2 comments/ 5634 views/ 2 favorites Night Owl By: WorstExperienceEver I ended up in the place that nobody wanted be at the worst point in time without an alternative. There really is no other way to look at it. Only the "most fortunate" people have the pleasure of being my company at this gorgeous venture. More like a complete waste of space and a poor excuse of a dive. The people who sit next to me, drinking light beers and doing their "God, please help me" vodka shots all end up with the same story about how they got here. Bad directions. No, dear friends, but I'm sorry. That's not how you got here. You got here the same way I did. You played the hand you were dealt, lost, and cashed out with whatever dignity was left. And trust me, there wasn't any amount of dignity to be proud of when you walked into this joint. And it gets even worse. When the doorman opens the door and treats you like a VIP, your ID isn't checked, and your drink is waiting, you know you have hit rock bottom. Unfortunately, this was the life I lived. Family left me because I couldn't even remember my wife's name, and I've had so many affairs that it's a bloody surprise I can fucking stand up. It's all water under the bridge now. And that is the pleasure of my world right now: The pleasure of the bottle, and the benefits of a self-confessed alcoholic. The bottle never talks back, never tells you what horrible things you have done, and never bothers to bitch slap you when you walk back into your East-end apartment at 3:00 a.m. in nothing but your boxers. On the flip side of the coin, the bottle is that elixir that makes you feel better, laugh louder, and sleep better without and repercussions in the morning (quite frankly, I have no idea what the fuck a hangover is, and all these stupid 18-year-olds keep on talking about like it's a show bar in Las Vegas). And for some odd reason, I take a certain bond to what I believe alcohol really is: just a fucking beautiful thing. I was an ordinary man living a less-than-profitable life in a less-than-beautiful city with below-average people working bullshit jobs, so for the past five years I frequented a dive around the corner from my "beautiful" apartment. Hank dealt the drinks there, and only God knew how long the poor fucker had been doing so. By this time, his forehead looked worse than a cheap roadmap of Berlin and his hair made snow look black. Comes with the game, I guess. During the happy hour specials I have seen him serve a full bar and then some in under two and a half minutes. But he blended in with everybody: Just another day with no pride. Like every good decision, my night started at the dive. The honey-whiskey and root beer beauty in front of me was more than a super model to my eyes. It was the sweet nectar of resurrection, or so I thought. Hank's people watching skills kept me entertained since he could read people better than a sucker at a poker table. On occasion, he would have one "Uh oh," moment, and those were bad nights. The most recent night that bore witness to the famed "Uh oh" line was the same night that three college undergraduates joined me at the bar. Two little rich white boys and a sorority girl, obviously swooned by the ignorance of ambition and "chivalry." They ended up on the morning news in a twisted heap of steel that looked like their car, or what "should have been" their car. It was impaled on a traffic lamp pole with the sorority girl about ten feet away in a puddle of blood, one of her arms shaking the hand of the fire hydrant another 20 feet away. "Hear about our friends?" he asked me the following day. "Yeah. Bummer. Fortunately I don't drive," I replied, an ironic sense of envy coming through the terrible joke I just told. That was last month, and this evening seemed to take a turn for the worst when Hank sighed another, "Uh oh." Every bad decision, in my opinion, starts with a woman, and tonight wasn't any different. The minute I turned around, I knew she was trouble: long black hair, black eyes, and black eye shadow to cast a spell over her white eyes that glimmered with a hope of soul, though it was all too obvious she didn't have one. Her black blouse draped over her body and unwillingly kissed her jeans, which of course clung to every inch of her lower body, and slowly nuzzled into her leather boots. Aside from her arsenal of feminine curves and her nonchalant attitude, everything about her screamed, "Leave. Now." She grazed over to the bar, next to me, and sat down. Her nails, red with either vengeance or lust (hard to tell five drinks into the night), gently tapped the mahogany slab that held up the rest of her arm, and a good portion of my body. The more I got to steal glances at her, the more I realized that she didn't belong here, so I had to keep myself (body language included) completely uninterested: Glance at the TV, then the whiskey. TV. Whiskey. TV. Watch. Whiskey. HER! TV. Whiskey. TV. Watch. "How's the whiskey?" she asked, obviously trying to be subtle, by succeeding in an epic failure to do so. I choked, nearly spitting all that I had taken in, then looked at her. "Excuse me?" "The whiskey. How is it?" she asked again. "It does its job," I shot back, chuckling to myself. If Ms. Prim-and-Proper-Plastic over here is going to order a whiskey, put it on my tab. For all we know, Hank, this poor bitch shits hair clips and bottles of perfume. In fact, I don't hate to say this, but I will bet money that she does. "Can a woman be so bold as to inquire what you are drinking?" she asked, politely, if that's what you want to call it. "Regret," I snorted, "but most people call it 'whiskey and coke.'" "I'll take a... 'Regret,'" she told Hank, "actually, can you make that...a round." She didn't miss her cue to flash a cheeky green and wink at me, and just as swiftly as the appeared, she slid her drink over to me. Timing was everything since I had no idea that I had even finished the previous drink. I gave her the casual head nod of thanks and went back to looking at the booze and the TV. Hank rolled his eyes. "So what's your story?" she asked, obviously trying to start a useless conversation to get us both closer to the hell in which we were both doomed do go, but I wasn't having my salvation day anytime soon. "Don't have one. I got here the same way everybody else did: Bad directions." She laughed, taking a sip of her drink. I drank mine quicker than usual, trying not to waste the whiskey, but trying to leave. "You drink too quickly. You're killing the taste of the whiskey." Is this bitch seriously trying to tell me how to drink my whiskey? "What gives you that idea?" "You haven't put the drink down. You always stop midway, and then you take another sip, as if you don't know whether to let it sit or drink it as fast as possible. Let it breathe." "Breathe?" I thought. "Let it breathe? Whiskey is the only thing that keeps you alive, so drink it like a fiend and stop looking like a crack-whore clucking for a fix." "I think the whiskey