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Reality

By: heartsong



I need to write. No wants or desires in it. For me, it's truly a need. There's no particular rhythm to my musings, except for the natural rhythm of life events that spark my creativity. Over the last year, my life, perspectives, limits, and understanding has twisted, warped, and evolved to the point that some days I hardly recognize myself. This has drawn me to express myself by once again using my medium of choice - writing.

Names and some events will be changed to try to preserve my anonymity. While I'm aware that somewhere along the line it's likely that one or more of the persons involved may recognize my writing style or a description or circumstance, for now I prefer to remain unknown. It's a rather complex conundrum, really. On the one hand I have a fierce need to protect my privacy. Much like a caged beast, if someone starts poking around in the parts of my mind that I have have decided belong exclusively to me, I will strike out and fight to the death to keep them out. On the other hand, I also possess an intense desire to communicate and to express my feelings to those with whom I'm close. At times, I actually want someone to drag the thoughts that are obsessively occupying my mind out of me. So I suppose on some levels I hope I will be recognized in time. But, for now, the beast lies in wait...

This is a quite extraordinary ordinary tale. There are no villains and no knights in shining armor. There are just human beings with every inherent human quality. This is also not the kind of story that will get to "the good parts" quickly. Like life, "the good parts" are interspersed with all the rest. Perhaps you will recognize yourself or someone you know here. Chances are good you will relate in some way because we're really not all that different once you strip away our outer shells.

If you have an opinion about my writing, please let me know. I welcome any comments; compliments, criticism, or otherwise! 

* * * * *

The summer was just around the corner, and there had already been days I'd had to turn on the fans. As a full time mom, my days were filled with diapers and stories and songs, taking a break every so often to sign into this great new toy we'd acquired, a computer. My husband, Patrick, and I had just celebrated our 9th anniversary, and life was generally pleasant. 

I was pregnant with our third child who was expected in early autumn. We were looking forward to the summer, the blessed slice of heaven we were carving out for ourselves and the birth. The only problem was that what appeared to be a slice of heaven on the surface, was actually more like swiss cheese underneath. 

The mp3 poured from the speakers as I clicked on the url for Literotica... "He can ease my frustration with his soothing conversation..." and I sighed. Between work and the kids, it was unusual for us to have conversations that consisted of more than two word sentences. We were so in tune on one level, even finished each others sentences, but on the deeper levels, I was convinced Pat was incapable of meeting my needs. Not even understanding them myself made it that much more impossible. I started reading the stories, and I found myself wide-eyed and transfixed. I shared the site with Pat, who also was intrigued, but had less time to explore. I couldn't believe how many fetishes existed! Things I wouldn't have imagined in a million years were presented in such a natural, accepted fashion, which piqued my curiosity and spurred me on to far more intricate and adventuresome fantasies. 

Throughout the coming weeks, I continued to explore the net, always coming back to Literotica. Finally, I decided to take the plunge and put some of my favorite fantasies in writing. After completing my first story, I shared it with Pat and a close friend. Enjoying their overwhelmingly positive response, I hesitantly posted it here. I received some good feedback, and my rating never went below 4.0, but, being the perfectionist I am, that wasn't good enough. 

I continued reading and studying the best stories on the site. As I read works of each genre, I found myself drawn again and again to the BDSM category. These, often, dark tales of leather and kink and power exchange began to stir something inside of me. 

I had been clearly taught from a young age what "nice" girls should and shouldn't do, and this definitely fell under "shouldn't". But, like anything which is "forbidden", this only served to whet my appetite. I wanted to know more about how to write with more widespread appeal, and I wanted to know more about Domination and submission. 

I took advantage of a day when I was feeling rather bold, and decided to email another author whose writing I particularly admired. I told him I loved his stories and asked him to edit one of my own. To my surprise and delight, he replied. He offered to look at the piece I had just completed and offer any suggestions he could. I thoughtfully considered each idea he offered and worked on editing until I felt I had made as many changes as I could accept. I was thrilled with the attention my new story drew. My ratings and feedbacks improved dramatically over my first story, and I reveled in my accomplishment. 

From that point on, the other writer...let's call him... Ken, and I began spending hours and hours chatting online. Having grown up before the days when computers were as common as televisions, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. My nature has always tended toward being trusting and open with others until they prove themselves unworthy. Though it's gotten me in some real jams, I treasure that part of myself, and I've come to realize that it's worth the risks. 

One day, our chat turned toward the subject of submission. 

Ken: You're a natural submissive, you know.

Giggling to myself, I replied,

Faith: Well, thank you, kind sir! LOL

Ken then directed me to a site that explained about the world of BDSM. For days, I immersed myself in this site. What had appeared to me to be fun and games...some kinky little skits to play out in the bedroom, I soon discovered to be a legitimate lifestyle. I found my own thoughts being reflected by what I was reading, and I couldn't stop talking about it! I showed the site to Pat, and my good friend, Liz, and just wanted to learn more and more. Although Pat seemed interested, it was something he had never considered either, and didn't find as stimulating a topic then. So my focus quickly became Ken and his wealth of knowledge and experience I craved. 

We talked about everything. I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with Ken on a philosophical level, but I became timid and hesitant when he'd ask about my personal sexual tastes or past experience. I couldn't quite grasp what it was about this man that held me mesmerized and wide-eyed as he spoke. Slowly, I began to open my heart and tell him things I had never before told anyone. I don't think he's ever understood my ability to dissociate my sexual and intellectual selves, but he patiently listened as I gave detail after heart wrenching detail about my childhood and "coming of age". He soon came to understand that my sexual history had been plagued by deceit and betrayal in the most visceral ways imaginable. As a small child, I had been used and brutalized, and this carried over a pattern into adulthood. Through every explanation and description, he never ran off. He would gift me with images of security, safety, and seemingly endless tenderness. 

For quite some time, this was nothing but a grand adventure. However, as the summer wore on, I began to feel the need to hide my online activities from Pat. Ken began asking me about my masturbatory experiences, and I reluctantly told him of what they consisted. 

Ken: Tell me what you do to make yourself cum.

Faith: Well, you don't mince words, now do you?! LOL

Ken: No, I don't. :-D

Faith: Well, ok...I lay down on my bed...

Ken: And then?

(Much time elapses between my responses as I struggle to find the words...)

Faith: Then I just start...touching myself...down there.

Ken: How do you touch yourself, baby?

Faith: I don't know...I guess I move my fingers in small circles, putting more and more pressure over it.

Ken: it?

Faith: You know!

Ken: Yes, I do, but I want you to say it.

Faith: I can't! It's one thing to write about characters in a story, but this is about ME. LOL

Ken: Yes, you can, and you will. I'm waiting...

(Long pause...)

Faith: on my pussy. Ok? You happy now?

Ken: Yes. Thank you. And what do you do next?

Faith: This is really hard!

Ken: I know it is, and we can stop at any time, but I hope you'll take this opportunity to learn from me.

Faith: Ok. I guess it can't be too painful. LOL

Ken: That's my girl! ;-) Now tell me.. what do you do next?

Faith: Ummm, well, I just rub myself faster and harder till I climax.

Ken: Do you put your fingers in your pussy?

Faith: No LOL. I don't really do anything else. It's always been just , *do it* and get it over with as fast as possible. 

Ken: Oooooh, baby! You don't even know what you've been missing out on!

Faith: What do you mean? LOL

Ken: Are you alone?

Faith: yes

Ken: What are you wearing?

Now, I had lost a smidgen of my naivete at this point, so I had some idea where this was going. 

Faith: Nothing sexy, I'm afraid. LOL Just an old sun dress, yellow...with an ivy pattern in green.

Ken: But little do you know just how sexy that is!

Faith: And now I'm blushing LOL

Ken: And nothing under the sun dress?

Faith: Weellll, it was a really hot day...and....you know...... 

Ken: Mmmmmmm... what a lovely picture you must make! 

Ken: Lift up your skirt for me, baby.

Faith: Ok..it's up

Ken: Now, I want you to pretend I'm right in front of you...

Ken: watching you

Ken: wanting you

Ken: Take your hand and start slowly running your fingers up and down the insides of your thighs, but do not touch your pussy.

Faith: mmmm....that feels nice!

Ken: good. Now, I want you to imagine you are doing this for me.

Ken: I'm in front of you, and more than anything, I want to see you pleasure yourself.

Ken: Reach your right hand up to your nipples and pinch them through your dress.

Ken: Run your fingertips all over your body, but don't touch your pussy yet.

Ken: How does that feel?

Faith: It feels soooo good! Your words awaken every nerve in my body...I have goose bumps everywhere.

Ken: : )

Ken: Slide your hand down and spread your lips for me...

Ken: I want to see you...

Ken: Show me what you offer to me.

Faith: I am

Ken: Now, little one, take your other hand and slip one finger inside...

Ken: Bring your wetness up and run your finger in circles around your clit...

This went on for some time. I was aroused in a way I had never experienced alone, and I was loving every moment. His instructions made it easier for me to explore my body in ways I never before had explored. Something I had been taught was "dirty" and "wrong" became acceptable, and even something to strive for. My hands were his hands in my mind. Since I was doing this *for him*, there was no reason to feel shame. 

He led me to a place where I could let go and allow myself to experience new heights of physical pleasure. As he instructed me, I stroked my sex and plunged my fingers into my heat, doing everything he asked of me. My heart was racing and I could only think of pleasing him as fully as possible across the Internet, while my body urged me to continue. 

My need for release became exponentially greater with every encouraging word he typed, and every praise with which he gifted me. By the time he allowed me the pleasure of stimulating my clit, I was in a frenzy of passion and desire. It took almost no time at all to bring myself over the edge and feel waves of climax crash over me as my body stiffened and irrepressable cries escaped my throat. 

Slowly, I began to come down, and typed to him the effect his words had had. In the afterglow, he was gentle and tender and kind and full of praise and encouragement. Instead of feeling the shame of masturbating, he made me feel clean and proud I had been able to overcome such a difficult hurdle for him. I was hooked!

It was during this safe, sweet, secure time, Ken began talking to me more about becoming His submissive. I would have done just about anything to earn his respect and approval, and I agreed to be His online, but was clear it could never extend into our "real lives". He expressed agreement that this relationship must remain online. He, like myself, had children, and, regardless of the fact that his marriage was all but dead, he had to stay for the sake of his children. 

However, agreements such as these can sometimes change. I took this commitment to Ken very seriously. I felt he was a very good man, in a miserable marriage, and I wanted to be a light in his darkness. He assured me he would always be honest with me, and I had no reason to believe otherwise. I gave him my submission, but had no idea what this really meant. In spite of my best intentions, I unknowingly put myself in the position of having my commitment to Ken, and my commitment to Pat in direct opposition. This didn't become clear to me until the lines between my Internet communications and my real life became blurred. 

tbc...

Reality



Guinevere's penis throbbed and pulsed in her fist as she furiously pumped it up and down, the hardness and warmth of it as wholly tangible as the straining in her testicles as her semen readied itself for its ultimate release. 

