0 comments/ 15822 views/ 1 favorites Chain of Fantasies By: Mystical Michael Sitting on the frayed edge of downtown, Hamitor's Books is a paradox of commerce. As much as being a bookstore, it is an archive, warehouse, library and dustbin/mold repository of record proportions. Urban sophisticates - if they are even brave enough to venture into the neighborhood - will likely flee moments after breaching the door; defeated in their shallow expectations of finding a trendy mix of best sellers, coffee table compilations, the latest Vanity Fair and a nouveau chic espresso café in which to see and be seen. For the student with less than 24 hours before the deadline on an assigned book report, it's a nightmare of frantic searching that might reward the procrastinator with the only remaining copy in town of some obscure work by Edward Bulwar Lytton. But for the browser with plenty of time to spare, it can be nirvana. It's a paradise of volumes long out of print, each one with a story more obscure and more fascinating than the other. It's very presence as an active (albeit quiet) enterprise defies the prognostications of conventional business experts who thrive on terms like cash flow and return on investment. It's a family business that exists on whim as much as mission, with more than a few secrets tucked away amongst the volumes. With her stylish long dress and tweed jacket, Linda probably looked out of place as she stepped off the bus in front of Hamitor's. Had the sidewalk vagrant resting against the wall been paying attention, he would have been treated to a brief but satisfying peak of her long, bare leg revealed courtesy of the slit skirt. With full dark hair, cascading below the shoulders and dark brown eyes, she could boast of a classic beauty that seemed all the more appropriate for a legal secretary. Linda had stepped off this bus hundreds of times; she was a regular visitor to the store, even to the point of being recognized by Elsie, the current overseer of the cash register. Time and income limited her outings to about one lunch hour per week, but each visit tended to yield a gem of some kind and she had no expectation of ever running out of new shelves to browse or bargains to discover. She passed through the doors, receiving a cheery nod from Elsie, and set off on her exploration, delighting in the temporary respite from the regimentation of her job in the corporate legal office. Sometimes, she would roam the aisles of the three floor facility with a vaguely defined goal in mind; but today was a day for wandering and she elected to begin on the top floor, working her way down in the event that she lose track of time. At least that way, she'd be closer to the door when the image of her priggish (and younger) boss interrupted her reverie with a mental reminder to return to the real world. She never paused to consider what it was that drew her to that particular nook on the third floor, totally unaware that a magnet of sensuality had already focused on her. It was a nondescript book, slim in size, perhaps no more than 150 pages. Of indeterminate age, but obviously very old, it almost seemed to leap into her hand as she neared it, enticed by the embossed gold title "Chain of Fantasies." The it suggested something dark and kinky, albeit from the Victorian era. Upon opening it's pages, she was surprised to discover something more akin to a sexual how-to, written and illustrated for a readership long since departed to age and death. The chapter entitled "The Passing Kiss" particularly entranced her. Its picture of a couple in ardent, yet fully clothed embrace seemed vaguely familiar for reasons she couldn't define. The writing reflected a style of erotica long since abandoned, one that was simultaneously chaste and sensuous. She might have lost herself in the story had she not become aware of the nearness of another person. He was attractive, with a hint of mystery. She noted the trim build and short blonde hair framing a face highlighted by deep, promising eyes. "Pardon me," she mumbled as she moved to allow him passage down the aisle. "Not a problem at all" he replied with just the twinge of Midwestern accent. He slipped past, making just a little too much contact between his butt and her bottom, resulting in a comic cascade of dropped personal belongings on both their parts. They knelt down to retrieve things, simultaneously touching the book. Describing the incident to her bemused roommate later that evening, she said, "an almost electric charge traveled up my arm. It was if I was about to be propelled into the story I was reading, as if the woman in the book was me and her lover this perfect stranger that I had just encountered." His reaction suggested a similar effect on him and as their eyes met the book dropped again to the floor with no further awareness from either man or woman. His hand moved slowly to her cheek. In silent confirmation her lips pursed and moved closer to his, her eyes closing while her mind raced with thoughts not thoroughly consistent with lunch hours in a bookstore. The kiss began gently enough, but grew in urgency and passion. His hand ran through her hair, drawing her face to his as their tongues began to entwine and dance together. They rose as one, her arms around his shoulders, her head cradled by his right hand with the left encircling her waist. It was more than an exchange of kisses supported by an embrace; it was mutual hunger, fed with passion and nourished with body heat. "Damn that belt!" she though as her hand wrestled with the leather around his waist. The swelling below it suggested a more than clear desire on his part. But he seemed less interested in relieving his obvious physical discomfort than in placing his lips on whatever patch of skin they could reach. His kisses began to cover her neck, touching nerves she had previously been unaware of. His hands raced his mouth, moving from her shoulders to her hips and back to her breasts. A fleeting moment of lucidity left Linda uttering a silent prayer of gratitude to the Victoria's Secret Catalog (specifically the royal blue bra and panties set on page 5). His face was burying itself in the deep vee of her neckline now, his hands caressing and kneading the globes positioned so nicely within Victoria's finest satin. As testament to the flexibility and give of things, his fingers had little trouble finding her nipples, growing more firm and attentive by the moment. With the first pinch, a moan began from deep within her; escaping with her breath, loud enough to generate notice by anyone on the third floor. "Not a word," he hissed, "say nothing unless it adds to the moment!" Whether her assent was in the form of a clear yes, or intake of breath, the meaning was clear and she threw her head back, surrendering what little reserve she had left. She no longer knew whether she was guiding him, or whether he was simply having her. It didn't matter; she was willing at this point to give him what ever he wanted. He knelt down on one knee, kissing her blouse and caressing her calf. Smiling with the realization of the slit in her skirt, he lifted her thigh placing her now bare foot on his leg. His hands massaged her ass, and again thoughts of appreciation to the Queen of Catalogs passed through her consciousness. The bikini panties had just enough stretch to allow him access, although they had long since become soaked with her juices. This only spurred him on, as silently