0 comments/ 14182 views/ 1 favorites Dreamweavers Ch. 01 By: roan barrow II Ch. 01: Aleda and the Swan Note: Words in brackets are from "Leda and the Swan" by William Butler Yeats. ***** "Hello. This is DreamWeavers. 'Tell us your dream; we'll make someone cream!' Darrin speaking." "Uh, yes, I'd like to place an order," a firm, older woman's voice says, "you know, for a...sex story." "Sure, ma'am. I'll need to ask a few questions." I go through my standard checklist. The client wants a "wedding night" story for her daughter who's getting married next month. "Something that, you know, will help her understand what I want her to," she says. "Romantic? Rough? How many times do you want her to cum? Her husband? Will the bride be wearing leather?" I try to get as many details as I can. "Do you have pictures of the participants that you can fax me?" I ask. We settle on most of the details. "The pre-story is free. Each cum scene costs two hundred dollars. Afterglow scenes of more than one sentence cost four hundred dollars--they are such an incredible pain-in-the-ass to write. I should be able to do this for about four-fifty. I'll have it in a couple days." She says that will be fine and I get her credit card number and pound away at the keys. Aleda and the Swan It has been the week from hell. Last minute fittings for dresses, tuxes picked up, flowers delivered, a fucking cold sore nursed with Carmex and lots of cover-up. Still, on Saturday morning, Aleda looks as she had always hoped she would on her wedding day. Plus, she had managed to lose those last 10 pounds during the previous month! "Dear," her mother says, "you are radiant! Simply aglow!" Aleda's jade eyes gleam against her rosy skin. Her pink lips are moist in their smile. Each blonde hair is sprayed into the right place. The gown clings to her sexy figure perfectly. She is now the perfect gift for her Josh. "My little Aleda," her father says, kissing her cheek, "you could not possibly be more heavenly!" "Oh, Daddy! Thank you! Hold me--I'm scared too!" She could not tell them how Josh had seemed to have changed since their engagement. Before, he had courted her, written her poems, sang with her in the car. Since, they stopped going to movies and dinner and concerts, the poems stopped, they didn't listen to music together. Like he just wanted to get the wedding over with. She does not remember most of the ceremony, actually. She remembers quivering as her father walked with her down the aisle. She and Josh had written their own vows and had practiced them to the point she had been saying them in her sleep. "Respect for each other as a human being...." was part of them. She remembers Josh placing his deceased mother's wedding ring on her left hand. The picture-taking afterward seemed endless and her eyes were numb from strobe lights ceaselessly flashing. "Now, one with you and the best man. Now, you with the ring bearer. Now, you with...." As they ride in the limo to the country club, Josh keeps trying to feel her up. "Don't, Josh!" she says. "You're my wife now, honey!" he replies. "Yes! Wife!" she counters. "Not your dog's fucking squeeze-toy!" They dance, visit tables, and pay homage to Ann, the dowager aunt of Josh's family. It is de rigeur. Josh's father, Cordell, dances with Aleda several times, each one a little closer, a bit more intimate. Though she has spoken with him but a few times and always superficially, Aleda does not mind--Cordell is simply an older version of Josh physically, but with polish and panache. His white hair sparkles against his tux and tanned skin. Though he is now retired, Aleda feels her hand disappear into his still-rough masculine hand. It feels secure, comfortable. At the end of one dance, she lightly bumps her hips against him. Cordell kisses her hand. While she is not sure he is in fact flirting with her, she is pleased with the idea. Maybe I am flirting with him!? At least one of the Yates men is treating her as special on this day. Josh, meanwhile, is taking full advantage of the open bar and playing touch football with his work buddies, using a bridesmaid's bouquet. He is, in everyone's eyes, becoming a lout. Even Cordell cannot convince his son to act something like a grown-up. After every few songs, Josh goes up to the band and asks them to play "Louie, Louie." At ten-thirty, Josh and Aleda quietly exit to go to their room. This is only possible because Josh is about to pass out. He complains that he wants to throw one more TD, though the bouquet had disintegrated into two red carnations and a gold ribbon. His friends are either passed out in chairs in one corner or puking their chateaubriand with sauce bernaise into toilets, urinals, and vases that once held fresh flowers. Josh leans on Aleda for support and collapses in a chair as soon as they enter the room. He starts to snore. Aleda sits on the edge of the bed and cries. "I married a shithead!" she sniffles to herself. It is a warm September evening. Instead of taking a shower or bath, Aleda decides on a late evening swim. She carefully removes her gown and hangs it up, changes into her bikini--they were to fly to Aruba in the morning--grabs a towel and a light robe and her key, and slips out the door. She needn't have been so hushed. Aleda quietly enters the cool water and floats on her back, noticing the star-studded, fathomless black sky. She recognizes Venus and Mars, as well as the constellation Cygnus, the Swan. Aleda laughs to herself about the irony of the sky's two brightest stars on that night. When she had read the book, she had agreed her relationship with Josh would be different. "What a joke!" she now laughs. She tries recalling the myth of Cygnus and can only remember he was a soldier killed during the Trojan War. His father, Poseidon, transformed him into an elegant swan as he took his dying breath. Aleda loves the archetypal beauty of mythology. She sighs deeply. Gods and goddesses of utter beauty and power. Olympus. Ambrosia. Wicked couplings. Transformations. "I'd turn Josh into a football. Let him be kicked around all his life. Let centers drip snot on him." Aleda giggles at the thought. While she floats and dreams, she senses another presence with her. As she is about to stand and look around, she floats into someone's arms. "My sweet Aleda," Cordell says. "What on earth are you doing here? Where's Josh? Aren't you two, you know, supposed to be sharing the conjugal bed, as they say?" Aleda is speechless, embarrassed...and inexplicably excited to be held by her new father. She feels in his arms the same as she felt when they danced. Secure and comfortable. "Oh, Mr. Yates! I'm so...." and she begins to tear-up. Cordell continues holding her, bringing her slightly closer to his chest. "My dear, don't cry. It's okay," he urges. "Did he pass out on the floor or on the bed? The son of a bitch!" "The chair. By the door. I think he pissed in his pants." Aleda says through quivering lips, but still managing to laugh at the image. "Not the best end to what should have been the happiest day of your life, sweet girl!" And he brings her closer to him. He holds her [helpless breast upon his breast]. "You're much too pretty and wonderful and loving to be treated like that." Aleda is touched by Cordell's understanding, his strength and honesty. "Why do I feel so good with him," she asks herself over and over? Then, she lifts her arms and places them around Cordell's head. She pulls him toward her and raises her