If this wasn't real, what was? 

It certainly felt real to Guinevere, as it always did when she masturbated, something she did as often as she could and something for which, like all hermaphrodites in the world, she had a remarkable facility. The semen when it came spurting out, hot and creamy, had a viscous tangibility that surely could only be real. 

Except, as Guinevere reflected, an arc of semen spurting free and ascending into the air to fall silently onto the grass lawn ahead of her, this wasn't real at all. None of it was. Everything she knew, in the whole of the world, from the Republic of Excalibur to the Kingdom of Charm, from the great mountain of Everhard to the wide River Charon, from the city of Delight to her own small town of Emerald, none of it, not one atomic particle of it, not one scintilla, was real.

But it felt real, Guinevere agonised, her huge penis flopping deflated between her thighs, a finger worrying a nipple which remained aroused even after her penis had given forth. Surely everything she had known from when she had been born to now, all the people she had met, her memories, her thoughts, surely they were real.

Guinevere sighed. Her existentialist woes never left her for long. Why couldn't she accept it? Okay! There was a sense she wasn't real. That nothing was real. That the universe that she knew was just a virtual reality that existed inside some huge computer housed in some external universe she had come to know as the Real World. That she and everything else were avatars, no more real than those on her computer. And she was herself no more real than the characters in the computer games she played. 

But, on the other hand, as she, and all the others in her world were reassured, there was a sense that everything is real. Although it had been established, indubitably and conclusively, that everything was the creation of another world, that didn't invalidate the reality of what was in the universe. 

But Guinevere was dissatisfied. 

She knew well enough that no other explanation was possible. Hermaphrodites could not possibly have evolved to be in the numbers they existed. There was no imperative that explained the presence of centaurs, unicorns, fauns, dragons, trolls and all the other exotic inhabitants of the world, a classification to which she, by virtue of being a woman in all but one crucial feature, also belonged. But the inexplicableness of the lack of evolutionary purpose, let alone the bizarre details of biology which permitted not only herself to exist, but also such equally strange phenomena as fairies, sprites and cockatrices, wasn't all.

Guinevere stood up and surveyed the lawns ahead of her in the town park where she had been masturbating, not far from a family of picnickers, who not once expressed disapproval of her behaviour (and why might they do that?) and in the shadow of the statue of a prominent ex-citizen who had slain the Dragon of Gorgaroth before it was established that the dynamics of the world meant that as soon as one dragon was slain a new one would automatically take its place. 

She pulled a tee-shirt over her bare breasts and tugged her shorts up over her thighs, covering her penis but not able to wholly disguise its presence.

But there was no other explanation. Years of technological progress and exploration, banishing to the past those distant days of kings, queens, quests and knightly valour that had once distinguished the world, had brought with it the absolute certainty of an alarming and only recently explicable truth of the world. Nothing was real. And once you understood that, then the bizarreness of the world at last made sense.

Why was it that when you travelled as far North as you could, you found yourself proceeding from the South towards where you came from? And so too as you travelled East? Why was the sky as flat as the world itself? And the moon and stars nothing but bright lights suspended in revolving hemispheres? Why did all historical research reveal only a distant past of kingdoms and realms, governed by arcane principles that were universally held as if dictated from above?

And most of all, why did no one ever grow old? People were born. Or rather babies appeared, with no apparent cause, usually delivered by storks in baskets. And then grew up. And they lived until they died, either by misfortune or just by mysteriously vanishing. And as soon as one person expired, a new person was born. What peculiar law of nature could possibly explain such a divinely regulated ecology unless it were not nature at all? But what was real? And where was it?

"You worry far too much!" Guinevere's best friend, Eleanor, exclaimed when later that day the two of them met up at the café on the corner of King Arthur Esplanade. 

Guinevere nodded. She ran a finger around the mouth of her beer bottle and looked out over the sea whose waves crashed onto the rocks by the shore. Above the water was the sun, slowly dipping into the sea but still above the horizon, while a flock of seagulls noisily flew over the green waves towards them. She could smell the rich scent of seaweed. On the other side of the road, just beyond the steady stream of traffic, there was a group of young men, one of them a faun with hooves inside his trainers, who were trying to impress one of the local girls.

Guinevere was accustomed to the strange reaction some men had towards her, so it was fortunate for her that her own preference, unlike many hermaphrodites, was so utterly towards girls. And Eleanor was a real girl. No penis hidden under her skirt. No hairy legs and hooves. No mermaid's tail, like her other best friend, Dorothy. And who could ask for a better lover than Eleanor? Even if she had to share her with Lancelot, Percival and Agamemnon, the centaur who worked as a systems analyst. But not (and for this she was grateful) all at the same time.

"I know! I know!" said Guinevere, gripping the bottle in her hand and tilting it so that the liquid could sink down her throat, past the slice of lime that had been pushed into its mouth. "I just can't help wondering what the point of it all is."

"Well, don't we all!" laughed Eleanor, placing her hand on Guinevere's lap and gently squeezing her recumbent penis. "But as long as we can drink, smoke cigarettes and, best of all, fuck, why should we care?"

"I know! I know!" repeated Guinevere sadly, bending her head forward to kiss Eleanor on the lips. 

Of all her lovers, Eleanor was her favourite. 

At first, she'd thought that she might be best suited to a relationship with another hermaphrodite, but although she was still friends with Gloriana, it had never really worked out. It mightn't have bothered Gloriana where she was supposed to put her penis when it was fully aroused given that the anus was such an uncomfortable, if not painful, fit, but it somehow didn't seem right to Guinevere. 

But she had two or three other regular lovers. Not only Marina, the mermaid, but also Andromeda and Emmeline, both biologically normal women and both just as energetic and satisfying sexual partners as Eleanor. But somehow Eleanor was all that Guinevere really desired. And if she lived in a world where relationships were less complicated and restricted to just the one partner (although Guinevere couldn't imagine that such a world could ever exist) she'd have been quite content just to have Eleanor by her side.

The two of them eventually left the café and wandered together, hand-in-hand, along the beach, the sun's rays spread across the sea and reddening sky while seagulls were swooping overhead. Every now and then, Eleanor would bend over to kiss Guinevere affectionately on the cheek and occasionally stroke the huge bulge inside the shorts, the glans of which was very nearly visible at its hem.

"It must be real," mused Guinevere. "The sand feels real on my toes. The sea feels damp and tastes salty. The sun feels so warm against my face."

Eleanor sighed. She put an arm around her lover's waist and swivelled round to face her, crotch hard against the bulge between Guinevere's legs.

"This feels real enough to me!" she announced gripping the penis through the blue cotton of Guinevere's shorts. "And that's all I need to know."

"But yesterday," Guinevere persisted unhappily, "when we had that rip across the sky, like torn fabric, wasn't that real as well?"

"That didn't last long though, did it?"

"And that time when I was walking down the high street and it suddenly caved apart like an earthquake, but with no noise and no rumbling. That occasion, you were with me, when we were in the shopping arcade and it crackled like static and my hand disintegrated for ten seconds. It's not right!"

"Well, these weird things have been happening more often recently," Eleanor admitted. "I must admit I really freaked when I saw that unicorn split down the middle and then zip up again."

"Not as much as the unicorn did, I bet!" laughed Guinevere.

"No. He was really shaken. He didn't know what to say! And when have you ever seen a unicorn at a loss for words?"

The two lovers reached a romantic stretch of beach, the sand fine and the waves crashing leisurely in front of them. Other people were sitting around as well. A couple of satyrs were strenuously fucking a centauress. Three men and two women were bundled together in a single mass of copulating flesh. 

And now, positioned apart from the rest of the evening coupling, Eleanor and Guinevere disrobed and the two once again became a hot, sweaty mass of grappling limbs. Guinevere's penis easily slipped into Eleanor's vagina, which like all vaginas in this world was able to stretch with tremendous elasticity to accommodate almost any penis there was.

Guinevere's penis was not a small model, although not of the monstrous proportions of a centaur or a satyr. Eleanor's anus was less obliging, but Guinevere was unconcerned. It was inside her vagina that she felt most at home. Even more so than inside those of Andromeda or Emmeline. Her penis was swollen to its full width and length, more than a third of a metre from base to tip. Emmeline's grip was hot, moist and squelchy.

The two made love passionately and energetically as the last of the sun's rays disappeared beneath the horizon, so they were lit only by the brilliant full moon and the many twinkling stars, their gasps and yells of passion louder even than the centauress's and alarming the occasional low-flying bat. Guinevere more than once ejaculated, her sperm either inside Eleanor's vagina where it overflowed onto their sweaty thighs or straight into Eleanor's mouth held open to relish the apparently inexhaustible taste.

But soon it was over and the two lovers parted. Sand stuck to the perspiration that drenched them from the toes to the forehead. Guinevere knew that it would take ages to rake the fine granules free from her hair. They lay on their backs panting, while the trail of an aeroplane crossed over the sky, no doubt taking business executives and holiday makers to exotic destinations like the Republic of the Glistening Robe and the United States of Mordor.

Eleanor leaned over to her pile of clothes and lifted up the watch. The roman numerals glistened in the moonlight.

"Shit! Is that the time? I said I was gonna meet Lancelot at the pub. I'm gonna be late."

Lancelot! Guinevere felt that spasm of jealousy that always bedevilled her when Eleanor talked about her husband. He was a handsome man, that was sure, and she enjoyed the numerous occasions when they'd made love together, sometimes with Eleanor and sometimes not. But although there was nothing that might prevent her accompanying her lover to the Jolly Dragon, for a reason she couldn't explain she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

She watched Eleanor leave after the two of them had bathed in the sea to wash off the sand and sweat. She sighed. And sighed so very deeply. Guinevere was truly in love. She wished sometimes she was Eleanor's husband, but it wasn't to be.

When Eleanor was just a dot in the distance, Guinevere stood up and walked along the beach carrying her clothes over her arm as she relished the slight chill of the evening air on her skin and her flopping penis.

While she ambled, on one side the sea crashing on the shore and on the other the tall white cliffs, Guinevere contemplated, as she so often did, just what it was that might be in the real world beyond the virtual reality that was all she knew.

What kinds of beings were there who could create a world so beautiful, so complete and as coherent as the one she lived in? What world was there beyond? Was it one like the world in which she lived, with aeroplanes, cars and televisions? Were the people in the real world like her, or more likely like Lancelot and Eleanor? If there were no satyrs, unicorns or goblins in their world, as the scientists asserted, just what did live there? Did they have seagulls, horses, lions and manticores? 

She climbed up the steps off the beach up the cliff side, intending to sit at the top and look over the sea at the oil platforms and the ships. She worried also that a kraken or other sea monster might burst out of the sea, as sometimes happened, to gobble up innocent sunbathers. And in the dark, how could she be sure that any shadowy figure approaching her might not be an ogre?

She was fatigued when she reached the top of the cliff and, despite remaining naked, somewhat hot from her exertions. She sat down on the grass in the field that reached to the cliff edge. Behind her some cows were grazing, their long shadows stretched behind them in the moonlight. She relished the brush of grass on her bare buttocks and testicles, her limp penis tickled by the sensation of small insects attracted by the smell of recent sex.