validating for him as the bulge within his pants had been for her. He obviously loved the aroma and relished in the wetness. His mouth had moved from kissing to licking, fervently lapping and devouring her private juices. The skirt was now open to the waist, buttons had come undone in a way that was a mystery to both. Neither lover cared by now about the "how" of things, only with the touch of lips and tongue on labia and clitoris. His face worshiped the mound of neatly trimmed hair above her pussy. His tongue split her pussy lips with the urgency of a hungry cock. His fingers spread her wider and wider; giving more intimate access to her clit while his nose tickled her pubic hair. Her breaths became shorter and shorter, his tongue action quicker, punctuated at times with a deep, longing suck that drew her clit into his mouth for what seemed an eternity of pleasure. One finger slipped easily into her drenched love box; a second joined it with the ease. Three fingers now, she began to feel stretched, to feel full. And somehow she heard her voice quietly moan "more," shortly before a fourth finger worked it's way into a pussy that was developing a mind of it's own. She'd never been filled like this, never this overwhelmed and she could feel the orgasm as it formed and began to envelop itself over her body. The crowning touch occurred when his thumb found room below his tongue to exert just the right amount of pressure on her clit, and she abandoned herself to a cum that inundated her. Collapsing into his arms, she fought disparate, unconnected questions of love ("who is he?"), lust ("what/when next?), career ("omigod, what time is it?") and appearance ("how many wet spots are there, and can anyone see them?"). Without another word, he kissed her lips, the sheen of her vaginal juices still adorning his cheeks and chin, and vanished somewhere in the jungle of bookshelves. She was too utterly exhausted to follow. A brief examination of her clothing, followed by a quick rearrangement ended with the sighting of the "Chain of Fantasies" book, as it lay open on the floor where it had been dropped. It was open to a new page now, the same story, but a new page, one that featured the woman with her skirts open, leg elevated and foot resting on his thigh, the obvious recipient of her lover's most ardent oral attentions! A glance at her watch pushed the similarities between book and the encounter to the back of her mind, as she gathered up her things and rushed to leave. Elsie smiled demurely as she rang up the purchase price of the book. The look in her eyes suggested that she was familiar with its contents, and was no longer suspicious about the nature of the sounds from the third floor. The squeak of the bus as it jolted to a stop just outside the door, spurred Linda on, denying her the opportunity to question the matter any further. She practically leapt onto the bus, moments before it was to resume its route, collapsing into the only available seat, one toward the rear. As it pulled away from Hamitor's, her thoughts drifted back to the feelings created by his tongue and fingers, and the wetness that remained between her legs. She almost missed her stop, realizing at the last moment that a number of people had already left the bus and that the doors were about to close. Jumping up, with visions of the twenty-something stuffed shirt preparing his tardiness lecture on her mind, she lunged for the door. Within a moment she was standing on the sidewalk, conducting one last inspection and rearrangement of her rumpled clothes, watching the bus drive away... with her newly purchased volume of "Chain of Fantasies" still sitting on the seat she had occupied. For the remaining afternoon, the bus followed its route with no passengers taking the seat near the rear. The first to encounter the book was an older woman, who noted the word "Fantasies" in the title, picked it up with the thought that it might be of interest to her grandchildren. That interest was short-lived as soon as she opened it to the page that bore a prurient picture of two elderly lovers reclining naked together. "Filth!" she exclaimed as she threw it on the floor before she had the opportunity to note that the male bore a striking resemblance to her next door neighbor, Mr. Atchison. The book remained on the floor, undisturbed until late in the afternoon as one by one other seats were filled by weary commuters on their trips homeward. Jeff was finished for the day, heading home to his wife and daughter. Thoughts of work in the insurance office gradually became replaced with musings on the coming weekend. He'd been looking forward to this weekend for some time as it presented something on the order of a marital vacation. Beth and Amanda had already packed the SUV and at this moment were already well down the interstate on their way to Amanda's baton twirling workshop. It was too good to resist! He could crank up the stereo with Beethoven and Tchaikovsky and not have to watch Beth's eyes glaze over in boredom. Nor would he have to deal with the look of a twelve-year-old being subjected to music more than 20 minutes old. He was beginning to realize the wealth of possibilities open to him with uncontested access to the VCR and the local video store when his foot made contact with something under the seat in front of him. Leaning down, he discovered the book - a bit more scuffed now than it had been in its previous resting place at Hamitor's - but basically none the worse for wear. He offered it to the guy in front, on the assumption that it belonged to him. The young man's reaction left little question about his potential ownership, not to mention his basic willingness to even pick up a book with the word fantasy in it's title. Being a naturally curious soul, he began to leaf through it. "Hot stuff!" he thought as he viewed a picture of the Victorian couple engaged in some spirited vertical pleasure. And the text that accompanied the picture of the elderly couple gave him an idea or two that had him anticipating retirement like never before. He admired the illustration for the "Hours of Bliss" story, for more than a few moments, when his reverie was interrupted with another stop. Looking out the window, Jeff wondered how all of the people lined up for the bus would ever make it on. The question was answered for him as the driver closed the doors, and accelerated away from the curb leaving five very unhappy riders to wait for the next bus. The brisk departure also created some ill will within the vehicle as the last person to board (a man of substantial girth) was thrown against a line of standees stretching down the aisle. The resulting domino effect was not pretty, except for the final one to fall - a twentyish woman with short blonde hair and the type of body that makes thirty-something men rent X-rated movies or read fantasy books - and she fell right into Jeff's lap. Her fall ended with a hand squarely between his legs, with proximity to his privates that can make a divorce lawyer upgrade his next auto to Corinthian leather interior. Her lips were mere inches away from his; any closer and he would have had his face fanned by the lustrous eyelashes that flashed over her lovely blue eyes. Never at a loss for a smartass remark, Jeff couldn't resist, "I'll give you just one hour to move you hand away from there. Her response was to pucker up and plant a lingering kiss on him, followed by "baby, if you can last an