is fine. It has all the oxygen it needs." I tried not to sound like an asshole, but I didn't have time to ponder over arguments about liquid gold. I'm not looking for a one-night stand. That was years ago. I'm about as active in this dump as I am active in bed, no thanks to my friend in the glass. "I don't remember getting your name, by the way." "My name? Ugh, so dull... so dull... Labels are nothing. It's what somebody is that makes that person something. You know what I mean? Forgive the redundant aleatoric philosophy but I do believe that there is some merit to the statement." "I disagree..." but that's when it hit. I knew something was wrong. My thoughts slowed to a standstill in my head. I looked down at the glass I was holding and noticed it fizzing. My vision started to blur and my tongue went numb. No crying for help. No trying to identify the assailant. I felt like I was about to grow wings and float to the heavens, if only they looked like rotting wood on the floor of a dive bar. I watched my head slam against the bar and my body soon crumbled to the floor. Fortunately I didn't feel a damn thing. The "bad decision" that sat next to me knelt down and put her hand to my cheek, smiling, flashing her perfectly straight teeth, looking at me and sighing, "I told you to let it breathe." "Waking up" would be the sugarcoated way of describing my situation. When I came to, I soon realized that I really didn't want any speck of consciousness. The only light in this regretful basement, or dungeon, hung from a single cord in the ten-by-twenty-foot area. The light's sorrowful omnipotence ominously highlighted my situation: my legs were spread below me, restrained by some sort of a clasp, leaving very little room for mobility around my ankles. Twisting my head, I noticed that my hands were secured in a similar manner, my wrists begging for freedom. Judging from these sensations, the St. Andrew's cross that was to be my "bed" had me perfectly displayed for my "friend from the bar," who had clearly been dressed ever so modestly in comparison to now. Her leather knee-high boots clung to her legs and massaged the black thigh highs underneath, which clung to the obvious straps of the garter belt. The tight leather dress that encased her body alluded to her dominance in the situation; the riding crop that crossed her face was her tool of use, obviously showing that she took pride in what she did. Black lipstick, eyeliner and eye-shadow all aided her façade: dominatrix. I chuckled to myself until I realized how good this bitch was: she had me. Naked. And the devious grin on her face held nothing back. "I'm impressed," she muttered, slyly. "I didn't expect this." "Expect what?" I responded. She got up slowly, the compression of her leather outfit echoing through the room. Walking slowly over to me, she stopped, and lowered the cold hard leather of the riding crop down to my cock, tracing it slowly as I twitched. "This," she muttered again. "I wasn't expecting something so...fruitful." "Well...ta-da." I understood the game. She was the queen. I was the pawn. At her will, begging for mercy, so the only logical thing was to piss her off. Or so I thought. "I'm sure you have figured out your situation," she stated, "and quite frankly, I don't expect you to resist. In fact, it would be in your best interest to comply willingly, and things would go much more smoothly." I spat on the ground in front of her, and my aim was perfect. My saliva landed right on her boot, spreading over the front and partially along the side. Her devious grin turned to a frown awfully quickly, her eyes, black and tinted, seemed to pierce through me, making me second-guess (I know, "ever so slightly") what I had done. "Bad decision," she remarked. "Was it?" I replied. The ensuing response was not a word, or phrase, or lecture. More like a symphony. A symphony of sounds that echoed through the "dungeon": a riding crop lashing the body of a less-than-intelligent individual who just so happened to do the right thing at the wrong time. Or so he thought. With every whip of the riding crop digging into my flesh, I then realized that this beating didn't hurt; it just was fucking annoying. The more she beat me, the more I got pissed. I wasn't expecting a night at the usual bar to continue on to Mistress "Bad Decision" and her sadomasochistic love affairs. Didn't matter now. It was a New York Times Best-Seller in the making, because it was fucking happening. "For a slave, you are certainly more stupid than you look," she spat. I couldn't help myself but chuckle. Are you serious? Did she just say, "slave?" "Sorry, Mistress," I shot back, sarcastically. "I've been a bad boy and I need to be punished." The symphony continued into its second movement, followed by grunts, screams, and moans. It wasn't too different from the previous episode, although as the marks became clearer it became obvious that this bitch was putting a little bit of some steel behind these lashings. When the beating stopped, I could feel the cold breeze kiss the rising welts, making me second-guess my attitude. "That's Mistress Jade to you, slave," she stated, "And yes, you have been a bad boy. And yes, you will be punished...severely. Any other questions before we continue?" The timing could not have been more perfect. "Uh...yeah," I replied. "Why did you quite your day job?" The comment was answered by another smack in the face from the riding crop. I think the point that she was trying to make was that this little charade that she was putting on wasn't a joke or a bum-fuck joke. She was taking this seriously. I would have been laughing, but quite frankly I was more annoyed than anything. "Seriously, you fucking bitch, will you cut this shit out?" I thought it would get her attention, and she smiled. Her response was to turn around and begin to remove her dress, peeling the leather garment off excruciatingly slowly. I immediately shut up and watched as the person who so eloquently put me through the most annoyingly awful world of pain stripped. I felt myself get hard as she let the dress drop, revealing her black lace thong, clearly soaked from her own personal excitement, and her loving black matching bra, holding her glorious breasts at attention. She walked over to where I was, bound and vulnerable to her every wish. When she got to me, she knelt down, taking the heat of me into her hands. After licking the tip in a teasing manner, she took it down like a porn star. Her tongue slid underneath my cock, making sure that it traced every inch of the underside. Her lips cushioned every detail of the rest of my cock, a feeling that could make velvet feel like sandpaper. I was in heaven: a dominatrix on her knees in front of me giving me the best fellatio I could ever ask for and more. Kings don't even live like this. In my world, at least. That's when my world came to a sudden end. She stopped and stood up. Looking into my eyes, she demanded, "Call me mistress." "What?" "I