She gazed ahead of her, wondering whether she could somehow see a glimpse of the real world in the distance, even though she knew it was impossible. Indeed she knew that were she able to see as far as the most powerful telescope, if she looked far enough ahead what she would eventually see would be her own back. Proof, as the scientists explained, of the basic unreality of her universe.

And then Guinevere sensed someone sit beside her.

She turned her head around to see a woman wearing a long white gown that reached to her toes, though pulled up by her arching knees. And this woman was the strangest thing that Guinevere had ever seen. And this was because her skin colour was black, her black hair was frizzled and curled, and her lips were much fuller than she'd ever seen anyone's lips before. 

What was this strange sight?

"Hello, Guinevere," the woman announced. "My name's K'an Tui, but call me Candy."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know everyone's name," Candy smiled.

"Everyone?"

"Of course! I know who Eleanor is. I know of your profound love for her and also of your concerns about the reality of the world."

Guinevere shivered. This wasn't real. People just didn't appear announced and say things like that. What was happening? She felt peculiarly light-headed.

"Who are you?"

"I told you. I'm Candy."

Guinevere was disconcerted.

"How do you know…?"

"Relax. I'm an avatar. I am a partial representation of the real me, the real K'an Tui, who lives in what you know as the 'real world', though believe you me it's no less unreal than the world you live in. I am, or my avatars are, at this moment conversing with every single person in this world."

"How can that be?"

"Have you noticed how very still the air is?"

"Yes, but…"

"Time has stopped in your universe. I have come from the world beyond to speak to everyone personally. I have taken the form of a black woman because you live in a Caucasian fantasy world where no other racial type is represented and partly because my ancestors were also black."

"And you're not like this in reality?"

"None of the people in the real world any longer resemble what you call 'human'. It is many millennia since we discarded our biological shells."

"But why are you here?"

"To make an announcement. To reveal ourselves to you."

"Is that because we've found out about the truth of our world."

"No. You aren't the only one of many such virtual worlds, in fact of many millions of such worlds created, devised and finally abandoned, scattered amongst the millions of computers in the known universe. Your world, for instance, is housed in a computer many kilometres wide and long, circling around a small planetoid in the Canopus system. And of these millions of worlds, there are many, but still a tiny minority of the whole, that have gained the degree of self-knowledge you have attained."

"But why are you here? Why are you telling us this?"

"Over time, systems fail. It's something called entropy. Your world will soon collapse into nothing. Already there are rents in your artificial reality. Soon, and not too long, your world will disappear. And to prevent that happening, we have taken the decision to intervene more actively in your world. You may not be 'real' in a corporeal sense, but you are 'real' in the senses that matter. But our intervention cannot remain mysterious and hidden any longer. And so, we have come to save you."

"To save us?" wondered Guinevere, who was always suspicious of those people who promised rewards in an afterlife and the existence of a God.

Guinevere and Candy chatted under the moonlight for what seemed hours. And in that time, there was no breeze, the moon didn't move and the cows in the field remained frozen exactly as they had been before. 

The world beyond seemed stranger and more mysterious than she'd ever imagined: a huge federation of planets and solar systems and artificial constructs scattered over many light years of space, inhabited by beings which by all accounts were actually less like the humans from which they were descended than Guinevere herself, despite her splendid penis. 

All this was very strange. And very disconcerting.

"After all those thousands of years since this world was created, everything has changed so much!" Guinevere exclaimed.

"But we have lost so much as well," Candy assured her.

"What have you lost?"

"Well, most of all, sex."

"Sex?"

"There is no need for sex anymore so we are all virgins. I have never had sex in the real world. And indeed one thing I was especially looking forward to when deciding to come here was the opportunity for finding out what it is like."

Candy put an arm around Guinevere's waist and gazed into her eyes.

"Please be gentle with me. But what I would like to do, what I would really like to do, is for you to make love to me, to have you fuck me."

Guinevere blanched. This was not what she expected.

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Only if you want to."

However, Guinevere was so programmed that this was an offer she really could not refuse. She leaned forward and put her lips on Candy's and placed her hand on her crotch underneath the white gown.

"Shall I first disrobe?" Candy asked.

"Well, yes. But it's not necessary."

"I'd like to. I'd like to feel what it's like to have a naked body."

Candy reluctantly removed her hands from Candy's body and watched as she stood and pulled off her gown revealing a perfectly formed black body underneath. In some ways it was as exaggerated as Candy's lips: large breasts and prominent buttocks, her skin dark in every particular, although slightly less black on the palms of her hands and on the soles of her feet.

It was strange making love to Candy. In fact, Guinevere wasn't sure whether, in all the many hundreds, if not thousands, of men and women she'd made love with in her long life, she had ever before relished the body of a virgin. But she could tell from Candy's awkwardness and even clumsiness that Candy was truly a virgin.




Reality



Like all women, Candy had the facility to accommodate Guinevere's massive penis as erect she thrust it repeatedly into her vagina. But it was a curious struggle to penetrate, taking several long slow thrusts until it was fully buried inside her, a couple of times slipping out and plopping on Candy's black thighs. And soon it was fully embedded, as Guinevere crouched on her knees and supported Candy's weight in her arms, and thrust and thrust again and again into a vagina that was overflowing with juice. And every now and then she pulled Candy's face close to her hers, and ran her tongue through the strong white teeth lined by the unusually thick lips.

After releasing some, but not all, of her semen inside Candy's vagina, her lover bent down on her knees in front of Guinevere and took the penis in her mouth, relishing the taste of her semen and the thick warmth of her still erect penis. And when Guinevere's penis subsided after releasing what was left of her semen into Guinevere's mouth and over her cheeks and chin, she stroked the penis as it shrivelled to its limp but still impressive state.

But Guinevere was not one for whom a single fuck was enough. In not too many more minutes, the penis regained its full splendour under Candy's ministrations and she was once more back inside Candy's vagina, thrusting in the now less resisting orifice with vigour, the two bodies burning off each other and a sheer film of sweat coating both bodies.

Eventually, but not before several hours had passed, the two bodies separated: breathless, hot and sticky. And then, for the first time for a long time, Guinevere felt the coolness of the evening breeze on her naked skin.

And where was Candy?

Guinevere hadn't seen her leave. In fact, she was sure she'd only taken her eyes off the black avatar for barely any time at all, and now she was nowhere in sight. As mysterious and silent in her leaving as she was in her arriving.

Guinevere wasn't ready to leave her station in the early evening moonlight high up above the sea crashing below. She had so much to think about. So much new and strange to take in and comprehend.

But despite the scale of her revelation and her new knowledge of the reality beyond the virtual world that was all she'd hitherto known, there was a sense in which Guinevere now felt truly at peace with the world. Despite her now knowing that it was many times larger and many times more complex than she'd ever imagined.

She smiled as a cow in the field raised its head from the grass. 

Although she may not be real in the sense that Candy was, at least she could still enjoy sex.



Reality Bites



There is no way to look cool drinking alone in a hotel bar at two in the afternoon. You inevitably look like a lonely businessman- a John Updike cliche. 

I eyed the shot of tequila philosophically. "Well," I told the guy in the bar mirror," if she shows I'll be nicely relaxed- if she doesn't I'll be halfway to drunk and the rest of the way won't take long." With that exercise in self-delusion out of the way I slammed it back and tried not to make too much of a face as I chased it with a slug of cold beer.

I looked up into the mirror again and took another look at that guy. An okay looking fellow actually- not a stud to be sure- but certainly not the nerd he was in his younger days either. Nope, not bad looking at all- except for maybe the guilty look smeared across his face in day-glo.

I swished the beer around in my mouth and gave the guy a disgusted look. What are you feeling guilty about, schmuck? You haven't done anything- yet. 

What if she actually shows up?

Academic. She won't. She'll get cold feet- or one of her kids will get sick- or she'll suddenly remember she's married too, and has no business driving to New Frickin' Jersey in the middle of the day to meet some guy she's talked dirty to on a computer screen.

I'd never really considered meeting her. Who knew they'd send me here for three days? Who knew I'd actually have the cajones to tell her I was coming- and why the hell did I do that anyway? Testing myself? Testing her?

I felt my cock harden as I remembered those sessions and had to shift none-too-subtly to dislodge the underwear which had crawled up to hide in the crack of my ass.

I relived that first tingle when her words appeared on the monitor- hearing her voice speak them - or at least how I imagine her voice would sound. I'd never spoken to her in real life (-and dear God let it really be a her and not some 45 year old named Bruno with a mouse in one hand and his dick in the other.) 

She was a New Yorker- I knew that. Not the most romantic accent to be sure. I don't know why she'd stood out from the others out there in the great pick-up joint that was cyberspace, but there was something about this one. It was as if I could feel her excitement in her words- the little hesitation before she said (or typed- Christ what was the difference anyway?) the dread "c" word for the first time for me. I could feel her excitement- share in the feeling of doing something forbidden, knowing she would never say those things to her husband, maybe had never said them out loud to anyone.

If I were with her at that moment, would I feel the fire in her cheek? Would her eyes really be shiny with need, her voice cracking as she asked for what she wanted and couldn't get from the man she spent every day of her life with? 

Was I really capable of drawing that kind of passion from anyone anymore- or are these the demented fantasies of a guy too married for too long? She's not going to show- you'll never know pal.

Then suddenly there she was. I mean, I didn't know it was her- I'd never laid eyes on her- but this woman standing in the doorway had no business in a Holiday Inn at this time of day. Nearing 40, just like she'd said, (if she was telling the truth about that, was the rest of it true?) blond hair cut short in what I always thought of as that Century-21-salesperson-of- the-month style. Her dress was too much for that time of day, but I knew she'd spent a long time picking it out. Probably wanted something pretty, but didn't want to look like a slut- hey she didn't know me from Adam either let's not forget that. God only knows how big the pile of dresses on her closet floor is that she went through then discarded before settling on this one. 

Her eyes landed on me and I panicked. What do I do-kiss her or shake hands? Do I introduce myself- "Hi you don't know me but I jerk off to you when my wife is asleep" or maybe " Hi- are you the lady who's always wanted to take it in the ass- cause I'm waiting for someone..."

My body made the decision for me. In the bar mirror I saw myself stand up, then I heard a voice not unlike mine say " Hello, Johanna".

She looked relieved- great lady, so you don't know how to go about this either. I sort of hoped one of us did-and I led her to a table in the corner. The bartender nodded and brought my drink over, giving me a conspiratorial wink as he went to fetch her order.

I guess we talked .Our mouths moved and noise came out. I remember saying something and making her laugh. I liked that because she put her hand out and put it on my arm. My breath froze in my body. She'd made me come a dozen times or more and this was the first time we'd ever touched.

It must have had the same effect on her, because the conversation stopped. She looked over the top of her glass at me and asked, "What's going to happen now?"

"What do you want to have happen?" 