hour, what are we doing on this bus?" Before things got too out of hand in front of too many witnesses, they both began laughing and rearranging themselves into more conventional positions. The teenager that had been sharing the seat with Jeff graciously offered the seat to the blonde. Whether he did so to be gallant or to have a better position from which to study the ample cleavage of her tank top is debatable. The end result though featured Jeff sitting next to a sexy woman, who interestingly enough seemed more than content to leave her hand on his thigh. Her name was Cammie and she was one of those dot com survivors making an itinerant living as a travelling consultant. Somehow they were hitting it off better than Jeff had any reason to expect, evident the feminine hand that had shifted from resting on his thigh to lightly stroking it. The weekend was getting off to a spectacular start. Jeff forgot about the turn of the century pillow book he'd just discovered and settled back to enjoy the moment. After fifteen of the most enjoyable minutes he'd ever spent on public transportation, he decided to throw caution to the wind. "Now what makes you think that an hour's worth of endurance is such a feat," he asked with a mildly lecherous grin? She responded not with a word, but by cupping his thoroughly swollen balls in her hand and offering a tongue-tooled tonsillectomy. Breaking away after a moment, she checked his crotch for signs of any telltale emissions. Satisfied that premature ejaculation was not an imminent danger, she finally said "I'm only one stop away and there's only one way to find out." Had the teenage male been listening to them, instead of the hip hop pulsating in his earphones, he might have signaled thumbs up to Jeff as they rose to exit the bus. The book provided a convenient cover to disguise the rampant hard-on that was tenting his pants. As they stepped down to the sidewalk, she practically melted into his arms for a more lingering tongue dance, highlighted by a full body press that practically begged the question "are they real or fake?" With her arm in his, she led him across the parking lot and to the pricey residence hotel that was her current base of operations. "Itinerant living?" He began to regret never taking any HTML classes when he realized that the $800 dollar a week hotel room was part of the "and expenses" portion of her professional fee. It offered all the comforts of home, if the comforts of home included a blonde hottie who was already slipping off her skirt to the accompaniment of a Carly Simon CD. "Now sit there and let me take care of things" she whispered as she lifted the tank top over her head. Strangely enough, she looked more demure partially undressed than she did when she first ventured onto the bus. The miniskirt and tank top had covered a low cut sports bra and simple cotton bikini panties. But the body within was as enticing as ever, even more so with Carly crooning in the background and a luxurious hotel room all to themselves. Kneeling in front of him, she interrupted her striptease by reaching for his belt and unfastening his slacks. The waistband of his briefs was no match for the combined assault of his swollen cock and her lithe fingers. His penis celebrated the end of its confinement with a triumphant throb that brought a knowing smile to her face. "Even if it's only thirty minutes, I think you're going to be worth it" she breathed. Deep within the logical recesses of his mind, Jeff began to assemble a list of home improvement projects, actuarial charts, weather prognostications... anything that might enable him to delay the inevitable release of his sperm. As she massaged and cuddled his member, he finished the removal of his pants and briefs; then ever so politely leaned forward to remove the sports bra from her body. Her breasts reacted to their release with the same enthusiasm of his cock, the nipples already red and perky with desire. And as he admired their shape, Cammie leant forward, sucking his cock fully into her mouth as she simultaneously shed herself of the cotton bikini bottom. The words "oh God!" escaped his mouth and he labored to study the pattern of the ceiling. Slowly she brought her lips back to the tip, kissing it ever so lightly before looking back at his face. "Mmmmmm... you're off to a fine start, I know of at least three guys that would have spunked and retired by now." Had either of them the ability to notice, they would have realized that the "Chain of Fantasies" book - resting where it landed on the floor shortly after they entered the room -- had grown by three pages since their exit from the bus. It was clear that Cammie performed fellatio with enthusiasm, the difference between her technique and that of his wife Beth could not have been greater. He experienced a slight pang of guilt at the realization that he had already performed a mental comparison, but that was quickly lost in the heat of the moment. The long languid strokes of the tongue, the way she sucked each ball wholly into her mouth one by one, transported him to a happy place that would live on in many a meditative moment for years and years. The way that she was pacing things suggested that in spite of her sixty-minute challenge, she was under no compulsion to hurry things. Chain of Fantasies: The Book Moves Bed-making and room tidying was not exactly the job description that Vicki envisioned for herself, when she looked for ways to sustain herself during her junior year of college. But it was less stressful than trying to explain a three dollar late charge to a redneck video store customer, or waiting tables at the local TGWGA (Thank God We've Got Attitude) restaurant. What might seem like domestic tedium to some actually gave Vicki the opportunity to let her mind wander, an appropriate exercise for an English major with a bent toward creative writing. And after all, no self-respecting aspiring writer would be satisfied with a job title like "housekeeping associate." No, Vicki preferred to think of herself a something of a modern chambermaid, without the short skirt uniform, feather duster and faux French accent. The Stay-A-Week Residence Inn was within walking distance of campus, and featured a nice stable clientele of business professionals that needed something more than a two or three night accommodation. The regular maid service was limited, compared with standard hotel/motel operations, but instead of antiseptic, tiny rooms there was a more homey touch that appealed to the nomadic consultant/contractor class and dot com refugees. She was cleaning a suite that had been the home of a web consultant during the earlier part of the month, and had newly been vacated by a convention event organizer whose stay coincided with the monumentally dull gathering of philanthropic executives. During the week, the room had been the responsibility of Inez, who wasn't exactly known to be a paragon of detail when it came to maintaining guestrooms. Reliability was the hallmark of Inez' employment, which made her a good candidate for the day to day cleaning of occupied guest rooms. But once the guest had checked out, the head housekeeper preferred someone with a more discerning eye to clean and prepare a room for it's next occupant. That ability to observe may have been what spotted the book in the first place or maybe it was her basic interest in literature that led to her to its discovery. It must have been there for some