mouth. She kisses him, loving the heat of this moment--in a pool, kissing her father with passion and depth, wanting nothing more than for him to make love to her. "Am I taking this too far?" she wonders. "Was he only trying to comfort me? Oh, God, his kiss is hot and sexy!" She feels his [strange heart beating where it lies]. Cordell releases one of his arms, allowing Aleda to stand. He brings both around her waist and pulls her toward him. Their kiss does not break. She reaches around him and places her hands on his ass and immediately realizes he is naked. She is completely startled and jumps back from him. "Mr. Yates...I..." she stutters. "Cordell, Aleda. I'm Mr. Yates to the neighbors' kids! We're adults. We're family now. A little skinny-dipping in the dark late at night, that's all. I wasn't expecting my daughter, you know!" Aleda looks at him. She can only see him from the waist up but she sees that he is gorgeous, a man used to labor but refined and tempered, elegant. She moves back toward him. "May I join you, then," she asks, giggling and feeling her heart race. "I could not think of what I would like more!" His eyes sparkle like blue stars. "I brought some champagne," he says, as Aleda removes the bottom of her bikini. "Would you like some? I only brought one glass, though." Cordell reaches for the bottle by the pool's edge. He pops the cork as Aleda takes off her top and her beautiful breasts make him lose his breath. "I'd love to, Cordell. Pour me a glass!" He hands her the glass he fills and she drinks it eagerly, thirstily, letting the bubbles tingle her mouth and carbonate her entire body. Then, she lies on her back. "Now, you can drink from me. I will be your glass of champagne!" she laughs. With one arm under her near-weightlessness for support, Cordell pours champagne into the depression her stomach makes. He sips, at first, and then slurps from her, licking up the wine. He pours more on her beasts and licks the drops as they cascade from her, tongueing her nipples that are hard, firm points of fire in the cool water. Aleda moans. He pours some onto her pussy and bends over to suck the amber dew. Aleda moans again and holds him there with one hand. "Drink deeply of me!" she whispers. Cordell moves Aleda so she can rest her backstretched arms against the pool's edge. Her body extended, he moves between her legs, dips into the water, and rises with them on his shoulders. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever been with!" He kisses her lips, uses her tight ass to pull himself firmly to her. She grinds herself into him, and with her feet against his shoulder blades, urges him to her. He slowly inserts his tongue and swirls it, around her, all over her. She wiggles her ass in pleasure. He licks her clit and her body jerks out of the water. He licks again and she jerks. He presses it hard against her bud and she stiffens, her whole body erect. "Oh," she says quietly, never having been touched there by a man's tongue, and now, this man creates electricity bolting through her, creating glory throughout her [loosening thighs]. Cordell reaches for the bottle and pours more champagne on Aleda and resumes drinking her, sucking on her cunt and swallowing both wine and woman. Aleda alternates squeezing her thighs and releasing them, as though trying to suck Cordell's entire head into her. As he sucks her clit, he reaches up with both hands and massages her breasts, rubs her nipples, receives their rising heat. Aleda pulls his head hard to her. "I have never felt so good like this. Ever! Oh, Cordell, this isn't right. This is nothing but right! God. Ooooh!" Cordell drops into the water and Aleda stands against the pool wall. She is startled at his sudden disappearance, the warmth from her cunt gone. But within seconds, she feels him again, sucking her beneath the black cover of the pool. He sucks her and licks her harder than before. Aleda feels her face and arms flush as his invisible presence staggers her. She spreads her legs wide. She begins to shake, at first she thinks from the cool night air, but soon realizes it is from the beginning of her orgasm. She reaches below the surface and pulls Cordell as hard as she can to him. He sucks her once more. Aleda stifles her groans into passion-filled grunts. Again and again she cums. Her toes curl. Her back arches. Her head thrashes from side-to-side. He licks her again. Aleda shudders. Goose bumps cover her flesh. Cordell stands before her. She embraces him, placing her head to his chest. She just squeezes him to her as tightly as she can. She cannot, but does want to, believe this man, not her husband, has made her feel this way. He holds her back, gently and lightly. It is so quiet they hear the stars twinkle. She reaches for his cock and feels temperature and hardness. Though she has never touched a man's cock, always hated seeing pictures of cocks, erect or soft, she now cannot imagine not having Cordell inside her. He moves her hand away. "Aleda, sweet Aleda. That was an honor and pleasure for me. You make an old man feel special, wonderful. You are precious, dear, luscious. I am drunk on the taste of you!" He pauses. "You are also my son's wife. Now." "It is the father that I want, that I crave! Cordell, please, let me have you!" He pulls her hard against him and kisses her with all the passion and wanting he has felt for her since they first met. They pant in a rhythm of [brute blood,] rubbing against each other, his cock twitching against her cunt, her nipples heating his chest, their hands groping and squeezing each other. They leave the pool, hating the moments apart. Aleda lies down on a lounge chair, her knees up and spread wide. Cordell stands, his cock inches from her face. Aleda sucks him and is stunned by its hardness, how firm flesh could ever be. He lays atop her. "Are you sure?" he asks. "As sure as I have been of anything," she whispers to him. She guides him into her and Cordell lets out a soft, long moan. He does not move but pauses to enjoy Aleda's termperature and moisture, her tightness. She tenses her cunt muscles and he moans again. It has been a long time since he has felt this kind of passion. He begins slowly fucking her. Aleda thought she would hate a man inside her, practically dreaded this wedding night. Josh was so clumsy making out, squeezing her breasts, slobbering in her ear. But Cordell is so gentle and graceful and careful. Now she wants nothing but Cordell inside her, thrusting and retreating, filling her, creating heat and desire. The best part of her day, maybe the best moment of her life. She kisses him hard, her tongue exploring his mouth as his cock continues to fuck her. She reaches for his ass to feel the tensing and release of muscles as they shove his cock into her, grind into her, explore her. "God, Cordell, you make me feel as I never have! You feel so fucking good and hot in me. Make love to me. Fuck me!" His pace quickens and her heat rises. Her mother had told her to lie back and enjoy it as best she could, that it would be over soon. Aleda does not want this to end. She wants him to fuck her on this chair, then on the grass, in the pool, on a golf cart, against the vending machines, in the middle of the fucking ballroom and let the guests dance around them while they make love. Anywhere he wants to fuck her she will let him, welcome him, beg him to. "My Aleda, oh, my sweet!," Cordell whispers. He is pounding into her and she cannot want him