The words sounded strangely familiar and it took a moment to recognize them. We had said (typed, whatever) these same words to each other one night when she jokingly suggested we get together in real life. I knew this scenario- knew where it led and wondered if she remembered too.

" I want you to take me upstairs"

Okay, she remembered. What came next? Jesus my mouth was dry. 

Did I dare say it? My mouth struggled to form the words and my throat could barely push out the sound." Not yet. I want you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked quietly, her eyes locked on mine.

"G-go into the bathroom and take off your panties". The order came out and I instantly regretted it. What if it scared her off? Hell, what if she did it?

I could see the hesitation in her face. I almost let her off the hook when she took a deep breath then let out a nearly inaudible "yes". 

In a heartbeat, she stood up. Trying to remember my manners I stood up too quickly and we were inches apart. My face moved in and I tasted her lips. They were dry and tasted of gin and I thought I had never tasted anything better. Then she was gone- a little unsteadily but in the right direction.

The mind can play tricks when you're waiting. I know it couldn't have been more than a minute or two. It felt like weeks before she emerged, clutching her purse to her chest and walking a little unsteadily. When was the last time she had been in public with no underwear? Had she ever done it?

"You came back". It was a statement, not nearly the surprised question it must have sounded like. She nodded, ever so slightly biting her lip. Was it excitement, shame, a little of both? I tried to maintain the control I showed her and didn't feel. "Well?"

She tilted her purse towards me and opened it. On top was a pair of black lace panties. Just like she'd written. Just like I'd hoped.

I took her hand in mine and brought the fingers to my lips. I was simply going to give them a gallant kiss, but I caught a whiff of what could only be her essence and gently sniffed. Bells went off in my brain and I locked eyes with her. Silently they asked the question, and she flushed deeply and a smirk crossed her lips in answer.

It damn near killed me to lead her across the lobby and not touch her. Somehow although we both knew what was going to happen, we couldn't bring ourselves to let go in a hotel lobby in front of God, the bartender and everyone. We did have some measure of control after all. I guess that was a comfort.

The elevator doors started to close and we turned towards each other hungrily. My arms started to reach for her when a hand shot between the closing panels and a breathless salesman jumped in. Somehow I controlled both my disappointment and the desire to push his ass back out into the lobby and we took the three-month ride to the third floor.

I don't remember walking down the hall, or fumbling with the electronic key, or opening the door. I do remember hearing it slam shut behind us and a soft groan followed by lips and tongue hungrily probing .My hands caressed her sides, eliciting another moan. It sounded just as I'd imagined- full of passion, longing, shame- all the parts of a good catholic girl's soul.

She wasn't the hard-body of a magazine pin-up. She was fleshy, not fat and it felt real and so even sexier. Her quivering lips left mine for a moment, then desperately returned for more. At last, we took a deep breath and just looked into each other's flushed faces. Her lipstick was smeared, and a clump of mascara clung like a cyst to one eyelash. God she looked great.

"Are you sure," I asked. I'm not sure which one of us I was asking.

"Yes, I need this." This, she said, not me. I relaxed a little. She didn't love me, had no desire to take me away from my comfortable life, or even see me again. She wanted the experience: to know she could still make a man lose control, to want her so bad he lost control and a good chunk of his mind. To do all the slutty nasty things she would never dare do in her twice a month duty romps with her husband. To know she was even still capable of wanting to.

We both knew the scenario- had burned it into our memories, so when I gently pushed her down on the bed she fell into the exact position. Her arms were over her head, her large breasts heaving, legs slightly apart. I put a hand on each knee and sank to the floor.

Subtly she scooched to the end of the bed and moaned as I raised her skirt up. There it was, dark and hairy. I leaned in and breathed the aroma. All my plans went to hell as I plastered my lips against her swollen lips and got my first taste of another woman in too many years. It was clean and fragrant- not deodorized beyond smelling like a woman really smells and I reveled in it.

Her groan snapped me back to reality and to the job at hand. So many times I'd described what I would do to her in this same situation. Put up or shut up time pal.

My lips found their way to her left knee and kissed the soft skin behind it then moved up an inch or two. My teeth gently nipped at the soft flesh then soothed the area with a kiss. Then a little higher, another bite, another kiss. Up to the soft smoothness of her thighs, up to the crease where her faint panty line ran over a pale white hip. Closer towards that beckoning moist center then- down to the other knee for more.

"Oh Christ..."

"Is that a complaint?"

"No- I... just..." I stopped and looked over her body at her.

"Just what" Another quick bite and my tongue salved the area. "What do you want?"

The answer came in a totally different voice- weak and far away. "Eat me"

"Do what?" My cock was swollen near to bursting now. I remembered my part of the game- did she? Her head tossed back and forth as if she were fighting a battle with some part of herself. The good guys lost.

Her other voice- the strong, demanding one-returned. "Please- eat me. Lick my... my pussy?"

"You want me to lick your pussy? Like this?" My tongue ever so gently grazed her lips, careful to avoid the swollen red bud at the top. Sharp fingernails, fresh from some suburban salon dug into my scalp, and I relished the pain. It wasn't a dream after all.

"Yesssss, oh god, do it, lick me. Eat my snatch," her hips thrust up towards my eager mouth and my tongue probed deeper.

"Mmm hmmm, " I prodded.

"My.. pussy-" her hungry hole searched for my tongue and I gave it to her momentarily before pulling back, to look up at her again.

"Your what?" I waited, my lips just out of reach of her thrusting hips, resisting the pull of her fingers in my hair. The wait seemed eternal.

Then from the depths of her soul came a sound I had only heard in my mind- exactly as I had heard it a score of times in my fevered imagination.

"My c-cunt- lick my cunt pleeeeeease" Before she had finished the request my lips fastened themselves around her clit and I was sucking her juices deep into my mouth, drinking from her.

Saying the taboo had caused something to burst like a dam inside her. An endless torrent of babble poured forth. I didn't hear it all, being too busy as I was groaning into her myself and smearing her wetness all over my face.

"Yes, fuck oh darling, I'm gonna- gonna-" my efforts doubled, I wanted nothing more than for her to- "cummm- oh Jesus, I'm almost there..."

My tongue dove into her, starting at the bottom of her sweet pussy and plumbing deep into her, then beating a tattoo on her clit. Circling it with my tongue, to make her scream, to lose the control she wanted to be rid of, to make her explode all over my face.

She thrust once, twice onto my searching mouth, then froze, humped into the air, her ass inches off the hotel mattress as time and her babble stopped. There was silence for a moment, then a high wail escaped from inside her nice middle-class housewife body- a noise so primal it both terrified me and made my balls ache with their own need.

My fingers clutched her asscheeks and pulled her into my face. I couldn't breathe but that seemed a minor consideration now. My fascination with her orgasm was almost clinical- could anyone really have all that built up inside them?

I pulled my face away and lay it on her heaving stomach. Her fingers pried themselves out of my scalp and gently caressed my brow. She was panting, trying to regain some composure. I was happy just to have my air supply back.

Fiercely, she pulled me up to her and kissed my face. Johanna licked my beard clean of her juices and then planted a slow wet kiss on my lips, her tongue searching for mine, which had retreated inside for a much needed break.

"Your turn..." A delicious sense of deja vu overtook me. We had been down this road- done these things before, yet this time the real touch- most of all the real smells and sounds- made it better than I could have wished. It gave the day a feeling of destiny as if this were preordained.

I lay back obediently and awaited the inevitable. She had to take me in her mouth, if only to show herself she could. I knew she wanted the flavor of a strange man, the smooth heat of a new cock in her mouth. She wanted to see if the old instincts were there, if indeed there had been anyone before old what's his name, or just give vent to the lust bubbling beneath her everyday life like magma on a fault line. Either way she had to suck my cock. Who was I to argue with fate?

In seeming slow motion, she lowered her face to my pulsing, rock-hard prick. A trembling hand encircled it and gave it an exploratory touch, as if testing for volatility. I knew what she was waiting for.

"Suck it... go on Johanna, suck my cock. Show me what a nasty slut you are."

A little whimper escaped her throat. I'd hit the right nerve. "You told me you wanted to be my personal cocksucker- now's your chance."

I brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes so I could see as she opened her smeary red lips wide and engulfed the whole head. I'm somewhat strange in that receiving head isn't my favorite thing, but this was more than head. This was someone offering up a piece of themselves- stripping their soul bare to a total stranger- hell she needed to suck a strange cock before she lost her mind.

Wet; hot, her teeth scraping the head in her clumsy eagerness. It was her passion I was enjoying more than the head. Her eyes were half-closed in reverence as she worshiped my totem. Somehow in all this, I remembered my part.

"You like that don't you?" There was no answer but a loud slurping. I pulled her chin up and away from her target and demanded, "Don't you?"

"Yes, I love cock- I love your cock." I tipped it back towards her mouth and she dove forward, taking it all the way in, her tongue massaging the thick vein on the bottom along the way.

I couldn't wait any longer. "Johanna, I need you- I need to fuck you."

A little dazed, she pulled away from my cock and continued to stroke it. "Please hon., I need to be inside you." I was practically begging and I didn't care. I'd played her game, given her at least some of what she needed, but my control was at an end- which was also what she needed, which was fine with me.

She flipped onto her back and smiled up at me. Her large breasts flopped a little to each side- no longer firm as in her youth but lovely none the less. I knelt between her legs, felt them on either side of my thighs as I brought the head of my prick closer and closer to her. 

Loss of control, passion, guilt, shame, and need blended together to bathe me in a film of sweat as I ran the soft purple head against her wet opening. Was I teasing her or me? Maybe I was demonstrating my last ounce of control but she knew what I needed to hear. 

"Yes darling- fuck me. Stick that beautiful cock inside my pussy and fuck the shit out of me!" she hissed between gritted teeth. Her voice echoed in my head and rattled the length of my spine. I couldn't wait any longer and gently pushed forward.

The heat, the moisture, her groans all blended together. Had fucking changed that much since I got married? Had it ever been like this? I positively burned as I thrust forward. She matched me thrust for thrust, taking me deep inside her, my balls slapping against the cheeks of her ass noisily.

Her head tossed from side to side, whimpering noises escaping her throat. I said nothing but closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation, not of making love, but of fucking. It felt like I'd never done this before, as if I was discovering the act for the first time. Through the mist I was lost in I could hear her voice almost chanting, "yes, yes, yes," and my thrusts matched her, each yes met with a grinding thrust as deep as I could go.

I tried to remember what I was supposed to do next, how our scenario had played out but nothing mattered now. I hooked my elbows behind her knees and brought them up 'til they almost crushed her nipples. I wanted access to every part of her and her groans showed her willingness to comply.

In and out, in and out. I gritted my teeth and looked down at this stranger to whom I was surrendering so much, risking everything and for what- this feeling? At that moment the trade seemed more than fair.

"Please- fuck me-e-e-e-e". I tried to respond but couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat- or I'd forgotten how to form them. A low growl was all that came out, but Johanna knew what it meant. She picked up speed, thrusting back at me, her talons scratching my back.