time, as it left a dust-bunny-free zone on the carpet when she retrieved it. There was something different about the book, something unique. Nestled in her grasp, it practically caressed her fingers with a leather binding that was rich and sensual. Embossed in gold on the spine, the title "Chain of Fantasies" seemed more intriguing than any of the paperbacks or video tapes she'd found in other rooms over the past months. She couldn't resist the opportunity to leaf through the pages, taking in the incredibly erotic Victorian style illustrations. From the first story of a young shopkeeper named Elsie, detailing her deflowering at the hands of a much older man; to a chance encounter of two strangers in a book store, and another two on a bus, each episode offered a new look, new passions. An hour passed before she realized she'd been lost in its pages, and she resolved to relax a bit before (if ever) she turned it into the hotel's lost and found collection. With a slight sense of larcenous glee, she hid the volume among the linens on the housekeeping cart, until she was able to transfer it to her backpack. Her shift ended with a lecture from the weekend supervisor, on the merits of completing tasks in a timely manner. Vicki assured her that this was just a challenging day for getting things right, and promised to make beds and clean bathrooms with greater dispatch from here on out. Meanwhile her thoughts were with the illustrations and stories she'd newly discovered, silently resolving to "get behind my own door. As if I really want to read those stories amid used towels and God knows what!" The walk back to the dorm was pleasant and mercifully quick. No chance meetings or spontaneous gossip sessions conspired to create any serious delays. In fact, the only person to speak to her was a handsome blonde guy, standing at the entrance to the dorm, looking slightly befuddled by the security system. With the realization of some anticipatory wetness between her legs, Vicki couldn't help but think "oh baby, would you like to share my new pillow book with me?" But she checked herself and inquired with a more formal "Are you looking for someone?" With just barest trace of a Nordic accent, he responded "yes, I'm here to visit my friend Monica, I understand that she lives on the fourth floor." "Lucky Monica," thought Vicki. But then Monica was always lucky, thanks to her raven black pageboy haircut, slim waist, provocative wardrobe and the type of bust line that inspired questions along the lines of "are they real?" Vicki always consoled herself with thoughts that she was just as good looking as Monica, only that she was not quite as brazen as her acquaintance "the little slut!" "I can't let you go beyond the lobby," she smiled politely, "but I can tell Monica you're here, her room is just a few doors down from mine." "Would you please? That would be so nice of you, just tell her that Eric is a bit early." "Not a problem" while in her head a little voice said "and if Slut Girl doesn't answer her door, maybe he'd like to cuddle up with you and a good book." The only thing missing from her imagination at that moment were the miniature angel and devil having a spirited moral argument atop her shoulders. Monica was waiting as Vicki exited the elevator, wearing a decidedly un-Monica sweatsuit. Vicki couldn't resist a little teasing "big plans tonight?" question as they exchanged places between the common room and the elevator, to which Monica responded with flippant response that was lost behind the closing doors. She unlocked her room, retrieved the book from her pack and sprawled across the bed; reminding herself that it was worth the extra two grand per semester for a room minus the roommate and their potential for embarrassing entrances. "Chain of Fantasies" did not disappoint! It's stories varied by era, style and composition. The one common thread being that each story detailed an erotic encounter of some kind or another. Whether it was young Elsie losing her virginity in the barn, the woman being ravished by an unknown lover in the bookstore or even the two elderly neighbors who discovered that their libidos were not as dormant as they thought; the eroticism was undeniable. Midway through the "Passing Kiss" she found herself undoing her jeans, to allow her fingers more room to stroke and pleasure herself. Squeezing her legs together simply wasn't sufficient, and by now she was soaked anyway. So she read on, delicate fingers spreading her cleft, and playing with her clit; orchestrating a lovely self-administered orgasm. Prior to beginning "Mr. Atchison's Surprise" she retrieved the little pocket rocket she kept hidden in the drawer, and was well on her way to something more intense until it's batteries began to fail midway through "Hours of Bliss." Not to despair however, she still enjoyed a second cum, it was just a little more restrained than it could have been, leaving her with a Chinese dinner sort of afterglow, one that would probably evaporate all too quickly. By now it was dark, and the dorm had settled into it's eerie Saturday night lull, most of the occupants had already left for dinner, dates etc. Later things would perk up as the other girls returned with or without their dates, sober or not. A shower seemed in order before a late dinner, and what the heck, she was already partially undressed. So Vicki stripped off the rest of her clothes, pausing only a moment or so to inspect her ass in the full-length mirror hanging in her closet. Her strawberry red hair cascaded down to the middle of her back in all of it's thick and curly unmanageable glory, and she allowed herself a little evil smile as she played with her breasts. "They might not be huge, but they'll be more than adequate for a lifetime. By the time that Monica turns forty, she'll be playing soccer with her knockers!" No need for a lot of clothes, the silk robe was sufficient. At this time on a Saturday, you could commit murder with a chainsaw and still not have any witnesses in the dorm. Toting her shampoo, brush, body gel and assorted supplies in a little basket, she padded her way barefoot down the hall to the bathroom. Like any other group bath/locker room, the dorm facility compensated for it's lack of privacy with a stunning union of functionality and institutional bland; but Vicki was used to that by now and in any case, thoughts of her recent pleasure seizures -- and the stories that inspired them -- had left her in something of a contented daze. Luxuriating in the hot water and steam of the shower, she never heard the door open the first time. Her first awareness of other bodies in the room came with the sound of a muted "what are you doing in here?" followed by other less distinguishable noises. A slight tapping on the shower door, prompted her to sarcastically say, "there's someone in here..." The response was delivered in Monica's uniquely languid voice, "don't you think we know that Vick?" The shower door opened just a bit to reveal the semi-flushed face of her dorm mate. "Care to join me in my big night?" Vicki didn't respond, she simply stood mute under the showerhead as Monica opened the door slowly, revealing first her nude body, followed by the revelation of a very naked and aroused Norwegian. She drew a breath of surprise, that easily fueled the steam-aided flush to her cheeks, and watched as her friend motioned the penis - oops... - Eric to approach. "He's never been with a redhead