2 comments/ 12350 views/ 1 favorites One Weekend Stand Ch. 02 By: bbonz1 He watched her fall asleep under his fingertips, a slight dew of sweat still visible on her back and flanks. Despite the fact that he'd spent himself thoroughly inside her, had fucked her with abandon, he was already beginning to feel his groin begin to stir. But it wouldn't do to race to another bout of lovemaking. They had all weekend, with literally nothing to do but get to know each other. To stimulate each other. And enthrall each other. He let himself fall into that drowsy state between wakefulness and sleep, where his thoughts could float into the ether, none needing his attention, all open for introspection. She was sound asleep, just inches from him. Her mouth parted slightly, he could see her even white teeth inside. Her hair had fallen over her face, but he stayed the urge to sweep it away, lest he wake her. She slept on her side, slightly scrunched up, her hands pillowed beneath her chin. Her arms hid one breast but left the other uncovered. Her nipples, hard and prominent during much of the day, had finally softened, settling down. He'd noticed from the very first that her nipples would harden at a moment's notice, like the proverbial teenage boy whose cock would harden with the slightest breeze. The areolas surrounding them were wide and dark, and he instinctively licked his lips, seized suddenly by the urge to put his mouth to them. Later, he admonished himself. Later still he would have to return to his survey of her, for her long, lithe legs were curled up against her, hiding her heaven's gate from his inquisitive gaze. He seized a thought tumbling through his mind, of his head thrust deep between her legs, his lips capturing her clit, and his tongue probing deep inside her. Later, he again admonished himself, even as his cock began to rise at the thought. But if all it took was the thought to get him to stir so easily, what would reality do to him? The idea was a pleasant one. A good point to leave off his imaginings. Stealthily he rolled off the bed, careful not to wake her. The clock read 3:17. Was that the correct time? He hadn't reset the clocks. But if she had, it was correct, probably to the second. She was often that precise. It was bright in the room, shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows. When was the last time he had made love with the windows open? Not that they had a choice here. There were no curtains. And no one to look in on them. And if someone had crouched there, at the top of the hill, and spied on them? Well, he really didn't care. He could only hope that the spy would've cum as ferociously as he had. Grabbing his clothes he dressed swiftly and silently. He'd spotted a fire pit out in the middle of the small basin, a small open space amongst the canopy of trees. Although there was no wood left in the stack, his friend had said there'd be plenty of dead wood on the ground, once you left the immediate area. His plan was to head out and gather some wood, and maybe they could have a fire that night, watch the stars, and see where that led them. He stared at her again, and again had to steel himself from waking her with a kiss and a touch. Later. Instead he pulled the cabin instructions from his pocket, wrote a note on the back, and then left the cabin, closing the door softly behind him. She stirred, confused a little, then slowly grinned as she recognized her surroundings. The pine panel walls. The high ceiling beams. The very, very comfortable queen bed. She stretched, then checked. She was naked. He hadn't covered her. That would've been tender. But, and her smile grew, he hadn't been tender. She flipped over, face up, and splayed her arms and legs wide, the sunshine slanting in and painting her bare skin. She could stay here like this. Wait for him like this. And see if he would take her like this. He would. Without a word or a question. She was sure of it now. In letting him in, he'd let her in. His needs weren't so obscured anymore. His wants were plain to her. And it was up to her to decide if he would get whatever he wants. She still had some control. While he was enthralled by her, she wasn't by him, at least not as much. Thrilled by him, surely. But not enthralled. Not so far. That thought sobered her. Was she holding back still? Being too careful? This weekend was supposed to be about letting go, about not worrying about the other person, about – how did he put it? – 'breaking free of expectations and marital concerns.' A fancy way of saying they should forget about their spouses and just have fun. And here she was, already planning a path to keep her from getting in too deep. Could she really let it all go, reveal herself fully? She was afraid. If she did, she might get in too deep, and a return to their separate worlds might be too painful. She wasn't as able as he to delineate this, to think of this as a tryst, not an affair. She'd never confess it, of course, never to no one. But even using the word "confess" gave insight into her feelings. On the other hand, would she lie awake, years from now, and wish she'd been more adventurous? Would she wonder what might've happened if only she'd sought less control, was more willing to go with the flow? Or she could tread a middle path. Focus more on the sensuality. Give of herself bodily, while reserving a part of her emotional self. Give in to her passions. Walk on the wild side. She grinned wickedly. And see just how many times she could make him cry out in ecstasy. Where was he? Apparently not returning very soon. She shrugged against the sheets. Too late to take advantage of the free gift of her body, naked and spread open and waiting for him. His loss! She stood up, started to get dressed but stopped with only her panties on. No need for other clothes, not out here. She'd feel uncomfortable walking around completely naked. She wasn't a nudist, per se. But topless? She liked to walk around topless at home, with the feeling of freedom it always gave her. And where better to feel free than here? What better time than now to explore the cabin? She found his note on the kitchen counter. 'Gone to get some firewood. Back in an hour.' There was no time on it. Typical. She glanced at the clock. Three thirty-four. What time had they started to make love? She couldn't remember that, but the other images that flashed through her mind made her nipples begin to harden. Man, she had it bad! She started with the bed, first straightening the sheets and comforter, then changing her mind and folding them partially back, as if to welcome him on his return. Next, the trunk. She knelt before it, pulling the heavy clasp up and propping the top open. The key to the kingdom was back in its place in a small pocket sewn into the lining. Alongside, she found three other keys, each tucked into their respective pockets. More keys to more kingdoms? She'd find out soon enough. Inside the chest were three sets of sheets for the bed, an extra blanket, and buried beneath all that was a small, rectangular wooden box, about the size of a shoebox. Locked. Private stuff. And, she determined after a minute's try, not unlockable by any of the keys to the kingdom. She felt slightly guilty that she'd tried, but knew that this kind of little mystery would gnaw at her the whole time. Better to know than to wonder. After packing the stuff back in the trunk, and wondering why anyone would need four sets of sheets, she turned her attention to the rest of the room. She found nothing under the bed. In fact, it was completely clean of any dust or dirt, just like the rest of the cabin. Owned by a person after her own heart, evidently. The kitchen, she already knew, was well-stocked with plates, cups and silverware, plus some unexpected items like champagne flutes, wine glasses and margarita stems. The wine! She'd forgotten all about it. She'd planned to open it and help them both relax a little after unpacking the car. And then, well, then he'd found another, better way to relax her. Still, she could have a glass ready for his return. And she was a little parched herself. It was while looking for the corkscrew that she found the dog's leash and collar in the drawer. "Mutt" was the name printed on the collar tag. That reminded her of the bowl she'd seen earlier, in one of the cabinets. She dug through the pots and pans. Yes! There were two bowls in there. One metal one, battered from hard use. And one glazed ceramic one, with the name "Mutt" printed on the side. An odd name for a dog. A dog was a mutt, but wasn't usually named that. A big dog, though, from the size of the leather, studded collar. She frowned. Strange that there weren't any other signs around that a dog had been there. No scratches on the floors. No dog food anywhere. Strange. She continued her search. The TV, now that really puzzled her. Where were the DVDs? Did they bring new ones up every time they came up? She checked the walls around it carefully, looking for a hidden door. Everything in the cabin was built so perfectly, it wouldn't surprise her to find a storage space hidden in the wall. Nothing. She turned on the TV. Nothing but a blue screen. So, no hidden antenna picking up far-off signals. She turned on the DVD player. Nothing left in the drawer to indicate what they watched on this thing. Unless they just watched that blue screen. Another mystery unsolved. Idly she picked up the note from him. On the other side were all the instructions for the cabin, written by his friend. She scanned them without much interest until she hit item seven. "The keys to all the fun stuff are in the top of the trunk. Each key is coded to a locker in the shed. One is mild. Three is intense. Don't worry about cleaning them or replacing them when you're done. The cleaning crew will take care of it." The fun stuff? That sounded interesting. Mild? Intense? And even more interesting, he hadn't mentioned anything about it. She read further. "The key to the box in the trunk is in locker #2. The cleaning crew sterilizes everything, so no worries. The freezer works, in case you want to go that way." Well, that didn't clear up anything. The rest of the instructions were just as opaque. It was like reading some kind of code. And she didn't have the key. More exploring would clearly be needed. Replacing the note, she decided to clean herself up before he returned. The pump would've filled the holding tank by now. There would be no hot water yet, but lukewarm water would do. She felt a little grimy after their sweaty sex. And she still needed to wipe herself clean. It was important to be fresh for the next time. Towels! She rooted through her suitcase but knew in a moment that she'd forgotten them. Damn. And since she'd searched through the whole cabin already, she knew there weren't any stocked away. Would he have remembered to bring some? His overnight bag sat on the floor, next to the bed. It wouldn't do to be found rifling through his stuff. But still, she needed a towel. And she was pretty sure that if he got upset, she could do something to take his mind off his anger. Besides, it was a day to break the rules, wasn't it? As he approached the cabin, he couldn't see any movement within, thanks to the glare from the sun through the trees. He'd had to venture out much farther than he'd expected to gather some firewood. The ground within a hundred yards of the cabin had been picked clean. At first, he'd tried to keep the cabin's chimney in sight as he explored. But after leaving their valley and entering the next, he quickly realized that his plan would be impossible to follow. He'd brought the compass along, but it was a lot harder to use when he needed to go in any direction other than due East or due west. Maybe he'd take an Adult Ed class on compass reading when they got back. Finally he hit upon a plan that would work. As he gathered the wood, he piled it on the hilltop nearest the cabin. As the stack got larger and easier to see, he was able to venture farther and farther away. He was just patting himself on the back when he noticed a small yellow arrow painted on the base of one of the pine trees. It pointed back in the direction of his wood stack. After a quick investigation he found several more arrows pointing back towards the cabin. Clever. Assured now that he could easily find the way back, he headed deeper into the woods. It was very peaceful, the air heavy with humidity. The pine trees provided spotted shade, their branches allowing shafts of light to penetrate all the way to the forest floor. Few plants grew here; discarded pine needles covered the ground in a thick layer. It would have to be a very strong plant to thrive in such acidic soil. He had to take care as he walked through. The needles and stray leaves literally blanketed the ground, covering any holes and stumps. Several times he'd almost tripped, his foot dropping into a hole he hadn't seen. There were no paths out here. The way between the trees was open, though the trunks were thick enough that he could see no farther than crest to crest. Soon he noticed that the arrows were now painted white instead of yellow. They still pointed in the same direction. Maybe there was an explanation at the cabin. He'd gone about a half mile when he stumbled upon one of the items that had been listed in the cabin's owners manual. Sitting, somewhat incongruously, in the middle of the forest, was a wooden table. It was built of heavy-duty oak boards and studs, firmly nailed together. It sat in the middle of a small clearing in the trees, a circle of trees surrounding it like sentinels or guards. It was a pretty large thing, about seven foot long and four foot wide. Around all the edges, thick metal rings had been screwed deep into the wood. As he approached it, he noticed that it was a bit lower than a typical dining room table. The top was very smoothly sanded, though a bit dusty at the moment. He knew what it was for. The cabin's owner had sent him pictures of the table in use. Just in case, the man had written, there turned out to be a need for it. Knowing he was in the right area, he explored a bit more. Over the next rise he found the X. Nearby, the swing. Farther on, a massive cross. The Y. The cradle. The bench. The horse. Each items had its own valley or crest, so you would either feel completely isolated or totally exposed. He paused at the foot of the Post, considering his options. There was no planning for this kind of thing. It either happened or it didn't. And if it didn't he wouldn't go home feeling disappointed. They could do nothing but play Scrabble for the rest of the weekend and he'd still return happy. Smiling, he trekked back to the cabin, and spent some minutes moving the pile of firewood from the hill top to the fire pit. The air felt heavier than before and he could taste a storm on the horizon. Tonight might not be a good evening for a fire. He slipped quietly back into the cabin, hoping not to wake her, then froze in amazement. She was lounging on the bed, leaning back against the brass headboard, her body supported by nearly all the pillows. She wore nothing but a new pair of black panties and the white dress shirt she'd evidently stolen from his suitcase. He'd brought it in case they needed a break from the cabin and wanted to visit the high-end restaurant located not too far away. But it looked much, much better in its current state, completely unbuttoned and casually open, revealing her succulent tits and limber body. "I see you found something to wear," he said, moving to the bed and standing over her. "I forgot to bring any towels," she replied, as if that explained everything. "So you found them?" "Yep. They're hanging up to dry." "You know, there's a charge for those towels." "I figured as much." It was a foolish sounding exchange, as if stolen from a soap opera. But any chagrin he felt was immediately swept aside as she reached for him, the shirt falling completely open. He almost fell onto the bed, so much did her nearly nude flesh mesmerize him. They kissed, long, languorously, luxuriantly. Then more passionately. Then more lovingly. She apparently liked to change gears as much as he did. Most of the lovers he'd had were all about instant gratification. They didn't enjoy making things last, or building up the tension, or delaying their rewards. Here, finally, was a woman who enjoyed playing that game. And was good at it. Lips locked together, he rolled her over until she lay atop him. Pausing only a second, he pulled his t-shirt off and kicked off his sandals. Now the only thing between her and him was her panties and his shorts. He reached down to her rear and pulled her hard against him, pressing her pussy lips against the rough edges of his pants. They kissed and fake fucked for a while, scraping his hardness against her softness, each trying to get the other as worked up as possible. He considered taking her right then, knowing that he'd need only to sweep aside the crotch of her panties and release his hardened cock, and then penetrate far into her molten core. But staying on the edge like this, and keeping her on that same precipice, that was so much more tantalizing and pleasurable. If he just thrust his hips like this, he could make her moan like that. And if he caressed her ass like that, he could make her move like this. It was a game they'd been playing, without even touching, for a long, long time. She broke off the kiss and stilled her hips, which had been humping his body of their own accord in that ancient rhythm ingrained in every woman. She lay atop him, letting her breathing slow, even as he did the same. She could let him take her, signal her desire just by shifting her legs open a bit, but if she did would they have the energy to do it all again that night? No, she wanted them to pace themselves. Besides, she liked going to the edge and then backing away. Nobody else understood that. Nobody else enjoyed the sheer, exquisite keenness of it, the anticipation so razor sharp you could almost get cut by it. Hearing the demand from your body to finish the act, and having the will to deny it, so the next attempt would be even sharper. Men called it 'blue balls,' getting nearly to orgasm but not cumming. Women called it 'frustration,' because it wasn't normally done on purpose; it was just the poor lovemaking of a selfish man. She'd never really been with any man who shared her enjoyment of such brinksmanship. They always wanted to finish her off, or begged her to finish them off. One lover would even retreat to the bathroom and jack himself off, probably grumbling about her perverse ways the whole time. But, now it seemed that she'd found someone who seemed to enjoy such treatment, and had carefully brought her along, step by step, until she literally ached to have his cock pierce her pussy, sheathed within her warm, wet walls. He'd held back. And that made her want him even more. But later. Because later it would be so much more intense. He flopped back onto the mattress and she drew herself up on her elbow. The cabin had gotten considerably darker, even though it was only 5:15. No sunlight, she realized. From all the trees? Or clouds? Her gaze caught the note she'd been reading earlier. "So where's all this fun stuff I've been reading about?" "This hasn't been fun enough?" he asked, his voice teasing. "There's room for improvement." She could give as well as she got. "But I was talking about the stuff on that note." She nodded her head to the table. Slowly, as if he was unwilling to leave her, he got up and retrieved the note, returning to the bed with a smile. She took it from him, then pointed out the many times the note referenced "fun stuff." He considered her for a moment, then abruptly turned his head into her lap and began lavishing wet, sloppy kisses across her legs and inner thighs. Men! As if she was so easy to distract. Still, she let him continue for a minute, before physically pulling his head off her. One Weekend Stand Ch. 02 "Back to the subject," she ordered, her legs nonetheless tingling from his ardent attention. He signed dramatically. "OK, what say we do this? We'll crack open locker one tonight, since it looks like our campfire is going to be rained out. But we'll leave the others for tomorrow." She looked at him, gauging his body language. "You know what's in all of them, don't you?" she asked. From the way he smiled, then, she knew she'd gotten it right. Even though his answer was much less direct, "Not exactly what's in them, but what everything can be used for." It was an answer designed to infuriate her, and it had its desired effect. He knew how curious she was, and how much she would want to know a secret. And now that she'd left herself open by asking the question, he could torment her with his secret knowledge. There was only one good way to handle it. She feigned disinterest, "If you say so. Tomorrow's soon enough." "I'm famished. Are you ready to eat?" Famished? Who says 'famished?' She felt suddenly wrong-footed, then smiled inwardly at his ability to redirect the conversation. He wasn't giving her enough time to get upset with him. They both reluctantly left the bed, pausing for another long, languid kiss, before setting about to get the meal ready. On the way up, they'd stopped at a grocery store and purchased all kinds of pasta salads, shrimp, cheese, crackers, Italian bread and other stuff. She'd brought food to cook for him, but he'd convinced her to wait until Saturday evening, reasoning that they'd be too tired to really enjoy it on Friday. And so they were. As she plated the meal, he lit nearly a dozen of the candles they'd found in the cupboards, placing them around the room for a shimmering, romantic effect. They uncorked the wine and sat on the bed, sharing the small nightstand as a table for their meal. She tried to keep the conversation innocuous, though she was always acutely conscious of his nearness on the bed. Soon they were laughing uproariously, threatening to overturn their make ship table, the wine loosening their tongues and their inhibitions. She'd brought plenty of wine, expecting to need it to move the weekend along. But she'd clearly been mistaken. It wasn't the wine that had emboldened him at all their lunches. He'd just been holding himself back. And using the wine to free some of his desire from behind that wall. Which was funny. Because she'd been using the wine a different way, as a reminder not to lead him on too far. And now, here they were, both able to just drink the wine and enjoy themselves, without walls or recriminations or guilt. As they shared their meal, and the wine, and the talk, he was of two minds. One part urged him to violently sweep all the food aside and roll her back onto the bed, to rip off all her clothes and force himself into her, like a husband returned home from a drunken binge. In his mind's eye he saw her reaction: the initial shock, then the ultimate enjoyment. Every woman wanted her man to play the bad boy at some time. At least in his experience. But the other part urged him to continue to be patient, to build up the tension until the string between them hummed with every gesture and flirtatious remark. To tantalize her and deny her, so that when they ultimately made love again, it would be all the more exquisite. He let that image linger in his mind, his cock once again poised between her legs, quivering as each beat of his heart pulsed blood to feed that hardened beast, ready once more to pierce her veil. Yes, that would be the way to go, selfish though it might be, as he would get as much pleasure out of it as she. Still, he could feel that they were getting dangerously close to setting off the bomb they'd both primed. Time, then, for a bit of misdirection. "You know, it looks like it's going to rain. If we're going to check out that locker, we oughta get out there right now, before the downpour starts." As if to punctuate his words, a low rumbling sound rolled through the air. Thunder. She looked at him as if he had somehow conjured it up, but all he could do was smile and shrug. Sometimes life was just serendipitous. They drained the wine in their glasses and left the plates and dishes to be cleaned up later. He could feel the very tips of his fingers begin to tingle, and wondered if it was from the effects of the wine or the coming electrical storm. Or maybe a little of both. He was initially surprised when she retrieved the key from its hiding place in the trunk, then smiled when he realized the answer. Of course she would've explored the whole cabin. That was her way. And leaving the email out in the open would've been like baiting a bear with fresh fish...irresistible. By the time she straightened up, he could hear little pats on the roof, the storm just beginning to roll in. He knew they had very little time if they didn't want to get caught in the downpour. Not that he minded a getting wet. He could walk for hours in a warm summer rain. But being caught outside, up here, with lightning flashing around, was a little too intense for his taste. He looked around for something to gallantly cover her with, but she was already halfway out the door, clad only in her panties, his shirt and a pair of sandals. He still wasn't hardened to the sight of her nearly nude body. Well, partially hardened, but in another sense. All he could do was follow along. By the time they entered the shed, the rain was falling a little more insistently. A glimpse of the roiling dark clouds through the tree tops had shown him the future for the night. This would be no wham bam storm that would roll in and roll out. Instead, they were in for several hours of rain, thunder and lightning. And they'd be grateful for a solid roof over their heads. Though any trip to the bathroom would be a wet, sloppy one. Which sparked another thought. He suggested that she head to the bathroom before the weather got really nasty. But the look she gave him told him all he needed to know. She wanted to know what was in that locker and she wasn't going to be distracted from it. He shrugged inwardly. He needed to go, and there was no need to be chivalrous about who