Archive for May, 2008

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part13

Saturday, May 31st, 2008

strokes and movement. I’d relaxed but the last couple of minutes started my

motor up again. He then went down and washed my sex, getting the hair first and

then making sure there were no stray drops of the cooking oil inside. I came

leaning back against the wall. When I had my breath back, he handed me the wash

cloth and told me that it was now my turn. I’m sure I grinned as I repeated the

procedure on him. The water was beginning to run cold by the time we were both

done. He dried me off and put my collar back on. (When had he taken it off?) He

lead me to the bed. I would normally have found something pretty to wear, but J

wouldn’t allow it. We both slept nude, or he did, I was after all wearing my

collar. It was a very odd night. Very sensual. He made love to me then, right

after we got into the bed, but he didn’t come (though I did). Then he explained

to me that my job was to service him whenever he had the urge all night. He’s a

very light sleeper. I don’t know how many times he woke up and took me or had me

go down on him, or flipped me on my back and licked me until I was screaming my

orgasm. I have no idea how many times he made me come. Sometime in the middle

of the night he came, his member buried in my bottom. Each time he took me

there, he would have me go and get a warm wash cloth and clean him off. Then

he’d have me go down on him until he was really hard and take me vaginally. In

the morning he came again, in my pussy this time. Each time he brought me to

orgasm. I was finding it easier and easier to come each time. It was as if

lifting all responsibility from me made me better in bed, or at least released

all my inhibitions and let me come more and more often. By morning I was actually

sated, tired but sated. I wondered about the day he’d have in srore for me.

I’ve gotten bored. I feel like I’m no longer talking about me and my experience

as much as I’m just offering you some titilation. It’s really difficult to

identify the specific occurrences on Saturday. So much happened. A lot of it was

J actually using me however and whenever he wished. He explained to me what a

pearl necklace was after he’d given me one. I’d never expected him to use the

tube of K-Y he took out between my breasts. When he spurted over my neck and

chin, he told me about that. I was naked nearly all day. His hands were all over

me most of the day. No pinch marks or anything like that, just a healthy

appreciation of my skin and that his time was limited. I came so many times that

my sides ached, sorta the way that they feel if you laugh too hard and too long.

Don’t get me wrong, it was a nice ache, but clearly we pushed our physical

limitations quite a bit. He pushed my emotional buttons very strongly too.

Normally I like to be the center of attention by being boisterous. He made me

the center of attention by making me quiet. He played a lot of head games with

me and made me love it. I served him breakfast in bed, of course. When he was

finished eating he had me go down on him while he finished his coffee of all

things. When I had him hard, he put his cup down and took me again, from behind

this time. He didn’t come then, but he made me, twice. J played this bizarre

game with me where he’d ask me questions that were extremely personal, like the

precise manner in which I lost my virginity, with graphic details. If I didn’t

tell him or if I didn’t seem to be telling the truth right away, he’d begin to

fondle me. He’d keep doing it until I told him what he’d asked. The bastard

kept me coming for what seemed like ten minutes, it couldn’t have been that long,

but he had this knack of being able to keep me right on the peak for the longest

times. I told him all kinds of things, the first time I had anal sex, all of the

occasions … well, you get the idea. We played that for much of the morning. He

did take me out, but that’s too complicated to go into now, perhaps later at

another session. The last thing he did Saturday night was probably the most

physically intense. He tied me to the 4 corners of my bed. Then he blindfolded

me. I had images of being tit-fucked again or of taking him in my mouth while he

held me down, of all kinds of things. He gave me a massage. At least it began as

a massage. Then it kind of evolved into something else. He stopped kneading my

muscles as much as he titilated my skin. He spend several minutes running his

hands up my thighs and down my stomach until I was ready to beg him to touch my

pussy, screw me, touch me, anything. Then he disappeared for a couple of

minutes. The next thing I felt, remember I was blindfolded, was him putting a

warm wash cloth over my sex. I knew what he was doing when he began to lather it

up. He told me that I needed to be very still and then began to shave my pubic

hair away. Now my husband and I engage in oral and anal sex, though normally

inside, so it wasn’t as if any of the specific acts were new to me. Shaving

myself isn’t something I’ve had to do or wanted to do for that matter. Somehow,

it felt forbidden and deliciously sexy to have him do it this way. He certainly

took his time over it, and while I suspect he wasn’t ever using the razor on me

while he did it, he did rub my clit a lot while reminding me that I needed to

stay still while he shaved me. That was fairly intense. When he was done, he used

a wet cloth to clean off the last of the soap. Then he went down on me, and down

on me and down on me. I lost count of how many times he made me come. When he

stopped, he put some baby oil on my newly shaved pussy. That’s when I felt there

was something he was hiding. After he oiled me, he used his fingers on me and

started me coming again. Then, I swear, he tried to see how long he could make

me come. He used his tongue, his fingers, his prick, then started over with his

tongue. He did it so long that I couldn’t catch my breath. When he untied me, I

was dizzy. He had to help me to the bathroom. He wouldn’t let me take off the

blindfold right away, but I did feel that he’d left a patch of fuzz on the upper

right hand side of my pubic hair. It wasn’t until I’d spend another night just

like the last one (I did make him come three times, once in each aperture as he

called it) coming maybe a dozen separate times myself that I got to see myself in

the light. I kept that heart shaped pubic patch for a couple of months after

that. Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to be going. I must say I enjoyed this

more than I thought. What? Oh, yes, I do re-do the heart from time to time…

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part12

Friday, May 30th, 2008

neglegently resting on my bottom. “I’m not sure I could unhook you and take you

inside quickly enough if you got your neighbors sufficiently disturbed. He

started up my right leg. I tried to bite my tongue. I HAD to bite it when he got

to the top of my thigh this time. He brought up the hose and rinsed off the soap

from my legs. He started on my bottom and back. He spend several minutes working

on them. I had this image of myself as a race horse being curried (is that the

right word) after a run through a pasture. He slipped down and did my arms,

ending up on my chest. He began to do my stomach and chest. It was quite a

sensation as he worked on my breasts. When he was done I was still quite, but I

was sure I was clean, there. He spent quite a bit of time working his way down

my sides with that sponge, doing my stomach, rinsing me off. Then he did my sex.

