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Sluts in Maybe QLD AU
Before A Midsummer Night's Dream
Before A Midsummer Night's Dream · Interracial Love · Memories are important to me, specifically the good ones. I would concur that it's the small things one does during their lifetime that are going to be the most impactful on them when they go back to cherish. In my 25 years, I've tried to make as many of these little moments for myself as possible. I hope to continue doing so.
As I circumvent the cobwebs and flip the grimy pages in the convolution that is my brain, I still recall a balmy Friday afternoon during the summer of '14. There have been many days around here where the climate could make it feel exactly like so. Though reiterating: The minutiae of details which were taking place during that day are what I think a person can treasure the most. Even if specifics become lost, they may blend and be a larger whole after a time. Speaking for myself, I now see the sun shining on that day more than I'd cared to notice then.
I turned 19 that May. My self-confidence had been improving along with what amount was already there from the time I'd graduated from high school. I did so with the Class of 2012. I was on a tight leash that was loosened by my parents for the remaining year of my minority. They removed the leash when I became an adult by law the year later. I had finally escaped the austerity enforced in my orthodox household during my upbringing, and in lieu, set out with the intention to experience and to make myself happy. To think less of what was expected of me by those who play God, and more of my perennial passions. I'd recognized my flaws. I've never stated to anyone that I'm a good person. Never. But I felt that helping other people would be helping me; what else can we do?
I pondered on a medical field or social work — and a steady source of income, of course. I knew this was going to be a tremendous undertaking, but I was adamant when I set my mind to something important to me. I'd been told so by teachers — people of authority outside the homestead. A university accepted me. It required a distanced move several hours away. I would have to do this on my own without support or enthusiasm from my family. Yes, I was frightened; I don't blame myself. But this was what it took — to overcome my dread and doubt while bearing in mind my goals, which I purposely left petty and superfluous so they would be feasible to complete and not damage me from unexpected failure to fulfill them.
By my pragmatic, if not sardonic philosophies by default, expecting good things to happen in this world's rocky landscape leads to disappointment in many cases. Maybe then I wasn't aware of this factuality, but I am now. I recognize. I stop to think about those without. The body I am in, the innocent lusts I have, the blessings bestowed to me by God are all good things, so long as I humble myself and take heed to what I know to be right. They will not be denied by me, rejected by me, or taken for granted, as often as I can remind myself.
As contradictory and ironic as the following account will seem, I'm only human, none of which is perfect, all of which is pardoned.
II
I always knew what the passions and lusts aforementioned were. They seemed like untapped and beautiful things that escaped my domineering nature of cynicism and restraint. Even early on in my childhood, I was inquisitive; whatever was there had always been a part of me. I could not, or rather, was forbidden to act on any carnal urges — rightfully so, since I was only a child. Yet, with all the boundaries and restrictions and doctrines of what is “Right” and what is “Wrong” firmly implanted, there was exposure to so many sexual contexts and innuendos, nonetheless — not only that but other discretions that a young girl should not be allowed to eavesdrop on. I was being informed well before my sanctioned time by three older siblings and made fully aware of how things plied.
My brothers had no capacity for complex emotions such as concepts of morality or guilt — a typical encounter for me then. They did not care. They brought their rambunctious peers for visits while Dad would work around the clock, Mom would drink her gin and tonic, and I'd impinge on their misdeeds. Why did my dad ignore me? It bothered me more than he knew and would affect me down the trail. Why did my mom harbor such an indefensible hatred towards me? Was there something in me that she saw in herself, or was it merely me, having been the “accidental” fourth? The two live-in grandparents, who were Dad's parents, just made everything that much more awkward and unbearable. Why go into it? No more time should be wasted dwelling on any of them; the less, the better. I could not breathe in that household.
In any case, it wasn't much different around my contemporaries. Only, I'd be the one to refute classmates' naive banter and false notions by having known it all in advance when sat down in sex-ed, courtesy of three dick-headed and repugnant siblings with age and primacy on their side. It was a stark contrast when compared to the ridicule I would languish in the home, having not known jack shit when gunned down by a belligerent firstborn, ten years older than me. Sex is so ubiquitous that it's just impossible to avoid anymore — if it ever was possible to avoid it — especially with my level of drive. In one way or another, everything will pertain to it unless a prude, which I am certainly not. I was innately fascinated by it. I asked harmless questions. Why did my bros have to be so mean about it?
I'm not having any self-pity here; this is only an explanation of what life was like during my childhood and growing up in my family — a veritable psychiatric field day. My clusterfuck of a house demanded a 1955 mindset, regardless of whatever was going on behind closed doors. Mommy and Daddy never sat me down for a tête-à-tête about birds and the bees, or anything else for that matter. My parents and grandparents would force their lectures on love but never practiced it themselves or set an example. And I mean the sum of what love's supposed to be like, what I understood it should be like, not just the sexual elements that intrigued me the most.
This hypocrisy angered me. What the fuck was this? Love — it is all I wanted to feel but was unable to receive it by any means there.
After all that the abstinence had cost me through puberty, I planned to change things for myself by finding love elsewhere, and I would demand nothing in return for it.
III
Work was almost out on that sunny day sometime in June. I'd been interning in several hospitals and facilities while I studied for a planned degree in pharmacology. As the end of my stint approached, I thought more of my plans for that nightfall and how to pull them off to perfection. These non-sequitur thoughts were unsuited for any run-of-the-mill and holier-than-thou work ethic. They flew around with the rest of the hustle and bustle incessantly going on up there that I would do anything, short of opting out, to mitigate. They made me fidget in my seat, causing my muscles to tense and my breathing to fluctuate.
To only exacerbate my uneasiness and anxiety, an inbound text message had arrived from my newfound friend, Naomi. I don't recall precise words, but I'd guess something along the fringes of, “Are you going out for scalps later?” Over the years I've known her, she'd often refer to my newly acquired boons as “scalps,” or in another form of acrimony which — coming from how endearing and friendly she was — would still put it lighter than I was in my behavior towards most of those poor kids. I was coming out from an inferno of juvenile years that were indeed affecting both me and my surroundings. I regret it now; I do. I've hurt; yes, I have.
Naomi's perspectives and definitions of propriety were different from mine — ones I frequently envied. I'd met her for the first time in January of that year. She'd been a neighbor when I decided to get out of the dorm and rent something instead. I was still 18 then, and she had six years on me at her 24. From my first impression, she did not seem to carry any hint of whatever constitutes a Child left in her at all. She was self-governing, incorrigible in her mold, and who she distinguished herself as — no one would be changing her mind. I admired those aspects and sensed genuine wisdom in this chick.
Naomi quickly became a close friend to me, as I'd moved hours from my home and knew no one in this sprawling and daunting megalopolis beforehand. She saw my electrons and only confuted them with her more overbearing protons. I learned that it was only futility to be anything other than happy and amiable around her. I grew up with antonyms of joy. She had an overwhelming ardor I'd not spent ample time with before.
I eventually opened up to her about my past. My kitsch is considered old-school, old-fashioned, and I have no problem with that. In an age of social media, I may have — or I may not have — a different definition than bulks do of what a friend is and who gets placed on the 'Friends List.' It's a close circle, and in effect, a small list that is pretty damn important to me. I consider Naomi to be one of the people on said list. I mention her extensively because she became a pillar that supported my happiness. Her impeccable judgment regarding getting the most out of what this life had to reward me was never questioned or depreciated. I was indebted to her.
By that point, I had possessed what the forms of those rewards were continually able to come in, allusive pun intended. I was already being made aware of the effortless perfection in which my soul resided. I made efforts anyhow — if only to maintain my temple. I went out of the way to run miles every day during the week. I was only continuing what I'd been doing as a form of escapism since junior high. I had myself conditioned to the point of feeling like I could keep on figuratively running away from my troubles in perpetuity. I loved it like an addiction — “Runner's High,” they call it. It made me feel sexy.
People — suspected to be in the same frame of mind as me, e.g., 'on the hunt' — would look at me as I went past them in my own made world, where the cosmos centered around the area where the middle of my foot would connect to the asphalt. I caught many gotten glances from the corners of my eyes, which I consider dark and intimidating. If I did lock my formidable gaze with the odd pedestrian on my cool-down period, nine out of ten times, I'd cause them to glance off in another direction as swiftly as they could. Any place that didn't involve the prerequisite set of balls it takes to meet my peep, continue inwards, and break my barriers. However, the tenth time consisted of those sure enough of themselves to take a plunge and brave a journey into my complex irides intent to burn away any veil in theirs. Destinations varied.
I would arrive home to my leased residence in a cold sweat and dampened clothes to undress for a hot shower in a ritualistic manner. The release from the confinements of my sports bra only made me feel like I could breathe the more so. As I poured out of the nylon stitching, my breasts would instantaneously settle back into their rightful perky place and be permitted to jut from my chest in freedom, just as God had intended for Eve's to do so before the Fall.
I shimmied myself out of what thin fabrics remained on the lower portion of my framework — hips and all that is divine between my legs were revealed to me, reminding me of my luck again. I knew what I saw in the mirror's reflection; I was not blind to a familiar sight. I eyed my curves and contours and the landing strip I regularly like to rock on my mound. It was abundantly clear what I was beholding: I was the quintessential woman who could have anything she fancied. It was entirely my choice to ditch the conviction and despair I suffered through adolescence and enjoy being in my niche instead. What a hedonist I was.
I would undo the knotted bun resting atop my head to let my blackened hair fall past my shoulders and onto my skin. I could detect a familiar and intoxicating fragrance in each of the strands. The moisture and scent from having pounded on the pavement not long before would also be in the air. It would mix with lingering aromas from whatever perfumes I'd sprayed in it from that morn. They joined with the traces of shampoo and conditioner from the previous night. The amalgamation became a tang of raw Sexual Energy that cannot be withstood or further described without the risk of raving. A lot can happen in a bathroom before a shower.
In times like 'in front of the mirror after a run,' I feel an aura surrounding me. I see myself in my purest and most vulnerable form as my damp and weighted tresses brushed against tender bits. Naked and battling with an abiding lust, found in spiritual sectors that cannot be labeled by anatomy, I would do things to myself in front of these mirrors — I'd been doing so in secrecy for quite a while. I would explore places, touch parts, and imagine my empty spaces made occupied by things I was, in my infancy, only able to catch glimpses and then lose sight of, left to have them in my dreams. Later on, I would see them but never be allowed to feel them in my presence. These dreams became increasingly vivid.
But by that summer in '14, the need for imagination and improvisation was no longer necessary. I had felt the sensation of a cock pressing into my flesh and was able to say so. Even if a phantom in my time of solitude, I oft feel nerves on zones inside me where I want the head to bear the brunt of its punishment most of all and induce the climacteric point of no return. In these moments, I cast aside whatever piety and temperance I have over myself and realize how bad I need fucked.
My cock craving would arrive in times as such — the times that were so commonly encountered during weeks consisting of long days with nil opportunity to sate my needs and cause the build-up and frustration to become that much more acute. These times called for me to do something about it. They bring me back to the Friday reminisced on, the reply to my friend's question, and whatever lucky guy — the emblematic scalp — would get his chance to serve as this completion for me as the five days of absence waned, and the weekend drew nearer.
IV
I replied to Naomi; asked her if she knew where I could go to make this happen. She had lived in the City all her life and was a social animal. It amazed me how she could throw names and addresses at me at the drop of a hat — any place where something was going down. It wasn't long after that when she told me, “Go here,” gave me the deets and coordinates, and wished me well. I planned to brave it alone that night since I was working some distance from home.
More and more routinely, I found myself still out, waking up in strangers' beds and being gone even well into the next day. It was becoming a custom for me to be prepared for this to happen. I would keep clothes in my car, influenced by whatever vogue was going on; lots of clothes. I kept stocked on survival essentials, too, i.e., food and drink — mainly trail mixes and bottled water. I had plenty of cosmetic and hygienic supplies to maintain my beauty and preserve my health. I could do work while sitting in the car if obligated. If I needed sleep, it was trivial enough to recline the seat. I was able to be out and about more by these means. Staying or fleeing a scene was all contingent upon how it was and the vibes I was feeling.
After I got out of the job, I went to find the park I'd been using to run laps during that week. Though, today, I would run only to a point where I'd not work up so much fatigue and make a sweaty mess of myself — which, with my stamina, took some work. From what I remember, it was supposed to be an open house slated for six o'clock or so — a later part of the evening. It would be no more than a fifteen-minute drive from where I was. I had plenty of time. Also, I liked to show up late at these things. Exercising was not only delightful to me but my way of cleansing the deed through its health benefits. It was my absolution from whatever substances and sordid activities I would undoubtedly be indulging in.
During those years, I spent time playing dress-up in my vehicle. I'd strip out of my work attire and into sports gear for my runs. Then I would return and swap back into something suitable for whatever I'd be doing after that. In many instances, I would be within plain view as I was changing in the car. In retrospect, I'm surprised I don't need neck surgery as a result of how much surveying I was doing while I switched outfits to see if I was being ogled at by some perv. I told myself nobody saw me making a nouveau riche bimbo out of herself, but maybe I was, in my subconscious, wishing someone had. Perhaps someone did see me once or twice, but that's another story.
My black Honda Accord was like a home for me, pillow in the back and all. If push came to shove, I kenned I could always go to my car and nap there in safety. Unless close, there was no reason for me to drive back home. I could be spending that time doing something productive or heading towards something that made me feel good instead. I was being taught different things now; to love myself and cease in the denial of loving it. I wasted none of what coupled youth and adulthood instigated. At 19, I was milking these advocations for everything they were worth, although I never wavered from my own beliefs; my Faith. Love is at the center of it; the rest is redundant to me.
With that in mind, I arrived back after I had concluded my jog. I always felt carefree and sensuous after the fact, being glad it was done and feeling much healthier. I threw something on and freshened up. I wanted myself as flaunted and sultry as possible, sparing no expense or giving any pretense as to what I would be looking for at this shindig. I made sure not to hold back on Chanel and L'Oréal and make my hair as liberated, salacious, and untamed as possible. I swallowed whatever lurking fret there was and brushed aside whatever bullshit second thoughts I had, then ignited the engine to hear the radio blasting A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay. I remember it.
V
It was dusk when I got there. I parked a reasonable distance away on the curb and walked to the address Naomi gave me. A driveway went up for a bit that led me to a two-story home that looked to be an upper-middle-class sort of place. There was activity going on. Lots of people were there; I was not counting. The age group appeared anywhere between their teens like me, into their early thirties. I could walk right in and assimilate myself without anyone noticing, and I was all right with that. I figured most of it was going on in the backyard. There was a lot of landscaping around the front and a fence, so I had to go through the front door to get there, which was wide open.