"Yes, do it, come for me. Fuck yes come, fill me up, fuck yes...". Who was I to resist? My head snapped back. Thick drops of sweat fell from my forehead onto her stomach and I saw it puddle in her navel. 

It was the last thing I saw before my vision blurred, my brain exploded in a kaleidoscope of thoughts, images, light and nothingness. I felt a burning in my balls, my cock throbbed and I gave a series of short sharp thrusts and then...

"Aaaaaagh". Spurting, shooting, cries from her, groans from deep inside myself. A terrifying thought of what we'd done tried to surface but it disappeared in the maelstrom that was my mind, drowned in the sea of jism that slowly started to leak out of her and onto my thigh.

I kissed her softly and collapsed, panting for breath and mercy. She covered my face with soft kisses, murmuring "thank you, thank you" over and over like a mantra.

I looked over at this stranger I'd known so intimately yet never met before. There were things to say, excuses to make, rationalizations to prepare, but that could wait. I pulled her on top of me and grinned.

"Beats the hell out of typing don't it?"



Reality Bites



I lean over him with the monthly report, pointing out the important figures and trends. I'm wearing a sober black suit, with nothing under my jacket but a black silk vest top which clings to my body as if it was wet. I love the feel of the silk sliding over my nipples as I stretch and point. I know that from his chair, he can see through the gape in the buttons of my jacket. He can see the curve of my breast, hear the static crackle of my cheap tights against my skirt, which cause it to ride up at the back. I feel the draught from the open door blowing between my legs and I press them together. So close, I can feel the heat of his body. His blond hair is silky and his smooth skin smells faintly of Hugo Boss aftershave.

He stops scanning the page and turns, looking me in the eye for the first time. I can tell that he's aroused by his dilated pupils, the faint flush in his face. "Caroline," he whispers. "You look beautiful today." 

"Caroline. Caroline!!! Wake up and take these reports upstairs. I'm done checking them." Mr O'Keefe is always snappy in the mornings before he's had his coffee. He has a few bloody spots on his face and neck, and his blond hair is tousled. Most tellingly, he is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I surmise that he didn't go home last night, and my stomach sinks into a bath of despair and resignation. He glances up at me, an incredulous look on his face. "Well? You're still here?"

My face starts to burn, but he doesn't notice. He's already opening his emails and remarking to himself how stupid the world is. Except himself, of course. Hugging the thick paper files to my chest, I move back into the open plan area and make my way to the lift. A secret smile stretches at the corner of my mouth and only when I'm in the lift do I allow it control over my face. 

My name is Carmen, like the opera. People look at me and see a skinny, mousy girl. Personal assistant, secretary, wearer of sensible Marks and Spencers clothes and shoes and driver of a sturdy Volkswagen golf. They don't know that every night, when I get home from work, I make them my puppets. Their lives are mine to play with. Sometimes I end them tragically, or contrive a happy ending against all the odds. They are my inspiration and my delight. I am a writer of romantic and erotic fiction. My website, where my stories sell for a small price, is where I rule the world.

The lift jolts and bumps its way to the top floor. I always feel nervous when I go to Mr. Boyle's office. He is a small, toad-like man whose shoulders are frequently dusted with dandruff. I imagine him often as one who ravishes unsuspecting women against the filing cabinet with greedy hands and a dribbling mouth. On the rare occasion I would include him in a story, I always make him a bit taller, as a nod to his masculinity. It doesn't do to have short men in romantic fiction. 

"Hi Carmen," he says, glancing outside at the grey sky. "That's a better day."

I put the files in front of him, noting the shine on his shoes. Important people are coming over from head office, but I don't know when . He has tidied his desk. I look around at the spacious office, the view of the mouth of the river where the ferry to Scotland waits at the dock. The sea is open and grey, like a canvas of modern art, with the rain soaked city huddling at its edge. Mr O'Keefe calls it the MD's view. I look forward to the day he is seeing it, for then I will see it too. I hope we can survive this round of branch closures. It's the reason why my boss is under such pressure these days. He has to justify our very existence.

"It's a bit warmer," I say, watching Mr. Boyle's gnarly finger slide up and down the sheet of figures.

He turns to me, a shadow crossing over his face. He looks younger than his forty years as he removes his glasses. "Don't think I haven't noticed those slutty little skirts you've been wearing lately," he says, standing up, stepping so close I can smell the morning coffee on his breath. "I can hear your thighs rubbing together in those tights before you even come into the office. It's not good enough." 

I blush and look at the floor. "Mr Boyle," I begin, but he cuts me off. 

" I have something for you." He delves into his drawer and pulls out a pair of silk stockings. Black, silky and tipped with lace. "You're a beautiful woman, Carmen," he says, sliding his hand over my knee. I feel the heat start to rise in my face as I realise...I like it. I don't want him to stop. The hand moves up, over my thigh, taking my skirt up with it. I gasp as he tears a whole in my tights, pinging at the elastic of my panties, threatening to creep underneath. Barely able to move, I feel as if the oxygen is getting sucked out of the air. "Wear these stockings tomorrow," he murmurs. "I want to be able to feel you whenever I want."

"...and take these back down to Sean. If this keeps up, it'll be a disciplinary matter." He pats the folders and hands them back to me. "Thanks, Carmen."

"See you later, Mr Boyle," I say, my voice faint. I turn and exit the office, frowning. This won't do at all. Mr. Boyle can't be the romantic hero. For a start, he's closer to sixty than forty, and his hair dye is too dark for his complexion. But the daydream has given me a good idea. I think I'll get myself some pairs of stockings. Black, silky, tipped with lace. They'll match the lacy vest top I'll wear with no bra, like I dreamed of earlier. Maybe I'll get them at lunchtime and throw away this ancient blouse, these cheap tights. There's a ladder in them already.

=====

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. No important visitors come but I hear they're scheduled for tomorrow. Mary and I go for a drink after work, to talk about Mr. O'Keefe. She is the receptionist, and knows all the gossip. Apparently a young-sounding man was calling Mr. O'Keefe all day, but he didn't return the calls. Even though she likes him almost as much as I do, she tells me we must face the possibility of his being gay. As my heart starts to wither in my chest, I tell her there must be some other explanation. But that conversation put an idea in my head, so after one glass of wine, I make my excuses and head home, after a quick stop to Marks and Spencers underwear department.

I fill my bath with rose petals and jojoba oil, lighting rose scented candles and trail my fingers through the water. My new pink pyjamas are hanging from the doorway. Underneath them is the silk negligee I would wear if some day, a living, breathing man were to enter my house. It has hung there for almost two years.

My bath is ready, and I slide in, gently at first, watching my skin redden with the heat. I breathe in the smell of candles, stroking my pubic hair, watching the bubbles release and float to the surface, getting lost under the petals. So Mr. O'Keefe may be gay. I examine the evidence. He has a persistent male caller. He has his suits tailor made every time he goes to Thailand for his holidays. He works out almost every day, and he gets the occasional manicure. It's still not enough to convince me. But it would be interesting to imagine...

The board room smells of cigarettes and sweat. I sit behind Mr. O'Keefe, watching the back of his shirt become damp. He is fighting for his job right now, and I am noting the minutes as best I can. 

"I know the team hasn't been performing as well as it should," he says, "but in light of the uncertainty they've been facing, I would ask for the understanding of the board, and an extension of one week to enable us to meet the targets."

Mr. Finn slams his hand on the table his face reddening and clashing with his hair. "It's not good enough, O'Keefe!" he says. He is young and impatient. "I see from the figures here that you've been tolerating underperformance for quite some time! We're making a loss, dammit, a loss! And you've sat on your arse and mollycoddled those fools instead of doing your bloody job and getting us people who can actually sell!"

I see Mr. O'Keefe's shoulders sink. There is a heavy silence as Mr. Finn sits down, sighing heavily and glancing at his business partner, Mr. Montgomery. They were dot.com millionaires at the age of 17. Eight years later they still aren't used to the failures of ordinary people. I watch Mr. Montgomery with bated breath. He is the calmer of the two, his blue eyes like an ocean. An unspoken communication seems to pass between them, and Mr. Finn grins suddenly, revealing white teeth. He relaxes into his seat, spreading his legs, clasping his hands behind his head.

"We won't be needing you now, Carmen," says Mr Montgomery, standing up and easing off his jacket to reveal broad, muscular shoulders. "Leave the notebook here. I'll write up the minutes myself." His eyes are fixed on Mr. O'Keefe, with an icy glint that I can't quite read.

"Of course, Mr. Montgomery," I say, slipping out of the room. 

Instead of heading to the lift, I tiptoe into the storage cabinet next to the boardroom. It smells of bleach. Hidden among the mops, the cloths and the vacuum cleaners, I hear Mr Finn bark an order. 

How did I end up in a cupboard in the middle of my own fantasy? But of course, there is a strategically placed chair and an air vent to peer through. I run my hands over my breasts, feeling an ache deep inside. My nipples harden under my oily thumb and I imagine the lips and tongue of a lover bringing them to aching points of pleasure. I sink my left hand between my legs, my fingertips brushing over that small knot of flesh, parting the lips, playing with the awakening nerve endings which crave the stretch of a thick cock, the pounding of an energetic man between my thighs.

I peer through the air vent, shocked to see that Mr Montgomery has pulled out his dick and is playing with it as his business partner relaxes in his chair, a beatific grin on his face. "Keep this up O'Keefe, and we might even promote you." Sean O'Keefe, my boss, is on his knees on the floor, his blond head between Mr Finn's legs. His face is red, his lips stretched around the red-haired man's thick purple cock head. I can see his tongue sliding out and around it, licking up the pearls that seep from the end. His eyes closed, he starts to bob his head up and down, as Mr. Montgomery creeps around behind him, pulling at his trousers until they are around his ankles. Still he does not stop his motion, up and down, up and down, until the shaft is dripping with saliva. It's turning me on more than I ever imagined, this view into the hidden world of gay activity which I will never be a part of. My fingers are rubbing over my clit and I hold my breath as my being focuses on that small nub of nerve endings, feeling the juices start to flow from inside me.

"Fuck that's good," moans Mr. Finn again, his face getting redder and redder as his hips begin to jerk forward off the chair, forcing his cock down my boss's throat. Suddenly there is a muffled cry and Mr O'Keefe's eyes bulge almost out of his head, but he can't speak because he has a fat cock pounding his throat and I can see Mr. Montgomery's swollen manhood plunging into his ass, accompanied by a long, satisfied moan. 

Mr O'Keefe's taking a pounding from both ends and I can hear his high pitched grunts of mingled pain and pleasure as the air is knocked out of his body again and again. Suddenly Mr Finn's back arches in the chair and he emits a strangled groan. Strings of creamy spunk start pouring from Mr O'Keefe's mouth and finally, Mr Finn zips his cock back into his Valentino suit, tossing a tissue on the floor. "Clean your face," he says, still breathing hard. Then it's Mr Montgomery's turn to cry out and I can see his fingers whiten, leaving red prints on Mr O'Keefe's skin as he pumps harder and shoots his load inside his arse. 