He dropped sponge after a moment or two and used just his fingers. He certainly

got the oil out. He also gave me one helluva hard time as I tried to stay quiet.

He could see how hard it was for me as I bucked against his hand. He’d been

sifting quite a bit so he was able to completely surprise me when he slid his

cock right into me. I grabbed the fence for support as he plowed into me. It was

so weird, so kinky, so arousing, AND I HAD TO BE QUIET. I came once, and then

again and I only let out a little moan the second time. Still it was wonderful.

He unlatched the cuffs and let my hands go free. He took off my blindfold, and,

as I blinked in the dim light, pointed to his still erect member. I dropped to

my knees as I thanked him.

Out there in the moonlight I was overwhelmed by sensation. I was sopping wet,

still fairly oily (cold water only does so much), on my knees and just oozing

sexuality. It was all over me. I’d been naked now for several hours and I was

outside that way, in my own yard. I didn’t care that I was naked; I didn’t care

that my neighbors might see me. I didn’t care that any of a number of very

awkward things might happen, I was not me any more, at least not just then, I was

woman as sex, not just as sex object, but as the embodiment of sex itself. J was

there naked as I was, sporting an enormous erection that practically glowed in

the dark. He’d had me, made me come twice, but he’d held off. I couldn’t have

that. I latched onto him like a hungry tiger, taking his erection into my mouth,

grabbing his hips, literally so he couldn’t get away from me, because it was

important to me that I make him come. He allowed me to work on him for a moment

then for a couple, then he tried to get me to stop. I held on for dear life.

After a few seconds he stopped trying to pry me off and instead grabbed my hair

and pulled me to him, forcing himself deeper into my mouth, erupting as he did

it. I swallowed every drop. When he was through (I made sure) he just hugged me

for a few moments, then very quietly he said, “You could become habit forming,”

and then hugged me again. He helped me to my feet and took me back into the

house. He lead me to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When it was warm he

put me in and followed. He didn’t let me do anything right away. He started on

my feet and lathered his way up to mid thigh before starting on the other one.

He repeated the process, soaping my foot and calf and about half way up my thigh.

Then he stood up and washed my arms and back and then took out shampoo and did my

hair. When he was done with that and I was all rinsed off, he washed my face,

pausing to kiss me long and deep. I could get used to being pampered, I told

myself. Then he soaped my stomach and my bottom, being VERY thorough. He did my

thighs and then worked up to my breasts and washed them with incredibly gentle

…End of the part12. To be continued..

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part11

Thursday, May 29th, 2008

was at full hardness. My nipples were hard and I was moaning. I wanted to lean

on something, but it was my kitchen and I was afraid of what the oil would do the

to the paint if I did. I wanted to keep the amount of explaining I had to do to

a minimum. His right hand continued to knead my breasts but his left hand slid

down my stomach touching every inch of skin it could until it came to rest in my

pubic hair. His hand began to stroke the outside of my pubes. This was driving

me crazy. I wanted to lie down and demand that he fuck me; I wanted him to put

his fingers in me, to touch my clit, to make me come. J kept up this slow tease,

bringing me higher and higher with each stroke, each passing second. I felt his

right hand slide around my back and grab one cheek. I wrapped my arms around

him, kissing his mouth and cheeks as he began to rub my well oiled clit. He

began to finger fuck me, but not in the way I’d imagined. He slid two fingers

into me in the back. His left hand continued to rub my clit as his hand took

full and complete possession of my bottom. Standing up, in my own kitchen,

covered with oil, J’s hand controlling my sex and my ass, I came. J held me until

I could stand without assistance. He got me a glass of water. As I drank it, I

began to really want the bathroom for more than one reason. J looked at me. “I

guess we should get you cleaned up, huh?” As I began to agree with him he took a

blindfold out of somewhere and put it on me. It was one of those sleep masks

that with two hole would have looked wonderful on the Lone Ranger. I felt him

clip a leash onto my collar and follow that with the click of my hands being

cuffed behind my back. Like I said, I really wasn’t prepared for what he had in

mind with the oil.

Have you ever been blindfolded and moved around? It is very disorienting, worse

even than walking in a dark room. When you walk in a dark room, you are making

the decisions about where you are going. Being led around makes it much more

difficult. I’m sure J took me on several extra turns as well because I was

surprised when the breeze hit me. It was a warm night. I could feel the wood of

the deck on my bare feet. It was well past sundown. We do have a fence that

blocks the view from the other houses, but there’s a world of difference between

taking your top off after you’ve looked around in the daylight and being blind

and suddenly finding your naked body on a leash outside. The breeze felt good.

He led me to a place on the fence that he’d obviously scoped before because he

was able to find it so quickly. The cuffs had some way of making the links

between them longer, and he used that to put my hands around a slat in the fence,

causing me to have to bend over. He shoved my feet back and apart and then left

me there. I mean, get the picture; I’m naked, he has this mask on me so I have

no idea of what is going on. If something happens I’m chained to my fence. I’m

covered in oil so I’m sure I looked like a refugee from a jello wrestling

competition. I can’t hear his footsteps on the grass, so he may be staring at me

or he may have gone home. I couldn’t decide whether I was turned on or freaked

out. The water that hit my back wasn’t all that cold, it was just a surprise. He

had brought up our hose and proceeded to hose me down with it. Then he begins

washing me with this large sponge. It was fairly soft, but stiff enough to make

me very aware of where ever it was as it moved along. He started on my left

calf. He worked his way up my leg, spending quite a bit of time on my thighs. I

moaned. I’d been moaning and yelling quite a bit up till he put the blindfold on

me, but that was inside. Now I was in this rather compromising position and I’d

started again. “You might want to keep quiet out here,” he said quietly, his hand

…End of the part11. To be continued..