said: call me mistress." Her words were more metered and declamatory the second time that phrase came around. Part of me was begging for more of her fellatio expertise, but the other part of me wasn't going to let myself budge into submissiveness without a fight. It didn't take long for me to comply. One of her blood red fingernails scraped across my cheek and trailed down my neck towards the back of my head. It ran over the sweet spot at the back of my neck, and I exhaled in more of a shudder and less of a breath. "Hmm... I think I found your spot, slave..." she sighed coolly. The trail left by her fingernail was slowly and carefully traced by her tongue, adding a new level of sensuality. The more it roamed closer to that spot, the more I felt myself losing grip on what I wanted. Her tongue hit the spot and my body jolted as a moan escaped my mouth, much to my surprise. She stopped and looked back at me as if to embark on some snarky comment. "Slave likes?" There is a feeling that some people get when they don't know what to do or they lose grip on reality, and for me, that feeling was happening now. Your body tenses up, you feel like you are not breathing, you stare straight ahead of you as if a train is coming your direction, and you accept defeat. I have felt this feeling hundreds of times in hundreds of different situations. But this feeling right now was certainly a first. She had hit the one spot on my neck that could make me comply with virtually anything, and I had just given the fact away. I'd lost the game. "...Yes..." "Yes...what?" "Yes...mistress." "I couldn't hear you, slave." I took a shaky breath as the last bit of what I remembered myself to be disappeared. I looked up at her and stated, helplessly, "Yes, mistress." The series of events that follow can not really be considered "ideal" in the sense that, once again, I didn't "wake up." It must have been the poison kiss of my dear Mistress that knocked me out for a short while, but my restraints revealed themselves to be even more elaborate than when I had passed out earlier. Still naked, still on the St. Andrew's cross, still at the will of my Mistress, yet now I couldn't talk. Nor could I scream when that bitch of a Mistress though it useful to wake me by use of a studded paddle to the face. This was all thanks to the new device she'd put into play: the beloved ball-gag. It's all in good fun, I guess. "Morning, slave," she stated sarcastically. I thought I had only been out for a matter of minutes, but the added ball-gag made me wonder how much time had really gone by. She ran a fingernail down my chest. "You must be in dire need of 'release.' Well, if you are good, and do as you are told, you'll be thanking me and begging for more. All you have to remember is that if you shake your head, you obviously mean 'no,' and if you nod your head, you mean 'yes.' Understand?" I nodded. "Good boy." She had removed most of her clothing, and thankfully the gloves as well; the rest of her leather lingerie left very little to the imagination. She sauntered closer, her eyes not leaving mine, engulfing me in a trance. I felt her hand close on my manhood and slowly begin to stroke it. I could tell that this was a tease, but I exhaled deeply through my nose, closing my eyes, and let my idle body succumb to the pleasure. "Enjoying this, slave?" she asked coyly, a wicked smirk upon her face. I nodded. That was shortly greeted with the sound of a crack. And a sting. On my manhood. I screamed through the gag in terror as she drew the riding crop back again. I looked up at her and shook my head furiously begging her to stop. She grinned again, and the crack sounded. What had been pleasure had descended into a pain that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and I couldn't do anything to free myself. "I find that you are not accustomed to this, are you?" she inquired. I grudgingly shook my head. "Pity. You seem to be taking it well." I rolled my eyes. Once again, that was another gesture that was greeted by a crack and a sting. I screamed again, obviously muffled by the ball-gag, which provoked an innocent giggle from my Mistress. I didn't know how to interpret that response until I saw her put the riding crop down. That was when I knew that it could only get better from here, as long as I obeyed. "You have endured a lot, slave. And for that, I am rather astonished. I think you should be rewarded, don't you?" I nodded cautiously. That's when Mistress got down on her knees. I was a bit weary on this specific gesture, but was instantly less weary at the feel of her warm mouth around the tip of my cock. I slowly closed my eyes again and moaned, as she slowly took every inch of me, her hand accompanying the fellatio. She released me from her mouth only to catch her breath, but that was only for a short while. When she went down on me again, everything from her full lips to her tongue felt perfect: the way they slid against my cock with perfect pressure and support, being careful not to miss any sweet-spots. All this triggered a bit of a sigh. I was in heaven, and my Mistress was treating me like a king. And with this type of treatment, I was silently begging for more every second. I was begging harder than any addict would, because this fix was the best drug I had ever encountered: my Mistress herself. The heavenly feeling of her mouth was cut short when she licked her lips and rose to her feet, relieving my mouth of the ball-gag. I moved my mouth around a bit, making sure I could still move it like a normal human being, and once again, I heard a crack. And it was followed by a sting. From her hand. To my face. "Trust me, slave: Your mouth is the least of your worries." I shook my head. Night Owl "You can talk now." "Fucking hell..." Smack. Sting. Her hand. My face. Again. "When I am talking to you, it is either 'yes, Mistress' or 'no, Mistress.'" "Yes, Mistress." "Good boy," she replied, pinching my cheek as if she were my mother. Unfortunately, that was an instant erection killer. Our positions were reversed as Mistress released me from my restraints and brought me to me knees in front of her, attaching a chain leash to a collar she tightened lovingly around my neck. Now I had gone from "slave" to "pet", or any mix of the two monikers. Without further ado, I was dragged like an unwilling, rabid dog towards the center of the dungeon, where a board with four rings stood, drilled into a cement base. After what seemed like an eternity of my leash being tied in the most elaborate way, I found myself naked on a cement floor, on all fours, with a chain leash tied in some sort of Celtic knot. I could tell she didn't want me to go anywhere, and it wasn't worth the risk of trying to figure out how it was done. A pain that I had never felt until that specific moment abated my curiosity. Unbeknownst to me, Mistress had brought out one of her favorite toys to play with: the beloved cat o' nine tails. The whip dug into my back as I screamed in pain, my