It seemed warm and stuffy when I stepped in, especially for the intermingling Latin blood running hot in my veins. The lights were down; I recall candlelight. I remember the usual smells of food and spirits. The familiar odor of marijuana was also in the air. I was 19 and very much underage, doing something I knew was not allowed, as if I was going to let that deter me. A blond-haired mistress I did not know walked up and hugged me. She said some indistinct things I don't remember now. She might have been the owner of the house since she was a bit older. Whoever she was, she looked to be well on her way, like she had taken something. I wasn't sure what was going on yet. I could not hear her, either. It was loud in there, enough to make a girl go deaf with the proper soundtrack going.
People were yelling over each other as the typical EDM and pop music blasted on a stereo system. Music is at the epicenter of a good party. There have to be good tunes to have a good party, in my opinion. Of course, I did not expect to hear anything underground, abrasive, or hardcore, like a gabber at their rave or mosher in their pit. But the night was young, and so was I. At 19, a bit of what I knew was passed vicariously through the older folks I was becoming acquainted with — my friend Naomi was one of them. And her being 24, a sophisticated and diverse individual, they only got older from there. She was regularly around people in their thirties and upwards, back to when parties were happening in the '00s, '90s, and '80s.
I hear they were tumultuous times, and Naomi had been exposing me to those capable of saying they were there. The only way to be there was to be there. They carried no smartphones back then, nor did they need them. Technology did not matter since it did not exist. It was the memory and the moment, nothing more. Whatever knowledge was in my academics and studies did nada for me while I was subject to those circumstances. What many of them attained was my definition of wisdom — having lived on Earth longer than me. Which is to say, they had witnessed more of what reality is and felt more pain than I had. The years they'd spent listening and partaking, as I was doing, had paid off.
I could not compete with any of it, but she let me in on their private jokes, notwithstanding, and involved me in their antics as often as we were around each other. When I went to events with Nomi and whoever else she had along, there was no question about how confident I was. It meant a great deal to have her as a friend and to be able to call her one. As all this was happening, she confided with me just as much as I was confiding in her. With all that emotion and proximity, not to mention her talents in temptation, she began touching me and welcomed me to touch her, too. Lots of frivolous hugs were going on, but then they became more compelling.
I did not know if she was manipulating me into something — if she was, it was working. She had the advantage of seniority and being the Cooler Cucumber than me, not to mention having a charisma that I lacked. She deadlocked me in my eyes all the time — a powerful thing to me. It reached the point when she trapped me on my lonesome one day, got me to open my mouth, and let her stick her tongue in it. It ended with her leading me by the hand and both of us on her bed, fucking one another. She pulled this off even amid my sobriety and having had considered myself a very straight female before then. Wow. Kudos to me, more power to her.
Naomi became the first woman I was intimate with — she opened that gateway for me, broke that boundary and taboo. She was breaking lots of those not long after that. Things I never imagined myself doing began taking place, and I was doing them; things were taking me, more ambiguous puns intended. As time went on, she felt more like companionship and someone I could place my trust in and lower my guard around. It has remained as such to this day.
VI
Since I was alone at this particular event on that night, I wanted to be cautious. I was being analyzed head to toe by strangers left and right. I felt their eyes already peeling my duds off. During a warm night in June, there was not much clothing on me, to begin with — all my prominent features were out on display for them. I had done this on my own before and was discovering what worked for me, albeit tentatively.
I needed to find a spot to settle in to get my bearings, with a drink in my hand that would put me on the path to enough of a buzz of courage to make a move on someone — or allow them to make theirs. A year farther down the highway, I might have done something insane and not thought twice, but I did not want to overdo anything here this evening. I was on my own, which is already taking a risk — too serious of one for my better part of judgment then.
I found an unoccupied piece of patio furniture outside in the backyard. It was more spacious and less constricting than being inside the sweltering domicile. More air and fewer clusters of crowds brushing into my Safe Zone allowed me to relax and contemplate. People were in their groups and cliques and saturated in their confidences for reasons obvious to anyone. In that sort of environment, being ingratiated within a group makes a state of mind different from when unescorted. I felt withdrawn and homesick at this function that night, to be sure, drinking alcohol in my teens and prone to rash decisions. I had to remain vigilant and keep my wits about me.
This garden party had been carrying on for a while now. I saw people dancing, fornicating, and rambling incoherently across the yard from what looked to be drug use, alleged to be ecstasy. I saw a surreptitious group of males, the type known all too well to me by then. I assumed they were selling — my assumption proved correct after time spent sitting with my drink and policing them.
Club drugs were still out of my depth then, and taking something like MDMA — or taking any substance for that matter — without someone to trust nearby leads to bad decision-making and potential catastrophe. It's a wonderful way to wreck your entire life in an instant — and be left with the sickening hindsight of, “Why did I have to do it? I could have Just Said No. Everything would be fine right now if I had.” Thoughts such as those make me think of what is taken for granted, not to mention my health. With what I was doing for a better amount of six years, it is a miracle I am even alive and not in a coma or dead. Which is worse, the former or the latter?
There would be no fucking way I would be taking anything on that night, let alone pay anything out of pocket for whatever insalubrious garbage it may have been cut with. I was searching around for someone who appeared to be in a comparable situation as me: they were at this festivity to get laid and bust their nut — no cons, illegalities, or ODs attached. Nothing wrong with a little lovin'.
I had been there for at least half an hour now. I recall having a Dark and Stormy — a drink I have thoroughly enjoyed over the years. I doubt the rum was anything from a top shelf, but volume is volume. Speaking of volume, since the time I'd strolled through the home, the music was getting better. Maybe they'd replaced whoever was doing the DJing with someone who knew their shit — a connoisseur who viewed music as an art form, as I did. It sounded to be deep-cuts of minimal techno, vocal trance, et cetera. Echoes of numerous, unknown artists and tracks that someone could quite easily only ever lay ears on once during a lifespan and then never hear again.
Hearing the unheard has always been a big deal to me. I thrive for a moment where I will hear something to fall in love with — or take offense from. As cruel as it seems to say to anybody sober, genres such as techno and trance will only sound better while rolling on uppers or while bombed out of their gourds on herb — or, in my case, that eve, floating on alcohol.
But please permit me to be a hoity-toity, high and mighty, la-di-da ball-buster by repudiating what was literally just said: Don't do drugs; don't even drink hard liquor. It's the smart thing to do.
VII
I remember attempting a conversation with a couple of passersby if you could call it a conversation. Most of what they were mumbling to me about was idiosyncratic gibberish. Obviously Zonked. I told them, delivered as a fait accompli, what I was here for — my thirst needed to be quenched by some sort of personified punch after the stressors of my existence throughout that week, hither. While I continued to sip my beverage and soak in the sounds, I looked for a suitable other to aid me in accomplishing this feat. It would be an extreme responsibility for them.
Most of the guys I saw there thought themselves larger than life, and justly so, I guess. They had girls with them already. It's possible actual relationships were going on, e.g., boyfriend and girlfriend. Most looked thunderous and hyper. Always something to say. They frolicked in their esteem.
Were I to walk up to these characters or them to me, dictation would be on their terms. They could easily cast me aside and find someone looking nearly as good as I was that night, and I was looking severely good at 19; it would be untenable to deny or just plain mean to tell a Missy otherwise. I was getting tons of inspections, lonely and abandoned as I was. Time was running out for me to choose, and the alcohol was in effect.
VIII
I saw one of the smaller assemblages that looked to be more phlegmatic than the norm. They casually conversed and gave no evidence of having any terminal impairment. From a stone's throw away from my location, they looked like respectable working-class — blasé and hospitable; no flamboyance. One guy was the odd man out. He had no Lady on his arm, as the other two Gentlemen did. He looked to be a real Somebody.
I would say he was in his upper twenties. His physique looked active, rugged, and undemanding — a type I loved to tempt. His hair was dark, dense, and wavy — enough of it to run my fingers through to feel good about myself. He had maintained facial hair, but not too maintained. He seemed rough around the edges, with nothing tapered or outstanding. His clothing — a distinctly recollected dark and drab T-shirt and tarnished denim jeans — fit loosely enough for comfort and snug enough to show off his sculpt — one that looked lean with a fatally underestimated power behind it. Hell yeah, I'd tap that!
I was eyeing him up and down, gorgeous as I was, and he saw me doing it. He was participating in a chat with his buddies and their dates while he was more and more glancing over at me, sitting on my own, trying to pretend like he was not affected. I wondered if they were talking about me — it looked like they were touching on something. From what I was observing, he seemed to have a reserved opinion of himself. His friends appeared that way, too. There was no complacency or delusion present.
I was stricken to carry myself with the same decorum in ordinary cases, but I was horny and infatuated with myself at the minute, not to mention Sloshed. I thought the man was looking at me and assuming right away that there would be no bet in hell of scoring a nasty summit of a number like me on that night. Too modest for his own good. Or was I wrong? Was I too conceited and haughty for my own good? I wondered what kind of beast of a Cock was skulking behind the excess seen in his weathered jeans like it was some predator waiting in ambush. Each seam and tear in those pants he bore so eloquently were more than likely earned by his merit at whatever tedious daily grind he had, rather than been pre-installed at purchase merely to resemble liveliness.
As I continued studying him, I felt my mouth salivate. My breath began to elevate. My muscles were contracting, and I was fidgeting in my chair like I'd been doing at work earlier. What charm lay bare and void betwixt my thighs was going from moist to damp, damp to wet, and throbbing with each heartbeat. Steamy thoughts were going on in my fucked up and dirty head. I queried how much I could get away with here — Niña Loca, arguing with the Voices. The hand that did not contain a plastic cup involuntarily traveled down to paw at the soft Hill found in my shorts. I oftentimes do this with the knuckles bearing inward — really, there is no control over it. Then I felt my face begin to tingle and my mouth abruptly dry. I took another swig of 40 as if that would alleviate the dryness in the long run.
My chest became tight, and my heart began to pulsate with even greater intensity — so much more that I felt it shocking my body from root to stem. My adrenaline was kicking in — something I still needed to get used to feeling. I wanted this dude to put his brawny hands all over me and force me to moan for him as he fucks me to climax. Oh, God, how I needed it. I wasn't going to wait around for it to happen. I got up and took concealed, stumbled strides athwart the grass and over to him.
IX
He grew taller as I neared — at least a head's higher than my 5'5''. Oh yeah, this fella was interested, so was I. Definitely a Smash. Something was trying to click here. His eyes lit up a bit, deep and complex as they were, like mine. Still, he did not turn them away from me to stare at his feet or act like he didn't know what was happening. I sensed he had assurance in himself, whether he cared to concede to it or not.
As I landed my sights on the more intricate of his features, it became clear why he did. He was indeed much older than I, more into his early thirties. This was not some boy as green as the ground I stood on; it was a full-fledged Man. With the age comes the experience, as I was going to find out about later on. A man's age advantage over me also stirs my more discreet and frailer of psychological quirks — the lack of a Father Figure. Where I was invisible to my dad, I had found an adjacent alternative, who did appreciate me and lavished me in sensuality, furthermore.
I'm a believer in Occam's razor — that the Quickest Avenue is probably going to be the right one to go down. Short and sweet; no meandering BS or trying out new techniques. I asked him if he was with someone. He took my meaning, shook his dear head in a neutral expression, and told me No. We shared the same policy, apparently — candid, concise, and straight to business; this is not like the movies. I asked if I could be with him. He said Yes — just like that. I went up to meet his chest, albeit hesitant from the slight jolted shock to my nervous system when I realized he was more seasoned than I had anticipated. But he extended a sinewy arm to give me signs I had nothing to fear from him.
An indefinable surge of warmth went over me. Feelings of Happiness and Acceptance flooded inside as I hugged my body closer.
I was on his left; I remember it. He put his arm around me. He was a rock-solid Bull. I wanted to put my arm around him, too. When I did, it felt like trying to hug a bronze statue out of Ancient Rome. I felt out of my body so often during these escapades. It was something surreal like a déjà vu or feeling like I'd reached the pinnacle of a precipice, one where reality only existed inside my mind and falling off the ledge would turn it into a black nihility, like before being born into a soul.
I wished to rest my head on him and shut my eyes, then open them to see if I'd wake up someplace else — I didn't want to wake up; I wanted to go nowhere else but 'Here' and 'Now.' He had a scent of cologne that merged with a nostalgic hint of tobacco that I grew up around in a family of smokers; casual, and chain. His conferees were, as I inferred: Around their late twenties and precisely the kinds of laid-back folks that I could correlate to and mellow out with. One might even label it esoteric — no conformity, only themselves.
There was an introduction. We exchanged our names — of which now I cannot recall. Mine was Melanie, and it is appalling that I cannot remember the name of my new boyfriend as I write in the present tense. His pals seemed tranquil and only spoke about as much as need be. They continued having a conversation about something that I draw blanks on now. I think it was work-related. I gathered they were co-workers.
What was running through my mind was who I had my arm around. My hand and its fingers lightly traced the finer details and digits of his spine. They went up to the lower parts of his neck to brush his hairline. I was touching him with greater zeal and affection at an alarming rate of attrition. He was considering it, and I could see it. Who knew I had it in me? I had to raise my head to meet his height. My eyes were looking up and to his. Even if he turned away for a moment to those he was already familiar with, as if to equivocate my presence, I did not falter — my sight remained on him. This technique was not just for him to enjoy but also was a means for me to read him — to try my damnedest to discern what kind of man this was. What kind of secrets did I need to know about, hmm? Eye contact. It's important to me.
I wanted to trust this stranger enough to give him Carte Blanche and let him have total Dominion over me and all that could be his. Capriciousness had nothing to do with the decision I had made — and despite my inebriation, while crossing over the lawn, I knew what I was doing here. It was the End Game in mind — for me to have my brains Fucked out in earnest and their gray matter suspended in Orgasmic Euphoria. Such has always been my Vice. The rest is impertinent; diversions or tactics to lead me to it.
When they met my soft skin, I recalled the grain of his hands calloused and stalwart, like a man's hands should feel. As I expected, this was an active human being with a firm grip on a very clingy gal who coveted to get a lot more of her parts gripped on before the roosters had a chance to crow at sun-up. What I did not expect was how much this buckaroo knew what he was doing. It leads me to believe that this is why I still retain the night, even over six blurry years later, where I would find myself in similar predicaments during every week's end.
X
I finished my Juice and nonchalantly tossed the obligatory Red Solo Cup elsewhere, scattering the condensed ice cubes and soggy rum-soaked lime wedge amongst the turf. A Party will be a Party, and this one was not mine. A proper Fucking Mess — “Fucking” in verb form — for the host/hostess to clean up after all's said and done is, in consolidated fact, a Given. I now had both of my lovely hands vacant and available to touch him, as my inborn omnipotence concerning these libidinous affairs deemed fit.