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part10

Wednesday, May 28th, 2008

instructions exactly. He’d have me rub the surface or both breasts with the

palms of my hands, then change to touching only the nipple or to tweaking or

pinching them. Abruptly he told me to stop and to come to him on my knees. He

had me suck on him. I tried to use this to get him to be the one who was so

horny he was losing control. No dice. He had me stop again. He told me to do

one of my dance routines, just the way I was (wasn’t) dressed. He seemed to

enjoy that, but again he made me stop and come over and try and make him come

with only my breasts. I wasn’t allowed to touch his cock except between my

breasts. He kept me at that for quite a while, but as soon as I thought I was

getting somewhere he made me stop again and put me on the couch right next to

him. He told me to masturbate for him. This time he let me come. It was so odd

being next to him and not being touched at all as I reached orgasm. He took me to

the kitchen then and over the tile floor he placed a layer of newspapers and had

me stand on them. He handed me a bottle of cooking oil and told me to cover

myself with it while he sat back and watched me. I’m not sure what I expected,

but J was certainly exceeding my expectations. I certainly never knew where

oiling myself would lead.

Have you ever performed for someone on demand? Not necessarily like this, but

had someone said to you, ‘tell me a funny story’ or walk into a room and have the

teacher ask you to do a problem or show them a dance movement? It puts you off

balance. Even if it’s something you normally do well, being told to do it for

their entertainment and enlightenment is hard. I took the bottle from him and

poured some in my hand. As I coated my breasts I tried to be very sensual. I

wanted him to be sorry that his hands were not applying that oil. It was a silly

thing to be doing in any event and I found myself enjoying it. Using cooking oil

made it seem really ridiculous. I couldn’t help grinning. I poured come more in

my hand, set the bottle down on the counter and got some of the oil on both

hands. I did my arms and shoulders. As I got to my shoulders I brushed the

collar on my neck. I had to stifle a giggle when I thought of being in dog

collar and standing on newspapers. I got more of the oil and slicked down my

stomach and sides. I glanced at J. He was enjoying this too. His smile was

infectious. I turned around as I put oil on my bottom and on my back. I used

what was on my hands and then looked at J over my shoulder, “Is that enough?”

“Not nearly. Add some more,” J said in that quiet voice of his. I got some more

and put a definite sheen on my bottom. I then moved onto my legs. I coated the

thighs first, turning around the whole time to give J a better view. I bent over

while I did my calves, but kept turning around to show him as much of me as I

could. J seemed to be enjoying the sight a great deal. I thought I was done,

except for my back. I looked at J and said in a quiet, perhaps even a submissive

voice, “I can’t get my back.” J stood up, walked over to me, took the bottle from

the counter and poured a generous amount into his hands. I turned around and let

him have at my back. His large warm hands ran down my spine. He didn’t just coat

my back, he rubbed it as if he were trying to give me a massage. He got to the

bottom of my back and reached for more oil. He took some and began to work on my

ass. Again what he was doing was more like a massage. He did pause and oil not

only my anal opening, but after a moment or two of that, the channel inside as

well. This was becoming more and more interesting as it went on. J turned me

around and began to massage my stomach. The oil changed the way I felt J’s

movement. By the time he worked his way up to my breasts his half hard erection

…End of the part10. To be continued..

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Monday, May 26th, 2008

I’ve agreed to be totally honest about this. This is difficult because, while

I’m not embarrassed about this (If anything, quite the opposite) to do this

justice I have to be a great deal more explicit that I would normally prefer. I

prefer to flirt, both with men and with the details of my adventures. It seems

much more appropriate to say I spent the night with someone than to say

specifically what we did. I will try to overcome this as I tell you what

happened. If I seem to be skirting something, you have to be willing to interrupt

me with questions. I may evade, but I will never lie. Anyway, with that in mind,

the story really begins on a Friday night a few months back. The Chief, my

affectionate name I gave my husband, had some friends over. I was getting in

late from a conference and it was clearly his party. I knew nearly everyone

there, but they were his friends. I came in about 10:00 that night. I’d slept

on the train, so I was still fairly fresh. There they all were in the dining

room, playing cards. The Chief gave me a big hug when I came in and carried my

suitcase up to the bedroom. I washed my face and slipped out of my travel

clothes into the kind of thing I normally hang around the house in, a shirt of

the Chief’s and tights (white and blue respectively.) I’d eaten so I just nibble

at the snacks and watched them play. I stood or sat behind the Chief and one or

two of the other players seemed to have trouble focusing on their cards. I’d been

behaving myself for the past few days and this tickled me. Thinking to myself,

It’s all in a good cause (the Chief’s winnings) I would stretch or walk around or

occasionally pick things up off of the floor. They seemed to enjoy it and I

certainly did. Around midnight about half of the crew left and when the game had

gotten down to 4 players, I sat in and became a fifth. They were betting quarters

mostly and I sat down with around $20 and began to play. I was about $5 ahead

when I began to lose steadily. One of the other players ran out of money and

left. That had been the pattern. When you ran out of the money you had on the

table, you were done. This gave the game a quality that the Chief described as

friendly. There were limits on how fast you could raise, there were limits on

the number of raises, and what they described as table stakes. No checks, no

I.O.U.s, no big debts. The game had gone on for a couple of years, losing very

few players and the ‘friendly’ atmosphere was probably responsible. So, here I am

down to about $5.00 and another player went bust and left. I’d lost about 8

hands in a row. I started trying to bet conservatively until I felt my luck

change. That helped me outlast one more player who also left. It was about 1:30

in Saturday morning now. I lost all but my last dollar betting on a full house of

Queens and fives. It seemed like a conservative, safe bet, but here I was down

to 4 quarters. One went into the pot for my ante and I picked up a pair of

kings. There were 2 quarters in raises to me which I covered and I found myself

looking at a third king and two aces in my draw. I bet the quarter I had left,

the Chief raised one quarter (He’d drawn three cards) and J, the other player

raised one. So, here I was with a winning hand and nothing left to bet. Or was

I really down to nothing. I grinned at J, moved my eyes to the Chief and somehow

or other managed to say with a straight face, I’ll cover the pot with my shirt if

I lose.

The Chief was drinking something as I said. How he managed to not spray it all

over the cards, I’ll never know. He was close to losing it. When I say losing

it, I mean laughing, not being angry. He seemed to see this as just one more of

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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part4

Sunday, May 25th, 2008

fold between the thighs and the pudendum, tracks down each valley, rolls across

the bottom and up past the cleft to the top, where it rotates around the clit

like some tiny moon. My entire body undulates in response to its movements, my

moans becoming more and more frenetic. Finally, the enigma slides across my clit,

followed closely by his tongue and teeth as he stimulates me to close to the edge

— then stops again.

