? I don’t think so. Perhaps though, my brain is way ahead of me when it comes to fantasy fulfillment. I sometimes think it seems as though it’s all too easy for me to get what I want in bed.

Still, I was nervous. I got up and threw on the shirt offered me before I even thought. As I wandered out to the living room, my brain began to scream at me, demand an explaination for my behaviour, demand a validation, concrete evidence that I wasn’t about to make a complete ass of myself.

I circled through the kitchen, ostensibly to pour myself a noisy glass of water and then back to the bedroom, wide-eyed. What was I thinking?

I couldn’t settle though and out I went again and again, each time increasing the volume designed to stir my target from slumber.

Oddly, it’s not as if this target was someone who had ever occurred to me in this light before. Reasonably attractive, easy going and with just enough in common to hold a conversation with, the idea of my mouth on his cock certainly seemed far from the realm of the probable a mere few hours earlier.

With an attitude akin to that of a kamikaze pilot, I finalized my approach, climbing in next to him, lightly running a hand down the side of his prone form.

He’s slender, bony, but as I reach his tightly clad ass, I find it muscular and round. I shy away from allowing my touch to progress further, not wanting to violate, not wanting to cross the bounds of consent. I fear I may already have, despite my intention to rouse.

I wait a few moments, barely breathing, willing him to wake so I can blurt out my proposition, so I can see this decision closed, one way or the other.

I attempt a few more tentative touches, light brushes of the curve between his ribcage and hip, my hand circling around and up his back, deciding that touching his rear end, despite it’s appealing firmness is outside of the bounds of appropriateness.

It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man this thin, the curve of whose hip bone extrudes like a handle. I want to grab it, push my palm against the top of his cheek and use it to pull myself towards him, to stretch my neck and lightly brush his with my lips, to nibble his inviting collarbone.

I can hear movement in the other room and I am aware of the time passing. In agonized frustration I roll over onto my back. Perhaps if I just wait long enough, he will arouse on his own. Sure, I would expect some confusion, but I’d deal with that when I came to it. My heart is pounding and my nerves frayed. I am ready to get up and bolt, I can picture myself giggling with frazzled nerves at my own gall and my own cowardice, when he rolls over, his arm brushing mine.

I turn slightly towards him, holding my breath. All of a sudden I am terrified he will awaken. Feeling the fool I am. Unbidden, my hand brushes his sinewy forearm and his eyes open. Bleary, he gazes at me. “Hi!” I say brightly, the first greeting that enters my mind leaving my lips as quickly as it occurs to me. His eyes clear and he looks back, a knowing grin spreading across his features. “Hi!” he replies.

His expression turns to questioning and I reach out and brush a hand against his chest, circling around waist and travelling down for that much-anticipated second stroke of his rear end. This time I squeeze it, pull him towards me. “He knows I’m out here.” I murmur and he responds “I assume so” His lips meet mine and I’m surprised that this I do not have to initiate.

His kiss is soft, softer than most I’ve encountered, but not sloppy as the looser embrochures my experiences have tended towards. I draw away, my heart now pouding, breath shallow in my lungs. I can feel already the pressure behind his jeans, pressing against my thigh. I’m stunned and titillated by the speed of his arousal. “I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes, am I?” I ask, breathlessly. He smiles, pulling me confidently toward him, I am also surprised with the stride he takes this in, as if it is a common occurance in his life to wake next to a mostly disrobed woman. “Don’t worry about it” he replies. I think he adds that it’s ok, but I can’t be sure because I’m swept away by the rapid engorgement of my own sex.

Soon my lips are locked against his, the loose man’s shirt that has hung to just below my hips riding up with each motion of our pelvises. I sense the entry of my partner and my heart skips a beat and my breath catches as I wait for the outcome of this addition, this next step. Again, his stride is not broken. I reach my hand down the front of his pants, sliding across his trembling stomach and past the cool chrome and stiff leather of his belt.

As I massage the already calescent hard-on, flicking my wrist to free it from his waistband I lay my head on his shoulder and whisper into his ear. “Is this ok?”

He raises his hips towards my palm and looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t hear me complaining” he responds. I reach my other hand around and grasp his belt buckle. “As long as you’ll let me know,” I say, sliding my fingertips between the layers of leather. From the corner of my eye I can see my partner beginning to stroke his growing cock. My fingers pry harder at the stiff band and I raise my head, to focus my eyes on the contrivance there. It is not the standard pronged, end bar enclosure and I manipulate my hand to the next type in my experience vaults.

It’s not one of those either.

Shit.