I edged myself from his side and into his front, though not all the way. Of course, this rose his attention; why would it not? No dialogue was going on between us, and I was quite all right with that. The Music played. The Multitudes in the yard carried on hooping and hollering like not a thing was transpiring between He and Me. My hands were running up and down along his sides and anywhere else stimulating they could conquer. I have been told countless times in so many ways about what it is like to feel my reception and bona fide sentiment via my touch.
I did not grab the Bulge I wanted so desperately to have in my clutches, quite yet. It's crucial not to overstep bounds, initially. I needed to wait for that moment, a critical one. I had a Good Vibe going on here; high hopes; this was most certainly a Catch. He “wasn't most guys,” and for once in a blue-fucking-moon in the Sky, this Truth was held to be self-evident. I wanted him to have it, this luscious body in its entirety. He did not have to prove a thing to a girl endeavoring to cultivate herself. I finally got him to focus on Me, Me, Me, and fuck all else — the narcissistic wench that I was.
In that instant, I banked on the Accolade to take place — the bit where this man took over for me and granted me something in return; quid pro quo. And he did.
First Base! He had been a downplayed professional, touching me in all the right places with all the right amounts of pressure applied. His friends were very polite, and I don't even remember when they shifted elsewhere to give us our privacy. The only thing I remember was how fast I was being pulled into his body from a forceful tug on my Butt and my lips meeting his. I felt my boobs flattened on his torso in their usual somatic fashion — always a treat. My eyes closed, and what was subtlety on both our parts quickly turned to passion. I had no choice in this anymore. I was being manhandled and forced to submission by this Tank, made to feel like a Woman.
My forearms went around his Hull and my fingers through his hair — any place I could nudge and turn on. All the while, he is doing the same things to me. Inside, I am growing aroused beyond words — driven to moan and whisper indiscretions and Freudian slips I would only utter from my authentic pleasure. My emotional state, psyche, and soul were being taken back to childhood — dismissal then, embrace now. They should be signals to this man — to any man — of how much I was getting into this. I was 'F4M/DTF/NSA,' unequivocally.
He had taken his Big Bat and hit the Baseball well into the outfield, if not a home run, so he rounded to Second Base without the obligation to halt on the first plate. The heat and waves from his approval and endorsement enveloped me. I was standing on tippy-toes and then felt a drag in the small of my back by a stern and assertive hand. I was as closely knit to his body as allowable with our clothes still on. My kisses grew more adventurous and liberal, of which happy campers have told me are as great as my touch. My tongue was doing its handiwork; he impressed me with his. He was pulling up my leg to rest against his midsection as if to lift me from the ground and spare me my encumbrance. I'll admit, it was tough being Me sometimes.
He had his other hand grabbing into my tight Ass in the interim — a lot of Ass to grab into. Courtesy of a South-American heritage, the Brazilian Butt Lift came with the Package. As he did this, it caused everything so tender and bewitching to the commonfolk to stretch apart and shoot waves of exhilaration through me, from the top of my pointy hat, to where I sit on a broomstick, to the tips of my toes. I like it when my backside is played with and violated by a stronger counterpart, 'tis true.
I emphasize: With all that is Corporeal, simultaneously existing with all that is Conceptual, the pleasure I feel from this is Incommunicable. I felt another brutish hand betwixt my pregnable legs and its fingers pressing into fertile valleys below the pubic bone. He knew precisely where my Clit was, even with my dungarees obstructing it. We — being me and Her — were assuredly in trouble. Giving this Paragon of Masculinity no sign of refusal and every incentive to take this to another level, I immediately placed my hand on the Bump of unmentionables in his slacks. I was, dying then and there to have it rammed inside me — through any choice of an entrance — to placate my yearning.
I felt how hard it was and only wondered of its potential size when I had it out to put my hands on it. It felt disconcertingly Huge. Too huge for captivity. I aimed to be the girl to release it for good.
XI
I do not know how long we were making out. What could have been minutes seemed like hours to me? Or is it the other way around? My guy and I were standing out in public, and this shit was getting Real. He was going under my skimpy little summertime top and touching my bare, prohibited flesh by that point. I wanted him to take it off. I didn't stand a possibility to surmount to this; he would just triumph in one way or another. He could put me over a desk, stick his Dick in my Ass and fuck the reading glasses off me, and there would not be a goddamned thing I could do to prevent it. I knew it. Despite all that Respect I had for myself, I was ready to accept being got and fucked back into my place on the Hierarchy — fucked out of the Feminist Mindset that liked to creep up on me. And him being a Hunk and having it all rock-hard in his pants because of me only validated my Role and gave me that much more esteem — I accorded him his hard-on.
He was digging me. On the Ortho-Novum, or whatever I was taking at the time, there was no cause for us to be concerned about unplanned cherubs should things come to that. We were ready for this to happen.
My areolae diminished, nipples coagulated. I felt numb from the cocktail in my system. What a lousy feeling sometimes. Contrary to what's said about alcohol warming the blood, the opposite is true — it reduces body temperature. I was getting cold. Finally, my boo gave me an interval to be able to tell him that I “really wanted to be alone with him” — more than likely in those selfsame words, or fewer — implying that I needed him to fuck me. He understood. This guy was exceptional, incredible. Most talk too much, but he was of few words. He explained to me, in brevity, that he lived only a five-minute stroll from the house party and asked me if I wanted to go there with him. I answered, “Yes," with as much sincerity and solemnity as I could muster from my drunken state. He put his arm around me, said some hazy farewells and valedictions to his associates, and lead me from the property.
XII
The eve had turned late, at least according to whatever Pecksniffian condescender declared that 'when the sun is down, then it should be deemed by us as such.' I didn't know the exact time, but as long as I'd lived with Time, it had to have been at least after 23:00. It was a peaceful walk, lit by the scattered lamps on the road and the city's glow and hum. Not a lot was spoken between him and me, though I remember trading compliments and informing him of how much I was looking forward to this.
We were enchanted by each other in the ambiance of the midnight that warded off the distant sounds of commerce, transit, and day-in-day-out hustle-bustle.
My other half had a sturdy arm around my curvy waistline, and a steady palm on my belly — my more supple touch sought to rouse him on his back while he did so. I was on his left side; I reckon it's the instinctive side of an alpha male for me to choose. It made me feel great; these fluttery butterflies in my head with his hold down there. I strived to stay as flirty and lewd as I could with my hookup. But mayhaps a more magical side of me gave a more devoted sort of touch to him, as plausible while in motion, as we neared wherever he lived. Maybe my caring touch hoped to sustain the comfort and warmth we had already shared at the gathering together. Perhaps it hoped to obtain more.
I can get a bit melancholy while on the sauce; it is a depressant, after all. I remember my touch carrying a gravity. Was my fling feeling it like it was? Nah, probably not. Regardless, my swooning and blushing from this tall and mysterious drifter, leading me to be fucked, may have evoked some facepalming drama. He had his arm around my waist. His hand pressed into my womb; it possibly jerked a tear in the corner of my eye or two. Maybe a little one. I can become very emotional when my guard is down like it was there; is that so bad?
I get this fucking longing to gratify another entity and receive something in return from it. It is kind of difficult to explain. Most of my frequented types did not give me this in return. I wanted to exploit some form of compromise — a chunk that was taken out of their armor by means I would hope to overhear during pillow talk, highs, trips, or something. I aspire to get a hard-ass such as this one with my arm wrapped around to open themselves up to me; make me feel meaningful, if not indispensable to them. Maybe then I would repay them by letting them see me open up — let them have a taste of what really flows through my heart.
Though I would find myself in similar situations shortly in the future, most of the liquor was subsiding by then; I only downed the one cup at the gala — granted, a large cup. The temperature had fallen, and I was freezing. I remember shivering and trembling, my teeth gritting, but this could have been from the looming plans. I will confess, I was slightly anxious since I knew what was coming. I was in this sexy rascal's grasp and heading with him towards the fabricated and murk unventured. It did not matter; it was a beneficial kind of worry, more of a therapeutic dilemma, or being in labor before childbirth — the kind that made me feel like a lady. I had to have been looking good — my heavy eyeliner to lose himself in; my myriad of long sable hair abound for him to stir and sway. He was treating me well. He had respect for me, and I knew he would not hurt me. I was fucking ready for this.
XIII
We'd reached our destination. I had deduced — all while keeping up with the tradition of oohing and awing over the immaterial and mundane on our way over — that the structure was a lesser idyllic sight, fixed closer to the street. It was more of a bungalow, with less of a yard in front — a bit of a far cry from the dazzling, bourgeois casa we'd trekked from in the minutes that felt like ages ago. But if it's Moolah I'm after, then they don't know me at all.
He took me around to the rear of the dwelling to unlock a door. The backyard was more spacious, only as I recall from the low level of visibility, it being past my bedtime. No moment was wasted going inside.
He closed the doorway. I heard the keys clank as they hit the kitchen counter. It was dim, save for a small tinted light seen in his living room — he had left it as such for us: dark. The curtains were closed. I heard a radio on low; 88.1, a jazz station — maybe to dissuade intruders? Or had he been planning something here all along? What space was there appeared to be well-kept, as if he wasn't home a lot — or when he was, he had a needy bombshell clinging to him as he did on this night. It had this atmosphere of order and neatness — that of an industrial and regulated one — a well-disciplined fellow. Though, it felt like a cozy and homey place to me, too.
I was only judging all of this in a brief instance because he turned to confront me. I gawked at him with a minor trace of hesitancy, as if I could not believe this was happening to me right now. He took me in his arms, and I melted into a fervent kiss.
XIV
You get out of me what you put into me. Most of the plights that I braved with men were pseudo and superficial. There was no real thought of affection from them. But this seemed offbeat. I was feeling it — the vibe and the passion. He was giving me everything he had while still being vertical with clothes on his person, and he was fucking good at it.
I don't know how long we were fondling one another or how we were veering towards the living room floor. As we did so, I understood that pieces of our clothing no longer wanted to be a part of the equation. I had my Beau's shirt off before we hit the rug. An effortless quintessence of a man was on top of me, giving it up to me, and I back to him. My top was still on, likely thinly sown and suggestive.
I must confess I had not been wearing a bra since that eventide when I left work. It is my habit to ditch a bra from my soma at any opportune respite I can get. I have claustrophobia, and they are so fucking choking and uncomfortable. And, yeah, what was underneath the required conduct and expectation for people to have raiment on their persona in Society was probably blatantly visible to the public, too — i.e., my voluptuous 30Ds. But why should I have to wear a bra on such a nefarious night? He already knew it, of course. His hands were well up into my shirt and directly applied to all that is magnificent back at the party. He had not seen them unfiltered yet, however. We were still kissing; necking; feeling each other up — making love with each other. Does this not seem like it could want to go on for an eternity?
My toned legs were wrapping around his back and pulling him in. I hugged him as close to me as I could. He touched me all over, was rubbing his hand on my shorts, right where I like it. Arousing noises were being born by me through concupiscence and pleasure. He stopped a moment, said nothing, only looked at me — my mood dazed and bewildered; my hair a scintillating and frantic mess, as he edged my top over my boobs. He paused another sec, and his eyes went wide. Nevertheless, he did not comment, and neither did I. Our facial expressions were our conversation. Maybe I would be getting another kind of 'facial' pretty soon. I looked at him and gave half a smirk with a feigned exhalation through my nose. He seized the meaning that I wanted this to proceed.
He smooched me all over my upstairs and became enraptured by the visage of my exquisite knockers handcrafted by God. I closed my eyes and felt hot inside as he did so, never ceasing to convey my profound affections to him. He was traveling further downstairs in his affections towards me. My scantily sported top, a fluorescent orange insert brand name as I hark back to, had been discarded — flung across the pad. Both of us still had our pants on, obscuring the most sacred and sought-after regions. His was all I was musing about; what kind of monstrosity would I have to tussle with here? I could only feel it confined to his pants — what I felt scared me and shortened my breath, made me bite a lip or two. I was so fucking aroused.
He was past my navel at this point; his tongue had been in there. My pants, still being equipped, did neither of us any good. It was time. He knew it, and so did I. He slid them down my legs and past my bare feet that draped over his shoulders. I have cute feet and toes, probably painted then. He saw them — before glimpsing at the shaven grandeur farther up, clearly conspicuous behind a decadent thong — and was not opposed to putting any part of me into his trap.
He did something like stick me in his mouth, and I did something such as stroke the excess of his penis in his jeans with my other foot if only to entice him — as is my intuition when an apex has my toes at his mercy. His blue jeans were indeed still present, and I would be giving him prompts to take them off in succession with my waxed legs spread for him. He did not succumb. He took his time and it was turning me the fuck on in the meantime.
My darling had skipped down several floors. He was now operating from bottom to top, inevitably leading to my delectable vulva and all points between — within and without; protruded and retracted. Would whatever animal that lay hungry in the foliage cause a prolapse when it sprung out to attack me? We — me and my pussy — had to wonder how bad this was going to be. What had we gotten ourselves into this time?
It was no tricky task for this specialist to maneuver around my slutty looking band of string and put his mouth on areas and orifices that need no introduction to Mankind. There was no excuse not to know the female anatomy in 2014. Like the rest of his touch, it was an intrinsic gift to him — the right amounts of oscillated pressure applied under my little canopy. All I could think to do was just lay there and deal with it, play with my boobies, bite my lip, look down in amazement and reverence and savor it.
This was a man who was not afraid or ashamed to go down on a woman. Evidently, this was about my pleasure, not his. I felt like a queen. He tapped his tongue right into my spot with my hand on his head whilst I was gasping in total awe of this hottie and pleading with him for it to continue and never desist. What more could a girl want? Everything was dripping in secretion, famished to have this panther make a meal out of us. His tongue in my box and on Dr. Grafenberg's spot was positively Awesome — I never use this word lightly.
XV
At this point, we had me moaning in agony for him, my legs trembling, and nerve endings bestowing euphoric bolts of lightning through my body. I was so fucking close, and yet, he paused. He brought my legs together and ditched the sad excuse of synthetic material that remained on me, leaving me in the nude. I do remember faintly saying to him, in helpless and perplexed excitement, “Let me see it, Daddy,” as if I had to tell this guy how to do his job. I could not help it; I needed it so fucking badly!
He took the sides of my arms in both his hands and elevated me from the floor. He didn't have to tell me twice when he stood to his feet. I got on my knees and put my hands on his legs, never forgetting eye contact — laborious as it was, to focus on anything but my prize. My mate had already trod well past the third base by now, and I hadn't even seen it yet — I would not malinger here. It was time for him to head for the home plate — the final sprint. He undid the button and saved the zipper for me. I'd waste no time keeping his briefs on, either. I wanted the shock from this to strike me — though slowly, steadily, and in all profundity, I gripped the tops to slide them down.