I cry out at the sudden loss of sensation, then lose my breath as my nipples are

touched, held, taken, pinched, and pulled. The change in intensity confuses me,

and my body arches in pain-and-pleasure and total overload. By my nipples I am

pulled upright, my head still tilted back and held immobile. He kisses me once,

brutally, tongue probing deeply, teeth clashing and lips bruising mine. I am

turned, his hands swapping to hold my nipples firmly as he seats himself then

lowers me down onto his lap. His hard-as-nails cock which fills me utterly, and I

almost come as I attempt to impale myself completely upon it. His adjustable

chair sinks under the combination of both our weights. With one arm across my

hips and left breast he forbids me to move, while his other hand creeps down and

starts gently rubbing and circling and inflaming my clitoris and driving the

tingles of orgasm through my body. I cannot contain myself — I scream with the

complete overload of my senses and the spasms of my body force me up and down a

little on his cock, the friction adding to the charges bouncing back and forwards

through my body.

As I come down, his fingers trace around my mouth and the taste of me on my lips

augments the endnote as my vagina spasms around his cock for one last thrill. He

is still hard, still ready, and still inside me, and he brushes his palms in

front of my breasts and teases their tips.

Then he leans over to the computer, still holding me on his lap. On the desk, I

see a mouse-ball — the enigma from before. He touches a few buttons, then leans

back and puts his hands in front of me again; the merest touch on my nipples a

twinge so intense I gasp.

I raise to follow the sensation, and the chair raises with the loss of weight –

but not far enough. I realise I am about to lose him from inside me, and stop –

but I’ve lost the touch on my breasts. My head is still held high, and in the

vexing seeing-and-not-seeing is another sense gone crazy. And in the background I

can hear another woman screaming. In a less-confused quarter of my mind, I

realise it’s me — he’s been recording me. Somehow the fact merely arouses me

more, and I am closer again to orgasm than I thought a body could be without

actually being there. The other screams stop, he presses a key, and I know he’s

recording me again. And instead of silencing me, the knowledge makes me helpless

to stop myself — my groans are more liberated (and louder) than they were

before.

Without him needing to do more than hold his palms just in front of my breasts, I

am driven into a rhythm of raising and lowering, seeking the animation of the

nerves at alternate ends as my nipples pursue the palms and my genitalia ride his

pistonning lap, courtesy of the pneumatic height-adjusting chair. In my

frustration, my groans rise rapidly to a succession of cries from the depths of

my soul, and faster than I thought possible, I am brought to another seismic

orgasm.

In sweaty fulfilment I lean back against him. “You haven’t come yet, have you?” I

ask.

“Not yet — you still have some work to do.” He lifts me up from his lap, the

chair rising one last time with an exhausted sigh. He loosens my hair, but keeps

my arms bound. I am pushed forwards, my front over the desk as he drives into me

from behind, pulling me back onto him in a rhythm both faster and harder than any

other used tonight. The change, and the pressure on my thighs, and the strength

of his need send me over the edge for one last, monstrous orgasm that coincides

with his own cries as we come together. He loosens my arms, and rests on top of

me, holding me. Gently, he bites my shoulder.

“Bravo” he says.

“Encore!” I whisper.

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part3

Saturday, May 24th, 2008

the screen. He then sits in his chair behind me, and starts running his hands up

and down the sides of my body. Gradually, his hands start edging around to the

front, where my breasts stand cocked and tender. Deliberately llingering, he

slides his hands up and around the edges of the breasts, then towards but not

quite to the nipples. The palms of his hands brush oh-so-lightly across the

nipples, and I lean into the sensation, seeking a more certain touch.

“Naughty!” he declares. “I’ll have to teach you to behave.”

He takes my plait, which hangs down my back to below waist level, and wraps it

around my wrists, fastening the end inside the belt. My head is tilted upwards,

unable to move or see what he is doing. One hand seems to be at the computer,

while the other roams randomly around my front, with no set purpose or

destination in mind — or are both hands there? I can’t tell — my traitorous

body is losing its ability to tell individual touches in the surge of stimulation

being provided.

Then he removes my undies (until now still modestly covering me) and starts

running his hands up and down my inside thighs, again avoiding the centre of

sensation. I start moaning — the suspenseful sensation is taking over my senses,

and my whole being contracts to the spots being teased and touched by his

fingers. Any time I try to move my thighs towards his fingers, he stops, until I

realise what he is about and desperately try to control my trembling urging and

listing and attempt to hold still. For another few eternities he teases and

torments, then with a whispered “Good Girl”, he runs the tips of his fingers over

my clit and along the slit, briefly outlining the labia and sparking the nerves

into unsettled activity, eliciting a loud groan from my tensed throat. Then he

stops again.

I am turned around and laid back on the keyboard of the computer. My hair is

loosened slightly, so my head lies straight, but I am still unable to see

anything below my neckline. My legs are around his middle, as he sits back on his

computer chair and contemplates my position and his assignment.

“Please — touch me” I beg, my skin acutely aware that the most minimal caress

will be more erotic now than many more carnal handlings later.

He shifts in his chair, his hands engaged in cryptic activities, his breathing

controlled and yet as charged as mine.

Then something starts moving over my skin. It’s cool, small — I feel like it is

leaving a trail of sparks behind as again my synapses start firing in response to

the sensation. It glides and rolls over my breasts, pressing moderately on my

nipples and standing them upright and quivering. Slowly it tracks over my

stomach, nestling briefly in my navel before continuing its journey south. I

raise my hips to meet it, wild with a frenzied need to identify the intruder. He

laughs low, amused by my distress and need. The object slides smoothly into the

…End of the part3. To be continued..

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part2

Friday, May 23rd, 2008

base past the coarse hairs to the tip, and start coaxing a response by licking

small tender licks around the head as it rears and presents itself for further

action.

He runs his hands through my hair, delineating the backs of my ears and the line

of my jaw. The jeans fall to the floor and I pull them away from his feet, as his

knees relax him into the chair, and he starts reaching for my breasts.