body shuddering with every splintered sting. What was even crazier was the fact that Mistress moved down my back with every whip, and when she got to my naked, un-afflicted ass, my screams stopped, and so did her silence. I could feel myself getting hard again, and Mistress made sure that I was aware of her observation. "I think someone likes this, don't you?" she asked, the sarcasm so obvious you could cut it with a butter knife. "Yes, Mistress." I replied, obviously unable to refute that I wanted more. The whipping kept on going, and with every sting of the cat o' nine tails, I felt the inner primal urge of sex begin to spin out of control. Mistress knew this, thus she kept me where I was, and didn't stop. And when she did, I don't know whether it was sexual frustration or pure anger, but I was enraged. I heard something behind me, as if it something had fallen, and I turned around to look. Mistress stood there, her last remaining garments at her feet, her naked body open to me for the first time. She slowly walked towards me, and my trance wasn't broken until her lovely whip greeted my face. I was forced onto my back as Mistress deemed it fit to ride me. And that was something that I couldn't-and didn't- resist. As her warm, wet pussy engulfed my cock, I exhaled deeply. A subtle "Yes, Mistress," permeated the air as she started off slowly, taking every inch of my manhood. I groaned with her every thrust. My moaning was in sync with hers, and I slowly brought my hands to her sides. In one fluid motion, she pinned my hands over my head to the slab of concrete, shaking her head at me. I guess I should have known better. She increased her pace, and I tried to match it. With every thrust came either a kiss or a bite, which revealed that I was not a pet anymore. Another transformation had taken place, and it seemed I had graduated from "pet" to "toy." It was something that really didn't bother me for obvious reasons, and something that I think Mistress needed. Based on that logic, I thrusted into her as she rode me, causing her back to arch and her chest to pull forward. The tease was more than necessary to get an orgasm building, so I went harder. As the orgasm rose within me, she stopped, and looked down on me. "Not until I say so." "Yes, mistress." I replied. She slid down me again, and I moaned again. It was obvious that Mistress adored my manhood by the way she built from a lovemaking to a wild sex pace in a matter of minutes. From every inch of my cock getting buried in the depths of her, and her perfectly round and fit curves caressing my body, it was hard not to build to orgasm. She knew this, and she loved waiting to the final moment before she got off and slapped me. "Not until I say so." "Yes, Mistress." She mounted me again, this time thrusting as fast as she could. I couldn't help but buck against her as well, the orgasm building. Not until she says so, I thought. Awfully difficult in this particular situation. But I kept going. Mistress' moans got louder and louder as the fucking pressed on, then she looked down at me. She smiled, and released my hands. I took her by the waist and I pounded her for all I was worth. What were moans became screams, and grunts turned to yells. Both of our bodies were riddled with sweat and pain, but we both knew it was worth it. My orgasm was once again building, but his time it was out of control. Mistress knew this as well, and put her hand around my neck. I was expecting this, but judging by her facial expressions, she had an orgasm the needed to be released as well. But she maintained one last bit of control, enough to breathe, "Now, slave." And that was all I needed. I felt myself unload inside her, screaming as loud as I possibly could. Both of our bodies writhed in the waves of pleasure that followed. The screams slowly faded, the lights slowly dimmed, and Mistress held me close, and whispered "Good slave" in my ear. Still breathing heavily, I couldn't reply, but I could feel my body go numb in post-orgasmic bliss. I felt Mistress' hand trace down over my eyes, and everything faded to black. I woke up at the bar, same bartender, fully clothed (thankfully), same people around. Had a pretty bad headache, but that was to be expected based on the bill in front of me. I threw down my credit card, and my friend Hank ran it. "So how was it?" Hank asked. "Huh?" "Our friend that chatted it up with you brought you back about a half hour ago. Seemed like you were gone for a few hours." "Yeah, I guess I was." I got up to leave, but Hank stopped me. "She left you this," he said, and handed me a card. On the front, lovingly, was written "Mistress" and on the back was a phone number, coated with red lipstick. Hank chuckled to himself. "So how was it?" "You don't want to know," I snorted, and left the bar. Night Owls Author's Note: It has been ten years since I've written a story, let alone my first attempt at erotica, so please bear with me through this fictional tale. There are so many alternate endings for this, it was next to impossible to choose one. Enjoy. ***** It had been a long, relaxing week spent house sitting at the McCarthy household. At forty five years of age, and stuck in a mundane accounting job, Peter was grateful for his annual leave, which he generally spent on a holiday in some distant location. This time was an exception. The McCarthy's were old family friends, who had once lived across the street from a young Peter and Tina. The family were always looking out for the young newlyweds, and were always supportive during his ongoing separation and eventual divorce. These days, Peter felt he owed them to a certain degree for their generosity. Thus, he forfeited his vacation to house sit the McCarthy residence for a couple of weeks while they were off on an impromptu visit to help their oldest child. He spent most of his afternoons reading or doing a variety of household chores. Most of the time he attempted to fill his days with anything and everything that would keep his mind from exploring its own dark depth. However, his constant loneliness was somewhat diminished by spending time in a house that he knew was a home. Soft, calm colours were painted on picture adorned walls. Comfortable couches and chairs were always available within the house that always smelled of baking bread. Pouring a glass of water, he inhaled the scent of the home that wasn't his, and walked over to the recliner, parking himself in front of the television. While idly flipping through the channels, the phone rang. "Hello?" "...." There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then a soft voice spoke up: "Is Mum or Dad there?" asked the female, not recognizing the man's voice. "Gwen? Is that you? It's Peter." Mentally kicking herself for not having recognized him sooner, Gwen apologized, explaining that it had been a stressful week, and he was not the only thing she had forgotten about. After some brief small talk, and general inquiry of each