before, Vick. And you're all he's talked about since he arrived. Do you have any idea how disturbing it can be to have your boyfriend talk about another woman's hair while you're sucking his cock?" Vicki could barely stammer "no, I can't say as I have" as her eyes wandered from first his tumescent penis to his wonderfully sexy eyes focused clearly on the auburn triangle between her legs. It never occurred to her to cover anything, or to claim some small bit of modesty. It was as if she had been drawn into another story from the book, with only a fervent desire to see how this would all play out. "I really don't mind sharing, Vicki" purred her friend. "In fact, I've always had this fantasy of watching him with another woman." As for Eric, the message between his smile and his warm eyes was sufficiently reinforced by the casual way by which he caressed his cock. She wasn't sure as to whether she ever answered Monica's question directly, but somehow Eric had joined her in the shower, leaving the door open while his lover settled onto the bench opposite it. Alone... but not alone. On display in the embrace of an incredibly sexy man, Vicki folded into him, her lips meeting his while her hands explored his body. He took the container of bath gel, and squeezed a dollop onto his hand. A nondescript act, to say the least, but one that produced a moan of desire from somewhere within Vicki's throat. In the mean time, Monica made it clear that HER role was going to be a bit more directive than that of casual observer. Leaning forward on the bench like some type of athletic coach, she began a stream of questions and suggestions. "I'll just bet she could use a good soaping Eric. Do you like her? Is she everything you thought she would be?" For his part, Eric was perfectly willing to play puppet to Monica's puppeteer. His soapy hands began to glide over Vicki's body, caressing, exploring, tweaking and pinching wherever he was directed. "Mmmmmmmm.... show her to me. Let me see her body." Eric complied by moving behind Vicki, rubbing his soapy hands over the front of her body, caressing her breasts and pinching her nipples. In turn, Vicki rolled her head back, allowing him to nibble an earlobe and kiss her neck. She reached back and treated her fingers to their first contact with that magnificent cock, stroking it in silent affirmation of approval. She was becoming more comfortable by the moment now; leaning back against the wall and spreading her legs as she lightly stroked her clean-shaven mound. "Spread your legs for me Vick, yeah... just like that. Mmmmmm...open her Eric, let me see if she's as red on the inside as she is on the outside. Suggestions became commands. Comments became overt approvals. "Oh Vicki, you have such a beautiful pussy! Normally I like a nice shaved slit, but that red bush is so fantastic!" Vicki could only moan her acknowledgment, as by now Eric's middle finger was buried inside her, while the other fingers entwined themselves in her auburn pubes. She had released her embrace of his cock, as it nestled itself between her asscheeks, and reached back to enjoy the tautness of his ass with her extended fingers. Meanwhile, Eric's hands massaged and kneaded her body, leaving a blanket of soapsuds to first cover and then slowly reveal patches of shimmering skin. Having already enjoyed two orgasms without the assistance of another warm body, Vicki was in no mood have Eric bring her off with his hand, and her urgent moans conveyed her desire for something more to both him and their audience of one. "I think she wants you inside her now, Eric" commented Monica. "Is that what you want Vick? Do you want your pussy stretched by his fat cock?" Vicki's reply was to lean forward, placing her hands on the small step that held her basket of toiletries. The lucky stud didn't need the running commentary from his other lover; the invitation was clear enough as it was. Firmly grasping her bottom, his cock aimed itself directly for her labia, sinking deep into her pussy on the first stroke. The entry brought forth not one, but two moans of pleasure as Monica had taken to probing her hole with two fingers, enjoying her own penetration almost as much as Vicki was rejoicing in hers. "I just love the way Eric's cock feels when he fuck's me. You must have a serious bend in that monster to reach some of the places you do sweetie." "Oh Gawd... yes" moaned Vicki. "Fuck me Eric, show that slut what a nice hard fuck looks like." The veiled insult didn't register with Monica, for now she was too engrossed in her own pleasure to pay much attention to anything as basic as "sound." But the effect on Eric was noticeable, she could swear that he grew an inch within her as the rhythm of his fucking increased. Vicki seized the play-by-play role from Monica; giving her a detailed description as to how it felt to have this Nordic Nookster plunging his cock into her depths from behind. "Oh yeah Eric, give it to me. That feels so good, you're filling me with cock." Emboldened by her passion, or perhaps allowing her bitchy side some release, she couldn't help but look directly at Monica as she accepted each stroke, each sensation. "So why couldn't you share this before Mon? Did you really think those D cups could keep him satisfied? Or did you just think a girl like me wouldn't be nasty enough for your boyfriend? Oh gawd, oh yeah... there...there!" The words were punctuated by the sounds of Eric's ball sac as it slapped against Vicki's tight ass. Monica was nearing climax, Vicki was on the verge, and Eric was having the encounter of his life! It was up to the male to begin the final denouement. Triggered by a thrust so hard that it lifted Vicki's feet off the floor, his flood of semen began gushing with force. His moans and the volume of spunk filling her cavity immediately sent Vicki over the edge, and Monica (who by now had four fingers of her left hand immersed in her own cooze, while the thumb was rolling around her clit) came with a noise that surely would bring some kind of security detail running. Two decidedly feminine voices merged with a masculine one. Just as his jism spurts seemed to originate from deep inside Eric, his groan of satisfaction started from somewhere near his navel. Soap and water mingled with cum, and slowly drifted down Vicki's leg. Sated and dazed, Vicki slowly disengaged herself from the manpole that had so wonderfully reamed her. She rotated around to sit on the ledge, with every intention of bringing his cock to her mouth, only to find that Slut Monica was already slurping all over his tubesteak. Making instant eye contact as their faces met by Eric's recovering flagpole, Monica purred. "Eric, she tastes delightful on you! Let's take her back to my room and share some more." The water dripping from their bodies left a trail on the carpet from the shower room to Monica's room. Whether it was from one body or more was not apparent to Vicki's friend Judy as she walked down the hall on her way to pick up some books from "the Vickster." "Omigod" she thought as she passed Monica's room, "that slut's at it again!" She knocked at Vicki's, and getting no response tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked; she slipped in and espied the books on the desk. Without a clue, she gathered up the mythology and fantasy books that her friend had promised to set aside for her, never noticing that there were six books instead the five that Vicki had offered to loan her