My hands start tracking towards him. “Oh no you don’t” he commands, and lifts my

whole body by my upper arms to a standing position, my mouth losing contact with

his cock. He holds me in front of him, leans me closer, kisses me with fire then

grabs my bottom lip with his teeth. His hands slide down my arms to my wrists,

which are suddenly held behind me by just one hand. He’s strong — I could escape

but I won’t. Can’t. Don’t. The teeth in my lip press harder, the sensation and

the association of the imprisoned arms sending signals my Pavlovian response is

helpless before. I moan as the endorphins start to take, losing track of what

he’s doing.

He’d taken the belt from the jeans as he lowered them, and it’s now being

fastened around my arms, restricting my arms and holding them behind me. He

releases my lip, looks at me with craving, lechery, desire… “Now go back to

what you were doing”, he decrees. I obey, gladly, dropping to my knees in front

of him and taking his manhood once more into my mouth.

I feel inspired, inflamed, inebriated by the changes in his body. His breathing

starts to catch as I apply my lips up and down the sides of his cock, then around

the top, brushing it as if with one long, absorbing kiss. Running my tongue

around the base, I start to trace the lines on the scrotum, then gently take each

ball in my mouth and let my tongue play with it as I savour the taste of him. My

tongue draws a thin line right under the sac, as he slumps in his chair and

abandons himself to the feeling. My nose precedes the mouth back to the cock, and

I then lick from bottom to top, finally taking the whole in my mouth and staring

the longed-for in-and-out motion he so desires.

I have to concentrate on not overbalancing without the use of my hands when his

hands gently come to land on the back of my head and urge me in a faster and more

intense rhythm. His groin raises to meet me, and he starts uttering small moans,

almost inaudible yet as clear to me as a summons to further action. I relax my

throat, and gradually work his thickness down as far as I can, as his groans

metamorphose into higher, almost distressed cries and he compels me deeper,

farther and faster. His cock becomes solid and utterly erect, and his whole lower

body is climbing to meet me — when he removes my head with an unintelligible

entreaty and slumps to the chair, sweating, panting, not yet satisfied.

“Not yet”, he gasps, then takes better control of himself. “Not yet”, he repeats,

“We have a long way to go tonight.”

He leads me back to his office, and stands me in front of his computer, facing

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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Thursday, May 22nd, 2008

“You still here? It’s after 6.” I dump my bag beside his desk, kiss the top of

his head and lean over his shoulder to check out the screen. Log files and

newsgroups — nothing he couldn’t have finished with three hours before.

“Yeah — well — there was something I needed to deal with.” He doesn’t even look

up, but continues scrolling through the latest figures. “Were we going anywhere

tonight?”

I can tell by the attitude that he has no intention of moving for a while yet.

Fine. Something needs to happen. So I make it happen. “Are we the last ones left

in here?”

“Yeah”

Right.

Shoes.

Shirt

Jeans

Bra — onto the keyboard in front of him (underwired). He finally looks

up, notices what state I’m in.

“Oh. Staying a while, are we?”

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it? I mean, you’re the one with the ever-so-important

work.” It’s really hard to keep the voice to irony-level. “Got anything

interesting off the newsgroups?”

“Just the Tommy Lee and Pamela vids.” He leads me out to the reception area,

where a high-edged desk faces the glass front, protecting the occupant from

ill-timed glances. There, under cover of the desk, he fires up the PC and loads

those videos.

And watches. And watches. And watches. Hmmm — not funny any more. “So, do you

like what she’s doing to him?”

“Oh, it looks all right.”

“Would you like me to do that to you?” And I go down to my knees and undo his

jeans. His cock, half erect already, is trying to escape the boxer shorts, so the

least I can do is encourage it with my lips. And tongue. And I gently send the

tip of that same tongue all along the bottom of it, tracing the ridge from the

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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part3

Wednesday, May 21st, 2008

else? What are you, an idiot? “She just left, I think. Man, you really missed

it… She was truly butterscotch.” “Butterscotch” was our term for a seriously

hot woman. “Aw, too bad. I have a customer, I have to go. But don’t forget to

make a closing announcement in a couple of minutes.” Crap, I thought, as I

glanced at a clock and realized the time. The store would be closing in twenty

minutes. “No problem,” I said, and hung up. Fortunately, I’d finished most of

the closing procedures and had little to do before making the closing calls. It

was a few minutes early, but I went ahead and made the 15-minute announcement.

Halfway through, she reappeared, walking towards me and smiling. As I hung up,

she leaned forward on the desk again. “You have a beautiful voice,” she said,

biting her finger. I leaned forward again, and my nose caught the unmistakable

scent of a woman’s sex. I tried to suppress a grin and failed. She just smiled

and sucked on her index finger. “You really like being looked at, huh? It turns

you on that much?” I asked quietly. “Yeah, it does. Especially when cute guys

are staring… The kind I like staring at myself.” The full-bore force of her

look hit me like a baseball bat. “Aw, give me a break… I’m not all –” “Shhhh.”

She brought her finger to my lips. It was all I could do not to close my eyes

and suck her finger into my mouth. It reeked of her juices, and smelled divine.

“Don’t get uptight about it, just accept it for what it is. There’s lots of cute

guys around, but you’re interesting. And cute plus interesting, to me, equals

sexy.” My erection pulsed again as she stood up and twirled on one foot, her

skirt flying up just a bit. “Do you think I’m sexy? Or just pretty?” I closed

my mouth again. “Oh, I would definitely have to say you’re sexy. Very.” She

grinned and twirled again. “Very, very.” “Well,” she said, dropping into a split

on the floor, “do you like looking at sexy girls?” I nodded vigorously. She ran

her hands up one leg. “Do you just like to look? Or do you like other things,

too?” Her fingertips reached the hem of her skirt again, and teasingly brushed

it upwards. “I like all kinds of things,” I stammered. “But I like everything

about you.” Over the intercom I heard Jeff do the ten minute announcement in an

annoyed voice. “We’re closing in just a few minutes,” I said. “All good things

come to an end.” “Do they?” she said absentmindedly, as she brushed the skirt up

another bit. “Do they have to?” She looked up at me. “Nope, no way, uh-uh,” I

blurted. She laughed. “You don’t have girls flirt with you very often, do you?