goes first. By the time he returned to the other side of the shed, the rain was falling steadily, though in small drops that were mostly impeded by the huge tree branches. That would change soon, from the deep blackness of the clouds that were heading towards them. They'd have to hurry a bit. She'd opened the locker already, and was methodically removing DVD cases from the rack, glancing at the covers, then sliding them back into place. She was halfway through the 200 or so in the cabinet, checking every ten labels. She turned to him as he entered, a case in her hand with two nude women adorning the cover. "They're all porn?" It was more of a statement than a question. He just nodded as she replaced that case only to remove another. "All porn," she stated flatly. "Just what kind of person is your friend?" "One with an adventurous soul," he answered, a little defensively, as if she was judging him by the company he kept. "And he's more of an associate than a friend." "And what does his wife think about all this?" It amused him that she would automatically assume that his "associate" was married. He was tempted to dispute the fact, just to see what her reaction would be. But that would take the discussion in a wholly new, wholly combative direction. Better to go with the facts. "I'd say she probably doesn't have any problem with it, and is probably a willing accomplice. One with an adventurous soul," he added, verbally baiting her. She rose to it. "And you have an adventurous soul?" she asked, waggling a particularly filthy cover at him, featuring the perfectly descriptive porn title of 'Gangbang Mother Fuckers.' He had the fleeting thought of perhaps redirecting his writing career to cover the porn industry. He thought he could come up with a better title than that. Maybe 'MILF and Crackers with Double Cream.' He tried to gauge whether she was amused, disgusted or puzzled, and then gave up. It was her inquisitiveness that had brought her to open the cabinet, and he was no more to blame for what was in there than he was to blame for the storm rolling in. so he simply shrugged and looked pointedly at her standing there, dressed in little more than her panties. She looked down at herself and smiled, seeming to get the point. They both had adventurous souls. Or else neither would be there. A crack of thunder shook the shed, sounding as though the storm was just one hill away. He moved closer and took the case from her hand. "Why don't you pick out one or two that you might like to see, then head over to the bathroom while I pick mine out. Then we'll get back to the cabin before this storm really hits." She started to reply, but he interrupted. "The only rule is, you need to pick something that you really want to see, not something that you think I'd like to see. So don't pick lez just because you think I'd like it. Pick a secret fantasy, or something you're curious about, or whatever. This might be your first and only chance to pick what you want without being judged in any way by a husband or boyfriend or someone who might judge you. I won't judge you. You won't judge me. Because I think a person's turn-ons are what they are, and don't say a single thing about their character." He knew by looking in her eyes that he'd gotten a little too lecture-y. But one of his pet peeves was how some people judged others by their choices of entertainment. And he thought, no, believed that many marriages were ruined by the barriers people erected so that their partners wouldn't judge them on their sexual preferences. There was too much embarrassment and not enough communication. He tried to soften it a bit. "Besides, what else are we going to do, locked in a cabin with a storm raging all around us." She smiled a little then, and he turned away so she could make her selections in private, another clap of thunder urging her on. She rushed to the toilet, the rain falling much more insistently, the DVDs protectively clutched against her chest. She hadn't been totally surprised to find a cabinet full of porn. What had surprised her was the depth of the collection. Not just straight sex, and lesbian, but also gangbangs and bondage and peeing and spankings and every little niche she could think of, and some that she never dreamed she'd see in real life. Opening the cabinet had been, in retrospect, just a bit shocking. It wasn't that she didn't like porn. She could see the need for it and the attraction of it. She just had limited tastes as to what would turn her on. She liked the films where the characters had an emotional investment before they fucked. The ones where the actors appeared to at least like each other. The raw, graphic stuff just didn't do much for her. Not that she hadn't seen quite a bit of it. Her husband liked the big tit stuff, and lesbians, though she suspected that he just liked seeing two women nude at once. The rest she could take or leave, though she preferred to leave it. She found anal sex to be gross to watch, and didn't like how it gave her husband ideas that she was unlikely to agree to. But the collection in there went so far beyond the norm that she wasn't sure what to make of it. She eyed the three DVDs she'd selected, wondering whether she should just leave them in the bathroom and return empty-handed. Two had come from the section of the collection dedicated to movies with actual plots. "Titanic Uncovered," promised to reveal the sexual yearnings of all the classes aboard that great ship, although the pictures on the back revealed that several of the women liked to be fucked from the front and the rear at the same time. "Insatiable Victoria" would be a tale from Victorian England, where people were forced to explore their fantasies behind closed doors. Though she'd been attracted by the gorgeous dress on the front cover, the women on the back cover were apparently experts at oral sex, and incongruously sported neatly trimmed pussy patches. Well ahead of their time. With his admonishment ringing in her ears, she'd replaced the lez title that she had in fact selected for him, and taken a kinky-looking disc called "Tease and Deny." The front showed a woman in the throes of orgasm. The back? Well, it was safe to say that she couldn't name most of the objects and items the couples and groups were using on each other. Still, it was something new that she hadn't shared with anyone. She washed up, wondering what he was going to select. She hoped he would follow his own advice and pick titles that were interesting to him, and not something meant to educate her. That was one thing that really got under her skin. Every lover she'd ever had seemed obsessed with introducing her to the many joys of sex. Sure, she was pretty innocent and naïve when it came to actually practicing different sex acts. But that didn't mean that she didn't know about them. And it didn't mean that she wanted to learn about them. She like what she liked. And that was all there was to it. Armed with a full head of indignation, she raced back around to the shed door. Her indignation didn't protect her from the rain at all. She banged through the door, tripping slightly and falling into his arms, her DVDs scattering across the floor. She could only imagine what her hair looked like, even though she'd only gone a few yards through the wet woods. "I've missed you," he said simply. Then he kissed her, his DVDs clattering to the floor even as his arms enveloped her and his hands pressed her close to him. They made out like teenagers, their lips rarely unlocking, not even to breathe. His hands roamed her body freely, caressing every inch of her without hesitation, reaching inside her shirt, dislodging it off her shoulders. She in turn raked his back softly with her fingertips, wishing she hadn't bitten them down, so she could raise on him the same kind of goose bumps he'd given to her. They swayed back and forth gently, an island of bliss enshrouded by the staccato of rain pounding on the roof above. She could feel his hardness burning tight against her mound, even separated layers of his briefs and her panties. She began to sink to her knees, meaning to pull him out and suck him off, just so she could watch the joy in his eyes. But then she had another thought. "We'll have to make a run for it," he said, barely able to speak. The feel of her body and lips against him had been so intense, he thought he might cum from that alone. As it was, his cock was harder than he'd ever remembered. So hard that it was verging on bursting right out of his briefs. He bent to pick up the scattered cases, then gave her the key he'd found in the open cabinet. Flicking off the lights, they prepared to make a dash for the cabin. He hoped the cabin door would open easily, because the rain had become a deluge. As he turned to open the door, he felt her lips find his in the dark. Her hand slipped inside his briefs, her fingers sliding down the length of his shaft, then caressing his balls. He groaned, the sound rumbling through him as deep and urgent as the thunder outside. Then she laughed wickedly and was gone out the door. When he finally caught up to her she was just inside the cabin door. At that moment, she looked sexier than he'd ever seen her, even when she'd been naked and splayed out on the bed, waiting for him to bury himself inside her. The frantic run through the deluge had left her soaked, and now her shirt was plastered to her body like a second skin, revealing every curve and nuance of her. Her breasts thrust out prominently and her nipples stood out in stark relief, fully engorged in response to the cold rain. The fabric hugged her waist like an insistent lover, and below that even her panties were soaked, the thin fabric now nearly transparent and revealing her tiny pubic patch and the line of her slit. Her legs were streaked with water and she stood with one foot shyly covering the other, like a teenage girl posing nude for the first time. Her hair, too, was soaked and dripping, the water drops glistening in the light of the few candles that remained lit. These were outshone by her eyes, which virtually sparkled as she basked in the intensity of his gaze. She shivered, and he let the DVD cases fall once again to the floor. Moving forward, he slowly unbuttoned the front of the shirt, watching her face the whole time. In the same motion he pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms, leaning forward to capture her right nipple in his mouth. Slowly he encircled it, licking the rainwater off it, sucking it deep against his tongue, feeling it stiffen even more as the heat of his breath replaced the cold of the rain. After tenderly administering to her other breast, he slowly kissed his way over her chest, across her stomach, ever downwards. Wherever he chanced to meet a rain droplet he used the tip of his tongue to gently lick it from her skin, then kissed that spot, heating it more deeply than any towel could accomplish. Her hands were tangled in his hair and it felt as though she was urging him on. Her soaked panties quickly joined the wet shirt on the floor. Soon he was kneeling, his face just inches from her succulent pussy. He could deny himself no more. He had to taste her. Had to make her squirm on the tip of his tongue. He pushed his face against her, reveling in the plush softness of her. His tongue found her clit first, probing under its hood to insistently caress the erect nub, causing her to whisper yes, yes and thrust herself hard against him. He paused there a moment, licking her lightly, torturing her, at times touching it with only the tip of his tongue and at times rasping the whole length of his tongue against it, causing her tiny pink wonder to shudder and flutter. Then he pushed himself harder against her, his tongue sliding aggressively down her slit, seeking and then finding the tight confines of her cunt hole. Hungrily, eagerly he shoved himself in, remembering fleetingly that at sometime, somewhere she'd told him that she didn't like this, but discarding the notion, because who could not like being so intimately pleasured? He pressed his tongue in and out of her, fucking her with it, and her hands tightened painfully in his hair. She was hot inside, a liquid volcano, and she tasted tart and sweet and salty and clean. He pushed his face even more insistently between her legs, grinding his teeth against her slit, pressing his lips against her clit, and penetrated her cunt as far as his tongue would travel, while her hole opened and closed spasmodically in response to every fresh incursion. She shuddered then, violently, her whispers of yes, yes rising in urgency and volume. He returned his mouth back to her molten core, finding her gloriously, luxuriously wet with something much tastier than mere rainwater. Her hands pulled him up and he obeyed, and they clung together, each weak-kneed and trembling. He kissed her neck, her eyebrows, her ears; anywhere he could reach without throwing them off balance. He sucked the water from her hair and nibbled on her ear lobes, kissed the arch of her neck and nuzzled the smooth skin of her cheeks. He breathed hot obscenities in her ears and tasted the sweetness of her mouth. Then, with a smile that was as wicked as any he'd seen from her, she slid down his body, kissing him in all the same places he'd kissed her, worry at his nipples and traversing down, down across his chest, along his belly, down to where his hard cock lay nestled in his thick pubic patch. His soaked shorts quickly joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. Then slowly, tantalizingly, teasingly, she licked the length of his cock, from the base to the tip, watching him watching her as it quickly recovered from the cold rain, expanding and lengthening, filling and hardening. Then, with a suddenness that shocked him, she sucked the whole length of him into her mouth, the heat of her literally staggering him, so he need to grab her hair and steady himself. One Weekend Stand Ch. 02 She looked pleased by the effect she was having on him, and spent much of the next few minutes licking and sucking his hard shaft, teasing the head with her tongue, or sucking his balls into her hot mouth. She paused only to place the sodden clothes under her knees, or to occasionally wet her hand with the rainwater pooled on the floor, rubbing it along his length and then using her tongue to reheat him, before cooling him down once again. Standing above her as she ministered to his manhood, a feeling of aggressiveness and, there was no other way to describe it, dominance surged through him. He felt totally in control, that he could get her to do whatever he wished with no more than a nudge and a spoken order. Yet even as that feeling swept through him, he knew that she felt just as much in control, and just as dominant. Still, she didn't resist when he pushed his balls into her mouth, or when he told her to vigorously lick the underside of his cock. He knew he could cum like this. Could shoot his load all over her upturned face. Could leave her cum covered and dripping, his sperm leaving hot, wet trails over her skin in much the same way as the rainwater did. He could see it in his mind, his cum splattered across her face, dripping down her chin, landing on her firm breasts, then sliding down, down, to drip once more onto her lower belly, possibly even wetting her engorged pussy lips. But he was greedy. He wanted more. And so, reluctantly but urgently, he pulled her to her feet, and they raced over to the cool, downy bed. To be continued... One Weekend Stand Ch. 03 She beat him to the bed, just barely, and was just clambering up when she heard a "whap!" and felt a stinging sensation across her butt cheeks. He'd spanked her! And not some little love tap, like some men used in the throes of passion, but a real, open palmed slap against the ass. Whap! His hand caught her on the fleshy part of her ass again, the sound cracking through the room as loudly as the thunder crackling outside the cabin walls. She braced herself on hands and knees, her ass offered up to him like a ripe, red target, hoping that he would continue. How had he known that she liked to be spanked? She didn't think she'd told him about it. She hadn't, in fact, told anyone about how much she enjoyed it. The anticipation. The sound. The sting. And sometimes, the sense of cleansing, as if she was in fact being punished for her sins. But she wasn't the kind of person who would ask for something like that. She would enjoy it if it came along, but never felt quite comfortable suggesting it. Maybe she hadn't told him. Maybe he just liked it. Or maybe it was just a spontaneous thing, never to be repeated again. Whap! The sting of his palm against her flesh drove all speculation from her mind, as the heat and tingling pain flooded her senses. Wild-eyed, she gritted her teeth and dropped to her forearms, canting her ass up to give him a better target. Whap! His palm met her flesh so violently that she almost tumbled forward. That one had been the hardest yet. Whap! And whap and whap! Three in a row, softer and yet no less stimulating. Now she felt him pause, his fingers exploring her pussy, stroking the swollen lips, parting them, his thumb finding her wet hole, working its way inside, as casually and confidently as any of the men who thought they possessed her. Whap! A left-handed strike, with the fingers of his right hand still deep inside her cunt, reminding her that her ass was not safe from his punishing strokes. He pulled out and spanked her with his now wet hand, covered in her pussy juices. She saw the image in her mind, the red handprints speckling her white flesh, her ass poking high in the air as if begging for more, the streaks of wetness a testament to his absolute dominance of her. He continued, hard, soft, caressing, hard, lightly, singly and in succession, no pattern to it, except whatever impulse drove him. Her ass was glowing hot, but still she wanted more, wiggling her butt to show her willingness to continue. And he obliged, administering a succession of barehanded slaps that left her on the verge of tears, pausing every so often to savagely assault her cunt with his fingers, stuffing them deep in her cunt or fingering her clit or tugging on her fully swollen pussy lips, and then returning, inexorably, to tanning her ass with his hand. Once, as he paused to grope her cunt and tits, her awareness of her surroundings suddenly returned. The candles were guttering in their holders; they'd left the windows open and the storm winds were tearing through the tiny cabin. Rain, driven sideways by the wind, was splashing on the kitchen counters. Their sodden clothes still lay strewn across the floor, joined by the now-forgotten and unneeded porn movies. Every few seconds lightning illuminated the whole room and the roll of thunder was almost continuous, like a train passing only a few feet away. With the rain constantly beating on the roof, the wind swirling inside and the rain sluicing inside, it felt like they were barely protected from the fury of the storm. Like their protection might get whipped away by the wind at any moment, exposing them to a maelstrom that could carry them both away. And yet she also felt a part of it, urged on by the lightning and thunder and wind, releasing herself to the most elemental core of herself, allowing herself to enjoy the full measure of pleasure that she so often denied herself. She felt him slap her ass and upper legs a few more times, then crawl in between her legs. She knew what was coming next, wanted it, and tensed herself to receive it. With no searching or fanfare, he penetrated her with his rock solid cock, slamming himself into the hilt, his pubic bone slamming against her ass and sending painful yet delightful sparks of pain all across her butt. She grinned and cried out at the same time, her passionate response serving to urge him on. He fucked her hard then, stroke after stroke stronger and stronger, his hands tight around her hips, steadying her for his violent assault. His face! She wanted to see his face when he came. Wanted him to coat her body with his silky sperm. Wanted to watch it eject like a stream from a fire hose, spraying up and down her sweat-soaked skin. But did she want to give up the delicious sensations now emanating from her butt and cunt? The tingling of her ass. The fullness in her cunt. The blood rushing to her head as she braced herself against the mattress, sheets clenched in her teeth in purely animal carnality. "I wanna watch you fuck me!" she whimpered back at him, her voice ragged from the exhaustion of being taken so completely. She didn't wait to see his reaction. Just felt his cock withdraw all the way, his weight shift on the bed, and suddenly she was physically pushed onto her back, his lubricated cock hard and wicked, swaying in front of him like a cobra seeking another victim. He knelt between her legs, looking down at her. Her hair was completely disheveled, her body streaked with sweat and glistening in the candlelight, her pussy red and angry looking. He wanted to take her deeper, harder and more forcefully than ever. Without a word from him, she lifted her legs to the sky and pressed his cock between her legs, noticing immediately how much tighter her hole was in this position. But he wanted to get deeper still, so he pressed her legs forward and back, until they were nearly hooked around his head and she was almost bent double. Even in his urgent passion he kept an eye out for any signs of discomfort. Some women just weren't flexible enough to handle the position. But he saw only lust and passion in her eyes, and thus assured he let his full weight push his cock ever deeper into her spasming pussy. He fucked her smoothly and steadily, changing the angle of his thrusts every so often for his own, and her mutual benefit. In truth, he could barely feel his cock, it was so numb from over-stimulation. It was something most men wouldn't talk about with their partners, probably because it implied there was something wrong with the other's lovemaking skills. But, medically, after so much stimulation, so much teasing and denying, the nerve endings simply got overloaded and shut down for a while. He always laughed when people talked about the joys of tantric sex. It wasn't the chanting or the mental focus that allowed a man to go hours without cumming. It was his body's purely natural physiological reaction to over-stimulation. Simply put, if you ramped down your activity when you were on the verge of cumming, soon your body over-reacted and shut down the nerve endings for you. After that, it became a matter of finding a different kind of stimulation to put him over the top. He guessed the same was true for her. He didn't know how long they'd been going at it, but could she possibly be feeling every inch of ever stroke with the same clarity as when they'd first started? Their faces were only inches apart now, so forcefully was he pressing down on her. Her face held a manic intensity, her eyes closed and her head frantically shaking from side to side. He tried to catch her lips with his, but she just shook her head away. That only encouraged him to double his efforts, and he savagely thrust his cock as deeply into her cunt as he could. Her right hand snaked down between her legs and she frantically rubbed her clit, the one part of her not being directly stimulated by his plunging cock. Then she was cradling her tits in her hands, thumbing the stiff nipples and staring straight up at him. He knew what that meant, but didn't want to pull out and just masturbate until he came all over her body. He always thought that was a stupid thing to do, even in the porn movies. You could jack off alone, at home. Why waste a single second outside of her hot, tight cunt? Instead, he changed position so he was kneeling nearly upright. He continued to thrust himself deep into her, but now the walls of her cunt were touching the bottom of his shaft with every stroke. He felt it building. Building. Like the storm outside, with lightning flickering in a continuous incandescent display, the thunder cracking so loud it dropped dust from the roof onto them, the wind swirling like a demon loosed to feed on their impassioned cries. And then, just as he began to ejaculate inside her, he pulled out and let himself spurt all over her outstretched body, a powerful cascade of cum that arched all the way to her neck, a stream that landed across her breast and belly. Without touching himself he spasmed again and again, watching his cum paint wide swaths across her body, marking her in the most primal fashion. Only then did he grasp himself and milk the last remaining drops onto her pussy lips. Her eyes were open again, and she watched him with a bemused but exhausted smile on her face. Normally he'd crawl up and have her suck him dry, but he remembered her aversion to tasting cum. Instead, he rubbed his fresh sperm into her skin, taking extra care to completely soak her tits and nipples. He could see that she was more than a little surprised by his actions. Think that's something, he thought, looking bemusedly at her. Without any hesitation, he bent down and licked his cum right off her still heaving breasts. Now she had real shock in her eyes. But he didn't care. How could he ask a woman to do something he wouldn't do himself? He wouldn't! Would he? He didn't! Did he? She was shocked by what he'd just done. Tasting his own sperm? Who did that? Was he bi maybe? Or just really kinky? Did he do that all the time? Or just to teach her something? That last question stayed in her mind, making her more and more suspicious. He'd been very puzzled when she first talked about her aversion to cum in her mouth at a particularly flirtatious lunch so many years ago. He'd brought it up every so often since then, as if to determine whether her husband had cured her of that bad habit. But once she had herself convinced that she didn't like something, there was very little chance that she would change her mind. And she became greatly annoyed at anyone who might even try to change her mind. She caught herself then. He wasn't her husband, always trying to change her to fit his view of how she should act. Maybe it was just what it seemed, nothing more than an impulsive move. In fact, she was faintly turned on by it, knowing how far he would go just to get his mouth on her breasts. She let herself settle back into the euphoria of the moment, not minding at all when he stretched out and covered her with his body, his cum already drying on her skin. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him tight against her. "That was..." she murmured in his ear. "Hmmmmm?" he whispered back, the knowing smile already beginning to play at the corners of his mouth. "Nice," she finished, squeezing his butt with her palms. "Good," he replied drowsily, rolling her onto her side and pulling her against him. She could see him struggling to keep his eyes open. She shut hers and felt his body relax as he gave in to his exhaustion. She was just about to open her eyes so she could enjoy his sleeping form when she too tumbled into a deep sleep. Saturday He awoke early. At least, it felt early. He couldn't tell because a pillow had somehow made its way off the bed and onto the makeshift nightstand, where it came to rest covering the clock. In fact, quite a few pillows had somehow grown legs and leapt off the bed. Along with the comforter and some of the sheets. It felt early in that way that it can only feel early if you're in a strange bed, far away from home. And if you're in a cabin in the woods, no matter how high the surrounding hills and how tall the surrounding trees, it was the kind of place where the rising sun would somehow find a way to shine right in your face, the very moment that it breached the horizon. It was that kind of early. He didn't bother to check the time. Because the sun would only continue to rise and the cabin would only continue to get brighter. And with no shades, there was no stopping it. So no matter what time it was now, there would be no reason to fall back asleep, not with the sun contriving to keep him awake by getting annoyingly brighter and brighter. Besides, nature called. He slipped out of the bed as quietly as possible. She'd said once before that she was a late sleeper, and since there was no pressing reason to get her up, she might as well enjoy what was left of her REM cycle. He resisted the urge to lean over and nibble on her bare shoulder. He needed to prove to himself that he could leave her alone for a while. Ten minutes should do it. The air outside was crisp and clean. The sky was scrubbed of clouds and already taking on the deep blue of a fine summer day. It seemed as if an inch of newly fallen pine needles covered the ground, but they were soft from the rain and didn't stab his bare feet. He hadn't bothered to dress, and it felt weird to be outside completely naked during the day. Weird but refreshingly liberating. Clothing would be optional for today. Back in the cabin, freshly washed and shaved, he again contemplated her sleeping form. Wake her? Or not? He decided on not. She'd need her rest, if things went according to plan. Of course, there wasn't really a plan, per se. He'd gone into the weekend promising himself that he wouldn't fantasize about what could happen, or the order in which it could happen. That had lasted, what, about two minutes? It was human nature to look ahead, to try and control events before they happened. And it was the nature of the universe to turn all that forecasting to crapola. So, sure, he'd had some idea of what he wanted to happen for the whole weekend. Whose fault was it that they'd covered all of that in the first six hours? Such thinking made him hungry. In fact, he was ravenous. "Breakfast!" his stomach ordered. He'd make them both breakfast. But what did she like? They hadn't ever discussed it, at least not as far as he could remember. He decided on omelets, with cheese and ham. If she wanted broccoli, she could add it herself. He put on some boxers. A grease burn on his nether regions would be both painful and hard to explain to his wife. It was a loud gurgle from the coffeemaker that finally woke her up. That was a bit of a disappointment. He'd passed the time while making breakfast trying to decide the most enjoyable way of waking her. A kiss on the cheek? A gentle shaking? Tickling her nose? A full body massage complete with heated oil? The possibilities were endless, and endlessly provocative to contemplate. He watched while she assessed the situation through bleary eyes. To stay in the warm, cozy bed and be lulled back to sleep? Or to be lured out of bed with a fresh cup of coffee and a hot breakfast? It seemed as though breakfast would win out. As she began to climb out of bed, he half expected her to tug the sheets free, wrapping them around her like an actress in the movies. But she simply slipped free and padded to the counter, completely naked and completely uncaring of the fact. Her skin glowed in the morning light, and he was happy to see that her butt cheeks were no longer pink from the vigorous spanking she'd received the night before. In fact, now that she was up and about, she looked more full of life than ever. They both concentrated on their meal, not saying much, neither wishing to break the spell. He was a great believer in "what happens in bed stays in bed," and he hoped that she also ascribed to that philosophy. By his way of thinking, it came down to: What passion and pleasure might move you to do didn't have anything to do with the kind of person you are. Sex is sex, and life is life, and one shouldn't affect the other. Or, as he'd once seen on a bumper sticker, "Don't judge." They kissed sparingly, neither wishing to subject the other to a possible case of dragon breath. When she moved to do the dishes, he gently pushed her away and sent her out for her shower. She seemed puzzled until she realized what he had in mind. And so he was able to complete the mundane task of washing the dishes while watching her cavort around in the shower just outside the window, stiffening both his cock and his resolve to do something about it. She returned to the cabin refreshed and relaxed. Since he seemed to be sporting nothing more than a pair of boxers (except for the beginnings of a tent!), she decided to do the same, pulling on a pair of skimpy panties and nothing else. It felt good to walk around topless, not caring who might see her, but feeling that warm tingle that someone just might. She'd gone topless many times when she had her own place, and it amused her that her lovers were always going on about having proper drapes in place. Sometimes it felt like they were trying to close off her spirit, too. He'd cleaned up the dishes from the previous night, as well as their wine glasses. There wasn't much left for her to do, except straighten up the bed. As she bent and squatted to reassemble the bedding she could feel his gaze, and she felt herself beginning to blush a little. Which was crazy, as he'd seen her in ways that few people had ever seen her. Almost completely open to him. With almost all her masks lowered. Almost. She honestly didn't know if she'd ever be able to completely trust him, or anyone, to see everything she wanted to be, or everything she wanted to do. Part of it was her personality. Part of it her upbringing. And part of it, and this was hard for her to ever admit, was that she felt the need to save a piece of herself to share only with herself, else she might not even exist as a separate personality at all. She shook her head, smiling. Such introspection was best saved for sitting in front of a fireplace on a cold winter's night, with no other companion than a tall bottle of wine. She was just reaching for the final pillow when he stayed her hand. He wanted to leave it covering the clock. He didn't want to know what time it was. That struck her as a little odd, and it made her feel a little tense. Just like being in phone range, knowing the time made her feel secure. And now he was taking that away too? OK. She could play this game as long as he could. In fact, she could up the ante. Without a word, she bent over and unplugged the clock completely. Weirdly enough, just that simple act made her feel oddly empowered. Now they really didn't know what time it was. And the world hadn't come to an end! She turned and found him standing so near she could feel the heat from his body. She allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace and tipped her head up to receive a kiss from his lips. Her breasts rubbed erotically against his chest and he held her at the neck and the ass, pulling all of her body hard against him. They kissed deeply this time, welcoming the morning together, their tongues darting and fencing, neither willing to be the first to break off. He sucked at her lips and pressed his mouth hard against hers, violent and lustful one moment, tender and passionate the next. She felt herself moving, swaying around the room and realized they were in fact dancing, dancing in time to the beat of their hearts and the tempo of their desires. Both half-naked. Both completely absorbed in the other. Both in a world together yet also apart, imposing their wills and accepting their rewards. One Weekend Stand Ch. 03 After a time, a long time, it began to feel more like a contest than a kiss. But it was a contest she would not allow herself to lose. If he wanted to kiss all day, she could keep up. But even as she thought it, he broke off the kiss, fortunately without any of those kissy noises that couples often make when they're almost but not quite done kissing. She'd never been a fan of those. In her mind, they were the mark of a rank amateur kisser. She opened her eyes and felt herself backed against the kitchen counter. With barely any effort, he lifted and plopped her on the counter, then leaned in for a slow, wet and thoroughly expressive kiss. "So, whaddaya wanna do now?" he asked in a playful tone. I wanna keep kissing, her mind answered. No, I want you to fuck me here on this counter. No, I wanna suck your cock deep into my mouth. No, I wanna just dance around the room in your arms. No, I wanna ride you and bring you to the edge. No, I wanna cuddle up on the comforter and feel your fingertips stroke every inch of my body. No, I wanna find that key and open that box. No, I wanna play hide and seek, naked, in the woods. No, I wanna stay here with you for the night, the week, the month. No, I wanna show you everything I know about sex. No, I want you to show me what you know about sex. No, I wanna... "How about we go exploring?" he asked, kissing her again so she had to wait to answer. "That's what I was going to suggest," she said lightly, kissing him back, playfully teasing him with her tongue while letting her fingers tease a place somewhat lower and more intimate. At his suggestion she put some additional clothes on to keep from getting burned or in case they ran into some unexpected neighbors. Smiling devilishly, she pulled on a sheer white top that she'd planned to wear later in the weekend, then a pair of shorts, before finally donning her sandals. She could tell by the mesmerized look in his eyes that she'd accomplished her objective: covering just enough to be drop dead sexy. In response, he went camo, exchanging his boxers for a pair of loose-fitting shorts and a t-shirt. She went over to him and checked. Yes, she could still push her hand down into his shorts and fondle his manhood. She was acting far outside the boundaries of her normal behavior and she knew it. It felt... liberating. "Where to?" he asked, once they got outside the cabin. She looked around but could spot no landmarks. The tall pines stretched into the distance in every direction. She turned and pointed at random and they struck out, staying near as the ground rose and fell under their feet. He watched her butt wiggle as she walked and smiled, the memory of her bent over bare-assed on the bed arriving unbidden in his mind. He'd always liked her butt and had complimented her on it often. But, in the way of women, she was unhappy with some aspect of it. He was never sure if her responses were truthful, modesty or false modesty, though he hoped it wasn't the latter because he really didn't like that sort of thing. In any case, her waggle was inviting, made all the more so by the strain of walking up and down the hills. They hadn't gone far when she suddenly stopped on the crest of one hill and looked back towards the cabin. As he'd expected, there was no sign of it, nor any obvious landmarks to lead them back. This obviously concerned her, but she didn't give him the obligatory, "You know how to get back?" question that was the foundation of relationships everywhere. He could easily imagine Cleopatra saying it to one of her slave drivers as they sailed up the Nile. He met her challenging look calmly, tapped the side of his head as if to say that he knew more than her, and grinned openly when she responded with a thoroughly infuriated expression. He decided to rub it in, as much to test her as to tease her. "I got it covered," he announced. He glanced at one of the arrows that were thankfully painted on the base of a nearby tree, which she hadn't noticed yet, then pointed back in that direction, "The cabin is 'precisely' in that direction," he said authoritatively. She scowled at that, but made no reply. Either she trusted him, or was saving up a good retort for use at a later time. Like when he was forced to admit that they were lost? Fortunately, it appeared that the arrow painter also liked to hike long distances, as the tiny arrows continued to show up even after they'd crossed many more hills. He was just about to suggest that they turn back when she shouted down to him from the crest of the hill ahead. Unfortunately, most of the words were absorbed by the tree branches and needles on the floor of the forest, so all he caught was a jumbled exclamation of excitement. He doubled his efforts to reach the crest only to discover that she'd already disappeared into the next valley. One look could tell him why. They'd stumbled upon, against all probability, the ramshackle remains of an old homestead. Crumbling stone walls marked the outline of what had probably been the main house. Behind it, a few rotted pieces of timber and a low line of mortared rocks marked the foundation of a barn or storage garage. Another pile of rocks in what might've once been a circle could be construed as a well. And a couple hundred feet to the rear was another small pile of timber, possibly marking the site of the family's outhouse. He pondered the scene, watching her already begin to pick through the ruins like an antique collector at an estate sale. Their discovery already had him trying to answer a lot of interesting questions. Why would anyone build this much stuff in what was inarguably 'the middle of fucking nowhere?' What would they do to earn a living? There clearly was no arable land, or natural resources, except for pine trees and sand. Unless they needed privacy. But who needed this much privacy that long ago? From the looks of the timbers, the place had been abandoned at least 75 years. So, 75 years ago, someone had needed a lot of privacy to do what? If it had been a recent ruin, he would've guessed it was an old meth lab or pot-growing operation. But that old? He suddenly remembered a similar scene from an old movie about rum runners in the South. Did they do that kind of thing up here? Could this have been someone's place to build and run a still? He shouted down to her to look out for broken glass, then hustled down the hill after her. He watched her exploring probably more than he actually explored on his own. She clearly loved this stuff. Her eyes were alight and he could practically see the wheels spinning as she concocted story after story about the late residents. Nothing nefarious, as his theories tended to be. Probably along the lines of the lone woman homesteader who broke with convention to set out on her own, was tricked into buying this worthless plot of land, decided to make a go of it anyway, and somehow triumphed over the rest of the men around here. Not like a romance novel per se, but something to do with the grit, determination and success of a lone woman against seemingly insurmountable odds. She not only liked the underdog, she liked a very specific kind of underdog. They poked among the ruins for quite a time, making up a story about the old occupants, each taking a turn to add a notable event, a birth, a death, a marriage or a leaving. By the time they tired of it, the woman had a family, sons, pets, livestock, a thriving home which ultimately emptied a little at a time, leaving her once again alone but content at what she had wrought. He was proud that he hadn't added a single nefarious or sexual section to the story, seeing the contentment with which she created a life history seemingly untouched by the baser human desires and urges. He even managed to keep from giving her anything more than a simple kiss on the cheek during their whole stay there, to keep from besmirching such an innocent fantasy. Finally, having seen all they could see and spun all they could spin, they climbed the hill and headed back to the cabin, guided by his innate knowledge of wood craft, and the little arrows at the base of the trees. To be continued... One Weekend Stand Ch. 04 There was no way she was going to ask how he found their way back to the cabin with no landmarks, no compass and no map to follow. No way she was going to give him the satisfaction. It was silly of her, even childish, and she knew it. But, as she so often reminded her husband, it's a woman's prerogative to be silly and childish at any time. And this was going to be one of those times. Still, he'd unerringly led them back here. No hesitation. No drifting. No mistakes. That made it more than upsetting. It made it infuriating. Well, she still had a few tricks she could play that would give him a taste of his own medicine. Even if he did end up liking it in the end. Back inside the cabin she suggested that he put together that contraption they'd discovered, while she'd find some way to amuse herself, but still be nearby if he needed a hand. She waited until he returned, dragging the straps and poles behind him, before she began to put her own plan into action. Step one immediately got his attention, as she stripped off her top and carelessly threw it on the bed. When he stopped to admire her bare breasts, she made a shooing gesture to indicate that he should turn his attention back to the task at hand. She had to suppress a smile, knowing that she'd already flustered him. She lay back onto the bed's massive pile of pillows, watching him as he studied the contraption's confusing jumble of parts. Every time he paused to look at her, she pointedly nodded her head at the parts strewn across the floor, as if she was royalty and he was a mere servant. When he was finally spending more time on his project than looking at her, she put the next step into effect. Lazily, languidly, sexily, she pushed down her shorts, then lifted her legs and scooched them down her body, pausing once they were dangling from her toes, and then flipped them into the air and right into his work space. She left her legs extended and watched with amusement as his gaze swept up from her manicured toes, up between her legs, where her sheer bikini panties just barely covered her swelling mound and moistening slit. It felt like she was undressing for him for the first time again, and despite the fact that she was teasing him cruelly, she was also very pleased that she'd so thoroughly captured his attention. She let his gaze linger in a way that she hoped made him ache, then demurely closed her legs and once again shooed his attention back to his construction project. It was fun to make him crazy, but it was also turning her on. She waited again until he was deeply engrossed, then put step three into motion. Taking the mysterious key from the night stand, she clambered over the bed and retrieved the box from inside the trunk, her firm breasts dangling provocatively just a few feet from his face. But he barely glanced up. Was her game growing tired and old? Feeling just a bit exasperated, she worked the key into the lock and popped open the box. Her eyes grew wide. Though she'd expected something secret, she hadn't expected this. The box was full of sex toys. Vibrators and dildos, to be specific. In all sizes and colors. And in all degrees of realism, from eggs to tubes to extremely realistic cocks, fully helmeted and strongly veined. She thought back to the note about everything being cleaned and sanitized, and even though she felt a little squeamish, her curiosity won out and she began removing her new discoveries from the box, twisting and turning them to see what delights each was designed to impart. A quick glance showed that he was still absorbed in his project. Now she could make step three even more distracting. Rummaging around in the box, she selected a realistic dildo, complete with synthetic balls, about six inches long and plenty thick. Working behind the lid of the box, she coated it with some lubricant that had conveniently been left in the box. Then, slowly, so as not to attract his attention, she sat back amongst the pillows, placed a big pillow in her lap, and squirmed out of her panties. With that removal accomplished, she pushed the pillow aside and spread her legs, her feet flat on the bed and her pussy pointed right at him. He didn't even look up. Smiling wickedly, she began rubbing the cock head up and down along her slit, the lubricant leaving a wet trail all along her engorged pussy lips. She probed a little deeper, letting the head part her lips, but not venturing into her deep wet hole. Patience, she counseled herself. That would come soon enough. She'd been silent to this point, but she was still amazed that he hadn't looked her way. Time to deal with that. Carefully, as smoothly as a cat, she set aside her new toy and pulled one of the big, deep pillows under her ass, so her pussy would be propped up and clearly on display. Then, she grabbed the dildo again, reveling in the erotic feel of its massive weight against her cunt, her hole stretching, stretching to accommodate its satisfying girth. With it finally positioned halfway inside her, she thumbed the switch and turned it on, the vibration buzzing through her body, from her tits to her toes. That sound, finally, got his attention, and she grinned in triumph as his head snapped up and his mouth dropped open. Knowing she'd already won this round, she just as quickly ignored him, shutting her eyes and directing all of her attention to the fuck stick now pulsating so pleasantly inside her hole. Knowing that he was looking, staring, mesmerized, she prodded and pulled the vibrator in and out of her, the buzzing growing muffled as she pressed it home, then growing louder as she freed it from the wet walls of her inner prison. She couldn't stand not seeing his reaction though, and decided on a compromise, watching him through slitted eyelids, appearing disdainful of him while enjoying her command of his attention. Soon, though, she surrendered to the pure ecstasy of it, the vibration that set her clit to tingling while the fullness made her hunger for more. Her husband liked to watch her do this to herself, fuck herself with a vibrator while she fantasized about the exotic and erotic, both locales and men. She'd lie, of course, when he pressed her for details about her fantasies. She'd tell him that he was the one pressing home his advantage, causing her to arch her back and cry out for more. His ego was fragile enough without her planting another doubt in his mind, no matter that he begged to know the reality of her thoughts. Now, though, she needed no fantasy to fuel her passion. She needed to prepare no lies about what had set her off. She could focus with laser-like precision on the point where cock met pussy met clit. Where hardness met softness met wetness. Where friction met ridges met heat. She could twist and tug and pull to find the perfect place, reach the perfect place, then follow it like an itch that, once scratched, only cropped up somewhere else, demanding to be scratched again. She bucked against the intruder, screwed it into her fuck hole, not even noticing when the box of women's wonders toppled over, spilling a score of sex toys all over the bed. She would cum soon, and she had no attention for anything but that. He hadn't recovered from his shock quite as quickly as he would've liked. Maybe it was the sight of her thin, pale legs, wantonly spread like some slut in a movie. Maybe it was the way she was so seductively screwing herself with a life-size realistic dildo. Maybe it was the hot liquids glistening along her slit, making him wonder whether that was lube, or pussy juice, or both. Or maybe it was the fact that she'd propped herself up, her cunt clearly on display for him, her nipples hard atop her breasts, her face twisted by pleasure, her hair twisted by exertion, her legs twisted by the effort of shoving that big, thick, veined monster deeper inside of her than any man had probably ever probed, and him wanting nothing more than to rip it from her and replace it with his own pulsing cock, slamming it in to the hilt and crushing her against the bed, pressing himself to reach that undiscovered paradise deep inside her. Or maybe it was realizing that the whole thing was a plan to distract him from his work and get revenge for knowing the way back to the cabin. And though the urge to savagely fuck her remained, he somehow, with gargantuan effort, managed to refrain. Two can play at this game, he thought, his erection painfully pressing against his shorts as he climbed to his feet. Randomly selecting one of the forgotten porn DVDs from the counter, he strode to the player, turned it on and loaded the disc. The flat screen came immediately to life and he used the remote to fast forward a few chapters, knowing that these were usually the beginning of a sex scene, and not some inanely acted scene setter. He was rewarded with the sight