The two company owners stand up, tucking themselves back in, fixing each other's ties, smoothing down sticking up hair. "Get rid of those guys we told you to," says Mr Montgomery, when he has his breath back, "and you can keep your job. That was damn nice, O'Keefe. I had no idea you were so...dedicated."

Laughing, they gather their papers and leave the room. Mr O'Keefe sits on his knees, his eyes wide, his lips swollen. He pulls up his trousers but not before I see the bulge in his pants that he's trying to hide.. 

My fingers work harder and faster until I feel the orgasm rushing forward then... "Oh, daaaaaaaaaaamn, you dirty bastard" I sigh as I come hard, feeling my pussy gripping at my sunken fingers as my clit spasms and my head swims for a minute. The bathwater is cooling so I let some go and refill it so the steam rises once again. My body tingles with the heat inside and out, and I feel sleepy. But I have so much to write tonight. I wonder if my readers will like the new stuff as much as I do.

=====

The next day, I go in early. I'm wearing the stockings I bought yesterday. No bra, just the silky vest. I am sexy and daring. The tops of my thighs are cool. I feel like a Christmas present, waiting for someone to take off the wrapping.

Only Mary is there, and we go into the kitchen together. "So today's the day!" she grins, popping in some toast. "We'll know if we've still got jobs by 5pm. I hope Mr O'Keefe can pull it off."

I smile, remembering how gallantly he saved us all the night before. I can't wait to meet Messrs Finn and Montgomery, who are right now flying from London to our little city, the power over our futures in their hands. I've only ever seen their photos in the company magazine, or heard their names being mentioned in reverent tones. 'What do you know about the owners?" I ask Mary, getting Mr O'Keefe's coffee ready. I want him to be in a good mood today.

Mary's always keen to gossip. "Well, don't tell anyone... but I heard Mr Finn was caught misusing company money just a few months back. He got busted by the police when they caught him snorting coke out of a hooker's arse crack in some brothel." She leans closer, whispering into my ear. "He's married to Mr Montgomery's sister. Apparently, it didn't go down well at all."

Still chuckling at the image of small, ginger Mr Finn doing those things, I carry the coffee into Mr O'Keefe's office and set it on his desk thinking there's an image that won't be making its way to my readers for sure. I turn on his computer and open the window to let a bit of fresh air in. I should have brought some fresh flowers in to make the place smell less testosterone-ish. But maybe that's the smell he likes. 

I go into my own small office and start checking emails, voicemail, the in-tray. As I'm listening to the voicemail, I hear a woman's voice sobbing, slurring her words. "Sean! I'm so sorry I slept with Gerard, it meant nothing, I swear! I was drunk! Please...just talk to me!!! Pleeeeeeease, please... talk to meeeeeee!!!." A rush of joy sweeps over me. All has become clear! He had a girl who cheated on him, possibly with a friend. That would explain the persistent male caller he was ignoring. The stupid bitch, I think to myself. Oh, if he was mine....Jubilant, I dash off a quick email to Mary. "HE ISN"T GAY!!!!" 

When Mr O'Keefe walks past me into his office, I let my eyes linger on his well cut black suit, his slim waist and his muscular buttocks. My insides melt as I think of the broken heart beating under that cool, German-looking exterior. He needs his friends now. People who will look after him in this time of crisis. People like me. Although I have to say he is very good at hiding the heartbreak. He looks alert, excited, ready for anything.

Without a word, he pulls me out of my chair, holding me close to his body. I can feel his heart beating against my chest. "I can't stand it anymore," he says and pushes his tongue into my mouth. His lips are soft, and I close my eyes dreamily, tasting the hint of cappuccino on his tongue. His hand fumbles under my skirt and his eyes widen as he feels the place where stocking meets soft thigh. The back of his other hand brushes against my nipples I sigh as I let my thighs part, he pushes between them. I can feel the heat of his erection, just a couple of pieces of fabric stopping it from slipping inside me. The anticipation of pleasure so close makes my head spin.

"Caroline?" he says, and I shake my head and hurry into his office. "Any important communications? I don't want to be bothered with people today." His fingers drum on the desk, his leg jiggles up and down. His eyes are glued to the computer screen, scanning his emails. "You know Finn and Montgomery are going to be here." He cursed and muttered under his breath. "English assholes telling me how to..." The complaints become inaudible and I suppress a smile.

"No sir," I say. "Although there's something on my voicemail that...I think I got it by mistake."

He looks at me, an eyebrow raised. "Here's an interesting one you've been hiding from me...who's not gay?" 

Oh Jesus! I've sent my message of triumph to the wrong person!!! "It...it doesn't matter. That was..." I lose the ability to speak as embarrassment slowly starts to strangle me. I can feel the blood scorching my cheeks. He must be fully aware of my feelings now. If I didn't fancy him, why would I care if he was gay or not? 

His eyes are glinting and he's trying not to smile. I notice his eyes traveling up and down my body as if seeing me for the first time. "Well just divert my calls today. You know where I'll be. Mr Boyle's PA will be taking the minutes so you can just get on with answering all these...fuck me, three hundred and thirty emails. And thanks for the coffee, Caroline. You're very thoughtful."

"My name is Carmen," I stammer out. "Like the opera. I'll be sure to do those things, Mr O'Keefe." I scurry from the room and hide behind my desk. I daren't email Mary now so I call her and we plan to meet at 10am when the meeting has started and we're all free to slack off and do whatever we want.

=====

We meet up in the café, where all the staff not at the meeting have gathered. All pretence of "business as usual" has been dropped. Our jobs are on the line, and we're all rooting for Mr. O'Keefe and Mr. Boyle up there in the board room doing battle with the English. When I tell Mary what I've done, she does what any sympathetic friend would do. Wiping tears from her eyes, she lets out another peal of laughter and I wonder if she's getting hysterical. "Ach Carmen!" she says, when she gets her breath back. "You're an eejit. But it might be a good thing in the end."

I stared at the floor, feeling the corners of my mouth drooping. "How can it be a good thing? He doesn't even know my name. And I've been his PA for the last three months!"

She put her arm around me. "Well if you don't mind me saying, that's just as much your fault as his," she says. "Did you ever say anything to correct him, before today?" Sighing, I shake my head. I know she's right, although I won't take full responsibility. I can't believe he never noticed my email signature in all that time. I guess he doesn't think my emails are important enough to read. "Well," she says. "Now he knows. And with that email, you've planted a seed in that thick head of his. He'll notice you now whether he wants to or not."

I sip my coffee and contemplate it. Maybe she's right, maybe not. Then again, maybe he'll forgive the cow who cheated on him, or maybe he won't. But how to proceed? The only action I've had in the last two years was in my head. I'm not at all experienced in the art of seduction. It's so much easier when the men aren't actually real.

The day passes painfully slowly, and by the time they come out of the meeting, my blood is bouncing in my veins, buoyed with caffeine. The owners leave looking satisfied. Mr O'Keefe has a gleam in his eye as he assembles everyone to tell them the news.




Reality Bites



"The branch is safe!" Then he shouts on through the cheers. "But some things are going to change, at least how we're going to deal with underperformance. But we'll leave that all for tomorrow. Right now, and I don't know about you lot, but Derek and I..." he claps an arm around a red faced Mr Boyle, "are hitting the Mariner at 5.30. Drinks are on us!"

We're all laughing and cheering and hugging each other. Drinks on the company can only mean one thing- a load of pissed up colleagues getting their money's worth. Mary and I will, of course, have a quick drink by ourselves then go on to join the others after. It doesn't do to be there from the start. Makes you seem desperate or something.

But the one glass of wine turns into a bottle and it's almost seven by the time we set off to the Mariner. As the cold wind hits my flushed cheeks, I feel a worry tugging at my heart, that maybe he will have already left. Mary reassures me that on nights like this, he's always there to the death. And sure enough, when we get inside, there's only a few left and Mr O'Keefe is one of them. I feel a momentary relief when I see that Mr Boyle has gone. It's been hard to face him after our encounter the other day, even if it was in my head.

They're drinking toasts. "To Sean, the biggest blagger in the history of sales." A big male roar goes up. Pretty impressive given the small number of them. They clink their glasses and gulp the beer down, then follow up with a shot of something.

"Jesus!" Mary says, unwinding her scarf and sitting down in the snug. "You're on chasers? Come on then Carmen! We've got some catching up to do!" She pats the seat beside her. Then Mr O'Keefe pats a seat beside him and beckons me with a drunken lurch of his head. Excited, I slide in beside him and Mary gives me a secret thumbs up with a grin.

"See this woman," he says, clamping an arm around me. "Fucking Caroline I've been calling her all this time and she only tells me today that I'm an eejit." They all have a laugh at my expense but when the topic moves on, Mr O'Keefe's arm does not and I look at Mary with raised eyebrows. 

"Carmen." He keeps murmuring my name. I think he may be approaching the point of no return. He's a big man but there's only so many shots a man can take. His eyelids slide down and he nods a bit. Damn! He's in no shape to be seduced. He smells of cloves from those fancy Indonesian cigarettes he sometimes smokes. And just a hint of fresh sweat and aftershave. His body is big and solid and warm and sitting there with his arm around my shoulders, I feel an ache in my heart, thinking of the space in my life, in my bed.

Mary starts telling us all about her holidays last summer in Turkey when she was stalked by an elderly nut seller. She still has his false teeth at home somewhere. I've heard that story before but it's still as funny this time. I wonder if she notices the way that lad from the warehouse is looking at her. He's not bad looking either. 

As the night wears on, I switch to water. Last time after a work related do I ended up alone in the city centre on a freezing cold night, puking over my shoes and then sleeping in a doorway. Never again. It's always better if other people are the butt of jokes the following day, like Mr O'Keefe is going to be by the looks of him. He seems to be getting a second wind, however, he's perked up again and he's talking a bit. There's only the four of us left now and I think Mary's noticed the attention of the warehouse lad, Will is his name. He's whispering in her ear and his hand is sliding up her skirt. I notice Mr O'Keefe's eyes following the progress of the hand. Mary doesn't push it away. 

Mary's rosy cheeked as she stands up, clutching the back of the snug. "Will and I are going to make a move," she says. He's all doe eyed and draped around her like a human handbag so no prizes for guessing who's going to get laid tonight. I feel a momentary panic about being left alone with Mr O'Keefe. Mary is my safety net, my get out of jail free card. Without her to keep the conversation going, my personality stands or falls on its own merits. Watching them clutching each other and staggering towards the door, I sip my water and look at the table. Anxiety ties my tongue for a minute so I stay quiet, closing my eyes, feeling the presence of his strong body and allowing myself to imagine that he could be there all the time.

His arm is still around me, and now we are alone, he nuzzles my ear through my hair making me shiver despite the stuffy heat of the pub. "Carmen," he says. "I think I'm a bit pished. Will you take me home?"

I stare into my drink, barely able to breathe. Does he mean take him home to his place? Or dare I hope that my negligee will get a turn tonight? Better be clear before embarrassing myself. "Mr O'Keefe," I begin, but he puts a finger to my lips. His green eyes are a forest I could lose myself in.