brother to use for his high school English paper. She tossed them onto the back seat of her car, where they remained until the next day when she stopped by her parent's house for Sunday dinner and the regular exchange of dirty laundry for clean. "Her you go lil' bro" Judy offered as she delivered the cache of books. Considering the fact that he had been hoping against hope that Vicki would deliver the books in person, One sighting of her in the company of his sister had been sufficient to place Vicki in Gary's pantheon of potential fuck-babes for the next few years. But, denied this vision of American Pie poontang, Gary was as appreciative as an 18-year-old can express. Had he known of the nature of the "Chain of Fantasies" however, he might have been able to muster a more genuine sense of enthusiasm. As it was, Gary was too busy being oppressed. His mother had volunteered him as virtual slave labor to some lady from her office. "Come on, it won't kill you to do some painting and get paid for it, so quit your bitching! Tammy's ex is giving her no end of grief about custody of their son and he's likely to use the condition of the house against her. Now call her, make the arrangements with her and finish the job by Saturday!" Mom's tone left little room for negotiation, and even less room for excuses, so if it was Gary's fate to become a house-painting member of the bourgeoisie then so be it. Mrs. Harper sounded nice enough on the phone. Since he'd be working after school, she told him that the supplies he needed would be at the back of the house. "Just go ahead and get started. From what your Mom tells me, you can handle this with ease." "Oh fine" he thought, "now I have to live up to Mom's build up." After enduring Monday's classes, he reported to his new "work release" assignment on Hunt Street, receiving the pleasant surprise that it wasn't going to be all that bad. A split-level frame house - in the classic suburban style - it offered neither a load of challenges or hassle. A little ladder work, a little trim, maybe the $250 negotiated by Mom wouldn't amount to the indentured servitude that he expected. Still, with minimal enthusiasm he began the job. At 6:15, Mrs. Harper arrived with her four-year-old son in tow. She wasn't an entirely unpleasant looking package, for a 38-year-old divorcee'. Moderate length brown hair framed a pretty face that was highlighted by wide brown eyes. Think Gina Davis, only shorter. As they chatted, Gary tried in vain to discern whether or not there was any kind of shape under the woman's business suit, giving up when four year old Tommy began to get too interested in the open paint can. "Call me Tammy... please... I'm not ready to have attractive young men treat me with THAT type of respect yet." Okay, so Tammy was friendly, reasonably pretty and the job wasn't as terrible as he expected. His life was gaining some quality, if Jennifer Conroy would agree to go out with him sometime, he just might abandon those teen angst-driven suicide plans that kept getting put off for one reason or another. Chain of Fantasies: The Book Moves He cleaned up for the day, and arrived home in time for dinner. By 8:00, he was in his room ready to browse the books that his sister's hot friend had loaned him. Thoughts of red-haired Vicki fueled a serious boner, until he reminded himself that college juniors don't usually give the time of day to high school boys, let alone something more intimate. "Oh well... the English paper won't write itself!" He'd already read Edith Hamilton's "Greek Mythology" collection, and the "Original Tales of the Brother's Grimm" was just too dark to provide much inspiration. "Maybe this 'Chain' thing has something I can use." Within minutes, the depth of that understatement had become readily apparent to Gary. This stuff was smoking! Barnyard rapes, nympho chicks, the stories were too much! Forget academic research, this was prime jerk material. Indeed, life was looking up! The picture of the threesome in the shower room provided enough fantasy fodder for the evening's release, so he hid the book away in a place safe from parental eyes, and made a mental note to read "Upstairs Encounter" Tuesday night. Tuesday had its ups and downs. Unfortunately, the always lovely Jennifer Conroy provided one of the downs by strolling down the hall with one of the school's hockey players. But as his friend Carl noted, "in five or six years he'll be missing his front teeth and you'll have a business degree and job. Who do you think she'll want to date then? Okay, hope springs eternal! The paint supplies were where he had left them, and renewed by this new philosophy on his long-term prospects, he attacked the job with a little more enthusiasm. The money from this was going to finance a particularly appealing set of bass woofers for his car stereo system, so there was no time to waste. This evening, Tammy arrived home early and alone. "Hey, where's my new friend?" he shouted as she unloaded groceries from the car. "Tonight's hockey practice, he's with his dad. How are you coming along?" Hockey? Gary barely paused to consider how many times this sport was going to touch his life today, but recovered before he decided to move up that angst/suicide thing. "Okay, well then if there aren't going to be any four year olds to chase away from the paint, maybe I'll work a little later then." "That's fine, don't mind me. I'm just going to savor the quiet." As she walked back into the house, Gary found himself wondering more and more about the shape that might be under those silly, conservative suits. She did have a nice wiggle to her, but then you never know about some of these things. Back to work! With a new bucket of paint, he climbed the ladder to renew his aesthetic assault on the old dirty siding. With the setting sun, the lights inside the house began to come on, wherever Tammy went, giving him more and more a view of the interior. It was nice, not elaborate, but given her limited means she'd done well with the place. Another trip down the ladder, a repositioning, followed by another climb up, when suddenly he realized that he was peering directly into Tammy's bedroom. A pile of clothes on the floor and a soft flickering light from the adjoining bath suggested that the owner of the house was relaxing in the tub. No surprise there, what was it she said? Something about "savoring the quiet." Reminding himself that this was a friend and contemporary of his Mother's, he resolved to descend from his perch before he got into serious, income-affecting trouble. Too late, he had moved one rung lower when some movement inside caught his eye. It was her, naked and stretching after her bath. Thoughts of mothers, painting and bass woofers vanished from his mind, replaced by curiosity, lust, desire and every other hormone-associated emotion. Tammy might be twenty years older, but she was hot! The suits had concealed everything, shapely legs, narrow waist, serious tits and big brown eyes that were staring directly at him. Big brown eyes? Directly at him? Oops! The descent from the ladder wasn't especially pretty, but it was quick. And if it weren't for the damned paintbrush and ladder, he'd probably have been able to escape with minimal embarrassment and even less confrontation. But that was not meant to be. The outline of Tammy in her robe was at the back door. Her face in shadow, he just knew that trouble was in the offing. "If you think for one minute