Do you like it?” “I like it a lot. But I’ve never had anyone flirt with me like

you. You’re incredible.” She smiled and pulled the skirt up a bit more, bringing

her leg around. Now her panties were fully visible; I could make out her lips

through the thin material — was that moisture I saw there? For several seconds,

maybe minutes, my eyes traced the contours of those beautiful panties. But then

she stood up and leaned over to me again. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, any old

fart can look down my dress and get a thrill,” she said, touching the front of my

shirt. “But some guys I let see a little more. Some guys I let actually do

something. Maybe they can touch me…” She ran a finger over the back of my

hand; her touch was electric. “Maybe I can touch them… But that’s maybe,” she

said harshly, and she pinched my hand, hard. I grimaced…but nodded. “Maybe,

if you’re a good boy… But we’ll have to see.” She looked around. “Who checks

the bathrooms?” I startled, then replied, “Anybody who volunteers… I’ll do it.”

She grinned. “Okay… I’ll be the one you have to drag out, then. I’ll see you

in a few minutes.” She leaned forward and kissed me, easing her tongue into my

mouth with a luscious swirl I lost myself in, and then she was gone, strutting

towards the restrooms. I quickly made a five minute announcement, then walked

around the back of the store looking for stragglers. I found two, encouraged

them to find what they were looking for and buy it, and gradually made the

rounds, arriving at the other information desk. Jeff was hunched over a magazine.

“Are we clear yet?” “Almost. There’s two over in art; I think they’re hunting

for naked pictures.” “That’s always fun. I’ll go check the –” “No, I’ll do it,

I’m on my way,” I interrupted, moving to the restroom. I checked the men’s room

first and found it empty, then knocked on the women’s room door. “Anyone in

there? It’s time to go,” I said. I heard a slight giggle, and my curiosity (and

my cock) told me to go in, so I did. Opening the first two doors, I found them

empty, but in the third stall she sat on the toilet, one leg on the handicapped

bar and one on the floor. Her fingers were moving in and out of her bare pussy;

I could hear them slurping slightly as she did it, staring right into my eyes and

smiling. I stood there and stared as she masturbated, bringing her other hand to

rub her clitoris. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “Time to go?” she

finally asked. “Yep.” I didn’t move. She dropped her leg to the floor, and

grabbed her panties. With her legs wide open and still looking me in the eye,

she wiped her panties over her sex, even pushing part of it into her before

standing, walking to me and placing them in my hand. “I’ll be back to see you

soon,” she said. She pushed her body into mine; I felt her breasts rub

delightfully against me, and smelled her heavenly aroma. She looked fetchingly

up at me again. “But not tonight. I have things to do tonight, okay?” “Alright,

but come back soon, okay? I’ll be good, I promise.” “Of course you will, if you

ever want any of this,” she said, moving my hand to her crotch. It was hot and

wet, and I instantly moved a finger inside of her. She shuddered, but pushed me

away. “I’ll see you,” she said, and pushed past me and out the door. I almost

ran after her, but realized I had her panties in my hand. I quickly shoved them

in my pocket and ran after her, but she was out the front door. Jeff approached

behind me. “Damn, was that the chick you were talking about? Man, she was

fine.” “Yeah,” I nodded stupidly. “Yeah.”

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part2

Tuesday, May 20th, 2008

ever so slightly. “Guys stare, it’s what guys do when they see something they

like, right? Believe me, I know…” She was looking me straight in the eye, and

I felt like a bug on a windshield. But I bit the bullet; what the hell. “Yes, I

was looking. You are…” I groped for a word as her smile widened. “…very

pretty.” Her eyes widened. “Pretty? Well, thank you, Jack. You’re not too bad

yourself.” She turned again and bent over at the waist, reaching for something

on the ground. My gaze was traveling up her legs when I caught her looking at me

and grinning. “Yes, you’re very pretty.” I was totally losing my grip, and I

started babbling. “Yeah, I remember you and your friends… Me and my coworker

were looking at all of you, but I was mostly looking at you.” She straightened

and resumed her perch. “Uh huh. Don’t you think it’s, like, wrong to look at

women that way? We’re not objects, you know.” Her smile was so fetching, a

beauty to behold. Some women turn and hide their grins, and some are more bold,

but she took the cake. Her smile was a tiger trap I would have gladly put my

head into. I frowned. “True, true. But sometimes you ladies seem to want us to

look, right? Like you said, you know when guys stare at you. Obviously you like

it.” “Uh huh. I do like it. I like it a lot.” She squirmed a bit, rubbing her

legs together. “Sometimes I think I like it too much…” Mimicking her pose on

the desk, I bent forward and matched her conspiratorial tone. “What do you

mean?” “Well…” She bit her lip. “Sometimes when I get guys to look at me, I

get really turned on…” She paused. I didn’t say a word. “Sometimes I can’t

wait to touch myself. I mean, I can’t wait until I get home… Sometimes I find

a place where I can get away with it, and go ahead and do it.” “…Like where?” I

prodded. “Well, like the other night when my girlfriends and I were here… This

older guy was near me in a row of books, and he was holding this book like he was

reading it, but really he was looking at me… I was squatting down to look at

the lowest shelf, and he was looking down my dress at my tits.” My erection,

noticbly pushing against the front of my pants, pulsed at her words. I bent over

further, hoping to disguise the bulge, but she couldn’t see from where she was

and continued. “So, he’s doing this pathetic job of pretending to read, I mean

really staring, and I glance over and see his dick get hard. I mean, he was

really showing. So I stood up and made to go by him, and I ‘accidentally’

brushed my hand against his crotch. I looked up at him really sweetly and said I

was so sorry, and he practically bolted. I mean, I got this old fart all hot and

bothered –” She squirmed again. “–and that got *me* hot and bothered.” She

stood up and moved away from the desk a bit. “All he wanted, right then, was to

lift my dress…or this skirt…” She paused as she touched the hem of her skirt.