of two men, one black and one white, preparing to fuck a medium-breasted blond girl, her eyes sparkling blue but set too far apart, her body tight but well-curved, her ass full and promising. She knelt between them, naked and available, the way a good slut should be, and alternately sucked their cocks, preparing them to enter her body from every angle and in every hole. He knew what would happen. These things always followed a script, even if the director tried to mix up the order. She'd suck them hard, though it would be more due to the Viagra than anything. Then one would fuck her pussy while the other fucked her face. They might trade places. One might lick her pussy. Not to pleasure her, of course, but to satisfy the obsession that had taken hold of him. She would get fucked hard from behind, so the man in her mouth would benefit from the impact transmitted along her lovely body. Soon, one would probe and then enter her ass, causing her to gasp until her anus opened enough to accommodate him. There'd be another switching of places. Then, in a flash, she'd be atop one of them, his cock deep in her ass, and she'd lean back and open her cunt hole for the other to enter, giving her the double penetration that every woman presumably dreamed about. Sure, she might flip over at some point, so the man on top could actively fuck her up the ass. Finally, though, having taken all the pleasure they could from her, having exhausted all the positions available, they'd pull out for the money shot. Both on her face and in her waiting, open mouth. Or one over her ass and one on her face. Or if she was big breasted, all over her tits. Or, if it was a kinky film, just inside her pussy, so the camera could linger lovingly over the leaking cream that marked that woman as someone's property. He didn't really care which scenario they followed. He wasn't going to watch. He didn't even know whose DVD he'd selected. But if she was going to use a buzzing vibrator to tease and taunt him, now he had a weapon in the game. Full color, stereo enhanced, up close and personal electric sex. On the screen, one of the men, sporting an improbably huge cock, was just beginning to penetrate the girl's tight, neatly shaven pussy. The other man, also waving an embarrassingly well-endowed cock, was forcing her to lick his balls, since clearly she'd be unable to suck more than the first two inches of his girth into her mouth. He looked back to the bed. Ah-ha! She was just as intrigued as he had been, though she quickly transferred her attention back to the boner still jammed deep inside her pussy. He bent back to his task, then stopped, suddenly aware of the surreality of it all. It was a scene that even a porn writer might decline to use, so improbable was it. He, alone in a cabin with a woman he'd lusted after, building a kinky sex toy, while she, the demure, shy but teasing object of his desire who had somehow shed her naiveté and become a wanton sex maniac, naked and writhing on a bed just steps from him, completely uninhibited and unlike herself at any time he'd ever known her. And he, not the least bit puzzled by the suddenness of her performance, or the least bit amazed by the depravity she was exhibiting. Not even wondering what had gotten into her, asking if she'd taken some mind-bending drug, or investigating the means by which she'd shed all her inhibitions. Instead, he had responded by showing a pornographic film, of a kind she'd often expressed disdain for, and then returned to a seemingly innocuous task, while the two of them were bathed in layer upon layer of hormone-enhanced sexual depravity. And despite the surreality of it all, he didn't feel compelled to question it any further. After all, she didn't appear to be worried about it. She opened her eyes in response to his lips pressing down upon hers, and his hand removing the vibrating dildo from between her legs. She'd won! She'd distracted him from his project and forced him to attend to hers. No matter that she'd never gotten off all the way, even though the small orgasms along the way had been pleasurable enough. He could help with that. He would do what she ordered now and put a capstone on her self-pleasuring project. She'd won. Only, she saw then, that she hadn't won. Hanging from one of the rafters was a hammock swing, just like she'd guessed. No, not precisely, because though it had the look of a swing, there was no real bottom or back to it. In fact, it looked as if someone had taken a hammock swing and cut away most of the strands, leaving just the supporting straps. "Have you ever tried a sex swing?" he asked, leading her to it by the hand. She shook her head, secretly pleased that he'd named it without making her ask. She'd heard of sex swings before, of course, but had never really seen one in action, not even in any of the porn movies her husband had made her watch. It probably wasn't a real common piece of equipment. She looked it over, wondering what all the different straps were for, and guessing that she was about to find out. Why this made her feel squeamish after she'd just masturbated for him on the bed was something she didn't understand. But, she was a woman, and sometimes she didn't even understand herself. The swing was attached at the top to a huge hook ingeniously hidden in the overhead beam, anchoring it at the top. Then came a few links of heavy-duty chain, and then a thick, long spring. Attached to that were a number of nylon straps, some thin, some thick, with most covered by adjustable foam pads. She didn't know how to get in, and wasn't sure she wanted to. Apparently her concern showed on her face. "How many chances in life are you going to get to try this kind of thing out?" he asked, his gaze serious and thoughtful. "This is the weekend for that. No guilt. No recriminations. No expectations for the future," he reminded her. "Just you. Me. And whatever trouble we can get into." He was right. They'd done much with each other for the first time, but nothing that she'd never, ever done before. This would be new. And it would be something just for her. Something she didn't need to share with her husband. Something he wouldn't always be bugging her to repeat. She allowed him to position her body within the straps, sliding back into the net of nylon until it was supporting her weight. It was a lot like sitting on a swing, if the wooden board at the bottom had been removed, and you were just sitting on the rope itself. Four main straps met at the apex, and other nylon strips with Velcro stitched to them dangled along their length. Once she was as comfortably seated as possible, he tied her wrists high over head, using the Velcro strips to keep them in place. OK, that felt different. Then he slipped each ankle through another loop. That's when the genius of the sex swing became apparent. She was in a seated position, her legs spread wide, with no impediment to come between his cock and her pussy. And with her hands tied above her head, she was virtually helpless. If only it hadn't taken so long to get in place. That had been a real mood breaker. Still, she'd wanted to know what it was. Had insisted on it, in fact. And now she did. Ohhh. Now she really did, as he let his shorts drop to the floor, revealing his thick, stiff cock, a drop of pre cum on the tip glistening in the daylight. And her, unable to resist its passage into her valley, and not really wanting to. This, this was a new, erotic sensation, and she became instantly convinced that humans were designed to make love in precisely this position. His cock, as he entered her, pulled and tugged at the skin around her clit, stimulating it in a subtle and luxurious way. That pleasure was only punctuated when his body met hers, the muscles of his groin slapping against her lips and clit, a sharp, electric shock after a tantalizing preview. The swing allowed him to maneuver in from different directions, and she was thrilled to see that whenever she moaned louder, he would immediately duplicate that direction. He wasn't dominating her as he could have. He was actually ensuring that she experienced the very greatest pleasure. It wasn't, however, a very comfortable position for her. He simply had to stand there. For her, though, it was a matter of balancing the pain of the straps with the pleasure of his penetration. And soon the straps were winning. When she complained about the pain, he quickly moved to reposition her. But instead of releasing her legs, he pulled them into higher loops. Now she was nearly jackknifed in two, much as if he had bent her legs back against her chest when they were going at it last night. They tried it that way for a while. It was clearly tighter for him, and she got to feel him deeper inside than ever. But still the straps interfered with her really being able to enjoy it all. It was fun, but not really passionate. He seemed to feel the same way, and they spent quite some time experimenting with the many ways that she, and he, could be positioned and fucked in the sex swing. Some made her want to try the same position in bed. Others just made both of them giggle and laugh at the absurdity of it. Some were silly to do but felt intense, like the time she sat cross-legged in the swing and he lay on the floor below her. Pulling down on the straps, he lowered her cunt down onto his up thrust cock, then used the spring action to create a powerful fucking movement. the tightness and fullness had felt incredible, though they couldn't keep from laughing whenever they thought about how bizarre it must look. Finally she'd had enough experimenting, and she sent him to open some more wine while she made herself comfortable on the bed, selecting one of the toys before pushing the rest aside. That was bizarre, he thought, as he pulled out another bottle of wine and proceeded to uncork it. He hadn't doubted his ability to put the sex swing together, even though he'd only seen one in a sex shop, and had never actually used one. There were, after all, only a few logical ways that it could go together. More amazing was her enthusiasm to actually trying it. Maybe he had a constricted perception of her actual sexual experience, but he'd have been willing to bet that something so unusual would've been way outside her comfort zone. Was it him? Was it the freedom and privacy of this place? Or was it the silent agreement that they both seemed to make that whatever happened here would stay here, like Vegas without the glitz. She was surprising him more and more. Despite thinking that very thought, he still almost dropped the tray of wine and snacks when he turned to head back to the bed. She was still naked, but kneeling on her hands and knees on the bed, her ass pointed at him, and her face peering at him with something that could only be described as a "come hither" look. Who was this woman, and what had she done with the other one? In spite of her immensely effective attempt to seduce him, he still had enough will power left to take a moment to study her. Though her eyes could hold his attention for months on end, and he had always been a fan of her breasts in a totally sexual way, her butt had always been intriguing to him. It was small and tight and boyish, there was no arguing with that. Yet just now, it was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen. Especially the way the small globes of her ass left her pussy lips in full view, engorged and swollen, with her slit completely visible and awaiting his touch. From her thin, tight thighs to her svelte legs and tiny feet, he felt like every inch of her was welcoming him to come and take her. One Weekend Stand Ch. 04 So he did. Moving up behind her, he felt something release in himself. Something more than his cock springing back to life at the sight of her soft pussy lips perfectly framed by the taut flesh of her cheeks. He felt a need, deep inside himself, burst through the boundaries of good behavior that had always separated him, and protected him, from the women in his life. He felt a need, staring down at her ass, her curved waist and hips beckoning to him in the daylight, a need to totally dominate this woman. To subjugate her, using his cock like an avenging sword, to penetrate her and denigrate her, to take her as his own and leave no doubt as to the consequences of choosing any other way, or the pleasures available should she embrace his domain. Just that thought alone hardened him even more, and his cock head took on a purple shade, thick and menacing. He stood behind her and let the tension build in himself, a hurricane about to blast its thunderous wrath upon a weak human population. Oddly, his brain produced an image of himself as King Kong hanging upon the Empire State Building, roaring his dominance and smashing aside all the puny humans who might come to challenge him. He recognized the feeling, wanted to roar his own challenge, but instead focused his masculine violence on the point where the velvet helmet of his cock met the velvet entrance to her pussy. He could feel his rod literally pulsing with power. Then, swiftly, surely, violently, he was inside her. Piercing her, penetrating her, a hammer crashing through her gates and desecrating her inner hall. He slammed his hips against her butt, pushing her forward, almost knocking her off her hands and knees. She looked back in shock, a look that rapidly turned to lust, before repositioning her body for his next assault upon her. He fucked her hard, loosing the lust and passion and frustration from all the years, not just from her but from all the women he'd had or wanted or known. He was overcome by lust, the violent kind that romance writers didn't write about and good girls didn't like. But he was no longer sure she was the good girl she'd purported to be. She braced herself against the battering, like a seawall assaulted by wave after wave of frothing water. She'd been shocked at the sudden change in his demeanor, the wicked glint in his eyes as he'd approached her. All she'd wanted to do was seduce him some more, offer herself up to finish what they'd started in the sex swing. But once he'd entered her, had split her open with a harshness she'd never seen from him, she knew that this time it would be different. Even so, his first thrust had caught her completely off guard, and only by chance did she keep from collapsing onto the bed. But if he wanted to take her so violently, she could understand the need. For too long she'd been playing a part in bed, acting like her husband was in charge but never really believing it. Their lovemaking had been just that: making love. Even the spontaneous was planned, and therefore diminished for it. With his hands wrapped around her waist, he pulled her back even as he fucked her forward. And fucking her was the only way to describe it. There were no tender touches. No sweet nothings. No pretty whispers. Just flat out, cock deep in the hole, take no prisoners fucking. She let him do it, of course. Let him think that he was taking her. But why, a small part of her wondered, was she even holding back that little bit? Why not drop all her own barriers and not just buy into it? Be the part and not act the part? She wasn't one of those women who got off on being tied up, or spanked, or pushed around. Though she was beginning to enjoy the spanking a bit more. She wasn't into the submissive thing that so many men seemed to enjoy. But, and here her mind snapped into recognition even as his cock continued to assault her cunt, that didn't mean she couldn't give into the occasional take no prisoners fucking every so often. Especially since they didn't come around much more than every so often. Right? If she hadn't already made a conscious decision, her body would've already betrayed her. Deep inside her cunt canal, his cock had ignited a spark of intense pleasure, which was spreading with alarming rapidity to her most sensitive spots. His cock wasn't as big as her husband's, but had a girth that had an appreciable effect within the folds of her pussy or inside the confines of her mouth. She felt the heat in her nipples, an intense blaze that seemed to flow directly from the steaming, molten core of her cunt. She felt it at the tips of her toes, burning and urging her to surge backwards against his juice-soaked invader. She felt it along the back of her neck, causing her hair to stand on end and making her buck her head like a horse in full gallop. An apt metaphor as he rode her hard, slamming against her even as his rod split her on a spit, as if getting ready to cook her and devour her. She heard herself moaning, obscene words spilling from her lips, unformed and unchecked. She swung her body back to meet his cock in mid-thrust, the impact reverberating through both of them. Then, once he'd stilled, she fucked him with her cunt, sliding back and forth along the length of it, grinding herself against him, pulling him down to lay atop her, placing his hands around her pulsing tits, her nipples white hot and hard as diamonds. All her introspection and rationalizations flooded away, swept aside by the rush of pleasures pulsing through her nerves. Her entire body tingled, every inch of her skin sensitive to the heat of his skin or the very air around them. Her muscles clenched as if she was in the midst of a marathon run, the fatigue palpable and enjoyable. Her breasts felt heavy in his hands, heavier even than when she'd been breastfeeding, and she felt a desperate need to present them to him, to give them to him to suck or tongue or bite or pinch or bind or... whatever he wanted. Her head pounded, her breathing harsh and desperate, her mind unable to process the swarm of input, and reacting by producing an oral litany, a chant almost, of what she was feeling and what more she wanted from him, mixed with moans and cries that sounded more animal than human. "Fuck me. Yes. Fuck me. More. Fuck me. Ohhh. Fuck me. Oh god. Oh fuck me. Yes. Fuck me. I'm yours. Fuck me," she repeated over and over, her voice low and throaty and rasping. But even with all that her attention was almost totally enraptured by the spot in her cunt canal where his cock rasped, over and over, along the area that some creative book publishers had dubbed the g-spot. At this point, she didn't care what they called it. Only that pleasure was rippling away from it like waves in a pool, sweeping about and bouncing throughout her core, then setting aflame every nerve in her body. It was like an orgasm but one that lasted for minutes and centuries, continuously shocking her without the explosive finality of a regular one. She didn't know if he knew what he was doing to her, didn't know if he was doing it on purpose. But his violent purchase inside her had sparked an incendiary reaction. And she was helpless before it. Her muscles, once tense with anticipation, were now soft and mushy, and she feared she might collapse in a heap on the bed. Still, she wanted him inside her like this, wanted him taking her with the power of a piece of machinery, a piston plumbing her depths. So she dropped to her forearms, changing the angle, losing some of the intensity but gaining better purchase. He spanked her ass as he fucked her, the slaps ringing through the room, the pain only adding to the intensity of the pleasure emanating from between her legs . Suddenly she felt his finger, or thumb, press against the bud of her anus. She knew she'd told him she didn't like anal, had tried it but didn't like it. It made her, in fact, feel like she had to poop. Not at all a pleasant experience. But maybe his brain was as addled as hers. Maybe he wasn't thinking in terms of do's and don'ts. Maybe he was only doing what his carnal desires had instructed him to do. Despite her misgivings, she squirmed her ass against his finger. He was only playing, wasn't he? He didn't mean to spear her ass with his stiff rod, to split her open like no one other than her husband had ever done? He continued to play with her ass, slapping the cheeks, pinching her flesh, fingering her anus. And despite her trepidation, she lifted her butt higher into the air, as if offering him everything he wanted, with no limits and no boundaries. Suddenly, he bent over her, his cock still buried deep in her cunt, and growled in her ear that he wanted all of her, and wouldn't stop until he got it. The movement pressed his cock back up against her g-spot, and another wave of intense pleasure swept through her, making her fingers tingle and her lungs convulse. Without thinking, she reached around until she found a bottle of lube on the bed and handed it up to him. He didn't stop pumping her, even as he opened and emptied a stream of oily lube into her crack and onto her ass hole. Then, suddenly, her well-fucked pussy was distressingly empty, and she could feel his cock head gently probing the outside of her ass. Despite the animal-like urgency with which he had fucked her cunt, he took his time entering her anus, sliding the head in and out slowly, as she tried to will herself to relax. He was all the way in before she really realized it, the lube and constant stimulation having loosened her ring of muscles already. It felt the same way she remembered it, but not the same way. It felt like she was stuffed up, but not as uncomfortably. She felt like she had to go, but it was also something that could wait. And maybe it was his size, but she didn't feel nearly as bloated. Beside, when she looked back and saw the look on his face, a little discomfort was worth it. And it did make her feel like a dirty girl. A very dirty, very kinky girl. Despite how tight she felt, despite how intensely her anus was squeezing the length of his shaft, he knew that he would be taking it easy on her. That despite how willingly she had offered her ass up to him, he would feel guilty later if he hurt her in any way. He knew her distaste for what he was doing to her, and though she had acquiesced, he also knew that the pleasure wasn't mutual. Call that some flaw in his manhood, but he wouldn't take what wasn't completely freely offered. Besides, while on one plane he was simply exploring her body, on another he was asserting his control. That part of his manhood, at least, was fully functional. Having his cock in her ass was as dominating an act as he could imagine, especially since he knew that it wasn't something she did all the time. By penetrating her there, he'd now had her in all the ways a man can have a woman. All the ways her husband might have had her, if he'd been as insistent as a man can be. And now he'd accomplished the very same conquest, without pleading, begging or bullying. He eased himself from her, pausing to wipe the oily film from himself. The other thing was, in his experience, the woman got far more pleasure from anal sex than the man. He knew, if he kept at it, that all too soon she'd be too relaxed, and getting any kind of friction would take a lot more effort. Better to remember the explicit image of his cock buried in her ass, and then just move on. She was wiggling her ass at him, as if wondering why he'd pulled out, and when he'd return. Truth was, as much fun as it had been to dominate her from behind, he was getting tired of it. And he wanted to see her face, and her eyes, and kiss her long and deep, not just because he could, but because he wanted to. A simple nudge and she rolled onto her back, her legs spread open for him, her entire body exposed and ready for him, ready to respond to whatever was his pleasure. He scooted her into the middle of the bed and followed her, kneeling between her legs. Bending slowly, feeling her eyes upon him, he pressed his lips to her inner thighs, smiling as she giggled at the ticklish touch. Pushing harder against her soft flesh, he added his warm tongue to the recipe, which changed her giggles to whimpers of contentment. He made his way up her body, kissing and licking her delicate skin, eliciting a mixture of laughter and moans along the way. He took his time with her breasts, using the flat of his tongue to rasp across her nipples, then the soft press of his lips to soothe the affected areas. When he finally reached her mouth, the whole of his body was stretched over her. His cock would occasionally brush against her legs, causing both of them to gasp at the feel of it. He kissed her, deeply, his tongue invading her mouth with much the same ardor as it had earlier explored her pussy. Swirling within, searching for the walls, fencing with her tongue, lips pressed so tightly together their teeth scraped. The harsh sound of her breathing was loud in his ears. His own panting was like that of a trapped animal, frantic and aggressive. A small, simple move later and his cock was back inside her, ensconced in a soft, wet sleeve that was so comfortable, it could only be made for that one purpose. He let his weight down on her gently, his hips moving in an uneven rhythm, responding to signals only his brain understood. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, holding him in place and effectively communicating her approval of this latest position. He knew that his groin was rubbing against her pubic mound, probably giving her quite a bit of pleasure, but that was only a byproduct of his efforts. No, he simply liked to watch her face as he sped up or slowed, as he pressed into her from one side or the other, as he varied his strokes for the express reason of drawing a new reaction from her. Usually she kept her eyes closed, but her smiles and murmurs told him so much. And every so often he would hit upon an especially effective combination that would cause her eyes to fly open in delight, and cause her legs to press him closer, as if he could get any deeper inside her. They continued that way for a long time, or a short one; there was no way to measure it. He hadn't consciously been holding himself back from cumming, not thinking about baseball or any of those old tricks. But soon he was feeling the need again. And in feeling it, knew that he wouldn't deny himself or draw the string of anticipation out any further; even the most compelling series of books needs a climax. She knew it too, releasing him from the cocoon of her legs and pushing her hips hard against him, meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own. Her cunt was fully open to him now and all subtlety and tenderness were thrown to the side as both their feral instincts took over. He slammed against her with ferocity, their bodies colliding with a sharp retort on every stroke, the slap as loud as when he'd spanked her the previous evening, the intent just as obvious. She'd lifted her legs, clearing the way for his fevered attack. She too, had abandoned herself to the moment, biting her lip and clutching at the sheets as she took more and more punishment from the battering ram pounding at her pussy. He didn't bother to hold back, didn't bother to pull out as his balls triggered his cock to let loose with the first pulse of cum, his hot semen pulled from deep within and ejaculated deep inside her cunt. The sensation was not unlike the first moment of peeing after a long night of drinking, only far, far better. He could feel his cum coursing through the length of his cock, could feel his cock pumping it up and out. It was like a dam suddenly released, the hot liquid shooting through a constricted tube, then spurting out to soak and extinguish whatever fires roared before it. He came deep inside her, and continued to pump into her even after he'd stopped cumming, obeying his body's urges above all else. When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at her, her eyes were still closed, but the blissful smile on her face told him all that he needed to know. Sometime afterwards he had pulled the comforter over them. And pulled the pillows under her head. And pulled himself from between her legs. And wrapped her in an embrace so comforting that she felt like she might never leave it. So comforting that she tried to engrave the moment into her memory, so she might be able to return to it at any time and relive this languorous, satisfied moment. That it should come here, now, was...what? A shame? Serendipity? An accident? A blessing? She didn't know what. And that uncertainty almost ruined the moment. One part of her brain told the other to stop analyzing, but the rest of her knew that was about as likely as stopping the sun from rising. It was an obsession with her, and even in those most satisfying of moments she had to answer the "why" and "what now" of what had just transpired. And what had just transpired? Well, she'd gotten the shit fucked out of her, literally. That thought made her smile, and in some instinctive response he pulled her bare body closer against his chest. And she'd fucked the hell out of him, too. No way! No way she'd ever do all that stuff with her husband, or any of her boyfriends for that matter. Friggin herself in broad daylight? Fucking on a sex swing? Practically begging to be fucked up the ass? Who are you and what have you done with my previous owner, her mind asked her body. It was as if she was not herself, not even a person she had ever wished to be, but some amalgam of characters from the light and dark sides of life. Ladylike, but with the sexual appetites of a man. Demure, but with the promiscuity of a whore. Naïve, but with the imagination of a pornographer. Wicked. That's how she felt. And the feeling was incredible. She knew that she'd spent most of her life wrapped in a blanket of 'correct behavior,' playing the part that others had written for her. It started with her father, as it always did for most women. But had extended into her relationships with all men, boyfriends and husbands alike. She let them write the script, and she would revise it only a little along the way. And then the blame for any lack of fireworks would be on their heads. But now she was coming to believe that she'd been stuck in a prison of her own making. She snuggled closer to him, pressing her butt against his groin. They were spooning, and his hand had dropped to the bed cushion. She gently repositioned it atop her breast and felt him respond with a kiss on her shoulder. He was awake. Or drowsing? What was he thinking? What, for that matter, was she thinking? Admittedly, if she'd been thinking straight, she wouldn't even be here. He'd be secure in bed at his home, maybe just having made love to his wife. Was he that passionate with her? That adventurous? But there was no way for her to answer those questions. And what of herself? Would she have been fucked by her husband on this weekend? Surely. But would she have responded so freely, so wickedly? That wasn't as clear. She did what he asked, watched what he wanted, wore what he gave her, responded as he expected. But rarely gave all of herself or opened her desires to him. When she had, it was always after a night of drinking, as if the alcohol gave a few moments freedom to that part of herself. And, as if the alcohol would excuse herself from needing to repeat her performance, in case he did remember her enthusiasm. "But you did it last time," he'd plead. "I was drunk," would be her defense. So what was different here? The circumstances, surely. He was married, she was married. And most importantly, not to each other. There would be no repeat performances. This was, for lack of a better term, a one-weekend stand. She didn't see him risking his marriage and life to do this again. My God, it had taken them years to get to this point! And, honestly, she wasn't going to do that either. She'd made her bed, so to speak, and she was going to sleep in it, even if she did have to share it. So, then, what? Maybe it was that very lack of a future that made the weekend so different. She could be whatever she wanted to be, without any need to repeat it. He said he wouldn't judge her. And perhaps that promise extended to everything they did with each other, too. One Weekend Stand Ch. 04 At times over the past years, she'd felt like she was acting a part in a play. The timid girl. The seductress. The obedient wife. She'd known she was acting, but still it had felt normal to take those parts and run with them. Now, though, she had the opportunity to try on even more parts, to run with them and let them take over her body, let them direct her actions without a care to the consequences. She could be whoever she wanted to be and discard that role whenever it ceased to amuse her. Like the times she dressed up in stylish clothes to go to fancy restaurants, feigning an accent with the wait staff, this weekend had freed her to play a great game of 'Let's Pretend.' There was more to it than just their circumstances, of course. It was this place, as well. A cabin, in the middle of nowhere. Built specifically for sex. That much was clear. One room encompassing all the human needs. Food. Shelter. Sleep. Procreation. Or, to be more specific, recreational sex. Explorational sex. Dominational sex. She couldn't believe that she'd missed the signs. That it had taken her that long to figure it out. A big screen TV with loads of porn for it? Sure, most couples might engage in that behavior, whilst on a tryst away from the city. Even a locker filled with exotic sex toys might be common in, say, twenty percent of the cabins up here. But the other lockers, with their wide variety of sexual implements? A sex swing, with hooks built right into the ceiling joists? Dog collars and dishes with no signs of a dog? Scratches on the brass bedposts that indicated that something metal, like handcuffs, had been attached to the posts, not once, but many times? And the cryptic note, with its hints at situations yet unveiled? This was a sex cabin, built to feed one's darkest desires, and she'd just spread her legs and added her story to its sordid history. And she wasn't the least bit ashamed. In fact, she was more than a little bit intrigued. She thought she'd seen everything in the sex tapes her husband made her watch, but now she knew that he might be just a little prosaic in his interests. That would make sense of course, given his upbringing. What she'd just done, on that swing, didn't appear in any of the discs he had. The blond woman she'd seen getting gangbanged by two black bucks definitely wasn't in his porn library, either. Hardly. Though the sight of it hadn't quite turned her stomach as much as her husband might've thought. Not quite a turn on, but mesmerizing nonetheless. She craned her head and looked over at the dildos still strewn across the bed. She was familiar with them, as her husband had bought some for her to use on herself, while he watched. A strange little kink, but harmless, and she played the part well, with lots of moaning and groaning and twisting and turning. It wasn't hard to bring herself off with a vibrating toy. Good thing he couldn't look into her mind and see what she was imagining when she did it! There was more adventure locked up in this cabin, that was for sure. Two more lockers to open. More cryptic instructions in that note to decipher. And next to her, the man who had the key to some of those mysteries. She could figure it out on her own. And part of her wanted to get up and do just that. But the other part was already kindling the anticipation. If you wait, it told her, he will lead you there. And you'll be able to take on another new role, the victim, the slave, the slut begging for more cock, or something even more unbelievable. And that wouldn't be so bad at all, now would it? Her breast was warm in his palm. Her body pressed back against the length of his, from her cute toes right up to her head. He kept his face upturned, as her light hair had a tendency to tickle him. She was thinking. He could tell by the tension in her body. By the way her foot absently tapped against the sheets. By the way her ass shivered against his flaccid cock. She was thinking deeply. And in his experience, that meant she was going to make a decision. Maybe it was the mix of endorphins and hormones. Or the blissful exhaustion that followed an orgasm. Or simply that women rarely had a quiet time to themselves. But whatever the reason, right after sex was the time that women always decided things. Worse, it was also a time when they remembered every single word of a conversation. That's why it was always important for a man to guard what he said in the cuddling time after sex. And why he should never, ever, ever drowse or, god forbid, fall asleep. Because he could find himself agreeing to things that no sane man would ever want. Like kids. Or a new dog. Or painting the family room ochre. The woman in his arms probably wasn't thinking about any of those things, of course. Well, maybe the new dog. But probably something that had to do with why they were here together, or what they had done together, or what they might still do together. All of which frightened him just a bit, because as much as he knew about her, he didn't really know all that much about her. She was a woman, after all, and a woman's decisions were usually far more nuanced than men could hope to interpret. And trying to understand all the shades of her decision was just the kind of thing that could drive him crazy for many moons to come. That was his personality. He liked both people to have a similar understanding. He struggled to keep his mind from wandering, but in truth he was pretty exhausted. Most women didn't appreciate how much work it was to make love. Balancing in a decidedly odd position for several minutes at a time. Thrusting fifty or sixty times a minute with all your strength. Holding back against something your body very much wanted to let loose. And leaving behind as much protein as in a good-sized steak dinner. He'd read that a good ten minute lovemaking session was the equivalent of doing 500 push ups, military style. Sure, he didn't doubt that it was painful for a woman to keep her legs up that long. But other than that, she didn't do hardly anything. A little wriggling. Sometimes meeting him halfway. It was a decidedly unequal balance. So he drowsily cautioned himself against speculating too much. That she was still here, snuggled against him, was reason enough to infer that she wasn't having second thoughts. That she was acting so uncharacteristically, well, sluttish, was cause for a little more concern, but he didn't really mind. Besides, how did he know what was characteristic for her? Maybe she was a little hellion in bed and she'd just never shared that with him. But whether he was the cause of her wanton abandon or not, he liked it and wasn't about to question it. Case closed. As if she'd heard the case close in his mind, she stirred and sat up, then made to leave the bed. If he hadn't grabbed her wrist, she would've escaped completely. "Gotta pay the toll," he said, and was rewarded with a warm, rich kiss. He watched with hooded eyes as she padded away, once more appreciating the tantalizing sway of her hips and ass. She started shuffling through her overnight bag, and he smiled to himself. She'd be looking for her phone to see what time it was. And see if she'd miraculously gotten any calls in the last few hours. "What time is it?" he called, his smile apparent in his voice. "Two eleven," she said, not turning around to face him. That was OK. Her neck had flushed red, showing that he'd scored a point. He knew something about her. To be continued... One Weekend Stand Ch. 05 Saturday Afternoon They'd cleaned up and showered. And dressed. Well, sort of. She'd pulled on a fresh pair of pink bikini panties, with just enough fabric to cover her mound and not much more than that. She'd pulled his dress shirt back on, too, but left the front unbuttoned so he could see her, and touch her, whenever he wanted. She felt deliciously sexy. He was wearing black brief underwear and a black t-shirt, looking very much like a man preparing to model in an underwear ad. His bulge was back to normal size, and she wondered briefly about his apparent endurance and passion. Far more than what she expected from a man his age. Was a little blue pill responsible? If so, she was very grateful to the makers of that little blue pill. They shared a late lunch, a mixed salad, a board of bread and cheese, and some more wine. He seemed sated and content, and she wondered if he'd made plans that far ahead. Unbeknownst to him, she'd made a decision. And whatever plans he had were about to change. After eating and cleaning up they drifted back to the bed. It was clear that neither of them were in the mood, or even physically able, to do much more than lay down and relax. She certainly needed a break. But she could feel their time together slipping away. She'd already collected all the sex toys and returned them to their box, which she'd placed within easy reach on their makeshift bed table. That still left, by her count, three more lockers to explore. And what better time than now? Without a word, she crawled across his body and removed the remaining three locker keys from the top of the footlocker. In similarly silent fashion, he took the key for the fourth locker from her hand and replaced it in the top, waggling his finger back and forth like she was a child who'd done something wrong. OK. She would deal with that later. She still had the keys to two more of the lockers. And all the exertion had done nothing to extinguish her curiosity. The second locker was somewhat of a disappointment, in that it held exactly what she'd expected. Lingerie and other revealing clothing. Hundreds of dollars worth, if her calculations were correct. Most was on hangers, sans tags, which probably meant that someone had already modeled it, and presumably lost in in the throes of passion. Other ensembles still carried price tags, or were folded in brown or pink paper shopping bags. In her experience, the color of the bag most often reflected the raunchiness of the store. Pink for chains like Victoria's Secret. Brown for Maxine's Sex Emporium. Despite having overcome her trepidation at using someone else's sex toys, she felt an even stronger squeamishness at donning some other woman's sex outfits. Maybe it had been the assurance that the toys were sanitized. Or maybe it had been her unrelenting horniness. Whatever. That rationalization didn't extend to the wide array of sexy clothing in the locker. Though... She could bring herself to wear something that still had tags on it, if there was some way to know that the lady of the cabin, whoever she might be, wouldn't object. Though there was really no way to know for sure. She was somewhat taken aback, then, when he nudged her aside and reached into the locker, pulling out ensembles one after another, then holding them up against her semi-nude body and seriously studying each selection, as if he were deciding upon the day's apparel for one of the kept women in his harem. She was quite sure she would not be modeling anything he selected, yet he continued his examination even after she abruptly negated each and every one of his selections. He was becoming much more assertive, she realized. And had been ever since that first kiss. Almost as if he was testing her, seeing just how far he could push it before she put the brakes on. But was he really testing her? Or was she reading more into the situation? He could, after all, have been this assertive the whole time, his real personality held in check by their marriage circumstances. If that was the case, she might actually be seeing the real man. And if that was the case, how should she react? Affronted by his abrupt commands? Pleased by them? Flirty in response? And how did she want him to act? She'd had more than her fair share of a man who took his "head of the household" position to heart, expecting sex so often that it had become more of a chore for her than something to be anticipated. And when he wasn't asking for it, he was whining for it, which was far worse, and not at all fun for her. To be truthful, she didn't really know what she wanted from her husband. Some days it was one thing. Others it was something else. All she knew for certain was that she was compromising more and more, content to go with the flow rather than expecting something else. Which, she realized, brought her back to the cabin. Not twenty minutes ago she'd promised herself that she'd go wherever he led, and already she was dithering. She shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. To lead, she reminded herself, you need to be assertive. So why not see where he wants to go? After all, she still ultimately retained the right to say No, which she was sure held as much power with him as it did with her husband. Such was the weakness of being a basically decent man. In the end he selected six outfits for her, all with the tags still attached which presumably meant that they were new and unworn. His selections said much about him, filling in some suppositions she'd made over the years. One was a white stretch fishnet teddy, cut high at the hips and straight across the chest, with a weave that was sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. The second was also sheer, a black negligee with bikini panties. It reminded her of something she'd shown him once, before a trip with her husband. No doubt as to why he'd selected that! The third left nothing to the imagination. A black leather bra and panty combination, with thin silver chains where the bra cups and panty crotch should've been. Too brazen even for a whore to wear on the street. For the fourth, he chose a red corset that zipped down the front, with demi cups and garters that would attach to a pair of red stockings they'd found at the bottom of the locker. He didn't pick out any panties, so she'd apparently be going without when she wore that little number. For the fifth, another look into his darker side: More leather, this time nothing but leather straps held together with metal rings. After holding it against her body, she realized that the straps would outline her breasts, criss-cross around the front and back of her, and be held in place on the bottom by a chain that would dangle just below her pussy lips. Just the type of thing that would be worn by a bondage bitch. Finally, he'd selected a full-length sheer black body stocking. From the package picture, it would cover her whole body, legs and arms, with a convenient opening between her legs. She wasn't surprised that he'd chosen it, as he'd told her about his preference for that type of lingerie. But she was surprised by how much she was suddenly anticipating the way she would model it for him. "Have something in mind for right now?" she asked, favoring him with a seductive look. The leather and chains combination was his choice, and she slipped into it right in front of him. The leather felt warm against her skin, while the chains added a cool touch. Not an unpleasant sensation at all. It hid absolutely nothing, of course, but she could see why someone would find it attractive. Especially someone with more imagination than was good for him. This leather and chain thing wasn't really her style. She was much more the Southern belle type, lots of lace and layers. The same could be said for the kind of sex she liked. Starting off lacy, with plenty of old-fashioned romance and nuzzling kisses. Then, another layer, more passionate as the flames were fanned higher, with her beau taking more and more control, treating her not as a frail flower but as a fully-formed Venus. She would allow herself to be swept away, but never so far that all concerned would doubt that she was her own independent woman. So that later, upon further inspection, the man would discover that she had been pulling the strings all along, and he was a mere puppet to her whims and desires. In short, the classic southern woman. From the 1860's, at least. To have her sexuality cast, then, as something more explicit and easily manipulated put her way out of her comfort zone. She was not the type to passively acquiesce to another's orders. Not in life, not in business and not in sex. She didn't like being helpless. To be tied and unable to escape would be sheer torture for her. To be used as a plaything or a toy would be worse than humiliating; it would be undignified. Yet part of her could see why some women might enjoy it. It would be like getting drunk at one of those couples' resorts. No responsibility for what might happen. No guilt. Nothing but succumbing to the urges that fill the darkest recesses of the mind. And succumbing to the pleasures that often come from the most unlikely of sources. He could see that she was uncomfortable with the outfit he'd selected, and he struggled to keep the grin from reaching his lips. He was feeling very mischievous, and he had no qualms about taking advantage of this situation. The exhaustion from their last bout of lovemaking was waning, and for a moment he imagined himself cramming his cock into her mouth to get it hard, and then throwing her to the floor and raping her right there. But no. That would be too brutal. And worse, too quick. He wanted to let her stew in her squeamishness a bit, wanted to lead her along a path in small increments, until she found herself doing something she'd never done before. And enjoying it. That was the power of his vivid imagination. From what others said, he knew that his imagination was much more vibrant and complex than most others. Where another man might fantasize about having sex with a co-worker in the office, the story would start with the sex and end with the cumshot. His fantasies were a lot more explicit. A lead-in, motivation for both, semi-realistic scenarios, a blow-by-blow sex scene with multiple perspectives, and an ending that left both (or more) parties satisfied. Which, when applied to role-playing, made for much more intricate and intellectually satisfying scenarios. Still, that didn't mean that his baser instincts weren't making themselves known. So it was hard for him not to want to touch and kiss and caress and probe and cradle and squeeze and lick and inhale and spank and scratch and violate a beautiful woman dressed so provocatively. And the little blue pill he'd taken just an hour before wasn't making those urges any easier to ignore. But, with a much more sensual and enthralling ending in mind, he limited himself to a long, deep kiss, allowing his hands to do no more than squeeze her ass and pull her chained pussy hard against his body. If only she knew how much he was holding back... When the next locker yielded up its treasures, he could tell that she was having second thoughts about the whole thing. Very tentatively she pushed through some of the paraphernalia hanging from the hooks inside: chains with cuffs on the ends, a dog leash, collars with steel rings around the circumference, a long pole with clips on the end. To him, the purpose of all the items was readily apparent. But he could see that she was struggling a bit with even that. And she clearly had no clue as to what other designs a knowledgeable person might have for the toys she'd just uncovered. If she had, no doubt she'd slam the locker door shut and run back to the cabin. He knew that wouldn't happen, though. Not only was she driven by curiosity. But ever since arriving at the cabin, they'd been engaged in a subtle but intense battle of wills. One with the same goal: taking credit for providing the other with as much pleasure as possible. He could already imagine her being the first to ask, "Did you have a nice time?" And feeling justified that she'd provided all the sparks for the weekend. So he was confident that she wouldn't want to be seen as the party-pooper. Even if it meant doing something she'd never, ever imagined herself doing. Still, this would need to be a journey taken in baby steps. Everything else they'd done would be considered 'normal,' even by the strictures of her current sexual experience. Sex toys? She'd used them before. Porn flicks? She'd seen them before. Lingerie? She'd worn it before. He even supposed she might've been tied up, loosely, by one of her more imaginative lovers. Or handcuffed. But always with an easy way of escape. Never tightly. Or for real. He indicated the storage box at the bottom of the locker and she pulled it out. He was careful to stand back and let her explore on her