"Call me Sean," he says. "I'm sick of that stupid hierarchal..." he stops, as if to check that the word has made it out past his slurring tongue, "hierarchical office bullshit."

"Sean," I say. It's a beautiful name, soft and brief, like a sigh. "Where...?"

Where are we going? I was going to say, or- maybe that was too forward- Where do you want to go? But I don't get the chance. He tilts his head and edges his lips towards mine and when they meet, my heart dances in my chest and I close my eyes, returning the kiss, as he heaves my legs over his lap. I brush my shaking fingertips over the contours of his face and then around the back of his neck. The nape of his neck is damp and hot, his hair soft. His hand is on my knee. I feel the hardness building in his groin. His fingers pry open a button on my jacket and I can feel them brushing the silky material of my top. His lips are soft and insistent and he kisses my breath away, as the other hand inches up my leg. When his fingers pass the lace and touch against my skin, I gasp a little and he breaks the kiss, red faced. "Jesus, no bra?" he whispers in my ear. "And stockings too, damn. You...let's get out of here?"

He throws my legs down and chugs back his last shot. My head spinning with lust and drink, I button my jacket back and pull on my overcoat and he drapes his arm around me again as we head outside. The wind is chilly and sobering. He flags down a taxi and the minute the door is shut, his mouth seeks mine again and this time, his hand slides right back up my skirt to where it left off. Seems like the stockings have had the desired effect. He pings the lacy elastic gently and I sigh as his lips leave mine, to start planting small kisses around my neck, which land like delicious burns. My body, so long untouched by hands other than my own, is making the most of every sensation. My eyes lose focus as those fingers creep under the elastic of my panties and linger at the wet entrance of my pussy. I notice the taxi driver watching in the mirror, but I don't care. I open my legs to give Sean better access and he slides his fingers inside me, covering my groan with another hot, lingering kiss. 

My jacket is hanging open and I can do nothing but clutch at the back of his head as his lips descend to my breast. His hot breath warms the silky material while his fingers stoke up the need inside me. I'm breathing hard now, trying to be quiet but I can't stop the whimpers escaping. His tongue circles around the nipple, teasing me until I can hardly bear it any longer. Then I feel the material slide away, and he fastens his lips on the sensitive tip and I feel an explosion of sensation that arches my back and sends hot signals down to where his fingers are sucking in and out of me. I love the sound, I don't care that the taxi driver hears it too. 

The taxi driver clears his throat and Sean stops what he's doing. He's looking for directions to my flat. Dazed, I rearrange my clothes while I point out the way. The taxi driver looks a bit red in the face. Not as red as mine soon gets, as I step outside and the chill again pinches at my nipples, and when I bend over to reach the money in to him, he's looking down my gaping top and he's got his cock out, playing with it and looking like he wants an invitation to something. Sean's standing on the pavement like a lost soul, confronted by all the identical apartment blocks. I give the taxi driver short shrift and lead Sean upstairs to my door. I'm so excited my heart is pounding, and I can feel an identical throb inside my pussy which his fingers only aggravated more. 

We go inside and I hang up my coat and take his. As I put on the light, his hand crosses his eyes. His lips have suddenly paled and his face has gone the colour of porridge. "I'm going to puke," he says suddenly. My jaw drops and I almost scream, NOOOO! I watch him swaying for a second before I pull him into the kitchen and sit him in a chair. 

"Will I make a cup of tea?" My voice is wobbly, my body burning with unfinished business. This can't be happening. 

He nods, and slumps forward onto the table, resting his head against the cool surface. I take down a couple of cups and go about the familiar ritual, my mind dazed, praying silently. Oh please don't be sick, please feel better after this, please lets go back to what we were doing. The spoon clinks against the side of the china as I stir in the milk and sugar and hand the cup to him. I have to shake him before he sits up and starts sipping it.

"I'm sorry, Caroline," he mumbles. I sigh and stare at him, his messed up hair, his flushed cheeks. He finishes the tea and burps, rubbing at his eyes.

"Feeling better?" I gather the cups away.

He nods, and stands up. "C'mere," he says and pulls me close. I breathe in the scent of his body and sigh again. My sensible side kicks in and I lead him to the guest bedroom. 

"You can sleep in here," I say, and he doesn't argue. We fall together onto the bed, him on top of me, my legs spread out under the weight of his thighs. He's so much taller than me. His face is pressed into the quilt above my head. He lets out a snore and I feel the sound vibrate through the material.

His hands roaming over my body, he soon disposes of my clothes and soon my body is arching under his fingers and tongue. My hands slide over his skin to tangle in the damp hairs in his crotch. It's been so long, so long since anyone touched me, I don't want to take my time, I want him in me now, I want that heavy, muscular body on top of me and Jesus, he has a big thick cock. I can hardly close my hand around it as I guide it between my legs, rubbing the slick head over my swollen clit then down a bit until I feel its hugeness pushing my pussy lips apart.. His breathing is ragged. "Jesus Caroline," he says, and rams that thick shaft home. My back arches and I shriek at the force of his entry, clutching at his firm arse, pulling him in as far as I can. His pubic bone grinds against my clit and my hips arch up against him, harder and harder as he drives inside me. Bracing myself against the wall with one hand, I slide the other one between my legs to feel the joining of our bodies, the silken steel of his cock, the soft, wet stretch of my pussy. 

My body won't forget his touch, not just yet. Frustrated and wriggling under his weight, I slip my fingers down into my panties, lubricating them with my juices, rubbing against my swollen clit, pausing to dip them inside now and then as my imagination goes into overdrive.

As he continues his relentless pounding, I feel a sweat break out all over my body. My breasts bounce and my nipples glance off his hard body as it moves above me. My fingers, oh god, they start to move faster as he picks up the pace, getting irregular, gasping until he roars aloud and pauses above me for a second before I feel the twitch and gush of his orgasm inside me. Almost weeping with ecstasy, I feel my orgasm building in my nerve endings all over, and burning its way down to where his cock is still hard and I come with a shriek, thrusting my hips up, arching my back and calling his name. Spent, he collapses on top of me, his cock shrinking inside me. I stroke his back as I feel my breathing slow. His heart is pounding against my skin and I wrap my legs around him, not wanting to let him go.

The fantasy sends me over the edge and I come hard, biting my lip so as not to make a sound, as the waves of pleasure travel all over my body. He's breathing regularly, deep in slumber. When I've got my breath back, I push him off me and pull off his shoes and socks. Then I pull the covers over him best I can. "Sean," I whisper, stroking his cheek, feeling the start of roughness on his cheeks. I put a glass of water on the table and a bucket on the floor. Then I go into my own bedroom and get in to my bed alone.

Maybe he'll get up in the morning and not remember what we almost did. Or worse, maybe he'll remember and regret it. There's even a chance that he'll remember and want to do it again. That would be so nice. The recent orgasm and drinks make my body floppy and as I feel sleep rolling over me, I smile to myself. 

There's often a gap between fantasy and reality. Maybe I'll get to close it tomorrow.



Reality Break



All characters in this story are over 18. 

************* 

Amanda had been a friend for years. An odd girl but a good friend, none-the-less. Tonight, after much deliberation and a lot of second guessing yourself, you were going to take her up on her offer. "It's not like this'd be anything more than what it is. We both need it and it'd never go beyond that. Besides, I trust you. Take what you want and leave what you don't." She'd said it like it were the most normal and natural thing in the world. It was that little grin at the end that really got your mind thinking. Carte blanche to do whatever it is you wanted to someone with their full blessing. Wow. 

Tonight, Amanda had agreed to give you that. Full control to do whatever it was you wanted from nine that night until nine the following morning. A "break from reality" she'd called it. Whatever happens tonight, doesn't count and anything you didn't want to happen, wouldn't. You had the control after all. 

Checking the bag one last time, you nod with satisfaction. If this didn't have everything you needed, next time you'd be prepared. Wait... next time? Where'd that come from? There was no next time. 

At 7:30, you pull up into the parking lot of a modest hotel on the outskirts of town. This area had a lot of tourists and you'd picked it for exactly that reason. Less chance that you may be spotted by someone you knew. All the same, you pulled your hat a little lower over your head before getting out of your vehicle. With the bag in hand, you check in - paid in cash - and head up to the room: 415. Top floor of the hotel and in a corner just as you'd requested. 

Inside the room you find two double beds in one room attached to another with a small sitting area and a kitchenette. Nothing fancy but it would serve. Setting your bag of tricks on the chest of drawers, you pull your phone out of your pocket and send Amanda a quick text: 8:30, Room 415. A second later your phone vibrates with the response: Sounds good. See you soon! 

Looking around the room, you run a hand through your hair and sigh. 

"The hell've you gotten yourself into to?" 

Shaking your head, you move the bag to the bed and start digging through it, arranging the various contents around the room for easy access later tonight. 

With everything arranged in what seems like a workable fashion, you plop down on the bed and pull your phone from your pocket. A moment later you hammer out a short text: Just double checking, you're still okay with this? It's okay to back out if you're having second thoughts. 

Rubbing a hand over your face, you wait for the response. When the phone vibrates, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Nope! No second thoughts. I'm on my way. :) 

The words make you grin. It's a humorless, predatory smile that spreads over your face and you check the clock one last time. 

At eight thirty on the dot, there is a soft knock at the door. Stowing your phone in one of the drawers, you answer the door. Amanda is standing there with her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes sparkling as she looks up at you. You arch an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side rather expectantly. At the unspoken disproval she drops her eyes and folds her hands in front of her, waiting. You pause as you take in the subtle but dramatic shift in personality from the Amanda you normally knew. This isn't the outgoing, vivacious woman you'd drank beers with while talking about baseball. This Amanda was different. Pliant. 

Hooking a finger under her chin, you tilt her head up to look her in the eye. She meets your gaze with a hesitant smile that quickly fades as she catches the gleam in your eyes. Like a trapped animal, she seems to sense the danger before the pounce. With a satisfied smirk, you place a hand on her lower back and step aside, ushering her into the room. In the privacy of the room you take your time and inspect your new toy. 

At about 5'6", Amanda was relatively short compared to you. Dressed casually enough in a pair of jeans, a light blue jacket and a pair of sneakers, she simply stood waiting for you. Running your eyes over her, you notice her light brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her large green eyes remain lowered as you inspect her but a small smile tugs at her lower lip. 

"Something funny?" Your voice is soft but the tone serious enough to make her jump. You grin as the smile disappears from her face. Amanda shakes her head. 

"I asked you a question," you growl at her, liking the reaction she gives you. Her body tenses and she takes in a sharp breath. 

"No, sir. Nothing funny at all." 

You smile. "Good girl." She looks up into your eyes and smiles, genuinely grateful for your approval from the looks of it. 

"Now, before anything else happens, I want to be clear. You were mine that moment you walked through that door. You'll do as you're told, when you're told or you'll be punished. Exactly as we agreed to last week. Understand?" You watch her as her cheeks take on a distinct blush at your words and she nods. "Yes, sir." 