that you're getting away without an explanation, you're sadly mistaken" her voice whispered, "inside!" "Yes ma'am" he mumbled as he slipped past her, through the door way into the kitchen. This feeble attempt at courtesy unfortunately had the opposite effect. "Ma'am? It's ma'am now is it? What kind of shit is that?" This situation was heading south quickly, and it had not had a promising start to begin with. "First I have to put up with a macho-egoed, mini-dicked husband that thinks a circle jerk defines the peak of sensuality? And now you're going to treat me like some withered old lady?" Okay... deep breath time. What do you say in response to that? For the first time in his 18 years on this earth, he elected to say the correct thing to a raging woman - nothing. Acutely aware of the way that the silk robe clung to every curve of her body, his eyes couldn't help but lock onto the awesome topography revealed by the deep vee of the robe. His silence momentarily stunned her into a similar state of mute, when "the moment" took hold. "Are you going to look at me? What do you have to say...?" The question hung in midair as she realized that the focal point of his stare was not at her face, but below her neck. The remainder of her planned interrogation was cancelled out by her realization that her own eyes had begun to focus on the sizable tent below his belt. With the blink of an eye her robe was off, and she was clawing at his belt while he struggled to remove his t-shirt. The kitchen table would have to suffice, as neither one was in any condition to walk or run to the bedroom. Leaning her back onto the cold surface, his hands and mouth were drawn to her breasts, kneading them, exploring them, sucking the nipples into his mouth like a hungry newborn. He was struck with how firm her tits were, given that she was a contemporary of his mother. They seemed larger in a state of undress. Obviously Tammy didn't rely on a Wonder Bra for shape and enhancement like so many of his female classmates. He couldn't get enough of them. Her hands were busy too, guiding and massaging his head, in explicit affirmation that he was performing well. Her legs wrapped around him, providing more wordless communication along the lines of "you aren't going anywhere stud!" while his mind raced between thoughts ranging from "thank God" to "now what do I do?" His body may have been in the more physically dominant position, but it was Tammy that was directing the show and he knew it. And at the moment, her hands were directing his cock into the cleft between her legs. The mental image of Jennifer Conroy had already disintegrated into a more faceless recollection, when the sensation of her moist, velvety insides redefined his notions of heaven, nirvana and Disney World for all time. Concerns over performance and questions of technique vanished. This was real fucking; non-backseat, no clothes, moan and grunt fucking! Years later, this would be memorialized in his memory as his first time; cheap feels and handjobs in the car would not compare now or ever again. Instinct answered any questions that might have given him pause. He began to thrust in and out of her with a purpose; his hands cupped under her ass, lifting her cunt to his groin, discovering nerve endings there that he never knew existed. Meanwhile, Tammy was rediscovering what it felt like to have an enthusiastic cock to play with, not one that had to be coddled with compliments or threatened with a Viagra prescription. This teenager was hung, well at least compared to her needledicked ex. Her fingers wandered to the brown patch between her legs, and inserted them directly between her clit and her young lover's pelvis. Oh God it was good to have a real cock again after months - or was it years - of fulfillment methods powered by double A batteries. She was a virtuoso of digital manipulation, flicking her clit, stroking his cock; squeezing it at just the right times, coaxing deeper and deeper probes while reveling in the sensation of his balls slapping against her. Gary thought that he'd never get enough, their coitus becoming more frenzied by the moment. Sweat began to form on his brow, while her body began to take on the glow of perspiration and desire. His climax was near, as was hers. Straightening up, he began to shudder with the first spasms of release, his first vagina-bound cum. But it was her moans and shrieks that drove him over the edge. "Oh God... yes... don't stop!" she shouted, her legs tensing around him. "Arrrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh..." His spunk began its assault, flying from his cock deep, burrowing deep into the recesses of her pussy. It took only a final pinch of her fingers to put her over the edge too, reminding her that multiple orgasm was indeed attainable and that more than one former lover had affectionately called her Geyser, for her gushing abilities. They paused for a moment, collecting their breath and thoughts. Barely releasing him from her leg lock, she lifted her hand to his head and brought his lips to hers. Odd that it was to be their first kiss, but practiced kisser that he thought he was, Gary quickly discovered that there were better ways to bring lips together than any high school girl was capable of. He broke off as the moment broke over him like a crashing wave on the beach. "I...I... don't know what to say..." he stammered, but her answer was to place a finger in front of her mouth, silencing him as she lifted her body from the table, embracing him as they stood naked in the kitchen. The words "you're not finished yet..." whispered in his ear, and she took his hand, leading him into the family room. She led him to the hassock in front of the large overstuffed chair, his mind racing lust and desire. "You go here..." she purred, and then spreading her legs, positioned herself over his lap, her pussy immediately before his eyes. "Mmmmmm... I've never been this close... mmmphh..." the words were lost between her legs as she grabbed his head and brought his face to her mound. "Now just do what comes naturally, lover" she moaned, guiding his face and tongue over her mons, directing and encouraging him with gentle admonishments. "Oh yes... lick my clit... suck it just like that... Oh God... please, yes... yes..." The clock over the mantle struck 8:00, redefining the Cinderella hour, and with a sigh Tammy noted that they wouldn't have much longer to play. "We can work on your technique later..." Kneeling between his legs, she told him to lean back, "and let's see this beauty up close. Mmmmmm.... so nice, so very nice." She was petting his cock, cuddling it with her cheek, while maintaining an almost constant commentary about how hard it was, how long, how hot, and how good it had felt to have it insider her. Her tongue traced its way up his shaft, then pulled back and started again. Her fingers caressed his balls and from time to time she sucked the helmet into her mouth, swirling her tongue around its lip. Gary was beyond conversation now; his groans of pleasure were all the sounds that he could muster. Had he not already cum, his cock would not have withstood this wondrous assault. As it was, he knew that the time of another eruption was quickly approaching. He was momentarily stunned, when she appeared to abandon her cock snack, until she positioned herself directly over him, spreading her legs so that she straddled the hassock and him. She was practically dripping over