others' lives, Gwen asked if he minded if she come home for the next few days to get a bit of work done. Of course he didn't mind. Having spent the past few years completely alone, he was excited at the thought of another being in the same house. Not only that, but a female presence. Peter passed the remainder of the afternoon picking up a few things he had left lying about. His thoughts had drifted to Gwen when she was a child, and a young teenager. He remembered her shy, sweet face, always ready with a smile and endearingly red cheeks which blushed at the slightest hint of embarrassment or discomfort. He hadn't seen her in several years. After his divorce, Peter had moved into an apartment closer to work, and was not blessed with watching Gwen mature into a young woman. He wondered what she would be like. She was studying at university now, so he figured that she must have loosened up somewhat, spending most of her time out and university bars with university boys. She still sounded a bit shy over the phone, but was also very open and conversational. He wondered what she looked like. He didn't have to wonder long, however, since his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of keys unlocking the front door. He was quickly greeted by one of the most disarming smiles he had ever seen. Lovely, white teeth shone through pink, parted lips. A face that was completely devoid of makeup and topped with slightly disheveled hair stared at him. Then she spoke: "Hi" He must have been staring at her for ages, because she quickly looked away, a faint red rising in her cheeks. He couldn't help but stare. From what he had heard of her voice, which was very soft and smooth, he figured she was pretty. Upon seeing her, however, that opinion changed to one where he now knew that she was pretty, beautiful, and cute, all rolled into one. She was a tall girl, had long, curly, reddish brown tresses, and a soft, curvy body that he instantly wanted to hold against him Realizing his apparent ogling, he turned his eyes away, walked up to her and gave her a hug, welcoming her home. "Thanks. I'm sorry if I'm imposing or anything, but I just had to get away from my roommates. I've got millions of assignments to do, and they're not helping," she said "Ahhh, I remember those days. Believe me, you might actually miss it when you get to be my age. Let's hope you don't," Peter responded She looked at him with understanding, partially knowing what it was like to be alone. She had gone to university to get an education, of course, but also with hopes of meeting someone. Not just a casual friendship, she had enough of those. Nor did she want a brief sexual encounter either, but someone to share something with. Most of the guys she spent her time with were her friends, or just plain idiots. Snapping out of her reverie, Gwen felt her stomach rumble, indicating to both her and Peter, that she needed nourishment. Laughing, they both went into the kitchen, chatting away, while fixing something for the both of them to eat. The two had passed the night away as old friends, chatting about their lives, current events, personal dilemmas, school, jobs, and whatever else was on their minds. As they talked, they moved closer together on the couch, and Peter relished the scent of her clean body, mixed with her shampoo. She continued to talk away about her courses, and he let his eyes drift away from hers, and travel down her body. She wore a soft, cotton V-neck shirt, that delightfully exposed her creamy neck to his eyes. Just below were her soft, plump breasts, which he could see little of, but he knew they had to be amazing. Tearing his eyes away, he let them wander down her smooth, rounded belly, and down her lovely long legs that he wanted to feel wrapped tightly about him. His breathing was getting a bit laboured at the thought of touching her skin, and he immediately felt the blood rushing down to his groin, making it stiffen. He tried desperately to enjoy this platonic company, vainly trying to dismiss his hardening cock. Eventually, he had to disengage from the conversation with the poor excuse of being tired. He wandered off to his room, where he immediately disrobed, and thought of sweet, young Gwen taking his stiff cock in her hands and between her parted pink lips. Closing his eyes, and reaching for his swollen cock, he pictured her naked before him, for his consumption. All he could think of was her, lightly kissing his cock, gently licking, swirling her tongue around the swollen head, and flicking the slit. He wanted to see her kneel before him, and take his fat cock into her pretty little mouth, licking it, sucking it. He wanted to grab her hair and force her onto his meat, fucking her tight mouth slowly as if it were embedded deep in her pussy. Those innocent eyes looking into his lust-filled ones, he would moan as she sucked him. He could feel his cock and balls tighten, knowing he was about to cum, and dutifully imagined squirting his hot, creamy, cum in her mouth, down her throat. Temporarily satisfied by that image, Peter soon drifted off to sleep. ************* After Peter had sauntered off to his room, Gwen saw no need to hang around alone. She went to her room, unpacked a few things of hers, changed into her nightclothes, and climbed into bed. After a half hour of tossing and turning, Gwen knew it was useless for her to try and sleep. Getting up, she went to the computer room across the hall and got online. She knew what she wanted. She was horny that night, and wanted a little extra stimulation. At 20, Gwen was, much to her chagrin, still a virgin, never having done much of anything with a guy. She never really knew why she was still single. All her friends had boyfriends and girlfriends, she was the only one without. That was the way it had always been and she wondered if it was the way it would always be. She hated being alone, but she pushed all depressing thoughts from her mind, and navigated the Internet for an erotic story or two to read. She came upon a longer one, about an older man and a younger woman. Of course, the young woman was always of the very sexually experienced variety, and was more than willing to please her neighbor of an older man. Gwen wished that she could be like the young woman in the story, and for a while, she imagined that she was. Leaning back into her chair, she began to read her story. When she was half way through the story, Gwen slid a hand to her breast. She cupped it lightly, gently squeezing and rubbed her fingers over her hard, nipple. She did the same to the other, making both taut nipples protrude through the fabric of her tank top. She continued to pinch her nipples, and fondle her own breasts while she read, until the tension between her legs became unbearable. She slid a hand down her tummy and underneath her panties. Parting her legs, she let the cool air drift over her cloth covered pussy. She then brought one hand to her breast, and continued fondling, while her other hand