In exact, shuddered words of, “Oh my God,” as it lept out from behind the final barrier of cloth and fell from its weight, oxygen had been displaced in my lungs and replaced by another wave of an electrical current that detonated in my chest. I could not believe what I was bearing witness to here. Before then, I'd seen in propria persona what constitutes Perfect and Large dicks — these are not terrible items at all. But I had not seen a cock as colossal as his, staring me right in the face as tangible. This dude was Hung. How in Fuck's name was I going to manage this! He put the 'Well' in 'Well Endowed' in every literal and iterated sense.
My breath quivered, and all I could think to do next was to put my hands on it — yes, it required them both. I'm on my knees, naked and flushed, before this monument of a man looking down at me. He was petting my head and pampering my brown-black hair, encouraging and inspiring me. Fuck, I was hot. It just behooved me, instinctively, to begin the process of engulfing it. Need I go into copious detail here? I was a prodigy of oral sex — of any sex. The simple translation: I love fucking.
I heard his breathing go up and felt his grip begin to tighten. He didn't do anything brutish or obnoxious to me, only tilted his head to the ceiling to enjoy it. This delighted and satisfied me as I proceeded to go down on it further. I couldn't fit its entirety into the back of my throat, as diligent and persevered as I was, so I ran along its sides instead. I glanced up at him and sought his trust in me to put his nuts in my mouth — gently so as not to hurt them. One hand remained to stroke on his cock, the other wrapped around his leg. I closed my eyes and listened to his stifled groans from the fabulous head he was receiving. The erotic redolence of sex was in the air and affecting my anima. I felt both of our raised pulses; my own was crippling me. My heart could not beat any faster than it was; my body was ready to explode like a volcano.
I rose from my knees a bit to play with myself. I doubt he noticed me reaching down to rub my pussy and press a finger or two onto my asshole. I continued to suck his dick off and allow as much of it to slide down into my throat as I could. I was so fucking ready for this guy to vanquish us. How were we going to fit this? I trusted him to be helpful and patient; he seemed like such a nice and handsome gent.
We were communicating with each other only through our expression; it went without saying. Both of us knew what to do before the moment had arrived. My sweetheart saw me dawdling and hesitating with his circumference still in my yap and gently withdrew. He had his hand brushing the side of my adorable mug and went to a bended knee to lay on the soft carpet. He didn't have to signal me; tell me two times — we had already agreed upon it. It was beautiful and organic.
On my way back down to meet him, I gave fellatio for a moment longer, simply to show how much I cared and also to prep it for penetration. Then I settled my hands on his warm and naked hide and laid atop him, my comely profile facing his. My body was swollen in its arousal as I lay pressed against him, everything so sensitive in the slightest movement. My lover put arms around me; I was no longer cold. I was like china, but he was gentle, caring only for my comfort. I wanted to kiss him again for it, and now free in the nude with the thought of his lush cock eagerly waiting in the middle of my titillating legs.
My choice. An inexpressible joy that can only be comprehended while feeling the phenomena; two conglomerate bodies becoming a better and fuller whole. I felt like a part of this person. We laced hands, sought fidelity while entwined, and committed ourselves to one another. We withheld nothing. I felt safe; he would not harm me. I only go by my nature when I feel this fierce of a connection with my partner.
XVI
I don't recall any other specifics of our lovemaking prior to insertion. What I do remember about this night were the length and girth. We were going to have to take this slow; it went without saying as he caressed me, and I gave him whimpers and hints of how nervous I was. I was as ready for it as I would ever be; burning, drenched, and relaxed. His very erect Johnson was still loitering around the entrance to my pussy. No condom was involved — always a gamble, but he seemed like a well-kept enough chap to me. I took his hand in mine and guided it down my back to display my wish. I placed mine on his shaft and carefully prodded its head through my labia and onto my slit to squeeze it in.
Yeah, he was enjoying himself. I did not remove my cajoling gaze from him, either. It entailed some parted mouths, some blood-and-tears, some concentrated squints, and mixed cries of anguish and relief, but we slipped the tip in. Every part of my vaginal cavity was screaming, “No, don't do this to me, Mel! It's too big!” But despite her quandaries, this was working out for us. Notwithstanding her bitching and vanity, we'd managed it, hand in hand, side by side; we were in this together now. I began to acclimate to my man's ferocious size and take his cock like it was put on Earth, designed, and tent for my insides.
I did my utmost to have as every much of a blazing inch stretching me apart as possible. I dug my fingers into his chest and arched my back, going down on this fucking fire-breathing leviathan as much as I could stomach. Its master and ruler — its Neptune — only laid there with his eyes closed and head on the carpet. He had stopped touching me at that point. Was he just relishing in my depravity and my desperation to make this work? Various “oh gods” and “oh fucks” were forcibly ousted from my vernacular amidst each heavier land onto his column. My tits bounced up and down for his entertainment and viewing pleasure. How great does that sound?
Still, he lay there, hands behind his head like nothing was happening, and my determination to win over his heart didn't mean fuck all to him. I felt it striking withering blows to my cervix at that point, and a substantial number of fiery inches remained outdoors. I could not, for the life of me, adjoin his ball sack to my filled gape. I leaned back like I love to do and could not sit down on it all the way. It forced me to remain aloft, quite literally. This man was fucking huge — a cock to contend with a giant's. Enough said.
XVII
The challenging amount of size was negligible after some minutes of nurtured friction, slower plummets, and repeated grindings. This job was not without its complications. It's not kids' stuff; it's strenuous and taxing — this was not easy work, and Pussy and I were having our work cut out for us. There were pings of discomfort and pleasure, but eventually, I was landing on it in enough of a meticulous rhythm to begin to feel an orgasm in the making of such immense depth and explosive magnitude as I had never felt.
Its surface texture just felt so damn fine inside; words cannot tell. My membrane encompassed every pulsing vein and intricacy. Its foreign heat melded with my familiar — it accommodated the ache on the spot where I kept liking it to hit. I was getting comfortable, slicker from the continual reams in and out of my hole. It was getting a lot easier to endure, very rapidly.
The explosion, and my trip to it, would not be canceled. His cock was hitting the home plate, and then some. If any pain persisted as it broke through the gates during the relentless siege into my pink, I was ignoring it. It was too good to stop. I had no jurisdiction over myself at this point; it had all switched over to mental. Nothing else was relevant. God, can I get into it. I was getting ready to come all over Daddy's cock, and I was telling him so. He did not need to be apprised by me; he saw me getting close. He no longer just lay dormant but reciprocated with affection, put his hands all over me, and gave me the time of night.
The feeling of his acknowledgment, on its own, was enough to send me over the edge, then and there. I tried to hold out for as long as I could. Why? I do not know. Perhaps it was my pride. Maybe I didn't want him seeing how easy I was; or how much I was fancying him. I didn't trust myself enough to let go. It would not matter; he would force the orgasm out of me eventually, by my will or not.
Things were getting more vocal on my part; nothing said was being moderated. I have something of a terrible fucking lip, nihilistic as I tend to be. He began to pound into my body as I met with his — a synchronized love dance that has been going on between Man and his woman for quite some ti
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Help Meat (A Dystopian Tale Part 2)
Help Meat (A Dystopian Tale Part 2) · Fetish · Author's Note: I strongly suggest you read part 1 first so this makes more sense!
I am splashing over the rocks, my hands outstretched as I try to catch a fish. I have been on my own for two weeks, hiding during the day under clumps of ferns or blackberry bushes. My mother would not recognize me now with my tangled filthy hair and clothing torn to ribbons. I hiss as the river’s grainy water stings the cuts on my arms. With a lunge, I catch the fish, crouching to devour it as it squirms in my hands.
Men’s voices rise behind me as heavy boots crash through the brush. I drop my fish and dash for the forest, zigzagging through the trees. The dog is howling as it catches my scent. Sprinting for a tree with low enough boughs, I grab for a branch, dragging myself up as my legs kick the air.
Sudden teeth sink into my ankle. I scream as the dog yanks at me, its weight dragging me down. I land on my chest, air exploding from my lungs.
Hands grab at me as the yipping dog is kicked back. A knife is sawing at the remains of my shirt, ripping the fabric from my body. My bra is cut and flung to one side. The hands flip me onto my back and again the knife flashes. My jeans are pulled off, and then my panties.
Naked now, I lay sobbing on the ground. My ankle is bleeding. There is a sharp stab of pain when I try to move my foot. The man above me accepts a cloth from a larger man, pours water onto the fabric, and then bends to dab at my face.
“What do you think, John?” the bald man in the shadows asks. “Do we sell her for meat?”
Straddling me, the man tilts my head into the dappled sunlight. “Pretty,” he says at last. “I say we keep her. Bring me the tape, Brian.”
I writhe as my wrists and ankles are bound with duct tape. The men find a branch and run it between my arms and legs, each of them holding one end as I swing back and forth between them. Dangling chest up, I see a glimpse of red between the thick ferns, the men reaching a clearing where their pickup is parked. My captors yank out the branch and toss me unceremoniously in the back. I am manacled by one ankle, secured by a chain to the scratched bed of the older Ford. Then I grunt with every jolt as the vehicle dodges the road’s many potholes. The men have the radio’s volume cranked, raucously singing a song I’ve never heard.
I close my eyes, fighting for calm. I had watched from behind a rock as they had emerged unexpectantly from the trees to attack our camp. They had slitted my mother’s throat first thing, hanging her head down like a deer to open her up and gut her. My traumatized little sister had been taken away in the red truck by the sandy haired man—while the bald one remained behind to carefully skin and behead my mother. Then taking up his ax, he dismembered her casually as though he was chopping wood. By the time the smaller man returned alone in the truck, my mother’s torso was roasted crisp, suspended on a spit about a foot above a fire. The two men had seated themselves close to the dripping meat, carving with their knives the flesh from my mother’s limbs.
I lingered nearby, hating to leave the last place I had seen my mother. The men had busied themselves the following day with wrapping up the meat. Then one of them spied my footprints on his way to the river.
For two weeks they hunt me—two whole weeks that I managed to avoid capture. But then they bought a dog.
The men stop the truck beside a ramshackle building. It is a hunter’s shack, yet these men are not poor, I realize, spying the fine-looking vehicles beside the cabin. Instead they are doing what was now a favorite past-time for men; scouring the forests in search of fleeing women and girls.
I hold my breath as the men disappear through the doorway of the shack. If I fight them, I die, I think.
The men pass the truck and stop beside what looks like a picnic table. I see them lay out a plastic sheet over the top, weighing it down with rocks on the ground around it. Gravel crunches as the shorter man approaches me. His taller companion is leaning an ax against the picnic table, along with a large tub and a bucket of what appears to be tools. A chill of dread touches my spine as the man named John frees me from the truck, then drags me down from its bed. Unsteadily I sway on my feet as John crouches, his knife sawing through the tape binding my ankles.
John gestures me to raise my bound hands above my head. As I do so he pushes at my thighs, spreading my legs. Without a word, he wets a rag in a bucket of cold soapy water, and then goes to work. As I stand there shivering, he washes every crevice of my body, not once but twice, returning with a second bucket of fresh water after the first darkens to brown. “You are a help-meet,” he grates into my ear. He empties a third bucket over my head, and then soaps up my hair. “That means you were made to please men. Got it?”
I nod, shivering. The sun is behind the trees now. Their hound dog’s icy nose snuffles at my anus.
“Why did you run?” Brian asks as he joins his friend. He is a bear of a man with a bald head and laughing brown eyes, his hands and body built like a lumberjack’s. I look away and stare at my feet.
“You killed my mother,” I whisper dryly.
“I am a man so that is my right,” Brian says. “Your mother was too old to take to the butcher. But not so old to waste. She was actually tender for her age. Her breasts, too, were very nice—too lovely to resist. Care to see what I make with them?”
I begin to shake my head, then catching his frown, I nod, fighting back tears.
The man grins as he unhooks a little bag from his belt and shows it to me. It is a small leather pouch, round with a protrusion at one end. “They’re easy to make,” he says. “You cut around the base first, then slide your blade just under the skin and up, keeping the tip inside. Then you ease it all the way around at that angle, all the while pulling hard at the nipple. The skin slides off all in one piece. I flip it over my thumb to scrape away the blood vessels and stuff. And look, it has no seams!” He turns the bag over. “I sell these at the club.”
John catches my chin and forces my eyes to his. “He could do that to you, you know. Your tits are certainly big enough. But it seems to me we could do more useful things with them; what do you think, Brian?”
The bald man barely glances up. “I agree that she’d make a good dairy prospect. But she’s not old enough yet. Besides, you’d have to breed her first.”
“Oh, such a chore!” John rolls his eyes. “No, I’m talking about keeping her for us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have milk on hand without going to town? Drawn straight from the tit is always best. Why not this one? With those glands of hers she’d be a natural. Here, let me check.”
He feels between my legs, his calloused fingers inserting themselves. He takes a sniff, rubbing his fingertips together to check the texture. “Could be she’s ripe. We’ll fuck her hard for the next little while and see what comes of it. If we can get her pregnant, that’ll bring on her milk once the offspring is born.”
“Whatever.” Brian rolls his eyes and snorts derisively, his attention on the picnic table nearby, and assembled tools. “You know this act of yours really gets old.”
“It’s never an act. Every single time we go through this I tell you the same thing. Only with this girl . . . I mean look at her. She could produce enough milk to get us through the day. For our cereal. Or cheese if we want to make cheese. Butter, pudding . . . Don’t tell me this doesn’t appeal to you.”
Brian stares at the sky. “Like we ever make cheese.” He pauses with a snort. “And what would we do with her later, hmm? You know, when it’s time to go home?”
“We’d cross that bridge when we get to it.” John shrugs and kicks at the dirt.
Shivering, I close my eyes.
“Well girl, in case you’re wondering, my name is Brian,” the big man addresses me. “Brian Dunahee, and this little dreamer here is John Scott, my best friend. We are your masters now—got it? You do what we tell you, and maybe we’ll let you live through the night. If not, I’ll stretch you on that table and gut you, too. What are you called, girl?”
“Amy.” Trembling, I nod stupidly as the two men half-carry me into the cabin. John takes a towel and dries me off. Then I’m stretched onto my stomach on the kitchen table, the men sliding me forward over the edge until my breasts hang down. Brian supports my shoulders as John crouches to measure each breast from stem to stern, then checks the circumference, with Brian scribbling his findings on a pad.
I tense as something hard and cold slips between my legs and into my body—stopping with a jerk several times as it’s positioned within me. More numbers are recorded, Brian’s expression intense while John scoots a chair close to the table. Sitting beside my shoulder, the sandy haired man raises my nearest breast into the light.
“Finely grained skin. Good heft, too. Heavy and dense, with a good plump nipple.” He kneads my breast hard, feeling the bumps and texture of the flesh. My captors carry me to the mattress and set me on my back. Spreading my legs, they raise them high over my head and secure them with ropes to hooks in the wall.