My eyes were glued to her fingers as she lifted it slightly. “…rip off my

panties…” I could see the barest hint of white panties. “…and fuck the shit

out of me.” I bit my lip. My dick was a steel rod, poking painfully into the

front of the desk. My brain wasn’t taking any calls, and my eyes were glued to

the gorgeous woman exposing herself. Suddenly she dropped the skirt and grinned.

“I’ll be right back,” she blurted. She turned and walked quickly towards the

restrooms. Realizing my mouth was open, I closed it and shook myself. What the

hell was going on here? Surely this couldn’t be legit. Was this some bizarre

trick by management to get me fired? Was this some weird setup by my roommate to

get a laugh? Thinking fast, I dialed my buddy Jeff, stationed at the other

information desk across the store. When he answered I spoke fast. “Did you see

that gorgeous redhead in the blue shirt and plaid skirt?” “No, I didn’t… Where

is she?” Wait a minute, my brain screamed. You want to share this with someone

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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Monday, May 19th, 2008

“Hi,” she said. I looked up. She was leaning onto the information desk at the

record and book store where I worked, and she smiled the perfect smile that

beautiful women do so well. Though it was late and I was a bit tired, I

immediately slipped into “helpful employee” mode (trying not to enter “helpful

employee staring at gorgeous babe” mode, at least not yet). Fumbling a smile, I

stood up from where I’d been hunting for a pen under the table, and tried to look

helpful. “What’s your name?” she asked in a bright voice. Not a question I’d

gotten before, and it threw me a bit. “Jack,” I answered after a second. “What

can I do for you?” She looked down. “Oh, nothing,” she said, flashing her eyes

back at me momentarily, before pushing back off the desk, turning to look at the

bestseller display. “What’s popular this week?” You, I’m sure, are popular with

everybody, I thought. I let my gaze wander over her slim figure. I turn into a

real pervert at work. The other guys I work with can get pretty raunchy, but I

had only recently become a real woman watcher, and this job had let me do that

quite a bit. Once I helped a girl whom I discovered wore no underwear; my

coworkers and I had fallen over each other waiting for her to bend over the racks

again. This girl, however, was a true beauty. I’m a sucker for a pretty face,

and hers had stunned me into near speechlessness: full red lips, deep green eyes

and short dark red hair. Now my gaze traveled over her figure, slim at the waist

flowing smoothly into her hips, with a high, perfect ass — “Well?” she said,

turning slightly to look at me. I almost jumped as my eyes jerked from her

cheeks to her eyes, which drew me in as she smiled and walked back to the desk.

She leaned forward. “Were you looking at me?” she asked in a low voice. I had

a great view of her breasts but I dared not look. Think, think. “Uh, yeah, I

think you had something on your back. Here, turn around.” She grinned and

turned, and I brushed some imaginary fluff from her lower back. “Some lint, or

something. There, it’s gone. Let’s see, what’s popular… Spice Girls, of

course, and James Taylor, Celine Dion –” “Those are crap,” she offered. “All

that’s good now is fuck tunes.” “Well, yeah,” I stammered, “there’s lots of good

R&B stuff out now, like Maxwell and D’Angelo –” “That’s what I like, stuff like

that.” She looked around. “Are you all by yourself back here?” I shrugged.

“Pretty much. We’re short-staffed, and only have a few people to watch this big

place. Everybody else is working in books.” “Hmmmmmm.” She turned back to look

at the displays. It could have been my imagination, but she seemed to stand so I

would have a great view of her incredible body. The bra she wore was slightly

too small, causing her breasts to bulge slightly in the blue t-shirt. The plaid

skirt lifted and fell as she moved, short enough to show off her tanned legs. I

was sure I was making a puddle of drool on the desk as I stood gazing at her.

Maybe old enough to be a college freshman, maybe not. Did it matter? On the

silk sheets in the bed of my heart, age didn’t (and doesn’t) matter much to me,

and the possibility of anything happening was pretty slim. My stupor was

interrupted again as she turned back to me and strode back to the desk. She

perched in the same position as before, giving me a teasing glimpse. “You were

looking at me the other night, too, when I was here with my friends,” she said in

a conspiratorial whisper. Then I remembered seeing her, dressed in a similarly

stunning green cotton sundress, with some other gorgeous young lasses. My buddy

Rob had moaned at his inability to run into such beauties anywhere but work as

I’d covertly gawked. Not as covertly as I’d thought, obviously. “Weren’t you?”

She was staring at me mischieviously. “Uhm…” She narrowed her eyes and smiled

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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part4

Sunday, May 18th, 2008

Steven sat down, staring again at the portrait. I went to the small bar and

poured myself a drink.

“One night, months after, I made love to Anna and in the very moment of ecstasy,

a realization struck me. There, in her eyes, as a giddy laugh passed over her

lips, I found the instant of beauty that is there, frozen into that infernal

painting. I left our bed almost as quickly as it is conceivably possible to

abandon a woman in the throes of love, and I rushed down here and gazed into the

eyes of the painting and I knew I was right. In the strokes of his brush,

Pandolf had broken my heart. Anna had shown him the ecstasy of her soul.”

Steven seethed with living rage and I looked again at the painting, almost

embarrassed to be privy to such an intimate view of the beautiful Anna. I knew

he spoke the truth, for while at first glance the piece seemed simply beautiful,

a glimmer of the delight I had, myself, witnessed in the climactic expressions of

lovely young women glowed in the face of the portrait’s subject. I shuddered to

imagine what Steven had felt, an outpouring of furious emotion that still burned

in him.

“I pulled the curtain closed and ran from the study,” Steven said. “Anna had

followed after me, curious to see where I had dashed off to, but I managed to

meet her in the hallway. Grabbing her, I kissed my wife with more passion than I

ever had before in all our years together. In the first moment, when I looked

into the glimmering black pupils of the painting, I had felt the anger and pain

that comes from the first blow of a poisoned dagger. Her lips seemed to mock me,

almost pursed in a hungry kiss. I wanted to tear the painting down from the wall

and destroy the canvas thread by thread. But just there, beneath the smooth skin

of her throat, I could almost feel the eager pulse of her heart. Her breasts, so

soft and warm, pressed against my chest. Her arms . . .” Steven stopped. I

looked away.