him, her pubes glistened with drops of fluid - some hers, some his. She was no less hungry than before, no sooner had his cock head parted the lips of her pussy, when she sat down - hard and fast - nearly making him cum with the shock. "I'm going to make you want to come back for more, is that okay with you?" she mewed. "You accomplished that when you dropped the robe," he panted. "Just lie there and give it to me," Tammy moaned as she began to fuck him, riding him like a frenetic and supremely sexual cowgirl. Bouncing on his cock, her tits seemed to develop minds of their own, Gary couldn't believe that it was happening, the events of the past hour or so were too surreal. But here they were, locked together as she impaled herself on his cock, smiling with a look so lewd that he hardly recognized her. This orgasm was to be all his, it hit so quickly and so unexpectedly that he almost through her off of him. "Oh yeah baby, give all to me, give it up for Tammy!" Throwing her head back with abandon, she milked his cock for every last drop. Another glance at the clock wrought a change in her demeanor. As his now limp member flopped out of her, she stood up and became more formal. "Time's a wasting Sweet mean," she said "we need to clean you up." That was an understatement, the entire lower half of his body was in some stage of wet or sticky. Toweling him off, she obviously toyed with the notion of testing his tumescent endurance one more time, but she was becoming more and more concerned with the clock and the impending return of her son. "I'm going to need a lot of help around here Gary, I hope that you'll be available." The reply stammered from his mouth, "sure, whatever I can do with... uh... to... uh... for you." "Well, let's just get the outside painting job finished, and then we can concentrate on all of the inside work" she replied with a coy smile. Gary could feel his cock getting hard again, and choked back a small plea as she guided him out the door. Whether his feet ever touched the ground during his return home is a matter of speculation. Passing up the plate of dinner that had been saved for him, he floated upstairs to his room to recover and reflect. The book that he'd been reading so avidly before was no longer on his desk though, and he decided that he'd look for it tomorrow. Meanwhile, down the hall his mother sat upright in bed, enduring the snores of her husband and reading with wide-eyed astonishment a new chapter in the "Chain of Fantasies." Chain of Fantasies By now his cock was glistening with a coating of her spit mixed with precum, and she decided to change the tempo a bit by moving up to embrace his rod with her tits. "Oh God, this is a test..." he thought as she tugged and distended her nipples while enveloping Mr. Happy with the soft/firm globes that had so quickly attracted his interest. The visual was enough to make the day worth while, but the tactile effect bordered on mind blowing. Thankfully, she continued the movement of her body upward until she perched above him in all her naked glory. His hands were acquainting themselves with her curvaceous butt, in a vain effort to bring her pussy close enough to spear; but she was obviously delighting in the tease of it all, electing instead to lean forward and bring a red nipple succulently close to his lips. It was wet, glossy and oh-so perky and he could smell his own scent in the valley between her globes. Extending his lips slightly, he sucked the nipple into his mouth; eliciting a massive sigh of contentment from her that provoked a forceful envelopment of his cock with her pussy. Both of them cried out with the satisfaction of entry, somehow he managed to retain his suck hold on her nip. His arms encircled her waist. Her arms wrapped around his head, and they savored the feelings and aromas of the moment. It was a momentary respite, but one that did nothing to ease the tensions building within their bodies. Slowly, with his hands guiding her hips, she began to move up and down on him, fucking him and allowing him to fuck her in return. Her tits bounced with every stroke, the sounds emanating from her throat alternated between the coherent, the profane and the guttural. "Yes... yes... ahhhh yes.... fuck me hard... fuck me deep... ahrgggg.... yes!" His self-assurance grew with every stroke, "you like that? Are you going to cum for Jeff? I want to fill your pussy like it's never been filled before!" Her skin was glistening as she bounced up and down on his cock, her fingers reached down, manipulating her lips and clitoris to enhance her own pleasure. She shifted gears slightly, raising up momentarily, pulling him atop her as she reclined into the sofa. "Now let me feel how deep you can drill!" she said with a voice that would make the sluttiest whore blush. He was worthy of the challenge, fucking hard and deep, his balls slapping against her neatly trimmed, blonde pubes. Her finger worked its way into her slit, competing for space with his cock and Jeff knew that his release was imminent. "Are you going to fill me, or are you going to let me see your cum?" she inquired. "I want to see you... smell you... taste you!" He lost little time, withdrawing from between her legs, returning his cock to the heavenly valley between her boobs. Stroking himself, sweat dripping from his brow, he moved closer and closer to climax. Her fingers were now just a blur within and around her pussy. Finally the word "YES" signaled the eruption that had building within since they had first encountered each other on the bus. Uttered by both of them, each triggering the release of the other, they came with earth shattering intensity! Her left hand abandoned the right one as the first wave of cum immersed her. She instinctively reached out, grabbing his throbbing prick as it spewed its load of protein over her tits, toward her outstretched tongue. As her orgasm sputtered into its final contractions, she hungrily cleaned its cock of any remaining jism. The sounds of her lips and tongue guaranteed that his flaccidity was to be short-lived. He collapsed into the pillows of the sofa, next to her as she turned her face to his. For the first time ever, he tasted his own juices in a kiss - making a mental note to do that again with Beth. They lay together for a time, taking turns idly playing with each other's private parts until they became aware of the darkness outside. "You can stay as long as you'd like tonight, if you're willing to pay the price," she said as she arose from the couch. "Damn woman... you are a competitive little thing!" he muttered in response. "What is it this time?" "Well, I wouldn't want to be a bother, but... I do need my back scrubbed" as she swiveled her way to the shower. Jeff was all too willing to meet this latest little challenge. The next day, after a room service breakfast that featured the introduction of some new and very pleasant applications for honey and butter, he managed to make his way out of the hotel and into a taxi home. In his erotically satiated state, he forgot all about the book he'd found on the bus. It lay on the floor of the hotel room, kicked somewhat to the corner during the gymnastic little fuck that had interrupted their meager effort at going out to dinner. The following Friday, Cammie checked out, heading on to her next assignment completely unaware of the book with it's Victorian illustrations, some of which bore striking resemblance to her. To be continued...