more. "This is the most natural act I have ever done in my life," she thinks. What will it be like, this man cumming inside me? Now, there is [a shudder in his loins], and she suddenly knows as his seed erupts in her, spurts of heat splashing into her, his moaning, his tenseness. The radiation of warmth throughout her. "Oh, God, Aleda," he moans. "Oh, sweet fucking God!" Then, the quiet again. "Look up, Cordell," Aleda says. "See those stars that form a cross? That is Cygnus, the Swan. They outline his body and wings." Cordell looks up to where Aleda points. "There, too, look next to it. That is Lyra, the Harp." She kisses him deeply, smothers him with kisses, moves her hands all over him, wanting to touch him completely. "You are the constellation in my heavens. You have brought music to me! How can I return to your son and listen to him snore?" "That is the commitment you vowed to today. I don't know what you will do, Aleda. Do what you need to, want to." Cordell looks back up to the sky. "C'est magnifique!" he exclaims. "Thank you...for this moment...and for the stars!" Aleda kisses Cordell one more time. As she puts her robe on, she spies the cork from the champagne bottle. She quickly picks it up and inserts it into her vagina. Aleda returns to her room. Josh is on his back, half naked and half awake, on the bed. "Where ya bin, honey?" he slurs. "Oh, Sweetheart," Aleda says, getting on the bed, removing the cork, and straddling his face. "Eat me, please!" "Honey! Baby! You taste so good!" * * * "Was the story okay, Mrs. Yates?" I ask when she calls. "Oh, yes, Darrin! Beautiful and elegant!" she replies. "Cordell would have loved it! I never did tell him how that night ended! And neither he nor I could ever tell our daughter how we met." Dreamweavers Ch. 02 Ch. 02: Charley's Chalet "Hello. This is DreamWeavers. 'Tell us your dream; we'll make someone cream!' Stephanie at your service." "Yeah, hi. I want to get gangbanged! How much will that cost?" "You're over 18, right? You've got to be over 18!" "Yeah, yeah. Fucking 37! Divorced. I don't want romance. Just want to get fucked--not fucked over!" "Well, I need some info before I can give you a seximate," I explain. "Raped?" There's a pause on the other end. "Naw, not really raped, like a bunch of guys tackle me in an alley and fuck me. I don't want to get hurt...you know...just something that I start and that gets a little out of hand, maybe. I want to be a slut for a couple hours!" "Sure. How many? All white, all black, latino, asian, a mix? How big?" These are the questions I must ask. "Okay, one really, really big cock! Where does he get you-sure, it can be in all three! Just men? Okey-dokey! No, I'm sorry, but the only German Shepherds in my stories are ones that can yodel! You want piss with that? Piss-you know, anyone pissing in you or on you? I see. Ooooh, good idea! I'll try to work that in!" I finish taking my notes. "Well, our usual rate is each cum scene costs two hundred dollars, but in most of our gangbangs, a bunch of guys cum at the same time. Let's see now...with the group discount and no afterglow scene-gangbangs generally speaking do not have afterglow scenes...did you want one? I didn't think so! Five hundred should cover it all! Sorry, we don't take American Express!" "Fine. A whole fucking month of telemarketing just to turn me into a bowl of cream-of-fucking-meat! Yeah, fine-it'll be worth it!" "I'll email it to you on Tuesday!" *** Charley's Chalet When Charlene bought the place over the Internet, she thought she was getting a great buy. A log cabin on Misty Lake in Chinquapin County--secluded, pristine, just a few yards from the shoreline. She imagined sitting on the deck some early weekend morning, sipping Vienna roast coffee, eating chewy bits of homemade cinnamon-raisin toast, listening to whatever sounds nature sent her way. Maybe Bach's Chaconne for violin on the CD. Maybe the Beatles. The divorce had been ugly and humiliating. Ken-who Charley knew cheated on her with other women and occasionally with men-actually convinced a friend of his to testify that she had been banging him for years. But Charley knew how to work the courtroom. She also knew how to hack into Ken's email and print out reams of emails and, more importantly, email addresses. The divorce went through but Ken paid dearly. Enough for a country house. And a little extra. "I won't have to work for years!" was her triumphant declaration to Balls, her Persian cat. From the gravel driveway, the place which she had dubbed 'Charley's Chalet' looks fine, a little weathered perhaps, but nicely rustic. It is what she finds inside that causes her heart to sink within her, lower and lower, until she thinks she might shit it out. Her quick inspection reveals tons of problems-from bad plumbing to a malfunctioning boiler to non-working appliances. Charley is a woman of stout spirit, though. "I am going to make this work!" she smugly says to herself, arms akimbo. She finds a tattered Yellow Pages in a nightstand and begins making calls. "Yes, Tuesday at 9 a.m. is fine," she says to one repairman. "Yes, Tuesday at 9 is fine," she says to another. And on and on. "Well, at least one break goes my way," she thinks. "Everyone I need is coming Tuesday morning between 9 and 9:30. Hmmm!" A seed of a daydream takes root in her head. Charley spends the rest of the weekend dusting, scrubbing, and chasing raccoons from the attic. At one point, she screams at a mouse nibbling the last of her grilled-cheese sandwich. "Laura Ingalls Wilder had it too fucking easy!" she yells. The mouse drops a couple turds on her plate and rushes off, as if thinking this woman is mad. Monday night, Charley puts Herbie Mann's "At the Village Gate" CD into her stereo and takes a bath-a long soak in tepid water-the best the water heater can do, but amazingly calming. She scrubs herself red, trying to release the dirt from her pores. She shaves her armpits, legs--and then her pussy. Why the fuck not, she asks herself? It's sexy! Later, she turns on the TV and flips back and forth between the only two channels she gets-the fishing channel, this night with a feature on large-mouth bass, and a National Geographic special on Rorqual whales. Charley learns that the male of that species sports a penis 10 feet long and 1 foot in diameter! In bed, Charley sips her red wine while working her vibrator. It feels 10 feet long and 1 foot in diameter. Against her freshly-shaved cunt, it tingles nicely. At seven Tuesday morning, Charley, on the deck in her robe, enjoys her coffee, cinnamon toast, and the rutting calls of male elks. "Jesus, that's so fucking carnal, so primordial!" she thinks. A raisin falls from her bread, landing on her shaved mons. She moves it with just one finger so it becomes wet within her. She lifts it to her mouth. She savors it. "I've got a lot of men I do not know coming to my secluded cabin this morning! I think I'll have a little fun!" Charley says to the red squirrel that has been eyeing her, the raisin, or both. Charley brought only work clothes, certainly not expecting to entertain anyone. She takes a pair of her jeans, rips the legs off, and tries them on. "Thank God I shaved there last night!" she says approvingly. In a closet she finds an old t-shirt about two sizes smaller than she is. She pulls it on, really pulls it on. It comes just above her navel and outlines her tits like white paint, her nipples a dark brown, two raisins. A rip causes the shirt