cupped her hot mound. The wetness on her panties was covering the back of her hand, and she lightly dipped a finger between the lips of her wet cunt, trailing it up to circle her clit. She brought her finger down again, this time pressing it between the lips further, coating it in her cunt juice. She took the finger from underneath her panties and up to her mouth, where she tentatively licked her wet finger with her tongue. Finding the taste to be agreeable, she slid her finger between her ips, and licked and sucked at all her tangy juices. Breathing a little heavier, she immediately returned her hand to her pussy, rubbing harder along the slit of her sopping cunt. As she touched herself, she could not hear the faint rustling of Peter rising from his bed. Suffering from the same bout of insomnia, he went downstairs with the intention of watching some television. As he came int the living room, he could see a faint glow emanating from the computer room down the hall. "Must be Gwen," he thought. He quietly stepped on the carpet, and as he got closer, he could hear soft cries, barely audible, coming from the room. The door was ajar, just enough for him to peer inside, and what he saw made him rock hard in record time. There he saw his young, sweet Gwen, laying back in the chair, legs obscenely parted, moving her hand underneath her panties. Her lithe body was clothed only in a white tank top and panties, through which he could see her hard nipples and an alluring view of her pussy. He stood, watching, feeling his cock grow even harder. He began rubbing a bit, in long, slow strokes. Gwen's rubbing became more frantic, and he could her the noises of her cunt juices swirling around her hand. All he wanted now was to fuck this young creature. To stand right between those parted long legs and slam his cock into her waiting cunt. His lust was dulling any common sense he had, so he abruptly let go of his cock, walked into the room, and stood beside her. Gwen immediately sat upright, taking her hand off her pussy, trying to wipe the wetness on her legs. She panicked. She couldn't look him in the eye, she was nervous, she had been caught. "I...uh...I," was all she could say "Reading anything good?" Peter asked. "Ummm..." she blushed and looked at the floor. She rose from the chair, attempting to run from the room Her bashfulness only increased his lust, and he was determined to take this further. Blocking the doorway, his eyes took in the sight of her yet again, and with a raging cock, he asked: "Why don't you read it for me?" "I-I can't," she replied. "Why not, you seemed to like it before" Peter said in a deep voice. He moved over to the chair she had been sitting in, and took a seat himself. His eyes scanned over the computer screen, reading the filthy words that had been written there. "You enjoyed this didn't you?" he asked When she didn't respond, he asked again, but more forcefully. "Yes...I did," she finally answered. "Well then come and read it to me" "Okay" She moved closer to him, and as she got near enough, he pulled her onto his lap. AS her buttocks slid down onto his legs, she was shocked when she felt his hard cock press against her. She jumped, but he held her still, his hand fastened about her waist. "Have you ever felt that before, baby?" "...No..I haven't," she said, ashamed of her inexperience. He kept going: "Never touched one? Ever seen one?" The same answer was spoken nervously from her lips. "Has anyone ever touch your breasts, felt you nipple?" "No" "Put his hand or his tongue on your pussy?" She inhaled sharply as he said that dirty word. "No" He kissed the back of her neck, his tongue tasting her skin "Would you like the feel that, sweetie" Unsure of what her answer would bring, for the first time, she said "Yes". She was still trembling, and he pulled her closer against him, keeping his arms tight about her. He lightly kissed her temple, brushing her hair away. "Maybe...maybe I should go back to bed," she said, afraid of the results this might bring. "I think you should stay right here," was his answer. Peter pulled her even closer, nudging her sideways, so that her legs dangled over the arm of the chair. He tilted her head back and swiftly brought his lips down upon hers. Not expecting anything quite so forceful, Gwen tried to pull away, but he kept his mouth on hers, sliding his tongue past her lips and into her mouth. She began to respond with clumsy kisses, which turned Peter on even more. As he kissed her, he made sure she felt the pressure of his throbbing cock against her back. He wanted her to know that he was going to have her. Slipping his hand under her shirt he slid his fingers over her warm stomach, and brought his hand up until he met the curve of her breast. Rewarded with a soft sigh, he took this as encouragement and slid his hand over the firm mound of her breast. Gwen stiffened a little, then relaxed, touching her tongue with his, as his fingers grazed over her nipples. Now finding her tank top to be a hindrance, he pulled away, hooked his fingers under the hem of her shirt, and pulled it up. She lifted her arms so he could pull it completely off her body. Her tits were small, but very firm, and very plump, and capped with stiff, pink nipples. Shyness suddenly overcame Gwen and she moved her arms to cover herself, but he stopped her from doing so. Staring at her young tits, he moved his head down and begun kissing that creamy neck he had ogled earlier, while fondling her tits with his hands. He lightly pinched her nipples while he tasted her skin, moving his head lower, and down her body. His hand left her breast, and Gwen whimpered at the loss of heat, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth. He kissed and nibbled along the soft mound, and flicked his tongue out over her nipple. She moaned softly, her head dangling back. Looking at her boy sprawled on his lap, he licked his lips and took the hard nipple between his lips. He teased, and sucked, and licked, the pink bud, until she was writhing on his cock, and emitting soft cries. He moved his head over to the other breast, not wanting to neglect it, and offered the same treatment. His mouth and tongue were all over her sweet young tits, completely devouring them. While sucking her tits, he moved a hand down her body, aiming towards her hot pussy. He found her panties, reached under them, and nudging her legs apart, cupped her hot cunt in his hand. He then imitated the same movements she had made earlier, and slid a finger between her cunt lips. She moaned, and ground her hips into his lap, thrusting her tits in his face. Taking his hand off her cunt, he roughly lifted her off his lap, and stood her up. She was briefly unsure of what he was doing, but then his hands reach her panties, and pulled them down her legs. Stepping out of them, she realized she was completely naked, and felt embarrassed. Peter didn't care. He stood up, in turn, and pulled down his own boxer shorts, proudly revealing