They stare unhappily down at my raised pussy. “I’ll get on it,” Brian says, hurrying into the tiny bathroom to grab shaving supplies and a roll of paper towels. He kneels in front of my cunt, sawing the hairs short with his knife, then lathering me up to shave me smooth. He pauses briefly to consider his work, then, spreading my folds widely back with one hand, he dries them off carefully with a paper towel.
John hands him strips of duct-tape to hold my pussy open.
“There.” Brian stands at last, his fingers stroking my exposed girlhood. “It’s just so much easier this way. I don’t like it when your body hides your cunt from my sight. I hate all that loose skin.”
Teary eyed and shaking, I toss my head, my face going hot as John shoulders Brian aside and kneels between my legs. The smaller man explores me closely, tracing the edges of my opening. He sinks a finger into me slowly, pressing upward against the roof of my cunt, then moistening my opened folds, moving languidly around the shape of my vagina. “If we keep this girl, Brian, we could do whatever we want. No brothers to interfere, or put it to a vote.”
“I know.” Brian crouches beside the bed to grip and pull on my breasts. “It would be cool if we could, that’s for sure.”
“Hey, you’re the one that started that club.” John catches my look. “We have a barn up on the hill,” he explains. “Started a gentleman’s group up there maybe a year before the laws were finalized.”
“Nine months prior,” Brian manages. Grinning, he releases my nipple with a slurp.
John shrugs. “Fine, nine months then. There are men like Brian here who just happen to love gore, who get off on destroying female bodies. Men like this serve a valuable purpose. They do the clean-up work that no one else wants to do. Eliminating the girls who refuse to fit in. You know, like runaways and such. Girls like you, for example. I bet if I asked you right now what is most important in life, you would not give me the right answer. You don’t even know what the right answer is.”
“Damn these tits!” exclaims Brian. He presses into my breast, kneading hard. “How big do you think they are? Double D’s?”
“At least. I told you they were nice for her age. She’d make a great milker.” John is prodding my exposed opening, poking in his fingers repeatedly to keep me wet around my pussy. “We have her bra; we can always check.” He inserts his fingers fully, stirring the moist flesh. “She’ll carry a lot of milk if we can get a kid out of her. Damn. That’s it.” He stands abruptly to unfasten his belt, his jeans dropping to the floor as he falls on me. I stiffen in shock, gasping in pain as his cock drives in. Screaming, I grasp for my bonds to free my tied ankles. Brian seizes my wrists and yanks them down. He leans heavily into the squirming tissue of my breasts, releasing his hold to press hard against me, his sausage fingers working my flesh like dough. John is thrusting vigorously now, his shaft inside me plunging deeper with every stroke. I shriek and claw at the mattress. Then abruptly John stiffens; grunting, he wilts above me, his upper body sagging as fluid spills from my cunt.
Brian releases me and climbs to his feet. He shoves John off me, then jerks up my buttocks with his hands. Smiling, he nuzzles my opened entrance, his tongue sliding deep into my cunt, moving lazily in a circle. He takes his time eating me out, sucking on my clit and pulling with his teeth. His fingers sink in; he bends to thrust his tongue between them; like a bee pulling pollen from a flower, he licks greedily, his fingers drawing more of my juice to the surface. “Not all girls taste good, but my god! I can’t get enough of this one!”
“Maybe it’s me you taste,” John says with a laugh. “You know I just fucked her, right?”
“No, this is girl, one hundred percent pure.” Brian runs his finger up and down over my pussy, playfully stretching my tight opening.
The men trade off, John mounting me a second time to lower himself into me, pushing in fully, then easing out.
“This is choice meat,” Brian says as he prods my buttocks. “She’s what, about sixteen? She won’t be worth a damn if we don’t harvest her soon. Aged girl is hard to sell.”
John is moaning, pumping slowly as he braces his arms, controlling his thrusts enough to watch his cock move in and out. Trembling under the abuse, a huge part of me outraged by this violation, I glare at the ceiling.
John stiffens mid-thrust, howling as he drives in hard, the volcano of his shaft erupting and going soft, throbbing gently within me.
“I’ll tell you what,” he manages at last. “We go through this every time, and every single time you get your way. I never get to win these little contests. You destroy the girl, butcher her for meat, and what do you end up with? You’re happy for a day or two, but then what? You’re always hungry for more.
“This girl has the finest breasts I’ve seen, and that’s without the drug. I look at her and I see months or maybe even a year of always having cream for my coffee, or milk for my cereal. But it’s more than that. Did you see how deep she goes? Did you look at the numbers you scribbled down? We can learn from her body, don’t you see? Practice on her. You say you can’t fist, well I’m betting you’re wrong. With this girl, I could teach you.”
“My hands are too big.” Brian growls. There is a pause as he stares between my legs. “Do you really think I could?”
“If you follow my instructions.” John moves to the kitchen to wash his hands. “She’s got the depth. All we have to do is get some width out of her. We have all the time in the world, Bri—many weeks or months to stretch her out. She’s ours now. You can practice on her all you want.”
Licking his lips, Brian crouches between my legs. His big hands press against my pelvis. He is tilting my hips toward the little lamp nearby, his fingers entering me tentatively, hooking at the sides and spreading my tissue. Grinning then he leans down, his mouth fixing itself around the rim of my vagina, his hungry tongue scooping inside me, drawing out my fluids. He sucks hard against my cunt, extending his tongue as far as it will go. I close my eyes, moaning despite myself at the sensations flooding through me. When I open them again, I see John standing behind him.
“I take it you’re hungry?” John asks. Brian grunts in his throat and lifts his head, creamy tendrils of fluid running down his chin. He inserts his fingers to spread me again, delight broadening his face.
“Look at that. She’s so wet!” Brian stirs my fluids with his fingers, the wet sounds filling the quiet room. Once more he dips down, his tongue swirling in circles as I raise up my hips. Smiling at John, he smacks his lips.
“Fine.” Laughing, John returns to the kitchen. “Get familiar with her body. That’s the one thing we must do. In the meantime, I’m hungry. Want a sandwich?”
Brian closes his eyes, his mouth open as his fingers dig into my cunt, the hands separating and turning. He hovers above my pelvis, stretching my opening wide at different angles. He pulls me toward him until my legs stretch taut against their fetters. Once more he buries his face, straining for reach with his tongue.
“You know,” John calls to him. “When you fist, your hand gets to go a lot farther than your fingers. You can reach down past your wrist—maybe even deeper with this girl. If her juices are what you like, there’s no better way than a good fisting to coax them out.”
“I’m too big to fist,” Brian repeats sadly. Nevertheless, he pulls over a chair and sits between my legs. I squirm, embarrassed and strangely aroused by the look on his face as he gapes me gently.
“That’s it,” John urges. “Explore her out. Feel inside until you know the terrain. If you want to gape her, use the top wall of her cunt as leverage, then slide in deep with fingers from your other hand and pull down. It takes some muscle but it’s worth it. It’s the quickest way to work large objects in.”
I try to relax as the big man makes the attempt, my body yearning for penetration as I stare at the wall. The fingers sink deep, the hand separating as Brian grunts with effort. “The top part’s hard,” he exclaims. “It doesn’t—”
“That’s what I mean; you use it for leverage,” John says. “The bottom part should yield readily when you stretch it. Did you feel that?” Brian nods, scrutinizing my pussy around his hands. “Good, that’s what you want. When you insert your hand to fist, you always want to angle it down, utilize that yielding lower wall. Same thing if you’re trying to insert something big like a bottle.”
John walks suddenly to the bed and sits down beside me. Flustered, I look away, staring at the wall. “Now you,” he begins, reaching to massage my loose breasts, “listen up. Enough with this hostility, please. In case you haven’t noticed, you can’t run down the streets screaming ‘rape’ anymore because nobody cares. The very concept of rape has ceased to exist. So what must you do to survive, I wonder? According to the bible, the most important thing in life for a girl is to please men. It’s in the book of Genesis, right at the very start. A girl is made to be a man’s help-meet. To be useful to men in every way she can.”
I am gritting my teeth, my nostrils flaring. “You killed my mother.”
“So we did; so what? Brian found it enjoyable. He found the butchering part enjoyable, the skinning part enjoyable, because that’s Brian’s thing. It’s not just pussy juice that turns him on. It’s internal stuff like blood and guts, and making his little purses. Your mother served her purpose well. Her meat fed me and Brian, plus five other men at a homeless shelter. What meaning have you found in your life, Amy? Here you have this opportunity tossed in your lap, and you stick your nose in the air. If you think you’re above us, think again. This is what I mean. Girls like you don’t belong. Girls like you end up . . .”
“Very bloody,” Brian says darkly. “Which is a shame, because damn, you taste good.”
I chew my lip, forcing myself to meet John’s glare. “Isn’t that something, though? I taste good. So don’t I have a purpose?”
The two men stare at me. “Yes,” John says quickly. “Absolutely—of course you do. But how can you please Brian using this skill? That’s what girls need to ask themselves constantly; how do I take this situation and use it wisely.”
I gaze into John’s blue eyes. “I’ll try; I promise. Please don’t kill me.”
John thinks for a moment. “Ok, for now you’re on probation. Brian wants to fist you, and I want to see you do everything you can to help him. We’ll untie your legs so you can get your circulation back. But then I want to see an active involvement into making this work.”
I cry out in pain as my legs are lowered, hastily massaging my thighs and ankles. John brings plates into the room and a pitcher of milk. I wipe my face and sit up, swinging my legs to the side of the bed as I reach to accept my plate. I avoid the jerky, remembering my mother. But the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are good, and the milk rich and frothy.
“That’s not your mother,” Brian says suddenly around a mouthful. “Not sure why, but this batch of jerky came out lighter.”
“More fat in the meat, perhaps?” suggested John.
Brian shrugged. “Could be, though if I recall, she wasn’t fat.”
“That’s girl milk,” John informs me as I wipe the foam from my lips. “You’re going to have to get used to these alternative foods. How long has it been since you’ve had milk?”
I think for a moment. “I don’t remember. I never really drank cow’s milk. My mom was into the healthy stuff like Almond or Hemp milk.”
I finish my meal and wait the men out. “So how can I help? I don’t know anything about fisting.”
“You don’t fight him, that’s how,” John replies. “You relax and enjoy yourself, or act like you do. By tensing up you make the process so much harder. You are now at the age of usefulness for girls. Be useful! This is a new world now.”
I stare at Brian’s big hands. “I’ve never had anything inside me before today,” I lie. “Now I have to fit that much in? It’s going to hurt.”
“Virgin to fisting in one day,” Brian says around his food. “It is a bit of a leap, John.”
The sandy haired man studies me briefly. “Ok, since you’re trying to be so good, I’ll start you out for him—get you ready for his hands. Sound fair?”
“Can you explain something to me first?” I ask in a quavering voice. “Why did this happen? Why are women suddenly slaves now?”
John chokes on his mouthful. “Not slaves. You were made from the rib of man, by men, for men to use, and to make men happy. Or at least the pretty girls were. Men are made by God and in his image. Girls were made by men. See the difference? Now, shall we get started?”
I sigh, moving the pillow to a centralized location on the mattress. Then I sit at the foot of the bed, lying back shakily, my head resting on the pillow. “Smart thinking,” John remarks. He pulls a chair up close and seizes my ankles. With one pull he yanks me slightly off the bed, then places my left ankle on his shoulder. Behind me Brian catches up my right leg and bends it toward my chest. “Hold that for us,” will you” he asks, and I comply, wrapping my arms around my raised knee.
“You see how she’s positioned, Brian? IF you want the lower wall of her pussy to stretch, you’ll need to get her ass off the bed first to give yourself the room. A pillow under her hips works too.”
Leaning over, John massages the muscles of my groin and pelvic area. He kneads my hard thighs and presses out the stressful knots. Then bending forward, his hand parallel to the floor, he tilts his hand palm up and slides his fingers in.
“Lie back,” he tells me. “And don’t think too much about what I’m doing. Brian, bring that flashlight and pull up a chair. You need to watch if you’re going to learn.”
Closing my eyes, I grip my knee and breathe in through my nose, exhaling slowly through my mouth. I am exhilarated by this attention—the sight of the two men staring between my legs as they sit side by side. John’s tenor voice speaks softly to his friend, explaining as he works.
“Down like this,” John is saying, “into the opening like you’re diving into a pool, and then slightly up . . .” A look of strain crosses his face. “There, see that? I had to lean into my wrist, didn’t I? Press downward, like this . . . see what I’m doing? Stretching that wall between her pussy and anus. Bear down and rotate in. Angle in, pressing against her here. Except I can’t go in yet because I’m only using fingers. But if I funnel my fingers like this—and tuck my thumb between them. Now see what we do.”
I draw a deep breath at the sudden tightness, the fingers rotating, rocking side to side and stretching my taut tissue. Knuckles grind against my cunt. “Amy, you’re trying too hard,” John admonishes. “Relax if you can. Visualize yourself opening.”
I nod quickly and turn my head, setting my gaze on a spot on the wall. The stain has a tree shape, reminding me of the branch with the one little bulb in the Charlie Brown Christmas special I used to watch. I close my eyes, my full belly making me sleepy. When have I last had a good night’s rest? I am . . .
My eyes flare wide. The weight of the hand breaks through and into my body. My cunt is wide around John’s wrist, fluids dribbling down my skin as John glides straight to my core, then drags back in reverse. John pulls out all the way and I see his fingers dripping, the smaller man curling them to show his friend.
“Watch again as I go in,” John says. “Down, twisting, lean to stretch, then angle. Right here. See that little give before I’m in? That’s the real bitch right there. Not the entrance to the pussy so much. It’s this second threshold here. Bypass this and you’ve mastered her body. But to get past you’ll want to utilize that lower wall. There’s a hollow just beneath with lots of room; see how much I can move my hand? That’s how you get around those tight muscles. Angle down, twist into the hollow, slide in. There! Level out and push! See how far I can go? She’s very deep.
“Okay, once you’re in, draw immediately back, “John continues. “Not all the way—don’t come out of her. You want to stop beneath those muscles that just gave you so much trouble. Now you take your time and press them out; make them soft. Cock your arm and press with your knuckles. Just enough pressure and twisting to . . . There, did you see that! The muscles just relaxed. Now watch as I slide right in.”
I lick my lips as the hand goes to town. John is fisting with vigor as he stands above me, his arm rotating as he reaches my cervix, then pulling out hard with a loud wet sound. “See how I angle my elbow as I work, changing speeds when those muscles start to tighten? Never hold in one place for too long. Keep moving. See, again toward the surface we find those very tight muscles. So we work them, pumping fast with lots of lube. Pressing those knots all soft again. There!”