to bare one shoulder. Charley also finds an almost new pair of black western boots-a little big, but wearable. She overdoes her makeup a bit, especially the scarlet lipstick, but when she looks in the mirror, she knows she could have any man drooling with lust for her. "That's the way I like them anyway-drooling and hard, willing to do what I ask!" At exactly 9 a.m., three trucks pull up to Charley's Chalet. Washer Guy walks up the driveway. "I hear your washer won't do any more loads," he says with a nice smile. The hispanic guy from Rick's Roto-Rooter comes up next. "The pressure's low, you said, and you want a bigger pipe?" The asian guy from Adam's Appliance Repair follows. "I hear your vacuum doesn't suck any more!" Charley lets them in. She points to the vacuum cleaner and Vacuum Guy starts working on it. Meanwhile, Charley motions the two others to the basement, where the washer and plumbing are. As she leads them down the stairs, she can feel four eyes taking off what little clothing she has on. She smiles broadly and slips on the last stair. Washer Guy quickly grabs hold of her with one hand and reaches for her ass to lift her back up. She feels him squeeze her lightly as he raises her. "Oh, thank you!" Charley says, perhaps a bit too breathlessly. "You're so strong. And quick!" "Thank you, ma'am. I'm not quick in everything I do, though!" he says, dripping with innuendo. Charley moves her eyes to his crotch and lets him know she understands. She leads Plumber Guy to the pipes that lead to the upstairs. "I think the pipe is too small. It takes forever for me to get any flow!" Charley purrs at him. "Could you put in a bigger, thicker pipe?" "Lady, I ain't got nothing but big pipe!" He sets his toolbox down, opens it, and takes out a 12-inch piece of lead pipe, 2 inches wide. "You mean like this?" he asks. Charley takes it from him and holds it in both hands. She moves it to her mouth and kisses the top. "Exactly!" she whispers, and then drops to her knees. She unzips the long zipper of his coveralls and they fall to his ankles-he isn't wearing anything under them. She gasps at the size of Plumber Guy's cock, still soft, and can only imagine it when it is hard. She kisses it and feels it stir. She licks it and feels it stir. She sucks it in slightly and feels it stir. She holds his cock in her mouth and tongues underneath it and it doesn't just stir but gets hard, really hard, really fast. Washer Guy has been watching the whole scene. He thinks he is finally living the fantasy he's always jacked off to-he goes to some gorgeous bimbo's house to fix a dryer and she turns out to be an insatiable slut. He walks over to Charley, kneels behind her, and reaches around her to grab each of her tits. Charley moans and sucks Plumber Guy's cock into her mouth harder and faster. Charley lifts on her t-shirt and she and Washer Guy struggle to get it off her, but they do. Washer Guy cups her breasts again and uses his thumbs to work her nipples. He moves his head to suck each and Charley's moans become faster and louder. She places Plumber Guy's hands on her head and lets him pump her with his thick, hard-as-lead-pipe cock. Washer Guy stops sucking her tits. He reaches down to her shorts and finds the seam on her right thigh. With both hands, he yanks on each side and it splits, perfectly. Her shorts fall to the floor. Washer Guy gets down on the cement, smack under her snatch. "Hot damn! Shaved, too!" He smells a hint of cinnamon. It reminds him of Christmas. He extends his tongue into her and Charley bucks down on it with a grunt. They hear the vacuum cleaner start and then shut off, and then hear Vacuum Guy's footsteps on the stairs. "Lady, I got the vacuum cleaner...What the fucking shit!" He stands there like a column of stone. Actually, it is another part of his anatomy that becomes rock-like. "I wanted this cunt since I was 50 yards from the fucking house!" is all he can say. Plumber Guy is fucking Charley's mouth and she just lets him have his way. She is much more concerned about the reaming her cunt and ass are getting from Washer Guy underneath her. At 37, she had started to notice a certain dryness to her vagina. Not a problem today. She feels like she's become a leaking faucet dripping into this man's bucket-mouth. She gives Plumber Guy a nice tonguing under his cock and he loses it-if he splashes the back of her throat once, he must do it again 9 more times. She is so overwhelmed by the amount of his semen, she just grinds on Washer Guy, side to side, forward and back, cumming herself in flashes of light, spurts of jizz, and moans and groans of pleasure. Plumber Guy falls back against the wall, his cock red from Charley's suck and lipstick. Vacuum Guy takes his place. "I fix your vacuum so it sucks good. Now, you suck me good!" "Hold on a minute," Washer Guy says. "I've just sucked a quart of love honey out of this bitch and she came into my nose and fucking ears. My cock is cold from laying on this cement. I need to get warmed up too!" He stands and lifts Charley with him. "Bend over, bitch!" he orders her. Charley spreads her legs and reaches back to spread her cheeks. Washer Guy plunges his cock all the way into her cunt with a grunt. Charley leans over and slurps Vacuum Guy to the back of her throat. As Washer Guy fucks her, Charley gets more of Vacuum Guy into her. She releases his cock and starts licking his balls. Washer Guy slows down and fucks her, pulling all the way out and then popping his cockhead back in. "Such a sweet ass!" he thinks. "I bet it's nice and warm in there too!" He notices the jar of teflon paste in Plumber Guy's tool box. "If it's good enough for pans and pipes, it should work on her pipe too!" Charley isn't quite sure why her cunt is suddenly empty but she is quite content to work Vacuum Guy's cock. Washer Guy opens the jar and brushes the white cream up and down his 7 inches of dying-to-be-in-this-broad's-ass meat. He places the head at her puckered hole, gives a slight push, and he's in to the hilt like...well, like a teflon-covered cock! "Jesus!" he yells. "This is like fucking silk!" Charley is slightly surprised but loves the fill. "Oh, God, yeah, fuck my ass. Work that cock deep in me!" As Washer Guy fucks her ass, they hear more voices upstairs. "Hey, anybody home?" several voices shout. "Yeah, I don't know," one voice says. "Some bitch at this address says she needed more heat. Her pilot light had gone out." "Same with me," another voice says. "This chick calls the office and says she needed a new hard drive for her laptop." "She stopped by the nursery last Saturday," another guy says. "Asked me if I could plant a big oak somewhere on her property!" As they hear the men come down the basement stairs, Charley works Vacuum Guy until his balls tighten. She releases his cock and jacks him. Arching his back, he gushes cum into her open mouth, stream after stream dripping onto her tongue. As she swallows his last drops and milks him, Washer Man pulls her back hard, grinds his hips, and then thrusts about 8 times into her ass, each thrust filling her with cum. As the last of his jizz enters her, the other 3 guys reach the basement. Charley stands up. Cum drips from her cheeks and chin, from between her legs and forming dark pools on the cement. "Hi, guys!" she says as she wipes off and then licks spilled cum from her. "You're late!" She walks up to Geek Guy-he's the only one wearing a shirt, tie, and slacks. "Get on your fucking