his erect cock. Gwen stood and stared. She had never seen one, except in pictures, and she felt amazingly aroused and intimidated by this foreign flesh. She looked silently, as it stood out from his body. He sat back down in the chair. "Touch it" he ordered She looked at him questioningly. "Can I?" "Yes, baby. Kneel down and move between my legs" She did as he asked, and reached her hand out, tentatively, and very slowly inched it towards his cock. She let her finger touch the shaft very lightly. He gasped, and she looked up at him, and slowly wrapped her fingers around his long, thick cock. "Good, baby. Now move your hand up and down" Again, she followed his instructions and slowly pumped his cock with her hand. He stared down at her, watching her tits sway as she moved, and watching her as she was staring at her hand moving along his shaft. "Now kiss it" She looked at him, and looked back down at this cock, and leaned forward, dropping a light kiss on the head of hard cock. He groaned, and she continued to drop kisses along the head and down the shaft. Then she got more adventurous and began licking tasting his hard meat. She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, and took it between her lips, and as he moaned his approval, took him into her mouth. She slid as much of him in as she could, before she started to bob her head up and down and suck his cock. He wanted to fuck her wet mouth for all he was worth, but he pulled out, trails of saliva dripping between his cock and her lips. He got up, and lifted her into the chair. Before she had time to question him, he pulled her hips forward, spread her legs, and knelt between them. He buried his face between her thighs, and kissed and licked her pussy lips, causing her to whimper once more. Taking a deep breath of her scent, he stuck out his tongue and licked the entire length of her slit, from her cunt hole to her clit. He licked her cunt lips and took them into his mouth, sucking them. Her juices were dripping out of her pussy and coating his face. He lapped at them, thrusting his face into her cunt, eagerly licking at the juices she gave. He plunged his tongue into her tight hole, really tasting her. She was moaning and bucking her hips, grabbing his head in her hands, as his tongue rammed in and out of her cunt. He moved his mouth upwards a bit and focused on her clit. Taking her clit between his clit, he sucked, and he hummed, creating vibrations, while flicking his tongue over her sensitive clit. It was not long before she came, screaming, clamping her legs around his head. He continued to lap at her pussy, being sure to keep her aroused. When she began moaning anew, he pulled away, lifted her up once more, and turned her over on her knees. He stood behind her, positioning his cock against her backside, sliding his cock head along her hot cunt, coating it with her juice. Suddenly, she tensed, and tried to squirm away. "It's okay, baby. I know" was all he said, and gripping her hips in his hands, he placed his cock at the entrance of her cunt. The thought of fucking this young girl was overwhelming, and he pushed his cock inside. He didn't want to hurt her badly, so he tried to go somewhat slowly, but he couldn't help wanting to bury himself inside her. So he did. He shoved his cock into her tight, wet cunt. She cried out as he did, and he held her still. When he heard nothing from her, he began to slide his cock out, almost all the way, and thrust it back in. Her cunt was so hot, wet and young, and felt unbelievable as it tightly gripped his cock. Night Owls My second year at college, I found a wonderful organization to join; the safe walk program on campus. The office that the volunteers hang out in is very small, hardly the size of a dorm room. We'd play video games or do homework until we got a call, then two people would go out in the bright green jackets with a walkie-talkie and a flashlight to escort a student, staff member, or faculty member between buildings and parking lots on campus. One of the other volunteers in the office was a really sweet guy that I wanted to get to know better. I had asked Kevin once if he would go out with me, but he was interested in one of the other volunteers at the time. He was always the first one to pitch in for pizza, and brought the X-box so we could play Halo. While he's usually quiet in large groups of people he doesn't know, in the office he could relax and joke with us. This past year I was unable to attend school because I ran out of funds. I worked hard to save what I could, hoping this next year I would be able to go back. That didn't stop me from visiting my friends in the safe walk office. Not even having a crappy car stopped me; Kevin offered to give me a ride to school and back to my hometown, an hour drive either way. I wondered if he missed me as much as I missed him, or if he missed me only as much as I missed my other friends in the office. On the early shift I got lots of hugs and "How's life?" from my other friends. Just happy to enjoy being back at school, I told the story of my summer each time someone else walked into the office. We played some video games for a while, and when the late shift rolled around, many of the volunteers went home, citing tests tomorrow and papers due later in the week. Towards the end of the late shift, it was just me and Kevin sitting in the little office. We got to talking about how we missed each other, and we sat close on the couch together watching commercials on a cartoon channel. While I wasn't looking, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. Startled, I turned towards him. He had a look of embarrassment and lust in his eyes. I leaned in to return the kiss, and it became a passionate embrace - right there on university furniture! Excited by our newfound emotions, I suggested we close up the office early and head to his apartment. He mentioned that his roommate would be trying to sleep that time of night. I felt frustrated, with urges I couldn't control and no relief in sight. He continued, "It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to close up early." Kevin got up and locked the door, turning the light off as he returned to the couch. I slowly picked up on the idea and turned off the TV. He sat back down next to me and took my chin in his hand. "I know things are hard on you, not being at school this year, but I really miss you; I can hardly concentrate some days because a memory of you haunts me while I try to study." I look up into his eyes, tears forming in my own. "I think I've fallen in love with you," he said. He kissed me softly, and a tear rolled down my cheek as a million and one 'what if' scenarios ran through my head. Had I been able to attend school that year, would I have been closer to Kevin? After the sweet kiss, he brushed away my tear and I told him I felt the same way, had felt that way about him for a long time. We kissed again, this time it was urgent, everything had been said and