“I loved Anna more than I ever had. I couldn’t care if she had betrayed me

because it seemed inconsequential compared to the pain I would feel if I lost

her. I loved her madly, with every fiber of my being, for the rest of her life.”

Steven stood and approached the painting. “And I was right. The pain of losing

her was worst of all.”

I sat dumbfounded as I looked at the painting of Anna by Pandolf, and for the

first time, truly marvelled at the passion that could be contained within a

single square of canvas, covered over by globs of oily pigment. Steven sobbed

softly. I rose and put an arm around him, feeling the magnificent adoration for

this work of art he expressed with each convulsed breath. And with a glance, I

loved her, too.

“It was years before I showed anyone else the painting. He was an old friend and

a great admirer of Pandolf’s. He told me that this piece marked the transition

for the painter. In this painting, he said, Pandolf spoke a universal truth,

taking that final step beyond the personal truths that characterized his earlier

work. That Pandolf often spoke of a great piece he had sold and forever

regretted giving up. That my Anna’s was the one.”

I nodded. I had seen the face of beauty before. The painting held a

recognition.

“Anna told me on that first night that the painter had tried to refuse to give

the painting to her. She told him they had a contract and that her husband was a

lawyer and that if he didn’t give her the painting, there would be hell to pay.

Then she gave him two hundred extra because she felt sorry.”

“Amazing,” I said.

“She loved me,” he said. “You can see it in her eyes.”

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part3

Saturday, May 17th, 2008

It was a surprise.”

“I can imagine,” I said, astounded by the living sense I felt as I studied the

woman’s graceful lines. Pandolf, I knew, was one of the darlings of modern art,

and for once, I could bear witness to genius. This was a brilliant example of

incredible skill. “It must be worth a fortune,” I said tactlessly, thinking

aloud.

“I suppose,” Steven said. “It’s priceless to me.”

“Of course,” I said. “Have you ever shown it, loaned it to a gallery?” I tried

to show off some of the knowledge of standard art practices I had learned in our

work. Steven frowned and then laughed.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t shown anyone this painting in ten years.”

“Why?” I asked.

“When Anna gave me this painting, I was no patron of the arts. I knew a little,

could talk at parties about symmetry and impression, but when I first saw this

piece of work, I saw it as a husband.” Steven stopped to stare again at the

painting of his disrobed wife.

“I thought it was beautiful,” he said, “just as I thought Anna was beautiful, but

I also thought it was too beautiful. Do you know much about Pandolf?”

“No,” I replied.

“When this painting was done, his reputation wasn’t as much for being a painter

as it was for being a scoundrel. Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but I was

spending a fair amount of time at the courthouse and I knew about his scandals;

public drunkeness, vandalism, even petty assaults on stuffy art patrons. I had a

low opinion of the man as a decent citizen. What did I know about art?”

Steven left me standing in front of the painting while he went to a small

assortment of crystal bottles and poured himself a short drink. He downed the

brown liquid in a single motion.

“Anna was beside herself with delight when she gave me this painting and I smiled

and fawned and thanked her for her generous kindness, but the whole time I was

thinking about my Anna posed naked while this creature,” Steven paused. “Painted

her.” He took a deep breath. “It seemed an outrage, and yet I couldn’t accuse

Anna of doing anything wrong when all she had meant to do was provide me with a

monument to the beauty I worshipped. I loved her dearly. She shone.”

“And I couldn’t fault Pandolf’s work,” Steven said. “All art aside, it is a

magnificent piece. It truly captures the essence of Anna’s beauty and I felt

grateful in that regard. He accomplished a feat I could never in a thousand

lifetimes have managed. Pandolf drew out the very essence of my love for Anna

and immortalized the feeling on canvas. But then, the demons rose up within me.”

…End of the part3. To be continued..

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part2

Friday, May 16th, 2008

“What it really boils down to,” I said, pretending wisdom, “is that much of the

work that is being done in this country derives again from European influences.”

Steven smiled, distracted. He put down his glass and leaned forward, his high

brow slightly wrinkled.

“I don’t think we go very far describing an artist’s work in terms of

influences,” Steven said. “There is always an evolution of linguistic terms, so

to speak, but language is a living component of our expression. Substance always

triumphs over form, yet without comprehensible forms, the expression becomes

lost.”

I remember listening carefully, because I respected Steven more than anyone I had

ever known. Part of me had always believed the arts perpetrated a fraud, that a

conspiracy of critics and galleries operated to decide one piece would be

valuable and another would not. To me, a painting was pretty or it was not. The

rest sounded like poppycock. Yet Steven seemed to believe.

“I want to show you something,” Steven said and with my assent, he led me

upstairs to a large room I calculated to be his study. The south wall of the

grand space was almost entirely built of glass, windows that seemed to draw in

the broad reaches of landscape, the small pond, the gentle roll of pasture, the

distant oak forests and broad color-rich skies. A wide glossy desk sat poised

beneath the darkening panes, cluttered uncharacteristically, I thought, with a

dozen strewn volumes, piled open in a chaotic array. The east and west walls

climbed some thirty feet high with overfilled bookshelves, majestic old leather

bound tomes near piles of unkempt paperbacks. Steven approached the north wall,

where a curtain hung.

“Do you know Pandolf?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, laughing at the notion that even someone as generally ignorant as

I could fail to know of Fra Pandolf. “I mean, I’ve never met him, if that’s what

you mean, but his paintings are already worth millions.”

“He did a painting for me, years ago,” Steven said.

“Really?” I asked, quite amazed.

“My wife commissioned a painting, as a gift. Anna had quite an eye for artists.

He was just a local back then. I think she only paid a few thousand for this.”

Steven pulled the cord which drew back the curtain.

A large canvas hung on the wall, filled with greens and blues and sunlight golds.

The subject, only slightly abstracted, was a beautiful woman, simply radiant in

her loveliness with water bright eyes, soft skin, long sensuous legs and a smile

that almost laughed out loud. I smiled, pleased, knowing the treasure Steven

showed me was a very pretty picture.

“It was our tenth anniversary,” Steven said, his eyes fixed on the portrait of

his wife, Anna. “She posed without my knowing and gave me the finished painting.

…End of the part2. To be continued..

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