knees, Stud. How many bytes do you think it'll take for you to make me cum, huh? And just how hard is your drive anyway?" Charley undoes his tie and wraps it behind his head, drawing his head to her cunt. "Suck my cunt!" she orders, spreading her legs and opening her lips. Geek Guy turns into a black cat at a bowl of fucking whipped cream! "Come here and kiss me, Boiler Boy!" The kid can barely be 18 and is so hard the crotch of his work pants looks like a circus tent. As Charley shoves her tongue down his throat, she grabs his cock. "Oh, yeah, this'll raise the temperature about 20 degrees!" "Oh, Tree Guy, how big an oak are you going to plant?" Charley asks, breaking her kiss with Boiler Boy. "Let me see if it's big enough!" He pulls his cock out and holds it for her. Though surrounded by gray, she zooms in on the 9 inches he holds for her, cupped like candy in the palm of his hand. "A daddy cock!" she growls. "I love daddy cocks! I love daddy balls, too! They hang so nice and low. Easy to kiss and suck and lick!" Charley has so gotten into her part she just wants to fuck and suck, talk dirty, feel cocks in her, look at their hardness and shapes. She has gotten into her slut zone. "Men," she orders the three, completely aware of her power. "Strip and do me!" As they remove their clothes, she walks over to the workbench, sweeps off the wrenches and pliers and screwdrivers with her hands. Geek Guy, Boiler Boy, and Tree Daddy stand naked next to each other. She walks up to Geek Guy and kisses him, reaching for his cock to check its hardness. "This is an ass cock," she says to him. "Long but not thick. Mama wants you in her ass!" She moves to the Boiler Boy, kisses him, and feels his cock. "Mouth fuck all the way, Baby!" she says. She moves to Tree Daddy. "This is cunt cock! Definitely cunt cock. Thick and long, heavy balls. Wait for your fuck-mama to call you. I'm going to save you for last!" Charley climbs on top of the work bench and positions herself on her hands and knees. "C'mon, Geek Guy, mount my ass!" She barely feels his 8 and a half inch cock penetrate her, but it feels exquisite and hot. "Come here, Boiler Boy! Mama needs something to suck on while her ass gets pounded!" Boiler Boy runs to the edge of the bench and holds his cock for her to suck in. She licks his full length, growls, and then engulfs him. Charley loves the pounding her body is taking, loves to hear the moans from the guys fucking her holes, their flesh slapping against hers. She could stop this right now and break the sexual hearts in them, if she wanted to. Knowing she could is enough; knowing she won't drives her into a fuck-frenzy. Geek Guy pumps her ass for about 10 minutes, reaching under his slapping balls and massaging Charley's clit. As his fingers get wet with her juice, he brings them to his mouth, licks them, and then brings them back to her for more juice. Geek Guy dumps his heat first. "Oh, Bitch! Take my fucking cream!" She feels it spreading into her ass as she wiggles it, enticing more drops into her. Two smooth ass fucks, she thinks dreamily. "I could get used to this," she imagines. Boiler Boy is fucking her mouth like it's a hole in a melon. She likes that her mouth is a warm wet hole for the boy. She cups his balls in her hands, pulls them until she thinks she might hurt them, and then feels them retract, pulse. "Oooh, he tastes like pizza and beer," she thinks. "I love pizza and beer!" She gets off the work bench. "I should have just asked the Elks and Moose and VFW to fucking show up!" she thinks, still craving getting banged. "Men!" she announces. "Go on and do what I hired you to do! I expect every job to be the best you've ever done! If you want any repeat business!" She walks over to Tree Daddy. "Come with me, Daddy," she growls into his ear, and leads him upstairs, into the only bedroom. "I want you, alone, and give you any pleasure you want, Daddy! Look at my sweet lips-blow job?" Charley lies on the bed, spreading her legs and pulling her lips apart. "Good old-fashioned fucking?" she asks. She gets on her knees and spreads her ass. "Ever fucked a sweet, tight ass, Daddy? What'll it be?" "Wife died five years ago. I ain't had no good ass or head or cunt in years. Why don't you let me sample all three?" "Yes!" Charley says to herself. She stands, reaches to his waist, and draws him to her. She feels his body's heat and muscle. He has planted many trees, lifted countless bales of hay. He evokes a certain dignity and pride of years as a husband and man. "What's your name?" she asks. "Enrique," he says. "Most people call me Rick." "Rick," Charley says, kissing him. "Let me suck your cock." She lies flat on the bed, her head dangling off the side. Rick moves to her and she licks his balls, sucks each into her mouth. Rick's cock begins to harden and he moans loudly. Charley sucks his half-hard cock. She likes that he is slow to get erect, likes the gradual feel of a cock getting hard in her mouth. She reaches around and grabs his ass. It is firm, tight, and pulsing. "Let me eat you," Rick asks, "the way a woman should be. Not like those other fuckers. They don't know a clit from a zit!" Charley smiles and rolls on her back. Rick kneels between her legs, lifts under her knees, spreads them out, and kisses her cunt. "Sweet," he whispers. He twirls his tongue all around her, fucking her with it, nibbling the inside of her thighs. "Oh, God!" Charley screams when he gives her clit a long suck. "What the fuck was that?!" Washer Guy says to Plumber Guy in the basement. "Tree Daddy!" "Jesus! Oh, God!" Charley shouts again as Rick sucks her again. "Fuck! I'm cumming already!" Boiler Boy turns red-and hard. Charley pounds the bed, Rick's shoulders, pulls his head hard to her cunt. She pants, gasps, groans. "What a fucking Suck Daddy! Nobody's gotten me off like that! Ever! Just fuck me, Daddy! Fucking fuck me!" Rick shoves his cock into her, buries it in her cunt, but is in no hurry. "Ooooh, yeah, Daddy. Long and slow's the way to go!" Charley thrusts up to meet his, wraps her legs around his waist. "Jesus, the man knows what he's doing. Fuck! Five quickies and one nice long fuck!" Rick pulls out. "Suck me!" he orders her. Charley moves so her head rests against the backboard. Rick straddles her tits and she sucks him in. He grasps the top of the headboard and lets her work her mouth magic, lets her lift his cock to suck his balls again. But after a minute, he cannot continue to enjoy her suck, it has been so long. "Yeeeeeees!" he lets out a prolonged yell, his cry echoing throughout the fucking county. His jizz bursts into her, thick and hot. Charley chokes at the quantity, but is able to swallow each spurt, suck him dry, milking the cum from him. Dreamweavers Ch. 02 "Oh, Daddy! That was fucking hot! That was man fucking woman!" *** Charley spends the rest of the morning making sure all the jobs are done to her satisfaction. As each man leaves, she kisses him lightly, grabs his crotch, and hands him a check. The men are surprised. "We thought...." "You're men-so don't surprise me! You think I'm a whore? No fucking way! Sluts fuck and suck because they want to!" Charley explains. "Nice work, guys! Thanks!" As Tree Daddy leaves, she pulls him back. "You will come back and check that oak, won't you? she asks. Rick smiles and tips his cap. "Well, now, I wouldn't be your Tree Daddy if I didn't, would I?" And he walks to his truck. Inside, Charley leans against the door and