own. Her natural curiosity would take her where he wanted to go. And failing that, a little disdainful challenge to her bravery would encourage her to respond favorably. As she pawed through the items in the box, he simply indicated whether he knew how they were used. He didn't want to scare her away by reciting the names for each, though he knew about ninety percent of them. That knowledge wasn't because he'd used all of them. He'd just explored a few adult toy store sites and learned from the pictures. Plus, some of the erotic literature he'd read over the years had provided good descriptions of the various toys and tools, as well as their varied uses. So he kept his responses to "yep," "think so," and "nope," as she pulled out each item and inspected it. Soon they'd separated the contents of the box into three piles. To these she added the implements hanging from the hooks. The "yep" and "maybe" piles were about the same size. He'd consciously kept it that way, knowing that she'd more likely be drawn to the "maybe" pile just by the chance to challenge his knowledge. So he'd been careful to ensure that some of the more "challenging" items were placed in that pile. The "yep" pile was pretty much self-explanatory. Handcuffs and masks and crops and floggers, with a variety of ropes and leather toys that did just what they looked like they did. The "no" pile was much smaller than the other two. Some of the items he really didn't know what they did, though he was sure with some experimentation, he could figure it out. He wasn't planning on experimenting, though, because sometimes a single mistake could really hurt a person. And he couldn't send her back to her husband damaged in any way. He knew how other items in the "no" pile worked, but they were far too advanced for someone as squeamish as she appeared. Better left untried. He suggested that maybe they'd be better off examining their findings in the cabin. She surprised him and did him one better, asking if they might not be better off hiking over to the mysterious location listed in the owner's note. He'd actually been trying to figure out a way to maneuver her out there, so he readily agreed, hoping he'd been able to keep a straight face while doing so. He wasn't all that sure that he'd succeeded. But, feeling his hardening cock pressing against his shorts, he wasn't all that sure that it was his face that had given him away. It felt weird hiking in the woods wearing nothing but leather and chains, her breasts and pussy almost completely exposed. Not like before, when they'd been out on a walk just to get some fresh air and enjoy each other's company. This time, they had a definite purpose in mind. He was going to play a role. And she was going to play a role. And her role was one that she'd never really played before. Oh, she'd allowed a couple of lovers, and her husband, to tie her up before. Cuff her to the bed stand. Blindfold her. Tease and grope her. But she'd always done it as a treat for them. A special birthday gift. A drunken experimentation. This time, though, she was sure that she'd be truly helpless. And sure that he, while starting off gentle, was probably going to disengage the brake he had on his behavior, and let a little more of the bad boy out, the part she'd sometimes spotted seeping through the edges of his more civilized public demeanor. It was seeing that piece of the puzzle, more than anything he might do with her, that excited her. She was baiting him with her compliance. And the prize was seeing farther inside his soul. They arrived at their destination in short order. It was a clearing in the middle of the forest, completely unshaded by the trees surrounding it. At the center of the clearing was a large, thickly timbered wooden table, its edges covered with protuberances and metal rings. Oddly, the tables surface and legs were varnished and smooth, not weathered as might be expected on something exposed to the weather. Upon closer inspection, every inch of it was highly polished, and the stout legs appeared to be set deep into the ground. It appeared to be strong enough to take the weight of 10 people without shaking a bit. They dropped their backpacks and various implements next to it, then set off to tour the other sites. He'd apparently been there before, as he walked unerringly from one to the next. On the bare top of one hill were three huge timbers, assembled in the shape of a Y. Like the table, they were well-sanded and highly polished. In a another valley, completely hidden, was a large T-shaped cross. On top of a nearby hill they found a very strange conglomeration of timbers. Two upright posts with a horizontal bar between them, next to a much taller post with a bar parallel to the lower bar. A few more hilltops away, a huge X made of the same timbers was set deep into the ground, iron rings spaced intermittently along the edges. She paused and examined it more closely. Like all the others, it showed no signs of weathering or wear. Someone had carefully, perhaps even lovingly, sanded, smoothed, varnished and polished every inch of it. She was reminded of the pine furniture you might see at a vacation home, glistening in the sun. Speaking of which...she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Like all the other sites, this one was located away from the trees, so the hot overhead sun could beat down upon anyone standing nearby. Tentatively she touched the wood. Hot! As would be the condition of anyone restrained upon the X. She knew right away that this wasn't designed for someone who played at this type of thing. They were serious about it. But it wouldn't always be this sunny. She wondered what it would be like to be restrained here in the rain, the water streaming into her eyes, the droplets beating against her bare body. Or at night, her helplessness doubled as her imagination took hold, at the mercy of whatever spirits were lurking in the dark. Or in the cold of winter, bare skin exposed to the harshest elements, snow swirling about her feet, helpless to warm herself or to escape from the bitter, biting wind. Would those who used this place have used it that way? What dark tales would this wood tell if it could talk? Suddenly she felt his hands grasp her breasts and pull her back against him. She'd been so engrossed in her wondering that she hadn't noticed him come up behind her. He crudely cupped her tits, pinching and twisting her nipples in a way that revealed a malevolent intent much more than she'd discern just from looking at his face. "Are you up for it, little girl?" he whispered in her ear, his voice hoarser, deeper and darker than she'd ever heard. There was a challenge there, too, and she knew he was manipulating her. But for once that didn't matter. Because her speculation about the others' activities here had fired her imagination, and she wanted to experiment, to experience at least some of it. And now she could do it. Experiment with it. Try it out, without worrying that he'd want her to try it again and again. Because for them, there wouldn't be any "again and again." One Weekend Stand Ch. 05 He knew right away that, once again, fantasy wasn't going to conform to reality. Sure, he wanted to hook her up to one of the stanchions and have his way with her. But the reality was that it just wasn't going to happen. Or, at least, it wouldn't happen if he was going to be responsible about it. Because for him, the thrill of any bondage wasn't just being in complete control. It was being able to control what she experienced in the most minute manner. To manipulate her senses, blindfold her, restrict her, make her all the more aware of every tactile sensation. Stretched helpless and naked before him, her anticipation would be palpable. And he would do everything possible to stretch that anticipation to, and past, its breaking point. To ramp her up slowly, every action an exquisite torture, the mystery of the next touch more painful than any blow upon her skin. The ominous silence of her existence punctuated only by the coarse harshness of his orders. And her whole self held prisoner at the mercy of a man playing a game whose rules she doesn't know and can't begin to guess. But to achieve that, to bring her to the point of torturous ecstasy, he would need time. And while they had plenty of time, the fates and the builders had conspired against him, placing each and every station in the direct center of a sun-scorched clearing. Not a problem for most women. But for someone with skin as fair as hers it was a big problem. He didn't fancy sending her back to her husband all sunburned. or chancing a burn that might impact any of that evening's activities, whatever they might turn out to be. He explained it to her, and was surprised by a reaction that ran more toward disappointment than relief. Or was he misreading her in the hopes that it could be true? He got a definite answer when she placed both her hands behind her back, as if already handcuffed, then turned her back to him as if offering to be restrained. His mind raced ahead, trying to construct a scenario that would work for both of them. In the trees there'd be protection from the scorching sun. And the trunks, while rough, were thin enough to take a rope or chain. For that matter, just binding her wrists and ankles would probably be adventure enough for her. And if she got a little dirty on the forest floor, no matter. She'd be showering again soon, anyway. His decision not to use the table and other frames made sense, but was a bit of a letdown. Finally her chance to really try something kinky, and the weather conspires against her. She wasn't about to give up that easily, though, and when she blatantly offered herself to him she was pleased to see how quickly he'd contrived a solution. Sometimes being spontaneous is more about being creative than anything else. They dragged the backpacks of supplies into the trees and out of the infernal sun. Even the zippers and clasps were hot to the touch. She could barely imagine what it would be like to be tied to that hot table and baking in the blazing sunlight. Not pleasant, that was for sure. It was much cooler here in the trees, though the naked intent in her companion's eyes scorched her in a much different way. He explained that he could give her a taste of what it's really like, if she was so inclined. When she nodded, he led her to one of the thinner pines, but still about a foot around. They'd start with a little light bondage, nothing too tight, but just enough to add to her feeling of vulnerability. She didn't understand why he was telling her all this. Wouldn't knowing it take away from the experience? Besides, she'd been tied up before. A boyfriend had once tied her to the bedposts. And she'd worn those cheesy fake handcuffs for her husband one time, when he wanted something special for his birthday. Being helpless didn't bother her so much. When he put the blindfold on her, that changed. She was almost immediately disoriented. She couldn't really hear him moving about; she could only sense his presence. She jumped a bit whenever he touched her. It didn't matter that his touching was perfectly innocent, a gentle press upon her waist to move her one way or another. She couldn't see it coming, so his fingers upon her took on a much more malevolent meaning in her mind. He was doing that on purpose, she realized. Taking his hands from her and putting them back somewhere else. She remembered reading something about how to handle horses, who were pretty much blind everywhere but towards the head. You would always keep one hand on them, to reassure them that you weren't up to no good. And so you wouldn't get kicked by mistake. He could reassure her by keeping one hand on her as he moved her about. But he was trying to unsettle her. Even knowing that, she was still startled when he unfastened her chain bra and pulled it from her body, all the while whistling a tuneless tune. It was doubly disconcerting to be unexpectedly touched and to hear him whistling as though this were no more important that washing the car. She felt herself smiling, like she did when she was nervous, then quickly bit her lip. She didn't want him to think that she was making fun of him. A shiver went up and down her spine. She was already unnerved, and there was no telling what he would do to her if he thought she was being condescending. She'd already forgotten that she'd been a consenting accomplice. Now she felt as if he held all the cards. And all he'd done was blindfold her and take her top off. With gentle nudges, he pushed her back against the rough tree bark, then pulled her arms behind her and bound her wrists with rope. Now, if she wanted to get loose, the only way was to ask for it. That made her feel more helpless than ever. Which started the doubts flowing. How much, really, did she know about him? Was he the type to just play mind games with her? Or would he treat her more cruelly, then laugh it off later as just being part of the game? What if he left her tied here? What if someone else happened along? Would he have them keep quiet, taking extra amusement in knowing that she'd been exposed and humiliated in sight of a stranger? Would he leave her tied here? What if he went away for an hour and left her to her own imagination? Or left her to whoever might be wandering these woods? What would some horny hick do if he found a naked, blindfolded woman tied to a tree? It'd be hard for him to fuck her standing up, more difficult than if she was facing the other way, but it could still be done. He could grope her and lick her and penetrate her and there'd be nothing she could do about it. Nobody to hear her screams... An unexpected kiss on her lips stilled her fears. He wouldn't do that, wouldn't leave her. She did know enough about him to know that he wasn't that way, not in real life. He was having fun with her, sure, but she had wanted to try something different. And even if she didn't like it, she'd never have to do it again. Because he wouldn't ever expect to be in this situation with her again. Her heart was finally slowing after the way she'd worked herself up. The thing was, she already did like it. He placed something, a chain of some sort, in the palm of one of her hands. The end of the chain had a strange nub on it. Just from fingering it, she couldn't tell what it was or what it was for. Suddenly his hands were on her left breast, stroking it, coddling it, cupping it. She tried to press against him but was disappointingly restrained by the ropes behind her back. The instinctive response to his touch would have to be enough. He began to explain what he had in his hand as he rubbed the cold metal against her flesh. A nipple chain. In loving detail he told her how it worked, how he could set the tension of the spring-loaded clamps on each end, how those clamps would be attached to her nipples, how only slutty sex slaves were allowed to wear one. And how wearing it made her his property, until he decided to take it off. He said the last in a deep, raspy whisper, his mouth right next to her ear. It sounded evil and she couldn't help shivering. It felt like she was watching a particularly suspenseful horror movie. No, it felt like she was in it. Every psychotic killer movie came back to her. What did she really know about him? She was still contemplating that when he attached the clamps to her nipples, first the left, then the right. The sensation was just below the level of real pain. More like a stinging that never really went away. He tugged at the chain a couple times, pulling on her nipples in the process. That hurt enough to make her gasp and whimper a little, but she'd already decided not to give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. Though she was under no illusions. He could very easily make her do just that. His fingers searched between her legs and confirmed what she'd already expected. She was wet. Very wet. And turned on enough that she didn't want to settle for just his fingers inside her pussy. She wanted more. And she wanted it rough. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. There wasn't much to it, so far. Just a simple blindfold and her arms loosely tied around the trunk of the tree. He knew that the rough bark against her back and her butt was adding to the sensation, as was the cool ground against the soles of her feet. In her mind she was already helpless, blind and unable to move. But there was much more he could do to enhance that feeling. He already knew that he'd leave her ears uncovered. Her imagination would do more than anything physical he might try. Her mouth, though, that called for something. She probably still believed she could call for help if the need arose. People would call for help on a deserted island, even if there was no hope for help. Yelling just seemed to help. After rummaging through the backpacks he found exactly what he needed. Without a word of explanation, he fastened the straps around the back of her head. Then it was a simple task to place the ball gag in her mouth, using his finger to make sure her tongue was under the ball. He'd chosen one with a whiffle-type of ball, replete with holes, so she could still breath even if her nose was plugged up. But if she tried to talk or scream, only some muffled noises would come out. She struggled at first, the expression on her face one that could've been surprise or outrage. But she calmed a bit when he whispered his intentions to her, how he didn't want her to disturb the neighbors when she finally broke down and begged him for release. He was sure it was that last challenge that caught her attention. She was determined not to be broken by him. Bent, maybe. Pushed to the limit, perhaps. But never broken. She still stood proud and defiant, despite the gag, the blindfold and having her hands tied. He admired her lines once again, this time in the bright of the day. Her hair brushed down just across her shoulders, enhancing the apparent fragility of her neck. He wondered if she liked to be pretend choked as so many women did. But he wouldn't try it, because those who didn't like it really didn't like it. The tendons in her bare shoulders were prominent, with her arms pulled so tightly behind her back. That same posture caused her tits to stand out even more seductively, the clamps on her nipples keeping them tantalizingly erect. Her slim stomach and curve of her waist reminded him of a teenager's body, fresh and untainted. She had a birthmark just below her breast, and seeing it caused him to smile. He'd given it extra attention the night before, kissing it over and over as if to thank the gods for her birth. They'd come so far since then. The flat of her stomach sloped down to her neatly trimmed pussy patch, and then down to the hooded top of her slit, where her clit undoubtedly already lay pulsing, ready to be called on for greater and greater pleasure. Her legs were thin though her thighs were strong, as he'd learned over and over during the last 24 hours. Had it actually been that long? There was so much more he had to learn about her. And so much more he wanted to do with her. And to her. As he appraised her ankles, thin and a bit knobby, he got an idea. It would bleed some of that defiance away and it still fit in with the rest of his plans. He'd been using the pole as a walking stick. The cuffs were in the backpack. It was simple enough to snap the cuffs to the pole. Again without telling her, he bent and attached one ankle to the end of the spreader bar and the other ankle to the other end. Now she had to work hard to balance herself, her legs held spread open by the metal pole, ankles cuffed in place. Only after he had her properly positioned did he tell her what he'd done. How she was now truly helpless. How her cunt was open to him no matter what she wanted. How she could neither run for help or call for help. How only her complete and total submission would get her out of this predicament. And if she understood and would comply, how she needed to nod her head twice. She did. As if to punctuate his dominant position, and just because he wanted to, he squatted before her and pulled her pussy lips wide, opening her cunt to his up close inspection. She was soaked in juice, droplets rolling out, finally released from their cave. She smelled delicious, tangy and humid, and he leaned forward to explore her cunt with his tongue. She writhed against him in response, alternately pressing back against the tree and pressing herself forward against his face, as if repulsed and fired by the attention. He pressed his tongue into her cunt hole deep inside her pussy and she moaned through the ball gag. He knew his tongue wasn't long enough to penetrate too far, but from her reactions, as far as he'd gotten was just far enough. He pulled back the skin around her clit, examining it in an almost clinical way. It was amazing that so small a bump, no more than a nub, could provide her with so much pleasure. He'd read once that all the nerves in a man's penis were packed into that tiny area in a woman. He knew how exquisite the sensations could be for him. Then how exquisitely torturous could it be for her, should he miss-use her nerve packed clit? He let the rough edge of his finger trail along the side of it, not quite touching it, but close enough to fire off some of those highly sensitive neurons. She bucked against him, screaming into the gag, her cunt flexing compulsively, her limbs writhing against their bonds. A man could deliver a lot of pleasure, and a lot of discomfort, with one finger placed in just the right spot. Especially if his victim was essentially helpless, unable to even squeeze her thighs together to block his attempts. A man could do a lot with a woman in this position. To be continued... One Weekend Stand Ch. 06 She sagged against the tree, the exertion leaving her exhausted. Was he crazy, doing that? Did he know how much that could hurt her? Or excite her? It was bad enough when some guy got it into his head to lick her pussy and flick her clit with his tongue. At least his tongue would be somewhat soft. But a rough finger, drawn directly across her exposed clit? What was that? She'd lost all control of her body, the sensation had been so intense. She had a description for it: torturous pleasure. She sometimes did it to herself, on those days when her husband was camping with the boys, and she was sure she wouldn't be disturbed. She would lay in bed, daydreaming, maybe with one of her favorite movies on. Lay there in nothing but a plush robe, enjoying the feel of the soft cloth against her skin. And she would play with herself, eyes closed, running one of her favorite fantasies, while her fingers danced upon the skin between her legs. Masturbating, but not for the purpose that most women did it. Trying not to bring herself off, but trying to bring herself to the edge. The knife's edge. Where one errant touch would send her over the precipice into a thundering orgasm. She would take herself there, where her hips lifted from the bed of their own accord, where every iota of her body was screaming for release. She would take herself as close to flipping the switch as she could. And then let her body relax a bit, transferring her caresses to her breasts or scalp or hips. Only after feeling her toes uncurl would she begin the process again, playing her pussy with the skill of a concert pianist. Bringing herself up and then down, up and down, for hours on end, the pleasure as exquisite as it was torturous. An outside observer would be both puzzled and fascinated by her actions. The robe flung open. Her nude body exposed in the candlelight. Her pussy glinting in the flickering light, streaked with oil and her own natural juices. Her limbs pressed hard against the mattress, as if tied down by invisible straps. The fingers of her right hand the only things moving, mesmerizing as they stroke and pluck and probe at her quivering femininity. To the edge and back. Again and again. Until she'd proved her willpower. Or an unexpected image appeared in her fantasy. A thick stiff cock. Eyes that promised an evil pleasure. A kiss filled with more desire than one body could hold. It only took that one thought, that perfect image, to push her to push herself over the edge. And then she would rub herself with an urgency that would surely shock her husband, if he'd ever been privileged enough to witness it. She would drop all bonds of control and respond to any urge her brain might send her way. She would rub, pluck, penetrate, pinch, twist and scrape her sacred clit as roughly as she could, driving herself over the cliff and into the arms of a screaming orgasm. And she would keep it up, far after the ecstasy faded, just to wrench the last dregs of pleasure from her body, before wrapping herself in the blankets and dropping off to sleep. Torturous pleasure. Somehow he'd brought her to that exquisite place without even trying. Or maybe she'd brought herself to that spot thanks to the disorientation of being blindfolded and the helpless position she'd allowed him to put her in. And now, without any of the props or the fantasies or the privacy, she was very, very close to relieving the torture and drowning in the pleasure. Did he know how close she was? He couldn't read it in her eyes. She couldn't tell him with her mouth. She wanted so much to grab the back of his head and cram his mouth against her cunt. But these stupid bonds held her back from even that outlandish plea for release. She was frustrated. She was ready. She wanted more. Suddenly she was aware that he was no longer crouched between her legs. Nowhere near her, in fact. She couldn't feel his warmth or presence anywhere around. She strained to hear him, but could detect nothing. A moment of panic flared through her but she suppressed it just as quickly. He was playing games with her, that was all. He wanted her to feel isolated, to feel vulnerable. The problem was, it was working. She could tell her mind it was all a trick, but her mind wouldn't stop imagining what might be happening around her. Was he taking pictures of her, to use for his