He sits back in his chair, cocking his arms behind his back to stretch himself. “This is how we can pump her all night. We feel what her muscles are doing and keep adjusting our tactics. See . . .?” Seating himself, he glides in effortlessly, rocking in his chair as he thrusts in and out. “Like putty in my hands.”
I am trembling, groaning, my pelvis straining toward him as he exits, grunting as he thrusts.
There is a pause in the motion. Then larger fingers are rotating in. My pussy stretches wider, more fingers delving into my vagina, stretching me back as the thumb joins the rest. “Good,” John says. “You got this. Now lean as I showed you.”
I grunt involuntarily, my tissues straining. I try to relax, to find the tree shaped splotch on the wall beside me again. The big hand is yawning my pussy’s mouth, grinding hard into the tensing muscles.
“Dive in quick before she tightens back up and you unravel all my work. Good! Level out. Now push!”
“Oh!” The word passes my lips. I raise up my hips, my head flopped back against the pillow. The big hand forces me wide inside as it pushes in fully. Brian’s eyes are filled with wonder as he slowly draws out.
“I’m doing it!” he cries. “Oh my God, that feels good.”
“Yes, now keep going!” Facing me, John straddles my lower torso, his weight on his knees as he leans forward on the mattress. Pressing his weight into his hands he slowly and deeply massages my breasts. “You see?” he tells me as I writhe beneath him. “Being a girl has its perks.”
I am moaning as the big hand pumps me, filling me up and pulling me back. Fluids pour down my thigh, soaking the fitted sheet beneath my pussy. Brian pauses and bends to gape me with his fingers, his soothing tongue cleansing me out, gliding from cunt to anus. Then he’s fisting me, his big hand changing angles as he works, the force of his entry raising my pelvis off the bed. I cry out as I struggle, as John, pressing my breasts together, sucks my nipples into his mouth.
Bucking, I spurt from my cunt, my body quaking on the bed. Brian is wiping his face – licking his fingers.
“Keep at it!” John orders him. “The longer we go, the better.”
I scream fiercely and wild as the big hand stretches my pulsing flesh. Now Brian is pulling aside my opening on one side with his fingers, stretching me wide as his hand sinks deep. He stands and lifts me by one leg, forcing John to scramble from my body as I am hauled from my pillow. Vertically I hang with my right leg dangling, my upper body resting on the bed. Brian is grinning like a happy kid at Christmas, with John reaching in to gape me while Brian fists. I undulate madly as John sucks my clit, spraying both of the men again as my body falls limp. I am exhausted, fatigue dragging me down into a kind of fuzzy stupor. And still the two men work tirelessly on, the rhythm of the hands fisting endlessly.
I wake in the night to a darkened room, with light between my legs and the hulking silhouette of Brian’s shoulders. My folds are loose, freed at last from the painful tape. Brian is exploring at his leisure, swabbing me with his tongue. I grunt as he slides his hand into my aching cunt, his large fist forming a hard knot inside my opening. Rapidly he pumps just inches from the surface, leaning hard left and then right as he softens me. He pulls out with a squelch and cool air rushes in, my slackened flesh opened, relaxed. With two hands he spreads my cunt deeply from inside, then leans in to lick me out.
John is snoring from the bed beside me. I raise my hips, mashing my pussy against Brian’s face. He grabs my buttocks to support them, his head tilting back and forth to guide his tongue.
At last he sets me down and wipes his face. I groan and wish for more, my fingers playing with my clit.
“Tell me,” he says conversationally, flicking the flashlight on my face. “What made you decide to behave? Could you sense how we were planning to kill you? You are exactly the right age to butcher. I was going to carry your out to the picnic table after—to do to you what I did to your mother. We had the tools out there and everything. But then you had a change of heart. So what happened? We do this all the time. No other girl has done a one-eighty on us like this.”
I stop playing with myself to look at him. “You won’t believe me if I tell the truth.”
“Try me.” Brian is silent, the unwavering light on my face.
I lick my lips. “I wasn’t exactly a virgin, you know. My mom took us away because . . . she was religious and I embarrassed her. I like being penetrated more than anything. My mom called me a nympho, but really what’s the harm if it’s what I love? This though—I wanted to hate you for killing my mother, but you made me feel so good! All I know is I want this day and night, for as long as you let me live. I don’t want you to ever stop.”
Leaning between my legs, Brian squeezes my right breast gently. “John always says a girl’s body is meant for this. I guess he’s right.”
I am nodding. My laugh sounds silly in my ears, almost childish. “Definitely!”
“Well then, I shall indulge you.” Brian sits back in his chair, opening my folds with one big hand. He raises an oily-looking bottle, squirting lube directly in. Smiling, I lay back and raise my hips, feeling my muscles surrender as he eases in. The lube makes him slippery inside me, sliding like a fat eel in and out. He grips my thigh, the motion of his big hand effortless as he works.
“If you do stay,” he pants, “There’ll be days when we bring home a girl to butcher. You’ll have to get used to that.”
I groan between my teeth, my hips rising to meet his thrusts. “I’ll do anything to stay,” I tell him. “I’ll even make those little purses for you if you show me how. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do anyway? Help men?”
Surprised, he jerks up his head. Then he grins.
End of Part 2
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The Graduation Ceremony
The Graduation Ceremony · First Time · The Graduation Ceremony
I had been a high school teacher for 20 years, and in that time maintained a flawless record of professionalism. As a fit, somewhat charismatic man teaching all senior classes, I had encountered plenty of schoolgirl crushes during my tenure. Never did I even so much as consider, much less succumb, to the temptation of stoking those fires. Then I met her.
Eve was a high school senior in one of my advanced history classes. She had long, naturally blonde hair, played field hockey, and had a defined yet graceful build, striking blue eyes and a doe-like face. At first she was just another student, but a few months into the year, after her eighteenth birthday, she seemed to undergo a noticeable change in her behavior.
She quickly developed a knack for sitting in her front row desk wearing skimpy, loose shorts or skirts that barely reached the bottom of her ass cheeks. Seeming to know exactly how to shift in her seat, she became expert at crossing and uncrossing her legs to reveal the perfect, budding folds nestled within her panties. I did my best to discourage her routines by simply ignoring them, but that only emboldened her. Eventually it was not just difficult to ignore, it was downright impossible. I finally gave up trying to avoid seeing what she so desperately wanted to show me and instead thought maybe by virtue of staring directly at her she would get embarassed and retreat into girlish self-consciousness. But that's not what happened.
Sometimes she pretended to be unaware of my leering eyes as she pulled the leg of her shorts up and subtly adjusted her panties, just enough for me to see a soft, smooth labia peeking out. Of course, I could do little to contain my cock from swelling within my pants, a sight she clearly also enjoyed inducing. She would stare hungrily at my crotch licking her lips unconsciously, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. It was just a game and nothing more I told myself, and certainly not a new one: make the teacher who's old enough to be your dad as horny as possible and prove to yourself that you have sexual power over all men in the process. The only problem was that she was better at playing this game than any student I'd ever had, and the power she had over me in particular was growing every day.
She spent the remainder of her senior year visiting my classroom regularly, sometimes with friends and sometimes not. She made up new and inventive reasons she needed my help with assignments, even though the truth was she was one of the smartest in her class. One day the subject of candy came up while we happened to be alone together in my room after school. We both agreed that white chocolate, in addition to not really being chocolate at all, was also disgusting. Then she added, "I really like white cream, though." I cocked my head in a confused sort of shocked reaction. "Especially when you have to lick it and suck it out... I love it." I was unashamedly intrigued by her candor. Of course she knew exactly what she was saying, and doing to me for that matter. After all, she was an intelligent, beautifully blossoming woman. Meanwhile she was turning me, a 44-year-old married man, into putty in her hands- hands I was desperate to feel wrapped around the base of my dick, jerking semen into her mouth. A couple of her friends came into the room, relieveing me of having to respond with words, but she could plainly see that my hardening cock had already responded.
When Spring arrived she had to miss a week of school for a field hockey tournament. I found myself staring at her empty desk, and instead of being relieved that I didn't have to be distracted by her, envisioning her sliding her skirt up around her waist, spreading her legs and rubbing her clit as she moaned and brought herself to orgasm in front of the whole class. I knew I had a problem, and if she had been trying to drive me insane- it was clearly working. I laid awake almost every night thinking of her, jerking off and whispering her name.
A couple of months later, graduation was on the horizon, and teasing me continued to be her favorite pastime. How the other students didn't notice is still a mystery, but I was treated to almost daily glimpses of her pussy lips and ass, and she had even taken to going braless so that I could see her perky, puffy nipples poking through the thin tank tops she always wore. Part of me wanted the end of the year to come as quickly as possible and to be done with the constant, daily torture of temptation that Eve had brought into my life. Then there was part of me that felt like tearing her clothes off and stretching her holes until she screamed. That was the other thing she seemed to understand instinctively, that she was toying with the emotions of a grown man who had a big, fat cock that was aching to fill her pussy with cum.
Perhaps it wasn't all instinct, since she had blatantly been studying my bulge every chance she got. Sometimes I wondered if I was just imagining it, but then there were moments where she revealed her undeniable inner-slut. One day she caught a glimpse of the outline of my cockhead, no doubt thanks to whatever show she was putting on in the front row. She looked around the room and saw everyone occupied with an assignment, then stared directly at me while she placed her water bottle on her desk. She slid first the tip of the bottle in and out of her mouth, then ended up taking about half its length into her throat, all the while continuing to stare into my eyes.
I was mesmerized, but also confused since I had overheard a couple different guys she dated complaining that she was a "tease", and that they "couldn't even get a fucking blowjob out of her." Yet, there she was, simulating the act. It was only about 5 seconds, not long enough for anyone other than me to notice, but long enough to make my cock stretch out along the length of my thigh with pulsating agony.
Finally, the end of the schoolyear came, but not before I got roped into volunteering with the graduation ceremony. Against my better judgment, I had also agreed to giving her and a couple other students a ride to the rehearsal. I told myself, if I could just get through the next couple days, I could spend the Summer trying to bleach the memory of her from my mind.
When I pulled up Eve sprang from the front door of her typically suburban house and skipped across the manicured lawn wearing a trademark pair of her all-too-revealing shorts. She also made sure to drop her phone in the grass before turning needlessly around and bending over to pick it up so I could see her perfect ass cheeks. She flung herself into the front seat with a "Hi! Thanks for the ride!" and went on to explain that it was only her that actually needed a ride (her parents were both using their cars), and that she could get a ride home with one of her friends.
"That's fine. But I thought you had a car- a pretty nice one if I recall," I said inquisitively.
"Oh, yeah...it's like, not working right. I think something's wrong with it." I watched her out of the corner of my eye tuck a strand of her golden hair behind her ear.
"Oh, well that's good, actually," I said as I pulled out of the drive. "Because- I was actually planning on kidnapping you and taking you out to the woods." I couldn't believe my own ears as the words spewed forth. It was as if the primal part of my personality, which had been dreaming of doing exactly such a thing to her, had suddenly taken over. I glanced over expecting to be met with a look of disgust, but instead she was smiling at me, beaming in fact, from ear to ear. I smiled back reflexively and added, somewhat awkwardly, "That was a joke, by the way."
"Oh...okay," she said as she giggled and stared straight ahead. I detected a twinge of disappointment in her voice. Suddenly I had encountered yet another twist, one which actually made me feel guilty. But it was not for wanting to fuck her and leave her whimpering and covered in my semen. In fact, it was for seeming to dismiss this idea from her mind immediately after I had been the one to insinuate it.
I was trying to redirect her attention, but, feeling like I'd hurt her feelings, I ended up telling her what a special student she really had been to me, and how much I wanted to keep in touch after she graduated, or maybe even see her before she left for college... "Okay, like graduation night? Do you want to see me then?" she asked with a hint of girlish hope. "Like tomorrow night?"
"What do you mean?" I replied. "Like see you where?" I could feel my heart racing, barely able to remember where I was supposed to be driving. "At graduation?"
"No, like after that."
"Ok, where?"
She sang the words "I don't know" in a teasing melody. "Wherever you're gonna be... I guess." At that moment our eyes locked, and any secrets or doubts about what the other had in mind were completely washed away.
"Ok, then," I said. "Let me figure that out and I'll let you know."
The rest of the car ride was mostly awkward silence, curtailed by the palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Whatever feelings of guilt and loyalty bubbling to the surface of my mind were stifled and drowned out by the intoxicating thought of Eve's body. I stared at her long, tan legs and her hard nipples, only to feel her eyes gazing at my swelling crotch. What am I doing? I thought. Now I was in a position of either following through or coming off like a scared little boy to her. I kept telling myself the old adage that in the end it's the things we never did that we regret the most.
The next day was the ceremony itself, and I used the excuse of being a graduation volunteer to work out the logistics of my plan. A suite in one of the nicest hotels in town, all the necessary lies put in place, and all my tracks covered. My wife thought I was hanging out one last time with an old (nonexistant) colleague who was (conveniently) moving out of town. Yet, despite our conversation from the previous day, I was fully prepared for her not to show up. There was always the possibility that it had been nothing more than a game to her all along.
At the graduation she seemed aloof, not even looking my way. I was hesitant to find her afterwards, but soon saw her taking the typical post-graduation pictures with her mom, dad, and younger brother. She smiled nervously and waved me over, to which I complied. The last thing I wanted was to appear uncomfortable or suspicious, especially around her parents (who I was actually a couple of years older than). "Hey, Mr. H! Dad, take a picture of us." Her dad, clean-cut and of a slightly smaller build than me, smiled and shook my hand as her mom told me how much they'd heard about me- all good things of course- and how thankful they were for her to have had a teacher like me. After the photo, I casually slipped Eve the key card to the hotel, wrapped in a note with only the room number written on it. I figured if she was brave enough to actually go through with this, she was capable of getting herself there.
I tried to act as natural and disinterested as possible as we conversed. The truth was, I was imagining her mom, who seemed herself to be an older version of Eve, dropping to her knees right there in front of everyone gathered outside, undoing my pants and pulling my cock out with a smile on her face, then eagerly gagging repeatedly on it. I smiled curteously at her dad and imagined him resting a forearm on my shoulder, looking down at his wife and saying, "There she goes...God, you love that cock in your mouth don't you, honey! She's one helluva cocksucker, man..." Meanwhile I could see Eve rolling her eyes and folding her arms in a huff, yelling "Mom! That's for me!" Then it occured to me that if all went according to plan, my now former student would be the one on her knees gagging on my cock.
I searched Eve for the faintest glance; any indication she was still planning to follow through. "Oh, don't forget guys I'm going to that graduation party and then spending the night with Maya tonight." Her parents nodded in understanding, and so did I. As I walked across the parking lot to my car I just kept thinking to myself, Jesus, I'm going to hell.