smiles, thinking about her wild morning. She hears yet another car stopping in her gravel driveway. She opens the door and stands on her porch in her short, terrycloth robe and boots. The car door opens and from it walks a tall, handsome-yes, Charley deems, hot -guy wearing a shirt and slacks. "Hello," he says and waves as he approaches her. "Father Mitchell. From St. Timothy's." As he stands next to Charley on the porch, he says, "I'm really sorry to bother you, ma'am, but could I use your bathroom?" Charley smiles. *** "Hello, Stephanie? Great story! And I really liked the Daddy part! He was sweet and hot, like jalapeno jelly!" Charley says. "But a priest?" "Yeah, well, even though I'm an ex-Catholic, I thought a little PR on their choice of age and sex wouldn't hurt, you know!" "Oh, it was cool! But I thought Plumber Guy was the big one!" Dreamweavers Ch. 03 Chapter 3: Chelsea in the Morning I've been MIA for a while, a little discouraged by the lack of feedback/votes for my other stories, though many thanks to those who did. But that uncontrollable urge to write burns on, doesn't it!? Please--WILL WRITE FOR VOTES/FEEDBACK! * * * * * "Yo! DreamWeavers. 'Tell us your dream and we'll make someone cream!' Simeon on the line--to do your dream phyne!" "My name's Patrick. I'm 54. Wife died a while ago. I want a fantasy. I'm still in shape and not too bad-looking, but the years are showing. I ain't got a look from a missy in a while. Last woman to hit on me was an Alzheimer's victim in a Wal-Mart. Called me a stud. I didn't care about the Alzheimer's part. I could've given her some sex she might remember. I know I would. It's just that her 60-something-year-old daughter was leading her around! 'Mind if I take Mom to the Brer Rabbit motel for a quickie?' wasn't going to cut it." "So, you want someone to hit on you?" "Yes. But younger, no Alzheimer's, no one in college. Very sensual. One who gets off with just a little touching. Then goes crazy when things get serious." He pauses. "I don't want to fall in love, mind you. I still love Karen. Couldn't love anyone else but her. A nice sensual fling would be fine." "Sex? "Female." "No, I got that. Do you have sex or just, you know, hit on each other? Touchy-feely stuff. Uh-huh. White or of color? Straight, a little edgy, way edgy? Leather? Sure, I usually include boots—at least on the women. Tell me what else I need to know." Patrick gives me details. This is going to be as easy as fucking an ass at the end of a gangbang! This story is writing itself as he talks! "The pre-story is free. Two-ways in which you each cum once run about three-fifty. Would you be interested in our special this month? You can have a three-way with humans for only an extra hundred! That's a savings of almost three hundred and fifty dollars! Okay, maybe next time! "With some character development, add another fifty. You're a guy, so I assume no afterglow shit, right? That crap is such a grind for me to write! Okay, good! Let's say four hundred and I'll throw in a poem for free! You want leather- or vinyl-bound? No, I mean the story! Sure, I'll email it to you tonight. If you like it, you can pick up the fine, Corinthian-leather version with the gold lettering next week." Dreamweavers Ch. 03 Chelsea raises her hips, offering herself to me. "Oh, yes, Patrick!" she says, hard but softly. As I continue to lick her, I open my eyes. In the cool night air, my saliva and her wetness rise as steam. She lifts her top up and caresses her breasts. I kneel higher up to lick them, and she bucks her body up, her cunt against my belly. She pulls my head hard against her. "Suck them. Lick them!" she orders. The car lurches again. My mouth engulfs her. The car sways more. My cock is chafing inside my jeans. Steam arises from her nipples as well. I return between her legs and continue tonguing her. With every lick, every suck, every kiss, Chelsea twitches and writhes and moans. I have never felt I was God's gift to women in bed, but now I'm thinking…well, maybe I am His gift to Chelsea. For now, anyway. We've got the car swaying about 20 degrees each way and she is moaning and groaning a shitload. I lift under her ass and she suddenly slides off the bench, pushing me down hard to the floor, her slit coming down full force on my tongue. Her thighs squeeze my head and she grinds down on me, and I think I will pass out from the lack of air and from ecstasy. She cums, with more vitality than I have ever seen, felt, or heard in real life or faked in a movie. I am sure everyone in the city of Chicago knows it. From her mouth comes a scream and groan so deep, sexy, primal. If there was a sound when the universe first exploded, this is it. Chelsea finally begins to relax her thighs and eases a little of her weight off me. "Jesus!" she says, her head in her hands as she falls back on the bench. Then she looks up. "Oh, my God!" she yells. "What?" "We're the next car off!" She scrambles for her jeans and fumbles with her boots. Runs her hands through her hair—it doesn't help. My face is dripping from her, some of my hair plastered to the side of my head. I wipe what I can of her off with my handkerchief. Just as Chelsea buttons her pants, the door opens. The black teenager who let us on stands there to help us out. "Folks, the sign says you ain't suppose to rock the car. I told you to stop rocking the car. It's dangerous, you know." At exactly the same moment, the three of us notice something light pink in the corner of the bench. The boy walks in, picks it up, and brings it to Chelsea. "These yours, ma'am!" he says with a smile a mile wide. "Rockin' ain't always dangerous, I guess. Depends who's in your playground!" I slip him a sawbuck, take the panties from him, and shove them in my jacket. "Now, y'all come back. Hear?!" We smile and walk, our arms around each other's waist. Dreamweavers Ch. 03 "Soon, he's asking me to help with makeup and shit, you know, his nails. After that, he wants to go out with me as two girlfriends. As long as this was in our house, I could deal with it. Alright, we go to a bar. We make up the D'Arcy part. I have to admit, he looks good—hot, even. We're not there five fucking minutes and he's got three drinks sent over from different guys hitting on him. I'm nursing the fucking martini I ordered! I'm chicken livers and he's fucking filet mignon! "We go out like this for a few weekends. Then, one weekend, he tells me he's going alone, in drag, without me. That just about does it. He starts coming home late, doesn't talk, and we don't have sex anymore. Tonight, before I came to St. Nick's, he tells me he can't have sex with women anymore. Maybe he should have an operation, he says. I tell him that he and I are through. Did I miss anything, D'Arcy?" I stand there like a pillar of fucking stone. Actually, about 20 eavesdroppers stand with me like pillars of fucking stone. "I saw a picture of a Vibrating Butterfly once on the Web," Chelsea continues. "Never owned or used one. I founded, own, and run DreamWeavers. We write up the fantasies people want but can't or won't live out. I don't know if they masturbate to them, pass them on to friends, or use them to live out their dreams. I know there are thousands who pay decent money to read about themselves getting dressed as a monkey and someone fucking them with a banana. Whatever they want! But you know all about that, Patrick! You're the Whore of Words…Just like me. D'Arcy is one of our writers. Specialty, D'Arcy?" "That