Perhaps it’s the sort with a toothy slider, the sort most usually seen on canvas belts. I squint and adjust the angle of my head, all dreams of a smooth seduction seeming ridiculous as my fingers fumble with increasing frustration. Fortunately, the belt’s wearer steps in, freeing me from the torment of the inept.

His cock is so hard that the skin is stretched completely smooth. He slides his pants off his hips and I straddle his thighs, pinning his legs to the bed and using my tongue to add lubrication. Following the path with my hand.

Reaching up under his balls and stroking his shaft with my free hand, I begin to work on the tip, flicking it playfully with my tongue and then wrapping my lips around it to tease the ridge with the stud in my tongue.

My partner rises and crosses around to my rear, grasping my back just above the tailbone and massaging his cock between the folds of my pussy. I gasp, a soft moan escaping as I tilt my hips toward his, a slight shimmy in them to press him deeper between my thighs. I whimper as he enters me and plunge my head down further over the dick in my mouth, wanting both ends as full as I can muster, matching the rythm of my gasping fellatio to that of my trembling hips.

My mouth fills, but the cock in it throbs for more, not faltering in its state of arousal, I lick it clean, shifting my weight for a change of position.

I am carried away by sensation, by hands on my breasts, my ass, my hips, my head. I am presented with two dicks, trembling before my face and I squeal with glee, encasing the saliva drenched one in a condom and begining slow licks of the other. Soon the positions are switched and I massage tight balls as an unfamiliar length enters me. Unfamiliar hands grasp my hips, unnecessarily gentle, as new partners tend to be.

I’m carried away again in a flurry of sound and touch, of moans and slurps and grunts of pleasure. My body quakes and I let out a high-pitched shudder as orgasm washes over me. I use one hand to press the knob between my pussy lips against the base of the cock inside me, to draw out orgasm after orgasm. My mouth is filled again and again the twitching cock does not give out.

Hours have passed and I lie on my back now, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on my skin. Exhaustion is setting in but my enthusiasm has not waned. I grip a shaft in each hand and feel a dribble across the back of one, as hips are pushed towards me. My partners too are tired. Were the year a bit older the sun would be creeping up over the buildings outside.

It seems a cigarette is in order.

Why she stayed

Andalee slammed the phone into its cradle, frustrated. Three times in a row, now. Three times he’d cancelled at the last minute. How long was she going to put up with this shit? She’d convinced herself weeks ago that she didn’t need him. That his bullshit wasn’t worth the sex.

It was such good sex though – Her mind wandered to the last time they’d been together, his sinewy hands fimly wrapped around her hips, fingertips leaving small imprints in her flesh, her hipbones grasped for leverage as he slammed himself inside her.

Her face flushed a bit to think about it and her hand creeped, almost of its own volition, towards the band of her panties. It was hot in this room. Hot outside.

Her eyes fluttered when she thought of the way his old ties had been recommissioned, to bind her hands over her head. Fastened to the headboard, face down, knees spread firmly, with command. Her clit yearning for pleasure, her pussy filled with him. The vague pain that mingled with the pleasure as he reached the base of his own cock and still strained for deeper penetration.

She gasped as she remembered the feeling of his hair, brushing against her back as he lowered himself to grasp a mouthful of flesh between his teeth, his right hand swinging out to lay down an imprint on her ass. Her body jerked in reaction and he grasped her hips again, firmly pulling them back into position over his cock.

The pictures unfolded behind her eyes as she struggled for the surety she’d had only moments before. His lips and eyes flashed across her mind and she gave up the struggle. Vigorously, she attacked her cunt. Her left hand flew up and down, applying just the slightest pressure on her clit, her less dexterous (or should I say less sinister?) right hand curling up underneath her, striving for something approaching the depth of penetration he could acheive for her. Kicking the sheets and blanket down to the end of her bed, she curled them around her feet, creating a sensation of being bound. She moaned under her gasping, shuddering breaths as she pictured his lips enveloping her breasts, sucking the nipples in and biting down hard. How bad she’d been, doubting him, expecting him to adapt to the schedule of her clamouring libido. He was withdrawing the pleasure now. Leaving her trembling in anticipation, in frustrated desire.

She panted at the idea of his cock, dripping with her sex, and his demands that she finish him with her mouth. Her fingers crept up her chin and she sucked the juices off them, her other hand pinching her engorged lips together, punishing them for their presumption.

She could practically taste his orgasm shooting to the back of her throat as she let go suddenly of her pussy, the blood rushing painfully back into it, bringing with it her own climax, an excruciating pleasure which extracted a cry from her throat.

If he did it again, though, she was through.