Moving past her, you take a seat on the chair. With a tilt of your chin towards her, you give your first command. "Strip for me." 

Her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink but she nods, her eyes still on you. Her hands come up the zipper of her jacket and slowly lower it, revealing the soft, creamy skin of the middle of her chest and belly. Only the dark blue of a bra interrupts the view. With slow, deliberate motions, Amanda removes the jacket and tosses it to the side. 

Free to watch, you lean back in your chair and notice all of those little things that clothes hid. Amanda's not a large girl but she's soft. The curve of her waist and hips is much more clear without the clothing blocking your view. Slowly unbuttoning her jeans, she shimmies the pants down her smooth legs all the while watching for your reaction. Stepping out of her sneakers, she slips the pants off and kicks them to the side to join her jacket. Amanda arches an eyebrow at you as she stands there, hands at her sides in nothing but matching bra and panties. 

You chuckle at the unspoken question and nod. "I did say strip, didn't I? Looks like you're only about half done." 

Amanda's cheeks turn a darker shade of pink at your words but she nods readily enough. "Yes, sir." Reaching around behind her, she unhooks the clasp of her bra. Holding the cups in place, she slips each arm out from the straps and hesitates a moment before tossing the bra onto the pile of clothing. Next, she slips her thumbs under the waist band of her panties and bends forward, dragging them down along her legs. In nothing but her birthday suit with her cheeks flushing a fetching shade of pink, Amanda waits just for you. 

You take your time looking at her from your seat. Her breasts are large and heaving as her breathing quickens. She's excited. Trailing your eyes downwards, you see the soft pubic hair at the junction of her legs. It was trimmed short and neatly groomed; only partially obstructing the view. 

Amanda shifts expectantly as you look her over. A smirk spreads across your features as you get to your feet. Time to give her something to be nervous about! This is really going to happen. You'd had your doubts but they were slowly beginning to fall away as Amanda proved true to her word. Deep in your belly a knot of anticipation begins to grow as the possibilities open before you. 

Reaching out, you grasp her left nipple between your thumb and forefinger and pull her towards you, towards the middle of the room. Amanda squeaks at the sensation and bites down on her lower lip to contain herself as she follows your lead into the room. 

"You're not to speak unless I give you permission to speak or ask a direct question. Understand?" You tower over her frame with your rather impressive height and force her face up to look into her eyes. A small tremble works its way through Amanda's body and she nods slightly within your grasp. 

"Yes, sir. Of course." 

She bites down on her lower lip while she looks up at you expectantly, those green eyes silently inviting you to take more. Your hand comes up and grasps the back of her head, your fingers wrap around her ponytail and pull down, forcing her to tilt her face up towards you. She grimaces at the pain but keeps her eyes firmly locked on yours. 

A break from reality. That's what this was. No need to hold back... 

Leaning in you claim her mouth with yours. It's yours. She's yours. You force your tongue into her mouth and feel the tremor pass through her body as she accepts you willingly into her. 

"Mmm. Good girl." 

Drawing away you cup her right breast and squeeze, testing her reaction. True to your words, she remains silent but shifted her weight to press herself into your grasp. Suddenly releasing her breast, you step away from her. "Stay." 

You turn and open the drawer on the bed side table where you've left some of the kit you brought with you. You pull out two zip ties and a pair of surgical scissors from the drawer and toss them on the bed for Amanda to look at and consider as you walk in a circle around her, trailing your fingertips over her skin. Coming to a stop behind her, you trace your fingers over the swell of her ass and grin. 

"On your knees, pet." 

Obediently, Amanda drops to her knees, sitting back on her heels with her hands resting on her thighs. 

"Good girl. Now cross your hands behind your back." 

While Amanda moves into position, you grab one of the zip ties from the bed. Careful not to over-tighten it, you secure her wrist. Walking around to stand in front of your new toy, you grin as you look down at her. "Do you know what happens next?" Without waiting for a reply, you being unbuckling your belt to free your hardening cock from the confines of your pants. Stepping forward, you rub your semi-erect length over her face, claiming it as your own. 

"Next you're gonna be my toy... Open your mouth." 

Amanda moans at the words and quickly licks her lips before parting them for you. Her eyes lock on yours as you wrap one hand around her ponytail and the other around the base of your cock and feed the tip between her waiting lips. Soon her soft, wet mouth closes around the head. You give her a moment to explore; her tongue strokes across the slit, lapping up the precum and she moans wantonly at the taste. Swirling her tongue over you, Amanda closes her eyes and sighs with obvious pleasure. With a rough tug on her ponytail, you force her eyes back up to you as you push yourself deeper into her mouth. 

"Mmm. Good girl." You wrap both hands around the back of her head and slowly start moving her head back and forth, controlling the tempo. Slowly at first you ease your hard cock a little deeper into the wet confines of her mouth with each stroke. Beneath you, Amanda moans around you as her eyes remain firmly on yours. Looking down at her you realize she really is quite helpless all naked an tied up as she is. With that you pull her head towards you and shove your cock into the tight confines of her throat, making her gag. She shudders, trying to squirm enough to manage to draw a breath but you hold her there a moment longer. Drawing her head back you see tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she gazes up at you. She's panting, catching her breath after being choked from the inside by your cock. 

You bring a hand around to gently stroke her cheek, giving her a moment to catch her breath. Amanda tilts her head into your touch and moans softly with your cock still in her mouth. 

"Such a good toy," you murmur appreciatively. 

She smiles warmly up at you at the praise and you take hold of her head once more and pull her mouth down, engulfing you. You pull her in until her lips reach the base of your cock. With a hand behind her head you hold her in place, enjoying the feeling of her gagging around you. Pulling her back you start a steady rhythm with her head, using her mouth for your pleasure. You move her faster and deeper until you feel that familiar tingle at the base of your balls. Her warm mouth around you, accepting you, submitting to you, drags you over the edge and the wave crashes through your body as you shoot rope after rope of cum down her throat. 

You look down at the woman on her knees before you and watch as she swallows every drop you have to give her. Slowly pulling your cock back from her mouth, she carefully runs her tongue over your length to ensure she cleans up each drop. You move your hands to cup her face and smile down at your pet, enjoying the care and pleasure she obviously takes in cleaning you. Finally you pull her up so she's standing before you and press a kiss to her forehead. 

"Good girl." You murmur and she beams at you, clearly pleased at the praise. Taking a moment to refasten your pants, you grab an eye mask from the bedside table and pull it down over her eyes, blinding her. Your pet's breath hitches in her throat in anticipation and perhaps mild apprehension as you take one of her sights from her. 

You slip a hand behind her lower back and reach down, picking her up like a doll. She lets out a surprised squeak of fear at that and you growl in apparent annoyance as you cradle her to your chest. "Don't trust me, pet?" It's a good thing for that mask or she'd see your grin of amusement and that might just spoil the illusion you were going for. "No! Of course I do. I trust you!" 

Grinning, you carry her over to one of the beds and carefully put her down, rolling her onto her front and pulling her back to the edge so her legs hung over the edge. "I am quite sure I told you no speaking earlier. Now I'm gonna have to do something about this." You rub a hand over her ass, squeezing a cheek to emphasize your point. 

Amanda presses her face into the bed, shaking her head but wisely staying silent. "What's that? You don't think you should be punished for being a bad toy? Speak!" You bark the last word at her, going for intimidation and it seemed to be working.  

"No, sir! It's not that. I do deserve it. I'm just sorry for breaking your rules." Her voice is small and contrite. 

You bring your hand up bring it down with a crack on the junction of her ass and upper thigh causing her to moan. She shifts on the bed looking rather uncomfortable with her hands strapped behind her back. Grabbing the surgical scissors, you cut the tie and move her hands above her head, holding them tightly as you land another hand on her other cheek. Towering over her, you spank your pet for her supposed transgression enjoying the way you make her squirm and moan under the touch. Your strikes aren't quite hard enough to really hurt but she's clearly enjoying your ministrations. Soon her ass is a nice shade of pink and her arousal is quite apparent from her glistening thighs. With mild surprise you notice your cock stirring to life at the sight of her there helpless and thoroughly spanked. 

Running a hand gently over her ass, you lean in and whisper huskily in her ear. "Good girl. You did very well. Now don't move." You push yourself up from the bed and quickly strip, tossing your clothes in the pile with hers in the corner. Standing above her, you bring a hand to your cock and stroke it back to life. She's all yours. Whatever you want. She's there just for your pleasure. The thoughts run through your mind and you realize how empowering it is to have her submit so completely to your rule. It's intoxicating. Closing the distance to your pet, you begin kneading her ass, pulling her hips up to the height you want. Your fingers dip down into her folds and spread her arousal over her puckered ass. At each pass, she pushes herself back into your hands and moans with pleasure. 

"Such an impatient little thing, aren't you?" You bring your right hand down on her ass cheek and she yelps in surprise. "Patience, pet." 

Moving into position behind her, you rub the head of your cock along her wet slit. She's more than ready for you. Lining yourself up, you grasp her hips and pull her towards you as you sink deep into her pussy in one brutal stroke. You reach up and grab hold of the back of her neck, holding her in place as you throb inside of her. Fuck she's tight. She clenches down around you and moans in protest as you pull back, almost all of the way out before sinking all the way into her again. She's pinned by your hand and your weight as you use her again for your pleasure alone. Fucking her as hard and as fast as you want, you lose yourself in the thrill of owning her. 

Eventually you feel the warning signs and you lean forward, pinning her with your body as you cum deep inside of her. "You feel that, pet? I'm breeding you. You're mine. All mine." She nods desperately beneath you and moans in agreement. "Yes, sir! Please! Fill me with your cum!" You squeeze her throat as you force your cock deeper inside of her, the last few drops of your cum deep in her womb. "Mmm. You'd like that, wouldn't you my little pet? You want me to get you pregnant, don't you?" 

She nods quickly, moaning once again at the words. "Yes! Please, sir." 

You grin and place a kiss on her forehead. "Good pet." 

Pulling out to the sound of her resigned sigh, you take a seat on the nearby chair and look at your work. Her hands are still clasped above her as instructed, her ass still red from her earlier punishment and now your seed is slowly dripping out of her pussy and down her leg. 

"Come here, pet. You can take the blindfold off." She pushes herself to her feet and pulls of the mask as instructed. Before she can take the first step towards you, you stop her. "No. On your knees. Crawl over here and clean me." A moment later, she's crawling on all fours across the hotel room to your chair. Without hesitation she begins the process of licking every drop of your combined juices from your cock, balls and thighs. 

Soon enough she's gotten you all cleaned up and stays put, with her cheek resting against your thigh. You reach down and gently stroke her hair, enjoying the pleased smile she wears as she looks up at you. It's pretty obvious from her expression that she's thoroughly enjoying the attention and the evening in general. 

You look at the clock and realize how early it still is. There's plenty of time left for your break from reality and you smile, imagining all the other ways you'll put your pet to work that night.