would be alternative sexual preferences and practices," he, or she, offers, with a grin. "This started out, Patrick, as kind of a business deal for me. When we had coffee and you said you wrote porn—well, I'm always looking for writers. And you said you wouldn't mind if I flirted with you. You got it—and more! I liked the sex, but I like the poet much more." "I've been on a fucking job interview? Is that what you're saying?" I shout as loud as I want to in a public place. "Shit, no, Patrick." Chelsea pleads. "Honey, I fell for you right away and the poem drilled my feelings home." She stops. "I wanted you for my lover, since I met you. I just had a lot of weird shit going on, you know?" D'Arcy chimes in. "Tell me truthful, Patrick! Weren't you hot when you first saw me? Ain't I the black bitch of your dreams?" I am a deer in headlights and a pickup truck filled with men dressed as gorgeous women is barreling down the highway. Hooooonk! Splat! "Keith and I came here looking for some suck and fuck. You going to share your daddy, Chelsea?" D'Arcy says with a laugh. "Bitch-ass!" Chelsea growls at D'Arcy. "He's mine and I'm going to fuck him senseless all night, if that's what he wants!" I have decided I no longer want to be part of this unfolding drama and walk to the door and then outside. I breathe deeply. Several times. The night is not dark enough. I am grateful that Chelsea doesn't follow immediately. I then feel her hand on my shoulder. "I asked for the truth and got it. Way more than I wanted!" I turn to her. "I got some simple questions. Please, Chelsea, give me some simple answers?" She nods. "You and he are through, getting a divorce?" She nods yes. "Do you like me?" She nods yes. "Will you really come with me tonight and fuck me senseless?" She shouts "Yes!" "How much does it pay?" She looks at me quizzically. "The pay. At DreamWeavers. How much does it pay?" She laughs. "It'll buy you a double latte, mocha grande, fucking something!" "One more question?" She nods yes. "Does D'Arcy have it in him…or her…to, like, hunt you or me or both of us down and do us in with a shotgun?" "Patrick! I am a shooter, but not with a handgun, Sweetheart!" That is D'Arcy's unmistakable baritone voice behind me. "Don't you see? This works great for everyone. I get to be the woman I want to be! You get your pretty butterfly! She gets the poet and writer she's wanted and the lover she needs! God's in His heaven…." "Where's Keith?" Chelsea asks. "Oh, he got picked up by a Latin domie who's going to train him to be a maid for a leather fetishist on the Gold Coast! Not the Cardinal, by the way!" He's real happy. Besides, he was kind of boring, anyway. He played Donna Summer every time we had sex!" D'Arcy laughs. Actually, I'm getting to like her. "So, you two going off into the sunset and live happily ever after?" We begin walking to the exit. "Day at a time, D'Arcy," I say. "For most things." We're approaching the Ferris wheel, where Marcus stands, no customers to keep him busy. D'Arcy remarks, "This the twink nigga who took you on the ride of your life?" "Hi, folks!" he waves at us. He walks up to me. "Are you some fucking bitch magnet, Man?" First, the white girl and now this hot nigga bitch? Jesus!" A thought occurs. It is wicked, perverted, and delicious. "Marcus," I ask. "How complicated is this ride to work?" "Yeah, like it's rocket science! Like an elevator, man. I let people in, close the door, push the green button, and everything else is done by computer. I'm only here to help people on and off, clean out the cars, and push the green button." "Excuse me a second, Marcus." I walk over to D'Arcy and whisper in his ear. "Oh, fucking yes, Patrick! You are fucking cool! Yes!" Chelsea is not sure what is going on. D'Arcy goes up to Marcus and plants a big wet kiss on him, grabbing his ass. "Sho' would like yo' sweet black meat fucking my face, Stud Nigga!" Marcus looks at me. "It's okay, Marcus. Been there. Done that!" I fake a yawn. "You two have a wonderful time." D'Arcy leads him to a waiting car. "Just push the green button, Sir!" Marcus yells. I walk up to close the door. Before I do, I get into the car and I reach to D'Arcy and pull her to me. I kiss her deep and long and passionately. "Mmmm-mmm! Patrick! That is a wicked tongue!" I slip my business card down the front of her dress. "Call me some time, D'Arcy. You've aroused a longtime curiosity of mine." She smiles wide at me and I click the door shut. "Don't forget to wear your seat belt at all times!" I yell. Two "fuck yous" echo from the car. I walk back to the terminal and push the green button. Three times. "Isn't this a little bit cruel, Patrick?" Chelsea asks with a giggle. "Maybe Marcus will just get the fucking blowjob of his life. Maybe he'll get much more and like it! Life's full of great moments and cruel lessons, Chelsea! It is—what it is." I then say, half-serious and half-joking, "I drank as a lark and became a junkie. You married a man who wants to become a woman. Some people flying on 9/11 were flying home, expecting to make love to their spouses. I loved a woman who died on me way too soon. I wrote a poem for a woman I hardly knew…." "And she fell for you!" "Did she? I know I fell for her. From the top of a Ferris wheel!!" Dreamweavers Ch. 03 "Patrick," I say to myself. "This is a dance you can do!" I lather each of her shoulders and rub the soap into them. She closes her eyes and moans lightly. I know women carry a lot of tension there. The neck. I massage her there too. I lather her and focus on the small of her back, use my thumbs to work her spine. She moans more loudly, more sensually, and she thrusts her behind against me, my cock slippery with soap teasing her ass. I fall to my knees and kiss her ass, rub the soap over it. Oh, this is such a nice ass, warm, taut and firm, with a woman's heavenly curve of the hip. It's there for having kids, I suppose. To me, it's there to clasp and hold close to me. A woman's hips are the sexiest part of the female body. I lather and massage her thighs and calves. I feel every muscle she has. "Turn,' I ask her. Before me is Chelsea's womanhood, but I am not focused on that. Instead, I kiss her there but move the soap up her belly, to her breasts, feel her hard nipples, the gentle sway of her hips against me, the light moans coming from her lips. I turn the showerhead to its gentlest pulse and outline her body, fill in the details with water. I move to her pussy and lap her, alternating with the gently-jetting water. Her body twitches and she moans very loudly, pulls my head to her, holds it there. She thrusts her cunt to me and I suck and lick her, probing until I can feel her engorged clit. I stop. I never have felt a woman's clit before. "Oh, God, Patrick! Don't stop! Suck it, hard and now!" As I do, she shudders and quakes against me, holds me hard, spreading her legs as wide as she can. She grunts hard. I feel Chelsea's slit flooding, flowing into my mouth. She shudders again and then becomes limp. Silence, except for breathing and streaming hot water. "Twice!" she groans. "Patrick's wonderful tongue!" Steam is still rising. I stay kneeled before her, filled with the taste of her. I have moved on. Karen, I loved you. But you died. God speed you in your latitudes. I reach around Chelsea's hips and hug her to me. Oh, God, let this work out, please! Chelsea shuts off the water and helps me stand. She looks confused. "Sex isn't love, is it, Patrick? I