own perverse needs after their weekend was over? Was he preparing another torture for her? Had someone crept up on them, and was that someone now preparing to rape her? Were there more than one of them? Would she be passed along for their sick pleasures, like a bound animal? Suddenly she felt fingers manipulating the blindfold's straps. Daylight, harsh and bright, assaulted her eyes, forcing her to blink rapidly to clear the fogginess. She was relieved to see that none of her fears had come true. There was no evidence that he'd been taking pictures of her. No groups of strangers. Not even a crazy old man who liked to look at skinny bound women. Kind of disappointing. Just him and his infuriating wry smile. "Ready to beg for release?" he asked, the challenge in his voice. She glared at him, as if her stare would burn a hole through to the back of his head. He chuckled, then spanked her hip with the flat of his hand. Even though she could now see him, she felt no less vulnerable when he rolled her nipples between his fingers and reached between her legs to thumb her slit. "Bet you're getting uncomfortable, though," he commented, running his hands along her cramped arms. Yes, damn it, I'm uncomfortable, she wanted to scream, though she knew only gibberish would come through the ball gag. Besides, she thought she might be starting to drool around the gag and trying to talk would only make that worse. "There are a few other things we can try," he whispered into her ear. "Unless you've had enough. Have you had enough?" She considered the question for a moment. Her arms ached. That was a negative. But her body was tingling in a way she'd never felt before. The mixture of stimuli had awakened a feeling she'd never experienced. And her curiosity hadn't been satisfied. No, more accurately, her curiosity was now more inflamed than at any time or any event where sex was involved. She wanted to know more. So she shook her head in the negative. That seemed to surprise him, though his reaction flickered across his face so fast she couldn't be sure. "So you're interested in trying some more?" he asked leadingly, his face just inches from hers, his breath soft upon her skin. She nodded hesitantly. Just what did 'more' entail? As if to answer her silent question, he unknotted the rope around her wrists and took the gag from her mouth. When she tried to lick some of the dryness from her lips, he solicitously gave her a bottle of water and urged her to drink up. The cool liquid felt like heaven in her mouth, and after chugging most of the bottle she sprinkled the rest on her sweat-soaked skin, though it didn't do nearly as much as a good, cold shower would. As she watched him rummage through the backpacks she was suddenly aware of her nakedness. She felt a bit like an actress in a play who couldn't remember the plot or her lines. Just waiting for the director to give her something to do. A nude actress. On public display. When he turned to face her, he had a jumble of equipment in his hands. He explained that, although she was willing to try more new stuff, it would be better for them both if he just did some demonstrations. Part of her was disappointed by that. And part of her was greatly relieved. In truth, she was having some serious second thoughts about where this was leading. She wasn't sure she liked being a sexual object, one used only for another's pleasure. Maybe every so often, just to spice things up. But only in a way that she could smile about. Play-acting and the like. Not where she was seriously submissive, reacting only when acted upon. That was just a little too hardcore for her. And she would worry about a man who could treat a woman like that. She wanted her men to be playful. Not overbearing. He'd left the nipple clamps on her, and with a wicked smile he tugged her back to the table in the clearing, the waves of heat visibly curling off it. The uses for the table were pretty evident, he explained, not much different from the bed in the cabin. The woman lays face up or face down, spread-eagle, her wrists and ankles bound to the various pegs along the side. Thus captured, the sex slave could be pried, prodded and otherwise penetrated. There was, he said, nothing very elegant about a table. It was more practical than anything. At the giant X he slipped soft cords around her wrists and lightly bound her to the pegs at the top. She spread her legs to match the bottom of the X, though he didn't tie her in place. This prepared the way for a much more interesting scenario. "Imagine you're strapped in place, helpless to move. Imagine a cord around your waist and the waist of the X, keeping your hips hard against the wood. Now imagine a small metal stand, much like a photographer's tripod. The stand is placed between your legs." He looked up at her, miming the placement of the stand. She grinned nervously. What was this leading to? "Now," he continued, "imagine that a vibrator is strapped to the top of the stand. It's a small, thin thing, just a few inches long, with no speed settings. And once it's on the stand, your master – or mistress – turns it on and slowly cranks the handle on the stand, causing the vibrator to rise closer and closer to your slit. You can't move to avoid it. You can't see where it is. All you can do is listen to its buzzing and strain to feel it against your skin. Finally, you can feel the cool smoothness slide against your pussy lips. The tip settles on your softest skin, just covering your clit. You can feel the vibrations buzzing through to your core. Can you feel it?" She could. He was holding a gold vibrator right there, just at the top of her slit, holding it still like it was attached to a stand between her legs. Her smile broadened as she closed her eyes, the warmth spreading out from her pussy like a warm bath on a cold winter night. He reminded her that she couldn't move and she wondered why she would want to. She was in bliss. "So, the vibrator is here and you're there and you can't move even if you wanted to," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing, as if he were telling her a love story. "And your body gets hotter and hotter, and your breathing gets shorter and shorter, and you're almost there, almost there, with your master watching your every gasp, but you don't care because it feels so wonderful. And then you're over the edge, your orgasm like a thunderclap slamming through you, curling your toes and taking your breath away. You strain against your bonds but you can barely move. You cry out but there's no one but your master and the birds and the sky to hear you. And as the juices drip from your pussy and the spasms subside to quivers, you realize one, horrible truth. The vibrator is still going. And your master shows no sign of turning it off." She didn't need to look down to see that he was still crouching there, an evil smile on his face, his hand still holding the buzzing vibrator against her pulsing slit. He continued as matter-of-factly as before. "The first one, you know, is the easy one. It builds up pretty smoothly and breaks like a wave on the sand. But then things get pretty uncomfortable. I'm sure you've known some men who didn't know when to stop. That little nub can get very sensitive right after. So a little extra stimulation can almost seem painful. And there'd be nothing you could do to get away from it. Then, it would just continue, no movement or change. Monotonous even. But your body tries to respond. And slowly it does. Much more slowly. You'll be straining for it. Urging your body it give you more, to get it over with already. But it would take a while. A long, torturous while. Long enough for you to beg your master for release. Long enough for you to beg to do things you swore you'd never do. Just to get him to move it a little bit. Move it up. Or down. Or inside you. Or, anywhere. "Some men might just watch, content to see you tortured by pleasure. Some might add some extra stimulation, fingering your nipples or biting your earlobes. Some might film you, recording your pleas for blessed relief. And some might give you something else to focus on, a little pain with your pleasure, like a tug on your nipple chain or a spank on your thighs. But it wouldn't matter what they did, because the whole of you would be focused on that tiny spot between your legs. And the ember that was once again beginning to build there." He stood up in front of her, close enough that her nipples rubbed against his chest. He kept the tip of the vibrator pressed hard against the top of her slit. Even that slight movement made her gasp in delight. "Men, if expertly manipulated, can cum six times in one day. If expertly manipulated. The only limit to the number of times a woman can orgasm is the number of hours in a day. Worse, her body is programmed not to go numb in that very area. So, imagine if you were strapped in a position like this, unable to move an inch, with a vibrator pressed against your pussy, the buzzing sending waves of pleasure throughout your body, but you're completely unable to help push yourself over the edge. And your tormentor can keep you here for hours on end, watching as you strain for and against the ultimate pleasure. I wonder, then, what kind of deal you would cut for your final release?" She could tell he was going to pull the vibrator away before his hand even moved, and her ragged "Please," left her lips before the word had even formed in her brain. She didn't even have to open her eyes to see his smile, but simply pursed her lips when she felt the metal tip press harder against her other, lower lips. When his mouth captured hers she sucked at his lips greedily, frustrated by her inability to wrap her arms around him. Though her legs were unbound she was careful to keep them spread wide to maintain the illusion that he was master to her and all she contained. The orgasm hit her like a volcanic eruption, the heat pounding through her in waves. She lifted herself up against the X, up on her toes, unrestrained by any ropes around her waist, helped by the sweat now covering her nude body. Her cries of passion echoed through the hills and the sky spun wildly as he head lolled back and forth. This was, she realized, the first orgasm she'd ever had while standing up. Or in the daytime. Or in the woods. Or tied up in a bondage position. At some point during her ecstasy he had penetrated her pussy with his thumb, and now he was using the fingers of that hand to hold the vibrator against her clit. And just as he'd described, it was starting to feel a bit painful. Well, she wasn't tied like the woman in his story, and she could do something about it. When she brought her knee up into his groin, she missed his balls by just an inch. But unlike him, she knew that she'd missed on purpose.   Saturday Evening Back at the cabin, she headed right for the shower. Naturally. And he headed right for the window to watch her. Naturally. He knew he could join her. It was turning into that kind of weekend. The Anything Goes kind of weekend where you could follow your head or your heart or your lust without worrying too much about what the other person would think. Because they were doing the same, and hoping for the same amount of latitude from you. It was the way a relationship should work. But, if he was absolutely honest about it, even his ultra-communicative marriage had limits to it. He could pursue his carnal urges, but only in very select circumstances. If she was feeling loose, or had been alcoholically lubricated to the point that she was feeling loose. And, of course, there were some things that he just couldn't discuss with her, not under any circumstances. Like spending a weekend in a cabin with another woman. No amount of communication would allow that statement to be made. He turned away from the window and headed for the soft comfort of the bed. Despite everything that they'd done, they really hadn't spent much time in this bed. Which was a shame, as it was probably the softest and most comfortable bed he'd ever been in. He wondered if his host replaced the mattress very often. Or maybe they didn't need to. Maybe they spent all their time out in the woods, playing kinky games. That had been a very intense scene. She'd responded like an actress in a movie. Far more accepting than he'd thought she would be. Oh, sure, not as accepting as in his fantasies. But he was realistic enough to be able to tell fantasy from reality, especially when it came to a woman's reactions. He was tired. He could tell by the way his thoughts flitted around. There's was lots to think about, but he couldn't get himself to concentrate on any of it. What were his plans for the rest of the weekend? Whatever he'd had in mind, it was all moot now. They'd already done everything. Sure, they could do it again. And again if he was up to it. And that wouldn't be all bad. But it felt like there was another path to take. If only he could figure out what it was. Or, maybe, he should take some of his own advice and not try and plan ahead. He knew she probably had some sort of idea where the rest of the evening might go. At least the sketch of an idea. After all, someone who's already planning her life when she's going to be a widow is probably already planning the night's dinner and dessert activities. He dropped that train of thought when the door opened. She was wearing nothing but a towel draped around her waist, her upper body enticingly bare and flushed from the cold water of the shower. She'd left her hair wet and had pushed it behind her ears, a few stray strands wispily framing her face. He watched, without trying to watch, as she pulled on a fresh pair of panties, looking up only as she climbed into bed beside him. He was surprised when she snuggled in against him, as he didn't think she liked to do that kind of thing. When she tucked her face against his bare chest, he closed the cocoon by resting his hand on the side of her hip, the material of her panties silky beneath his fingertips. They lay like that for a time that seemed like no time and forever and anytime all mixed up into one indeterminate length of time. He: feeling her body move ever so slightly with every breath. She: listening to the slow, steady metronome of his heartbeat. The parts of her that she'd complained were too prominent were to him a necessary part of the whole. Where she desired less visible ribs, he enjoyed the innocence they implied. Where she was humble about her butt, he found it compelling and beautiful. The same, he supposed, might be true of those features that he disliked about himself. He found himself wanting to tell her that, but stopped when he realized that she'd fallen asleep in his arms. When he awoke he found himself clutching a down pillow. Soft, but not nearly as satisfying. He'd dozed, in that way that makes you think that no time at all has passed, but a check of the clock quickly contradicts the lie. She was busily at work in the kitchen, and he remembered her promise to cook him dinner, despite all his protestations to the contrary. Though she was dressed in no more than panties and a halter top, and he could lie there and watch her bend and stoop and crouch and touch and taste all evening, he felt a sudden wave of guilt at her industriousness and his laziness. He crept up behind her, intending to pull her away from her cooking for a short or perhaps long kiss, when she rounded on him waving her spatula in a decidedly threatening manner. He was able to escape with only a short kiss, which did nothing to assuage his hunger for her. But there was that spatula to consider. One Weekend Stand Ch. 06 He headed outside, leaving her to her kitchen expedition. He spent the next few minutes lugging logs down to the fire pit, arranging everything so that a single match would give them a roaring fire. Despite his best efforts, he found himself sooty and covered with smears of ash. There was no way she was going to let him back in the cabin like that. He was already soaking wet and shivering in the shower when he realized that: A) He didn't have any soap. B) He didn't have a towel. And C) She was probably in the cabin watching him and laughing her ass off. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now. So he scrubbed himself the best he could, the tepid water growing colder by the minute, the soot seeming to simply transfer itself from one patch of skin to another. Finally he was at least clean enough to attempt to get in the cabin. Maybe he could use one of the towels to wipe the rest of the dirt from him. He shook his hair like a mangy dog just outside the door, before wiping as much moisture off his limbs as he could. He could already hear her giggling before he stepped through the door, and it took a moment for him to realize why her laugh had such an evil edge to it. He looked down. Yes, the cold water had done it's embarrassing work on his lower appendage. Why did cold make women's parts engorge and men's parts shrink? It was a question that the universe had yet to answer. And he didn't feel a solution would be coming down from the mountain in the next few seconds, either. "Ooooh, you poor baby," she exclaimed in an exaggerated mother's voice. "Is oogums all cold?" There was nothing to do but let her have her laugh. When she pulled the towel out from behind her back, he reached for it. But he was forced to wait as she folded it in half, then half again and again, until it was folded into a thick pad. He reached for it again, but instead she carefully placed it on the ground at his feet and then quickly knelt on it. He only realized what she was up to when his shriveled cock and balls were deep inside her mouth, and her tongue was lashing his most sensitive bits. The warmth of her mouth was as shocking as the cold had been, like coming inside on a below-zero day and wrapping your hands around a steaming cup of hot chocolate. He could feel the heat radiating along his stem and into his core, her mouth enveloping him in liquid fire. She was good at this, whether by nature or practice he didn't know and didn't care. She brought her fingers into play as the blood pumped into his shaft, making it too large to all fit inside her mouth. Her digits manipulated his sack and balls, her fingernails a tempestuous counterpoint to the silky softness of her tongue and mouth. Soon she was sucking on him with less tenderness and more exuberance. The helmet of his cock was afire as she flicked her tongue back and forth across it. His cock was hard as a rock, the veins prominent across the granite. When she finally pulled away to admire her work, he was hard, wet and bobbing. And when she told him he ought to dry off and get dressed for dinner, she had to turn around to hide her smile. She quickly headed to the kitchen area, knowing that if she'd waited one or two seconds more, he would've pulled her to the floor and fucked her right there. And she would've been powerless to stop him. No, that wasn't right. She wouldn't have even tried. She would've spread her legs and fucked him right back. But this had been much more fun. Hadn't it? They ate dinner picnic style on the floor of the cabin, sitting on a blanket she'd found in the big trunk. A shrimp and vegetable stir fry. Salad, with homemade ranch dressing. Fresh (well, from yesterday) French bread. A special bottle of wine she'd bought just for this occasion. Real crystal wine glasses that she'd lugged all the way up here. And a slice of cheesecake to share for dessert, which they fed to each other like young lovers in some sappy teenage movie. They stretched out on the blanket and talked, not about marital problems but about hopes and dreams and pets and childhoods. He touched her lightly as they talked and she responded in kind, as if they'd been married for years. No, not even that. As if they were still in the dating stage, as if each person can't believe that simply talking to someone could be this wonderful. And each needed to touch the other to assure themselves it was real. She knew she was being foolish with such thoughts. This was no fantasy love affair. Nothing with a long term future. Or even any future. They'd need to go back, tomorrow, precisely at 2:00, to rejoin the lives they'd left behind. She to her needy, whiny but good-father husband. He to his wife, with all her blemishes. Neither could afford or even really wanted to put that in jeopardy. Yet... Yet here they were, together in a one-weekend stand that was as fulfilling as it was unbelievable. If it was a movie, most guys would've run screaming from the theater. Unless they kept in the sex scenes. Then it might be a blockbuster. And most women would've gotten misty eyed. Until they saw the sex scenes. Then they would've had to tell their dates and lovers No Way. Though some would undoubtedly give in later in the evening. Soon the bottle was almost empty and she was drowsy and just a little drunk. She liked to tell him that wine didn't affect her, but that was bullshit. She was always pleasantly buzzed when she returned to the office after their lunches, and a few trips to the ladies room were always in order. Sometimes she actually had to go. He started to clear away the dishes but she interrupted, pulling him close. She kissed him, languidly at first, then with increasing ferocity. His hands slid inside her panties to caress her butt, and she tried to imprint the feeling on her brain, just one of many memories she expected to call upon after they left. Just as she was sure that he would be fantasizing about this weekend for a long time, too. Maybe he'd even write a story about it? They kissed ferociously, rolling about on the floor, unmindful of the plates and cutlery around them. She liked it best when he was atop her, his body covering hers, pressing down on her, incarcerating her. They ground their waists together, dry humping, his lips almost never leaving hers. That was how she liked it, not all that nibbling on her neck or earlobes or chin that a certain someone always thought was sexy. She just liked kissing, hot, hard and passionate, exploring his mouth with her tongue and sucking his own tongue deep into her mouth. It could be painful, but never for long. She could always kiss it to make it better. She was nicely buzzed now, but knew she could go a lot farther before becoming incapacitated. Her top was getting in the way so she stripped it off, then pulled his t-shirt off him, wishing she could rip it from his body. That was a lot harder to do in real life than in the movies, she'd discovered to her dismay one drunken night. Her attention turned to his shorts, and she kept his cock occupied with her mouth while she pushed the soft fabric down to his ankles and then off his feet. He tasted a little spunky and she knew it was probably from pre-cum elicited during their make out session. She knew the taste but didn't like it, unlike most women, according to her husband. Still, she'd come a long way in this area over the past few years. It had taken quite a bit of convincing and bribery to get her to even suck cock. And even more bribery to get her to let anyone cum in her mouth. She still wouldn't swallow it. That just felt wrong. And no amount of wine was going to change that. But she understood why he tasted that way and took a fair amount of pride in knowing that she'd been the source of it. Unlike earlier, now she wanted to get as much as she gave. With her free hand, she fumbled at her panties, grateful that he understood her actions and gave her a helping hand. She positioned herself so she could lick his cock and balls while he thumbed and fingered her pussy with one hand, and rolled her nipples between his fingers with the other hand. The twin manipulations made her gasp with desire and she swung herself atop his body, lowering herself upon his erection until he could travel no farther into her wet pussy. She felt like she was of two bodies. One looking on as she writhed decadently upon his thick rod, a sweat-soaked slut that can never be satisfied. And the other feeling his cock stretching her hole, deep inside her, possessing her, robbing her of all strength to resist and any semblance of decorum. She looked down as she lifted her cunt up along the length of his shaft, mesmerized by the sight of it disappearing into her depths. She rode him, bouncing up and down on him, while he supported her at the waist with strong, sure hands. Her husband liked her this way too, except he always wanted her to stay still while he fucked her from below. This way, though, she was in complete control, not just a fuck hole, but an active participant, stroking him in a way few could duplicate. She wondered briefly how she looked to him, his cock stretching her pussy as it rode up and down. But his eyes were rarely open. And when they were, they stared at her like a carnivore stalking that night's dinner. Ready to devour her at any moment. She leaned forward, his cock still deeply embedded in her hot, wet cunt, and pressed her thin pussy patch against his thick pubes. Her nipples grazed his chest and she sensuously swayed back and forth, her breasts stimulating his nipples, hardening them with exotic promise. They kissed, their tongues probing in time with her humping motion, and she wondered briefly if this might be what it felt like to be fucked by two men at once. Another fantasy she'd never shared with anyone. But such a fucking turn on! He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, and though it made it harder for her to hump him, she was glad for the contact. She wondered how close he was to cumming. She didn't know any of his warning signs. She didn't care if he came deep inside her. Didn't care if he coated her cunt with his thick, creamy eruption. She just wasn't ready for this to end. She wanted more. Far more. Wanted him to fuck her brutally, with the kind of mindless, dirty, filthy lust you only saw in the movies. But real. Not faked. As if he read her mind, again, he carefully rolled her over, his weight momentarily crushing her. She had never really liked that, but this time it felt unaccountably exciting. Then he regained his balance and lifted