I'd been at the hotel for an hour when I started to wonder if she was actually coming. I assumed she would in fact go to whatever party she mentioned, but my hope was that at any minute she would come through the door to the suite. After another hour had passed I had recreated every possible scenario. She was so horny she saw one of her ex-boyfriends and finally put out, or maybe she was busy getting every graduating senior on the football team's cock shoved into her. Or, maybe she just chickened out. Either way, the thought of her being gangfucked made me swell until the length of my shaft was hard against my thigh.
I stripped my clothes off and stood completely naked in the middle of the room, gazing down at my aching dick, stroking it with one hand and craddling my balls with the other. I sat down on the couch and slowly massaged my shaft, first with one hand, then with two. As I stroked rhythmically I could see myself in a full length mirror directly opposite of where I sat, and saw a man who wasn't in half bad shape, especially for his age. Jerking off while staring only at myself was something I had never tried, but even so I couldn't help imagining the back of Eve's head bobbing up and down while she kneeled between my legs, and the feeling of her soft, young lips slurping precum from my cock. I became so enthralled that I didn't even hear the key card slide in, or realize the door was opening before it was too late.
"Oh fuck," a familiar voice said. As the door closed behind her, Eve stood motionless, staring directly at my erect cock. Then, slowly, her eyes moved over the rest of my body and finally around the room. "Wow. That's um...wow, that's..." she almost mumbled as she walked towards me, my cock resting against my stomach, still throbbing on the verge of orgasm. "This is a really nice room," she almost whispered, as if her parents were sleeping in the next room. I took a deep breath as she slipped effortlessly out of her tank top and covered her breasts with false modesty, biting a finger nail and smiling mischievously as she did. She turned around and bent over as she slid her sweatshorts down, revealing her bare ass with no panties. She stood and turned to me as I sat on the edge of the couch, my cock hanging heavily. "That looks nice, too..." She walked nervously closer, looking directly into my eyes as I touched her perfect skin for the first time, caressing her hips and drawing her closer.
Her aroma was intoxicating, like peaches and strawberries, and feeling the softness of her torso across my lips was like an out of body experience. My hands cupped her ass, tracing the outline of its perfection and weighing each ass cheek before squeezing and gripping them hard. She squeeled as I began sucking and licking her nipples, which her body responded to with a quivering of her pussy that made her legs tremble.
My adrenaline rushed as I licked my way down her defined belly, into a small strip of blonde pubic hair, then slid my tongue across her warm, wet slit. Her juices immediately spilled across my chin, dripping onto my chest as her breathing became sporatic and sharp. I ran my tongue up against her clit over and over, flicking it and then sucking it hard, slamming her against my face. She let out a long moan and dug her nails into my shoulders as her body began convulsing uncontrollably. I then gently slid my finger as deep as I could inside her, which was not very far. Her velvet walls tightened as I continued sucking her clit, realizing for the first time, just as her pussy began creaming heavily on my face, that she was actually a virgin.
I lapped up her sweetness until she couldn't take it anymore, and it occurred to me as she stood panting with my arms around her waist that I had yet to even kiss her despite having her juices all over my face. "Oh my god," she said as I kissed her belly and hips. "I've never had one like that before. I mean, no one ever has...only I have, but not like that...holy shit." I finally stood up and pulled her against me, my cock stretching up against her sternum. I stroked her soft, golden hair and gently touched her cheek, drawing her face upward as I pressed my lips against hers and slid my tongue into her mouth. She kissed me back, opening her mouth and letting me glide my tongue against hers. "Do you like tasting your pussy on my mouth?" I asked her after a few minutes of exploring her mouth, to which she simply nodded obediently and licked her lips with her eyes closed. I kissed her again, harder this time, and gripped a fistful of her hair. Without warning she was pulled down to her knees, where I let my cock rest on her upturned face. A bead of precum dripped onto her forehead. "Have you ever felt a man's cock on your face?" She shook her head slightly. "Do you like it?" She nodded with embrassment. "Do you know what I want you to do now?" I said as I wrapped my hand around her delicate throat.
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"And what's that?"
"To...suck..." she trailed off as her mouth widened and her lips wrapped tightly around the head of my cock, looking up at me for approval.
"That's correct, Eve. Very good," I said, as if she had gotten a question right in class. It was clear she didn't have much experience, but her instincts soon took over. She began opening her throat to make more of my veiny, muscular organ disappear. After several minutes of guiding her and staring into her blue eyes, I said, "Remember when you told me how much you love that white cream?" I slid my cock from her mouth and presented my balls, which she greedily licked and began sucking like she had been practicing for this moment. "Mmmhmmm," she moaned, then stopped and looked up at me. "Yes, Daddy." As she went back to sucking my balls I guided her hand to my spit covered cock. Hearing her call me "Daddy" was enough to make me blow my load by itself, but I fought back the urge.
She worked my shaft with one hand and began rubbing her clit with the other. I shoved my cock back into her mouth and held her head in place, thrusting until my balls were audibly slapping against her wet chin. I felt my semen beginning to surge, begging for release. "I'm gonna cum, baby..." Moaning and gagging, she nodded in approval as I pulled my shaft from her mouth and began spurting. "Open wide for Daddy." She allowed her mouth to catch as many thick jets of cum as she could, while it continued streaking across her face and lips. She never once broke eye contact with me, licking her lips and giggling as my warm semen continued dripping into her open mouth. "Mmm. Thank you, Daddy," she said as I squeezed the last few drops into her mouth and watched her swallow what she had collected. Then I watched her open wide to show me what a good girl she was.
"God you look so beautiful," was all I could think to say. And she did, looking up at me with my cum all over her face. Just the sight alone was enough to keep my cock hard as she continued sucking the head and teasingly biting it.
"Thank you," she laughed. "I bet you really wanna kiss me now," she said sarcastically with a wink. But I pulled her up to me without a second thought and leaned over, kissing her passionately and tasting my salty, acrid semen on her lips and tongue.
"Mmmm, that's so hot," she whispered.
"Yeah?" I replied. "You know what's really hot? Losing your virginity with cum on your face, baby." She looked suddenly embarassed.
"Wait. How did you know?" She asked.
"Honey, it's not that hard to tell," I said. "Your cherry's obviously never been popped...but we can fix that." She had a nervous expression as I took her hand and walked her to the king sized bed.
"I'm a little scared," she said, to which I responded by turning her around and grabbing her firmly by the throat without squeezing her windpipe. "Good," I said, pushing her onto her back. Her legs fell open to reveal her perfectly shaped, firm pussy lips, moist and slightly parted. I kneeled between them as she propped herself on her elbows and watched me rubbing my cock just inches from her clit. She moaned and grunted with excitement, running her hands across her breasts as I moved closer and gently stroked the head of my cock up and down against her wet slit.
As I began pushing against her I could feel her body and hips pushing back, and the resistance of her tight pussy. I jacked my cock vigorously, watching the tip of my head parting her lips and then pressed harder. "Mmmm is it too big? I'm so scared..." I pushed it in as far as I could, until my cock bowed against her unbroken hymen.
"Listen," I said, "once I do this there's no going back..." she nodded with her mouth open and squeezed her nipples. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but I'm going to do whatever I want to you, and make you do whatever I want you to..." Considering I'd already blasted one load on her face, it hardly needed to be said, but she was, if only for a few remaining seconds, still a virgin. I tickled her clit with my thumb, producing a spasm of moisture around my cock.
"Yes, sir. Use me, Daddy. Please," she whimpered. "I want it so bad..." I shoved as hard as I could, both of us watching my cock disappear into her pussy as her hymen gave way to the warm rush of her inner walls. I began working it in and out, feeling the vice-like grip of her pussy lips as I tunneled deeper. "Owwwww...oh god! No no no...oh, yes. Are you fucking me, Daddy?" "Yes, baby." "Is this what fucking is...Daddy?" Her moans began rhythmically pulsating with the thrusting of my cock. I was making short quick strokes, pulling it almost all the way out and then pushing slightly deeper with each repetition.
"You're doing it, baby. You're fucking Daddy like a good girl." She looked at me full of wonder and awe, her eyes widening and squinting with my quickening pace. "It feels so big. You're opening me up." I put my hand behind her head and yanked her hair while I drilled even deeper into her. Her gutteral vocalizations mixed with the sound of her gushing pussy, and I began to see blood on the shaft of my cock. She saw it too.
"Am I ok? That's normal right?"
"Yes, baby, I just broke your hymen. You've been such a good girl saving it for me," I grunted, continuing to pound her. "I know. I really was saving it for you, I mean it, Mr. H." "Good girl." The fact that she was still calling me Mr.H made it hard to resist fucking her as hard as I could as I worked it in. "Am I a woman now, Daddy?" "Oh, yes. Daddy is definitely making a woman out of you." "I feel like you're widening my hips every time you push it deep." I began fucking her slightly faster until I could feel my balls slapping steadily against her asshole as she moaned with pain and pleasure.
She instinctively began rubbing her clit, which made her pussy tighten even more around my cock. Her eyes rolled back as her legs quivered and shook, and the warmth of moisture welling up from her pussy engulfed my cock in a flood. It made a sucking sound as I pulled out of her and slapped my cock against her clit, the juice beginning to erupt. "Mmmm, a squirter. Even better, baby." She spread her lips with both hands to expose her clit as I continued rubbing my head against it and slapping it, making her juices spray out of her "OH FUCK!" She began in a high pitched, long wail that sounded like she was trying to hit a note she couldn't reach. "Ohhhhhhhh fuuuuuccck!"
Her pussy began spouting fluid all over my cock, balls, chest, and legs. I leaned down and let it shoot in spurts onto my face and into my mouth, sucking her pussy as she laughed hysterically and grabbed my the back of my neck to shove my tongue into her. Then, after a few minutes of lapping up as much of her cream as I could, as if possessed, she slid down under me while I lay prone and took my soaked cock in her mouth. I felt her hands grip my ass begging me to fuck her mouth while I lay on top of her, which she could hardly take.
Gagging, she pulled my cock out and sucked on my balls, this time using her tongue to reach the base, just an inch from my asshole. I quickly turned around so that I was kneeling directly over her face, my balls never leaving her mouth while she obediently continued sucking, and then reached down between her legs and caressed her clit with one hand while rubbing my cock against her breasts and nipples with the other. I felt her tongue lashing against my asshole and moved lower so she could get to it more easily. She pulled my cheeks apart and rammed her tongue up my ass as far as it would go. "Oh, baby, Daddy likes that." I pulled her legs up so that i could get my face between them, then kept pulling until her little asshole was exposed. I plunged my tongue into it as she licked me, beginning to groan loudly. I was actually amazed by the flexibility of her body and how easily she could be bent into such a compromising position. She continued rimming me as I penetrated my tongue into her ass, alternating between twirling it around in little circles and jabbing it in into her hole.
The animal-like sounds she made urged me on. My cock throbbed against her torso, hungry to be stuffed back into her, so I finally climbed off and flipped her over. I pulled her effortlessly towards me and propped her ass in the air, her asshole still glistening with my spit. I rubbed my cock between her lips and shoved it back into her pussy. Having never experienced getting fucked from behind, I wanted her to know what it was like.
Her face still had remnants of cum on it as she closed her eyes and let me rail her, and her wet asshole looked as delicious as it tasted. I pressed my index finger against her ass as I continued throttling her from behind, then ever so gently slid it into her anus. She only fucked back harder. It was not as tight as I had thought it would be, so it didn't take me long to get two fingers in, still penetrating her pussy with my cock.
"Yeah- do it," she said, and I wasn't sure what she meant by those words, but part of me didn't care. I pulled my cock out of her pussy and thrust it against her asshole, spitting on it, then forcing my head into her until it disappeared. She grunted in a low, primal moan and pushed her hand against my thigh, then pounded it with her fist as I slid deeper into her. She screamed as I began fucking her ass with half my cock. She cursed and said a lot of things, some of which I could barely understand, but she never said "no" the entire time I was impaling her.
It was hard to believe she'd never taken a cock in the ass before, considering the way she was able to ride my dick. She would later tell me that she had resisted penetrating her pussy, but not her ass, but that she'd only managed to get two fingers in- nowhere near as fat or as long as my cock. But I was definitely thankful for her having had some type of practice.
I started to consider where to shoot my next load of cum as my testicles began getting tense. As they slapped repeatedly against her pussy, I had an idea. I held my ballsack out of the way with one hand and started fingering her pussy with the other. Shoving two fingers into her, alternating between my cock thrusting into her ass. I continued until I had hammered all resistance out of her and she seemed to go completely limp.
She was motionless, and for a moment I thought she had passed out, but then she looked as if she had simply broken. Tears streamed down her face as she began howling like a wounded animal. I stuffed her face into the pillow to muffle her cries and then fucked her even faster and harder. She sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed with a flood of emotions. But she kept bucking and pushing herself against me, begging me not to stop. "Yes! Fucking ruin me!" She screamed. "Daddy, you're fucking my ass, Daddy! Are you fucking me in my little ass? Oh my god, Daddy, I'm your slut...I'm Daddy's slut, I'm Daddy's slut..." Then she became almost violent and grunted through her teeth. "Use my ass! Use me! Fill my asshole with your cum, please, sir...Do it Daddy!" I could feel her pussy beginning to gush and squirt as she orgasmed intensely. My balls released a flood of cum, spurting deep inside of her ass at the exact same moment. "Oh my god I feel it...I'm still cumming!" She buried her face in the pillow and screamed again for what seemd like several minutes. I watched her asshole constricting around my shaft as streams of milky cum oozed out of it, then pulled out in one quick motion as she grunted, the rest of my load spilling from her puckering asshole and dripping down over her swollen pussy lips. She stayed on all fours panting for several moments, seemingly afraid to move. I simply sat back and admired the view.
Neither of us complicated anything with awkward conversation as we laid side by side, until she finally just said, "Thank you. I've been wanting that for a while."
"You're welcome. And so have I, so thank you, too. I hope I didn't hurt you."
She smiled. "No. It was great...I'll probably never be hurt so good again, actually." She sighed and ran her finger along my aching cock, then slid herself down and began kissing it, then licking it, then sucking the head as if it were soothing to her. A few minutes later she was fast asleep, my cock still in her mouth. I stroked her smooth, silky hair and drifted off.
In the morning I awoke to the sensation of her sucking the head of my cock and stroking me, semi-flacid. As I grew harder within her mouth, she bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically, wrapping her hand around my balls and raising them to where she could just barely graze them with her tongue while she shoved me down her throat.