mean, did you just make love to me? I've never felt this way." I cannot answer except to say I don't know. I think love takes time—more than hours. More than a poem and great sex. My first wife and I had great sex. I mistook it for love and didn't realize it until my daughter was born. I reach for a towel and begin patting her dry. As I move to dry between her legs, she pushes her hand against mine. "Harder," she whispers. She twitches. "Yes! Harder!" Her body tightens and she arches back. I hold her back at the waist with one arm. "Yes! A little more. Hard!" she urges. Then she grabs my shoulders and quivers again. "Patrick!" she grunts and grips me, buries her nails into me. She claws at my chest, scratching it, leaving tiny red trails of passion, and she continues quaking. Panting, now leaning against me, finally catching her breath. "Oh, yes, you got the touch, Baby!'" And she kisses me. Then she takes the towel and dries me gently but quickly. "If you're this good on a Ferris wheel and in a shower, I'm getting you under the sheets in the next thirty seconds!" She giggles and jumps from the tub, pulling me with her out into the bedroom. "Lie down, Lover. I'll be right back." Huh? Oh, yeah, the rubbers. But when she returns, she carries only the talcum powder. "On your tummy, Patrick! Close your eyes." She whispers. I feel her straddle my ass, her hair tickling my cheeks. I smell the powder as she sprinkles it on me. I can't identify the smell, but it is soft and light, not perfumey or chemical. She begins at my upper arms and shoulders, working her fingers like she knows what she is doing. God, that feels good! To my shoulder blades and down my spine—my butterfly, again, flitting over me. She turns and straddles my lower back and I feel her powder my legs, working my calves and thighs, then slowly between them. I feel her sprinkle my cheeks. "This is one sweet tight ass, Patrick! Best I've ever seen," she says as she massages. It is all so sensual and pleasurable. I wonder how many asses she's seen! Shut up, Patrick! It's a compliment! Even if it's a lie, let her tell it! "Now to the best stuff! Flip over, Baby." I am becoming self-conscious again. She kneels back down on my cock, not yet hard, and powders my chest. "You keep in pretty decent shape, don't you? I like that." She leans forward and, yes, she sucks my ear lobes and then takes little bites on my neck. All over! Ouch! I'll have to go back to that store tomorrow and show the girls what Grandma did! Down my shoulders and more little nips. Oh, consume me, Chelsea! I am your appetizer, main course, and dessert! She sucks my nipples and licks them, plays with them with the tip of her tongue. My cock starts to harden. "Oooh, you're waking up, Patrick! That's why I'm here, in your bed, with you tonight!" She laughs and then groans as I rise against her. She blows across my belly and my skin puckers and tickles at the warmth. Dahlia. She turns, still resting on my cock, it growing a little harder. She wiggles on it. I am not a man of the world—I have had sex with about a dozen women in my life. The ones I remember most and best are those that were confident in their own sexuality, who enjoyed arousing me, who wanted to and did, who loved that they could, instead of waiting for me to become aroused because of them. Chelsea knows her power. And, oh, her back is extraordinarily beautiful. I follow it down as her hips glide over my cock. She slides her knees back toward my head, presenting her mons to me, and sucking my cock into her with a moan of pleasure. I am engulfed in her completely, suddenly, and unhesitatingly. I am not fond of the 69 position—it seems neither partner can concentrate on the gift at hand. But she is so inviting and lush, I must lap at her, taste her once again, while enjoying—oh, God, she is giving incredible head! I am going to cum right now! "Stop! Chelsea, stop!" I yell. I hear Pippen barking from somewhere in the house. "I'm sorry, Patrick!" she says in a panic, turning to me. "Did I hurt you?" "Lord, no, Baby! It's just…." "Patrick, now isn't the only time you'll have with me, is it? Are you going to cum and then kick me out? Cum in my mouth now. We can make love for hours later. I want you, didn't I say that to you? How I wanted your seed in me, tasting you and feeling you slide down my throat? I want you this way!" She pauses. "You want to watch me, don't you, Baby. Watch me suck you until you cum? Look at the suck in my cheeks as I take you? See if I swallow all of you? I am going to take you down my throat and never let go!" She kneels between my legs and she sucks hard and bobs up and down, grabbing my ass, the curls in her hair bouncing. This is the blowjob and night of my dreams. Did I feed the dogs? I wonder. Should I change the oil in the van? I really should go online and check my VISA balance! Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, I am going to blow the back of her head off with my orgasm. "Yes!" I cry. "There! Oh, Chelseeeeea!" I cum. My hips buck up, my back arches, my legs twitch. She squeezes and sucks my cock in my spurting rhythm. The lightshow in my head beats any acid trip I have taken. Beats any sex I have ever had. If her orgasm on the Ferris wheel was primal, mine is ages before that. She never gives up her suck and clench. She coughs a little. I touch her shoulder and she tingles. She releases my cock from her mouth, kneels on her hands and knees, her breasts hanging full and luscious. I reach to her and touch her nipples. Like marbles. Like olives. The candles flicker, jealous of my glow. Jordan enters the room to see what's up. I bring Chelsea down to lay on me, her breasts and entire body almost too hot to touch. Her weight on me comforts me. I caress her hair and use my fingers to follow the contours of her face. She sighs so deeply. I caress her back and follow it to her ass. She sighs so deeply. She moves up a bit, looks me in my eyes, and kisses me. I have never been much of an afterglow type of guy, tolerating it at best. I embrace her and then hold her head to mine, tasting myself as I taste her and I become released from the world. I move her so she is beside me. In the glow of the candles and the sex, she is as beautiful as a woman could ever be, I think. "As long as I'm around," Chelsea laughs, "you'll never save that much up again!" "We have to talk about that, you know. You being around!" "Do you want me, Patrick? Around?" "Do you cook?" "No." "Good. I do. Damn good too! I'm 54." "46." "More like May and August, not December and June. Do you like my buddies?" "I love doggies. Unless they hump me! I only want you to hump me!" "I have to sleep on the left side. Two pillows. Dogs at my feet." Chelsea sniffles and I see a tear in her eye. "I take relationships seriously. Long haul or no haul. I commit. Most of all, I have to stay sober. I am nothing, and we are nothing, without it. That is the only thing I would ask of you. Stick with your recovery. Everything else will fall in place." "Cuddle me to you," she asks In the soft light, Chelsea nestles in my left shoulder. Her breathing slows to a sleep. We have only had sex—we still will want to make love. I yawn. Sex is fantastic, but this is better. My girl cuddled to me. Pleased, safe, warm. J & P hop onto the bed. They, too, nestle at my feet and both sigh. "Where has Karen been?" they ask in their doggie brains. "She smells different." Yes. She does. Not Karen. Chelsea. In the morning.