now we needed to do something about it. My light sweatshirt suddenly felt restricting, and I pulled it off, tossing it to the end of the couch. Kevin did the same, his fleece falling from the end of the couch to the floor. We didn't care. His hands ran under my T-shirt, and I squeaked; his fingers were cold from holding the X-box controller. He laughed, pressing his palms to my back, making me squirm a little. I put my fingers down the collar of his T, and he threw his head back at the icy feeling. Besides the cold hands, things were heating up in the office; we started moving pillows from the couch so we could maneuver better. Kevin laid me back on the couch, sort of straddling me with one foot on the ground. His hands wandered up my t-shirt, barely brushing my skin. He braced himself against the back of the couch with one hand, and pressed my shirt up with the other. I lay there exposed in the office where I found the most comfort, feeling incredibly sexy in my black lacy bra. Kevin was pleased with my choice as well, and made a low groan in his throat. His free hand brushed against the lace, causing my nipples to stand up like the eraser on a pencil. He leaned down and put his mouth to the fabric, teasing my nipple with his lips. I reached up and pulled on the hem of his shirt, and he let me pull it off. I was pleasantly surprised by a torso sculpted by years of martial arts. I ran my hands down his chest and set my fingers playfully on his belt buckle. He grinned at me as he stood up, undid his belt, and pushed his jeans to the floor. He kicked off his shoes and jeans as I admired his boxer-briefs. He leaned over me on the couch and undid my jeans, pulling softly on the zipper. He moaned his surprise as he found out I wasn't wearing panties. The bulge in his underwear was too tempting to me, and I reached out to caress it. His eyes snapped shut and he made a primal noise that made me wet. The couch proved to be limiting as we attempted to get closer to each other. Kevin turned and brushed away video game controllers, magazines, and puzzle boxes from the coffee table that took up much of the floor space in the center of the room. He then turned to me and helped me up from the couch. While I was standing I kicked off my sneakers. Then I sat seductively at the end of the coffee table. Kevin stood at the end of the coffee table facing me, and I was at just the right height to fondle his package some more. He pushed me back gently across the cold wood table and tugged roughly at the waist of my jeans, pulling them off and tossing them into the bulletin board on the wall, knocking down the calendar. Neither of us noticed. Kevin knelt on the floor between my legs, and I leaned up on my elbows to follow his movements. He brushed my trimmed pussy with his fingers and I nearly lost my balance. He made a remark about how wet I was, that he could probably... He trailed off as he stuck a finger deep inside me. I gasped at the intense sensations that it set off. He moved the finger in and out, and I set myself back down carefully on the coffee table. I couldn't help but push my hips up in time with his motions, and he shifted his weight a little. I didn't understand why until I felt his tongue on my clit. Explosions came to mind, as his fingers and teasing tongue worked me up to an orgasm I didn't expect. As the feelings washed over me, I shuddered against the wood beneath me and missed when Kevin stood up. When the aftershock wore off, I sat up on the table, finding myself face to face with seven glorious inches of manhood. I quickly put my hands on him, rubbing up and down the shaft and teasing his balls. He moaned and asked me to put it in my mouth. I didn't right away; instead I kissed and licked the head and up and down the shaft. Then I took just the head in my mouth and sucked gently, using teasing circles with my tongue. He put a hand on the back of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. I took him in further, using my tongue to spread my saliva over the shaft so I could move easily in and out. He set the pace with his hand on the back of my head, and I took him as far into my mouth as I thought I could. Then he began to move his hips, and I found out how well I could deep-throat. Kevin pulled away from me and went to his back-pack. "I could swallow it," I offered. "I want to cum inside you," he replied, returning with a familiar square package. He opened it and I offered to put the condom on for him. He watched intently as I rolled the latex up his shaft. Once again he pushed me back on the table, and then he spread me gently with his fingers. I waited with anticipation as he set his cock against me. Instead of diving in as I expected, he rubbed the tip against my clit. I moaned at the unfamiliar sensation and enjoyed it, but I wanted him inside me. I begged for his cock, and he rammed it into my wet pussy. Pressed against me, he leaned down for a kiss, and then began a slow, even rocking motion in and out of me. I was too hot and bothered for this easy loving, I needed to be fucked. I wrapped my legs around him and set the pace, which he followed eagerly. Now he was pounding me, pulling nearly all the way out before each thrust. I couldn't believe the sensations. As I began to climax, I could feel him starting to fill the condom. It sent me over the edge and we had our orgasms together. Kevin and I rested there a bit, a sweaty mess in the middle of the office. He pulled away gently and wrapped the spent condom in paper toweling, then handed me a square to clean up before we got dressed. Cleaning the office had never been so much fun. Every pillow out of place and hand print on the coffee table were tell-tale signs of what we had done, and we shot each other knowing, lusty looks as we put everything right. The drive home is usually sad and quiet for me, but this time I made it special for Kevin, a treat for picking me up to spend time with my friends. I was careful not to do the best I could have, as road head tends to distract the driver. I made it home safe and we shared a passionate good-bye kiss before I went inside. I can't wait until I have another weekend off to go visit my friends at school. Night Owls He picked up his pace, and began thrusting faster, and harder, wanting to cum so badly inside her young body. She responded, thrusting her hips back at him, matching his rhythm. The sounds of their flesh slapping, and the sounds of their fucking made him fuck her more vigorously. He was slamming into her at this point, and he reached down and rubbed Gwen's precious clit. He wanted to cum with her, and inside her. Her moaning got louder and his thrusts got harder, and as his balls tightened he exploded into her tight cunt. Her own orgasm followed, and her cunt muscles pulled on his cock, milking it for his cum. Exhausted, he pulled out from her, and sat on the floor. She slipped down from the chair, cum oozing from her pussy and lay down beside him, drifting off to sleep.