I could see the first rays of sun peeping through the windows. I stroked her head gently. It was like a dream. Here I was, watching a beautiful sunrise while a beautiful girl, one day of high school, sucked my cock like her life depended on it. I relaxed, feeling the swell of what was sure to be another huge orgasm surging from my testicles, and then emptied any cum that could possibly be left in them into her mouth. I spurted in steady, thin streams against the back of her throat and could feel her sucking and swallowing my cum, humming in approval as she did. After she had sucked every last drop that could be squeezed from my head, she giggled and thanked me for breakfast, then told me she wished she could cum again but her pussy was wrecked and would probably need some rest. "I'm sure I'll be thinking about how good you taste next time I touch myself, though," she said with a laugh.
After we parted ways, the summer brought no more encounters with Eve. I did my best to go on with my life and play the part of faithful husband, telling myself my lustful vices had all been satisfied. It was a secret I sinply had to keep to myself, and hope that Eve did the same.
Once she was off at college, she broke the months of silence with a "Hi" text followed by a picture of her perfect, and now hairless, pussy lips. I responded in kind with dick pics and eventually short videos of me cumming on some of the pics she had sent. Our exchange went on for some months until our interactions waned and she eventually quit texting, which I assumed meant she had finally gotten a serious boyfriend. For all intents and purposes, it was over. Or so I thought. We both had gotten what we wanted, even if only for one night. Now all I had to do was live with it.
Hope This is OK...
Hope This is OK... · Erotic Couplings · I work 3rd shift, she thinks I'm staying over tonight, working a 12hr. shift. Truth is, I left early. It's about :20 after 2 am. I'm parked on the street, not in front of our house but down the way just a few driveways from ours.
Currently I'm pondering what it is I'm about to do. I'm either a deviant genius or demented derelict fool.
See, yesterday while she shopped, I made preparations. I left a basement window unlocked and barely open. On the window's frame a few dog treats rest. Intended to quickly quiet the beast, he's also the reason I parked down the street.
I also prepped the bed, using a Figure-of-Eight Hitch knot, I secured one end of a roughly 4' length of 18mm 3 strand spun polyester rope to each of the bed frame's feet. I then tied a Multiple Scaffold Knot in each remaining end which should quickly and tightly secure wrists and ankles. The length of each anchoring line should provide slack enough to toss, turn and writhe about, while lacking only inches from being necessary length to free one's self.
The last trick which I literally have up my sleeve. Is a beautifully constructed silken sack the darkest of dark blue just thick enough to ensure only darkness is seen through with a nice little spring loaded clip to lock the drawstrings good and tight. I think as blinding hood, it will be just right.
Ok, made it through the window stealthy as I could the dog barely growled before frantically snatching the treats I tossed all at once, then recognizing me.
I tip toe up the stairs to the kitchen and make my way toward the second stairway the one that leads to the second floor. Careful to skip the squeaky 2nd, 5th and top steps then, sticking to the far left side of the hall, again avoiding known faults in the floor.
I now stand at the foot of the bed taking in the curves of her body's silhouette, I love her so. Her shapely form turned shadow by the faint blue glow eminating from the television, the title screen to the music channel she's left on to drown out the nightly noises of our quaint little town.
Quietly, methodically I get to work, slowly sliding one Scaffold knot over her hand and drawing it tight but, not too tight. Her terrified tugging will cinch it fully. Like a hangman's noose constricts around a condemned neck. I work my way from corner to corner positioning each limb with 1/4" movements as not to wake her. The process goes quicker and easier than I had hoped.
Now for the final step of prep and the first step of either an extraordinarily erotic experience or an utterly epic fail.
Silk pouch scrunched and held widely open I quickly, and to my surprise, smoothly slide it over her head tighten drawstrings and secure with clip.
I promptly step back. Her reaction is slow, much slower than I had imagined, she reaches to remove the hood and realizes she's bound she pick's up one leg then the other after which she lies motionless for a long 5 seconds.
Then, all at once flails and starts screaming.
Shit, the screaming I had not counted on. Fast as I could I grabbed the T.V.'s remote turned the music channel to Metal, increased the volume to match that of her hollering and plop my ass in the chair that's always half covered with clothes, sitting there beside the dresser.
My actions cause her to freeze, then slowly turn her head. She's scanning the room for sounds of a person or person's I deduce.
Then, more flailing, this time no screaming so I lower the volume. Again she takes an audible scan of the room. I'm watching intently, my pulse and mind racing. Vividly imagining the potential steps to follow.
She attempts to sit up. I'm actually a little surprised at how close she gets. She rolls right, then left, both attempts she nearly reaches stomach and face down position but only with one arm awkwardly stretched across her back and her legs crossed. With the animation of a child's temper tantrum she slams all for limbs to the bed and loudly huffs. Again, she's still. I think the panic is giving way to reasoning and troubling thought.
She is wearing a nearly see through night gown I bought at Vicky C's her last birthday.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't erect.
I stand up slowly, grabbing the scissors from atop the dresser as I do. Her head pops up turns to face me and for a sec I swear she's looking right at me.
I say nothing.
Her legs are closed tightly her head still lifted off the bed and in a nervous and obviously scared voice she says,"Who's there? Untie me you Cocksucker!." Again flailing then hollering, " God damn it you let me go! Who are you? What the fuck do you think your gonna do?"
I step to bedside, her hooded head tracks me. Swiftly, harshly, I place my hand over her mouth, she half ass kicks and tries to swing fists. I shake her head a little and place scissor's edge at her throat's base. She stops fighting.
Calmly I let out a long exaggerated "Shhhhhhhhhh", then step to the foot of the bed, admiring how fucking sexy the scene is for a moment. Then I quickly get on the bed straddling her legs just below her knees and coincidentally the hem of her nighty.
She squirms and twists but her legs are locked there below my cock. She cusses me," You son of bitch get off me! Get off!
To which I reply with loud aggressive "Shhh!!" I place the scissors on her knee delicate fabric between blades I cut *snip* and advance onto her thigh, *snip* and a shrap nervous inhale from her, *snip*snip* now half way up thick, creamy white thigh she writhes frantically, with fear and anger in her voice she orders me, "Stop, Stop right now! Damn it!"
I say nothing. I make no noise at all, I simply place the scissors on the other knee *snip*she's thrashing wildly, grunting and moaning as she does. *Snip*snip* her struggling continues. I place the scissors in my back pocket. I grip the nighty on either side of the left slit and *r-i-p* the shock halts her tantrum. The reality of now being fully exposed sets in instantly. Also changing her hostility to humbled begging , "Please, please don't do this."
I couldn't be any harder.
I grab opposite slit and *r-i-p* simultaneously slippin my straddle over her knees pinning now trembling thighs.
She's scared, badly. I'm a bit scared too, because I'm so turned on and she's so fucking hot, I might need to stop before irreparable damage is done while my sick ass is having fun.
I hop of the bed she tracks my moves this time with an unlifted roll of her head. Again, I take a few long seconds to admire my work, her body and the fantasy we're now in.
I sit back in the chair and begin untying my boots. With a shakey voice she ask,"what's going on? What are you doing?"
I make no sound but toss my first boot as to bounce it off her thigh, she quiets. The second boot I toss towards her cooch. It lands decent, toe down heel up the outer nubs of the aggressive treads found at boots heel hanging off bald lips,
applying slight pressure, a discomfort to which her response is a sexy, swift inhale through closed teeth. I undo my belts buckle and begin pulling it loop by loop off my waist. The sound gives way to her head lifting and tipping as she strains to identify any and all noises that pass her lobes.
Folding belt buckle to tip I swing it through the air gently and clap belts loop across supple, sensuous breast's.
She barely flinches and remains sillent.
I do it again, with slightly more speed, straight across little pink nipples, her alabaster skin rapidly reddening two belt width stripes across her lovely, lovely chest.
Quiet, motionless I chuckle a bit internally as I realize this is her protest, play dead and offer me none of the usual pleasure inducing struggle.
We'll see...
Sliding pants and boxer briefs past knees to floor and after shirt is pulled overhead I stand at the ready. I cup her beautiful, bald pussy as a baseball player might adjust his cup slider to steal a base. Then, keeping hand cupped I mildly slap that clam first twice, then twice again, then with a little more velocity and force I slap that bald cunt once...twice she hollers I instantly cover here mouth and continue slapping that box 3...4..5.6mid swing of the 7th I bend two middle fingers at first knuckle planning to rub lips and clit and maybe excite her pussy enough get wet.
Shit, bet its already wet and my two fingers have already started the: plunge in, curl upwards, retreat then rapidly repeat cycles they like so well.
Removing my mouth covering hand, reacquiring belt and the finger fucking now halted.
*slap*slap*
Belt graces each thigh seperatly. Stepping to the foot of the bed I rest folded belt vertically down center of her chest, buckledropping towards taint as if, it too has longed to cup that shaved wet pussy for days, weeks, even months maybe.
I grip her ankles and pull. She slides till arms are lightly pulled against by taunt ropes.
The adjustment leaves her knees skyward, heels dug into matresses end while her taint and it's two fuckable neighbors sit maybe 10 inches from the beds edge.
Sliding the chair to a position directly parallel to that tantalizing twot. I have a seat, place hands on inner thighs with my thumbs I open pussy lips wide and pin them to her thighs
My first thought was to penetrate and tongue fuck her. But, instead I gently made out with her rather large and sensitive clit. Tonguing it, sucking it, licking it till I noticed how wet my face had become. Damn she came. I slap that pussy one mercilessly hard time. She squeels in a pitch that's new to me. Climbing on to the bed, then on to her I quickly, forcefully slap each of tits 4 or 5 times she's wimpering a bit but definitely submissive at this point.
Now I sit straddling her hips my dick flopped on her stomach just below her tits. If not for the slight trembling of her shoulders, telling me she's crying, she'd be motionless.
Her head is sharply twisted to the right, that is til I take hold and guide her chin, positioning it at center. She starts to twist right, I slap left cheek, she twists left, I slap right cheek. Again I grab chin and center it.
She appears to get the point and holds head steady.
Her whimper has turned more to light panting then anything. I take a moment to admire her slightly heaving bosom. Noting that hood is kind of sexy with it nearly black silky sheen contrasting her ivory white skin.
I then firmly place cupped hand over nose and mouth she pauses as if accepting it for a brief moment.
Then, the struggle ensues. She thrashes about, to no avail. I'm planted squarely over her hips, the ropes are doin there job splendidly, hand still firmly on face I lean towards ear and calmy,"SHhhhh, shhh Shhh".
She's out.
She lies there... still... peaceful.
Placing ear to chest, heartbeat's slow, but there. Removing hand reveals shallow but steady breathing rate. Wasting no time I slide my hips between milky thighs, my cock penetrates her still wet pussy and takes a couple slow deliberate strokes, as if lining up a billiards shot pulling the third stroke back till dick's tip is out but softly kissing lips.
Then with all the drive i can muster I ram hard throbbing cock to pussy like I'm trying to pierce steel. The moment pelvic bone collides with the back if those ample thighs, a gasping inhale of breath and she's back.
She's groggy at first, I haven't let up, I make every stroke as long and as hard as I can leaving no gap of time between times in an out that gap.
A dozen or so hate fuck style thrusts and she's alert, squirming and trying to counter the thrusts but, I'm on her like a bull rider. Her movements are limited by the ropes so they become predictable and I easily continue my pelvic assault much to her frustration.
I slow my attack. She slows her defense. I sense it's a break needed by both.
I'm leaned back now, wieght on knees, I press thumb to clit. She shivers a bit, in a counter clockwise motion I circle it. Using force but just enough, careful not to over due it. Occasionally I slip thumb straight over the top of now swollen and hard clit.
She's silently undulating her hips.
Then, as if realizing she had succumb, she's pissed! "Get the fuck off me, you piece of shit! I'll fucking kill you! Untie me mother fuc-KER!" The last syllable sounding unnatural. Shit, if we're being honest a bit demonic.
My response, slap tit... hard, as if bruising was my intent. Then, I grab hold of throat not bothering to center head, not necessary, my grip is good she's gasping already.
I'm repositioning already too.
I've released my grasp of her throat on the verge of pass out and rolled her over to her right. Which realy do the restraints means I've twisted her a bit. Her shoulders lack the slack to roll even a little. Her belly button has made to about the 3 o'clock position. Her hips just make it to verticle and do to the twisted crossing of her legs. I had to slide my outstretched first foot and leg through her legs like stepping through a vertical hole in a chainlink fence.
I'm there now, pretty dick in prettier pussy.
Straddling left thigh, her whimpering again I slap her tit then one after the other I pinch her nipples...hard and pull...hard then, slap the top of the two tittie stack hard, more whimpering, again harder, sniffling alittle coughing, again hard af I throw a quick palm across her cheek, for good measure, on my return swing.
Crying now.
I give her thick ass a hard slap too. Then start pounding the fuck out of her like before strokes as long and as hard as possible with jack rabbit speed and a firm grip on both her shoulder and that top tit. Pulling as much as my cock is drilling.
For whatever reason I'm suddenly aware of the animalistic, primal and somehow sexy sounds filling the room. A chaotic mix of cries, booty clapping, heavy breathing, bed spring creeking, palm slapping flesh cleanly.
Totally fucking hot.... Maybe ya had to be there.
Unintentionally and out of pure pleasure driven passion I blurt out, "mmmm D, Fuck! I'm gonna cum!."
Her body quickly tightens and freezes. I imagine her brain is recoiling, suddenly faced with the notion it's me and has been me all along.
I'd guess her mind is trying to systematically change every second of still freshly traumatizing experience into something acceptable.
I've slowed my pace but, still fucking giving it to her good. I lean forward, loosen The spring loaded drawstring lock and pull hood just high enough to reveal those lucious lips then, kiss her. She's tentative at first. In fractions of a second though, she's convinced and kisses me more passionately, feverishly than ever before.
I pull away from the kiss, "I'm gonna cum D!" I shout through now labored breathe as I remove the hood she blinks a time or two, eyes wide her mouth lunges and locks on mine.
"Oh, shit" I say internally as I feel her Kiegel muscle grip my dick like a python constricting on prey. I hold my cock balls deep. I'm one twitch from cumming when she grabs my bottom lip between her now clenched teeth. Incredible pain as we simultaneously release our lustfull loads. Both our eyes seem to be reflected images of our lover's eyes rolled back in thier head. With a mandatory couple slight tugs from her muscular little cunt and few involuntary twitches of my hips. She releases my now bleeding lip.
I can't say I didn't deserve that yet, still enjoyed it immensely.
I collapse half on half off of her now quivering body. We both roll a bit to straighten her twist.
I'm laying to her side cradling her head with both arms, kissing her temple softly between slightly panting breathes. With out a word she begins sobbing, so many tears, so much convulsing.
"I fucked up... shit...D... I fucked up, I'm sorry...D" I'm stammering, I am starting to panic, "D, talk to me...Are you ok?...Please say something"
And she says....
"How did you know? How did you pull it off? Fuck... I love you!
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