himself until the only point connecting them was the stiff rod pinning her to the ground. He levered himself up, lifting his rod completely out of her, and leaving her disconcertingly empty, and then plunged himself violently back inside her. He did that again and again, as if pillaging her anew every time. And she spread her legs farther open each time, welcoming him to fuck her as much as he wanted. They continued that way for stroke after stroke, the only change an occasional respite where he would reach down and rub his cock up and down her glistening slit, as if to remind her that there was more to this than simply sliding in and out. Soon, though, it became apparent that she'd have to put a stop to this. The big meal, combined with the wine, had filled her up in more ways than one. And his body was placing a lot of pressure on her bladder. In short, she needed to pee. But would he interpret her needing to stop as some sort of rejection? It was hard to tell with men. Their egos really did need a lot of coddling. And most were horrendously poor at interpreting anything. And then they'd find meaning in something that had no meaning. None of that speculation changed her current predicament, she reminded herself. She still needed to pee. So, gently, slowly, tenderly, she withdrew her body from his. At his questioning look, she told him her destination. To which he answered that he did too. What, she wondered, did he really mean by that? He really did need to go, but he let her have first occupancy of the water closet. Women just didn't have as many options. Or, in his experience, the ability to hold it for very long. Besides, he'd been looking for a reason to break it off for a while. Not because it wasn't enjoyable. Far from it. But he needed to pace himself, because he was pretty sure he was only good for one more shot. That was something that women always seemed to forget. Men had a limited number. Women could keep going virtually forever. And because he was, well, greedy was the only word for it, he wanted to keep going as long as humanly possible. Because it just felt so damn good. Besides, he thought it would be good for both of them to deny themselves for a while. It might be a long and intense night. Their last night together for... forever, probably. And she'd want to open the fourth locker in spite of her trepidation. He was sure of that. She might even do it just to stand up to her fears. He knew what was inside, of course. His associate had made a big deal out of it. And it was true, it wasn't something you saw every day. And she'd probably really enjoy it. He wouldn't even be too bothered if it left her exhausted, which would probably be the case. After all, he'd wanted to give her a weekend to remember, and that would be memorable for sure. After she returned and he finished with his business, they headed out to the fire pit. He saw her cast a few furtive glances at the shed door and guessed that she was already wondering what was in the final locker. And why were they wasting their time on a dumb fire when they could be exploring that locker. And why was this fire so important, anyway. He had always liked fires. From the day he was old enough to stand near one without crib bars between him and the flames. Some of his favorite memories came from times spent in front of a roaring fire. Singing songs with his family, aunts, uncles and grandparents while on vacation. His first stolen kiss at a campfire on the lake. Cozying up with a shivering girl in front of an open fireplace. A fire was mesmerizing and comforting. And, even though it had nothing to do with their time spent together, he was damned if he was going to skip such a perfect opportunity to have a blazing campfire. The evening air had cooled somewhat, the sun having disappeared below the horizon, leaving the sky with a rosy tinge that was quickly turning purple and black. He'd set the wood up in teepee fashion and it took just a single match to set it ablaze. They were both dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and the heat from the fire was enough to keep them both from shivering in the night air. Soon the sky was black and stars were beginning to peek out, barely visible through the canopy of needles. There might've been more stars to see, but the fire was so bright it completely ruined their night vision. They sat in the lawn chairs, side by side, close enough to touch but not touching. He let his mind wander as he gazed into the fire, the flames like ribbons, an undulating kaleidoscope of color. He could sit like that for hours until forced into movement by the need to tend the fire. She seemed restless, tapping her fingers, fidgeting, changing positions every five minutes. He wondered if she was always like this. Some people, he knew, were constitutionally incapable of sitting still and relaxing. They always needed to be in motion. Like toys without an off button. That thought made him wonder what she was like at home. He shook his head with a smile. He was falling into one of his favorite games. Maybe it was a self esteem thing. Or an advanced case of voyeurism. Or a weird need to always be in the know. But he always wanted to know more about other people than they were likely to share about themselves. The personal details about their lives. The intimate workings of their marriages. The kinds of minutiae that most people took for granted. Part of it, if he was being completely honest, came from wanting to know how his life measured up. Was he doing things the right way? The way most other men did them? What level of taking charge was acceptable? Expected? Desired? How did other couples conduct their lives in bed? Outside of the bedroom he figured he was all right. Respectful of her opinions. Working together to build a marriage and life. There was lots of information to be had on that subject, lots of studies to be studied. Information about how people conducted themselves in the bedroom was a lot less prevalent. He paused in his reflection, watching her fidget in the chair next to him. How long would it take until she suggested some other activity? He resolved then and there to make her wait to open the last locker. His form of tease and deny. Sometimes he wished that his wife was more like what she purported to be. Give her a gift and get such and such act in return. Gifts for grab ass. Perfume for pussy. Jewelry for jizz. He wasn't sure what the going rate was, but it was probably more expensive than he guessed. In fact, just recently she'd shown him a new necklace and implied that she'd be providing her husband with something in return. His guess was a blowjob and facial, possibly with a few pictures thrown in. But, maddeningly, she neither confirmed nor denied it. In the end, he really just wanted to know what he could get away with in the bedroom. It would suck to end up getting old and unable to perform only to find out that his wife would've role-played some of his fantasies if he'd only asked. But he was much too polite to ask. And so it continued. A perpetual circle of self-doubt. Which was another reason why this weekend was so liberating. There'd be no consequences to asking, as they'd never be in this position again. So he could ask or push or lead in any direction he wanted to take her. And she could say no or yes or maybe or we'll see without his having to worry what she really meant by that. It was a good thing she couldn't read his mind. She'd think that he was a real wimp. She could take it no longer. Was it possible that he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open, gazing into that stupid fire? Had his contacts melted to his eyeballs? Was he now comatose and in need of serious medical help? His inactivity was driving her insane! There was still so much to see and do, and here they were wasting time in front of this fire. Sure, it was a nice fire. Big. Roaring. Hot. Everything a campfire is supposed to be. Perfect, down to the glowing embers floating lazily into the night sky. A real work of art, this fire. What was it with men and fires? She considered her options. She could go bold, unexpected and decidedly slutty. She could crawl out of her chair, kneel between his legs, pull out his cock and suck him out of his reverie. She was sure her oral skills were more than up to the task of waking him up to the night's remaining possibilities. Or she could go subtle. Ease around his chair, run her fingers through his hair, give him a shoulder rub. Maybe give him a few light kisses to remind him of what's available. Or she could go ultra subtle. Saunter into the darkness of the forest. The mysterious goddess, briefly glimpsed among the trees. See if she could seduce him away from the light and into her own magical darkness. She was moving even as she thought it, rising and heading up the nearest hill without a single glance in his direction. She listened carefully. Would he follow? Away from the fire's crackling the silence of the forest spread around her. She couldn't hear him. But she refused to look back. He would either follow her or not. If not, she'd simply return in a few minutes, wait a bit, then try a more direct plan. She'd win this game, one way or another. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt hands upon her shoulders, and despite her determination she turned to make sure it really was him. His lips captured hers even before she could swing around, his tongue sliding inside her mouth as if it knew it belonged there. Maybe it did. The thought flitted through her consciousness only to be replaced by a wave of desire as he insistently pushed his hands up inside her t-shirt, roughly manhandling her breasts while brusquely thumbing her nipples. One Weekend Stand Ch. 06 She broke off the kiss only long enough to pull her tee up over her head, giving her bare breasts to the night sky and the forest and the world and to him. She pushed his mouth down onto her tit flesh and squirmed against him as he devoured her, his hunger revving up her own. When he hooked his fingers in her shorts, she pushed him back and stripped herself for him, her whole body nude and open for his meticulous inspection. She resolved right then and there not to wear a stitch of clothing for the rest of the night, then tossed her clothes deep into the darkness as if to confirm her silent promise. In response he pulled her against him, his clothing rough against her shivering skin. Was it the cold of the night? Or something on the opposite end of the spectrum? Unwilling to wait for him to take action, she pulled his shirt off his back and his shorts down his legs, throwing them into the forest as well. And since she was already down there, she fondled his balls and sucked on his cock, bringing him to an erection in less than a minute. Enflamed by his response, she kissed her way up his body, pausing only to suck on his nipples, eliciting a totally unexpected series of moans. She could only wonder about that for a moment before they were again locked mouth to mouth, his arms strong around her, his hands tightly grasping her ass. An ass, she knew, that she'd be no doubt offering him again later that night. They stumbled through the dark back to the fire, naked in nature. She allowed him to step into the light first, then slowly followed, inexplicably shy. The sight of him, buck naked and posing before the flames, brought a smile to her lips. Then, a giggle. She tried to hold it in, but the giggle only turned to a snort. When he turned to her, the question in his eyes, the urge to giggle turned to a laugh, which came out as a splutter. The question in his eyes suddenly became amazement, and she tried to explain, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he suddenly burst out laughing! Soon they were both laughing wildly, each stammering as they tried to explain, and each half-understood explanation creating fresh peals of laughter. Had she really thrown their clothes into the woods? And had he really strutted into the campfire like that? He suggested that they head inside, else she get a mosquito bite in a place that would be hard to explain to her husband. She responded that it was too late, that he already had a mosquito bite growing between his legs. He responded that she already had two bites on her chest, though from the size they must've been baby mosquitos. They traded barbs while he knocked down the fire, the darkness suddenly seeming to swallow them. They gazed up at the stars for one brief, romantic moment. Then the whack of his hand on her butt showed that he hadn't forgotten or forgiven all those insults. She won the race to the cabin, avoiding all but two of his attempts to spank her. Even so, her butt still stung from the attention. And he now had her trapped inside. To be continued... Note: Comments are welcome and desired. Please tell me what you think! One Weekend Stand Ch. 07 Saturday Night He took the final key from the lid of the trunk and dangled it teasingly in front of her face. The key to the lock of the last secret. He knew what was in the locker. The cabin's owner had been quite proud of this possession. The owner hadn't needed to explain its use to him. He already had known some of the history behind it. Certainly, it was something that she'd never tried. Something she would surely enjoy. Yet... Yet, it wasn't what he wanted to do right this second. Right now, his perfect event would entail the two of them falling into bed together, limbs entwined, bodies slipping against each other, his manhood exploring the very comfortable environs of her womanhood. He wanted them to laze together, to slowly and deliberately mount the steppes toward a very enticing peak, tease and deny, tease and deny, both pushing the other to display their most cunning enticements and their most iron-clad willpower. Until at last one of them fell or leapt from the precipice, pulling the other down into a maelstrom of sexual pleasure. That very compelling scenario wasn't going to take place anytime soon, of course. She was on the hunt, very close to revealing the final secret of the cabin. He doubted that anything would lead her from that path. And, truth be told, even if he were able to set her in another direction, she would no doubt spend some of that time wondering about the contents of the final locker. And allowing herself to be distracted from the pleasures at hand. She'd told him of her resolve to remain nude for the rest of the evening. And though he hadn't explicitly agreed to do the same, he now found himself back out in the darkness without a stitch of clothing. And feeling, somewhat incongruously, a bit self-conscious about it. That was the human condition for you: sometimes proud, sometimes vain, never predictable. He gave her the honor of unlocking the final locker. Inside was a large cardboard box, about two feet on each side. He smiled when he saw her look of consternation. She'd have to wait just a little bit more to see their latest surprise. He twisted the box out of the locker and indicated that she should bring the small toolbox that had been revealed. Then, with exaggerated care, they made their way back to the cabin, where he silently gave thanks that the door was not the self-locking sort. Huddling together for warmth, no matter how sexy the huddle, wasn't his idea of a fun night. From the markings on the cover, it was clear that the box was designed to lift off the contents. He set it in the middle of the floor, ensuring that it was directly centered underneath the roof truss with the eye hooks in it. As he prepared to unveil it, he saw that someone had graciously hidden an electric outlet in the middle of the floor, precisely where it was needed. Their host had thought of everything. Just to heighten the tension, he made a grand production of the unveiling. He lowered the lights. He moved the rugs. He fluffed a pillow and set it on the floor as a seat for her. And every time he moved past her, he caressed her. On the ass. On her chest. On the leg. On the shoulder. He smiled openly as he saw how exasperated she was becoming. Even as he knew that he'd probably pay for it somewhere down the line. Finally, after he'd delayed as long as possible, he strode over and deliberately lifted the cover from the device. He could see the puzzlement in her eyes. He wasn't that surprised by her lack of recognition. She was, by her own admission, somewhat untutored in the many varieties of sex. Still, she'd indicated that her husband was somewhat fond of lesbian scenarios, and this device was certainly a favorite in the lesbian porn genre. To all intents and purposes, it looked just like a barrel that had been split vertically, with the resultant flat portion resting on the cabin floor. About a third of the way from the front of the front rim, a small spike protruded from the top of the rounded crest. The sides of the half barrel were covered in padded velvet, with some areas showing signs of wear. A small electric cord extended from the rear, which he plugged into the cleverly concealed floor socket. "It's a, it's a..." she began, the effort of finding the correct word causing her brow to furrow. "Sybian," he finished, not sure if she had really known the name or was simply hoping that he would supply it. The next portion of its assembly would make its purpose abundantly clear, so he suggested that she bring the toolbox over. Deliberately he selected a T-shaped piece of rubber and attached it, stem-up, to the small spike. As he stepped away, she approached to examine the newest addition. It was, clearly, a smooth-sided dildo, about six inches in height and about two inches in circumference. The front of the base was molded into a small ridge, with nubs of rubber dotting the sides and top. She touched it tentatively, seemingly surprised at how rigid it was. He could tell that she'd surmised its full purpose by the way she tenderly ran her fingertip up and down the shaft, and then along the extended nubs. While he attached a corded control box and other accoutrements, he explained that the sybian was actually a modern interpretation of a device that, in ancient times, had been reserved for the richest queens, princesses and nobility. It allowed them to, in the coarsest terms, get themselves off without another man or woman intruding upon their royal privacy. Those had been powered by all manner of levers, pedals, water power and other contraptions, usually driven by slaves behind a screen or wall. Said screen or wall probably didn't keep the servants from hearing their mistresses wails of pleasure. The modern version was a lot more powerful, and a lot less private. With just a few seconds examination, he'd quickly figured out how each option worked. He explained that the one he'd attached would simply vibrate, at a pace set by the control box. The other accessory would gyrate in a circular motion, presumably stimulating a woman's g-spot. He could tell that she was taking it all in while also wondering how he knew so much about such a unique device. He smiled inwardly. Part of his knowledge came from a History Channel special on sex. The rest was just conclusions made by examining the pieces. Not that he was going to tell her that. He glanced up at the cross beam and wondered whether to employ that twist to the proceedings. Once she sat astride the shaft, he could attach a rope to each wrist, then loop the ropes through the hooks in the beam. Simply by tying her arms up in the air, he would effectively bind her to the sybian's barrel, as it was almost impossible to rise from it without the use of one's hands. The thought of her, tied, stretched out, vulnerable and completely at his mercy made him lick his lips in anticipation. But it might scare her, too. And it was always something that he could introduce later. In fact, if he played it right, she'd probably beg for it. He helped her mount it, smiling as he saw how easily the shaft slid inside her. She was wet with anticipation, and her face glowed brightly as she realized what he'd just deducted. He showed her the controls. One dial to control the vibration speed. Another to control revolution diameter or strength of penetration, if either of those accessories were attached. Single women who used a sybian found it much more satisfying than any vibrator, thanks to better stimulation and the feeling that they were having something done to them, rather than doing it themselves. Couples used it for two main purposes. Sometimes a man wanted to watch his partner get off in the most ecstatic way possible. Other men used it as a form of control. As he explained all this, he took the controls back from her. Settling back, he smiled at the sight, her thin legs lustfully clamped on each side of her new mechanical lover, the rubber shaft deeply encased in her dripping cunt, her firm breasts already heaving in anticipation... and turned the controls to the third position. Despite the warning, her legs convulsively tightened around the barrel of the device, in exactly the same worn spots she'd noticed earlier. For a brief moment she worried about how she must look, sluttily riding what amounted to an electric fuck machine. Then the thought was torn from her mind and replaced with the scintillating sensations buzzing up through her pussy and clit. And she'd only just started? The sensation was curious and at the same time compelling. Like she was riding a man who was an impossibly enthusiastic lover. The shaft inside her wasn't just thrusting up and down; it was also vibrating back and forth. Most interesting were the nubs at the front. If she leaned just so, they would stimulate her clitoris at the perfect spot, just around it but never on it. And if she leaned back, the shaft would rub against her inner walls in a way that sometimes happened with a man, but not usually quite so dependably. Sometimes he would get it in just the right place, but then he'd move the wrong way and the ecstasy would be gone. But with this, this, sybian thing, she controlled it all. Well, almost all, as her lover actually had the master controls. And he was doing his best to keep her on a roller coaster of pleasure, speeding it up, then dropping the pace whenever he noticed that she was getting too excited. She tried to keep her emotions to herself, but that just wasn't possible. It was as though she'd lost control of her muscles and voice and quite possibly her volition. She moaned every time he turned the control knob. Her legs kicked convulsively in response to his torturous manipulations. The only way she could stop it was to leap off, and she was never, ever going to do that. She was having orgasms already, little ones that rippled out from her core, making her muscles spasm and her inhibitions loosen and then come completely undone. She could hear herself begging and pleading for more, no, slower, no, faster, no, oh god, yes, like that, anything to keep it like that, but no, forget that, now like that, right there, give it, give it, like that again, faster, harder, longer. The words fell from her lips like a torrent, unfiltered, unstoppable. And still that shaft worked her pussy, untiring, creating waves of pleasure that spread to every extremity. She opened her eyes, surprised to find that she had closed them. He stood before her, looking down at her, as if he'd been studying her even as he tortured her with his wonderful, despicable machine. Registering his presence and then dismissing it, she began to catalog the sensations bursting throughout her. Her teeth, were tingling. Tingling! Like the way they do when she's had too much to drink, when she has to decide whether to stop or go all the way with it, damn the consequences. Tingling! Her lips felt afire. Her shoulders were tight, contracted, needing release in the worst way. Her nipples felt like hot coal embers, placed at the tip of each breast, shouldering and glowing brightly. She brought her fingers up and squeezed one. It felt harder than she'd ever felt it. Like it might never soften. Like a piece of marble, carved to last for centuries. She turned her attention back to him, standing before her, looming over her. So lean. So powerful. His legs muscled. The wisps of hair on his chest catching the candlelight. His eyes penetrating hers, knowing what she needed and denying it of her. His manhood half swollen and swinging gently between his legs... Suddenly the urge was impossible to ignore. Her body demanded it of her. She needed to do it, with the very same urgency as the need to have that giant, nerve-wracking orgasm that was just within reach, but not hers to claim yet. She managed to form the words "Come here," before her mind returned to its former babbling self, groans and cries of direction that went fully unheeded but still needed to be said. She took his cock in her mouth the moment it was within reach, opening as wide as she could to get as much in. She cursed herself for having such a small mouth, that she couldn't taste his cock and balls all at the same time. He wasn't as large as her husband but was a bit thicker, the extra girth making up for the lack of length. She couldn't fully inhale her husband, either, but that had never really bothered her, because she'd never really, really wanted to hold as much of him in her mouth as she now did. So she cursed her small mouth even as she used her tongue to stimulate him more, feeling him harden in response and ironically forcing more of his manhood out of her mouth. She didn't just want to suck him. She wanted to engulf him. To inhale him. To capture that powerful member and feel it pulse against her tongue. And she didn't just want it. She needed it. Like an imperative physical need. Like the need to take a breath when she'd been underwater too long. She felt driven, like some other being had taken control of her body. She licked and sucked his shaft, gazing up at him, trying to read his eyes, trying to relay her insatiable need to have him as far inside her as he could get. She tried to deep throat him but even in her present state of ecstasy, her throat still rebelled. So she licked and sucked and mouth-fucked him, barely able to stay astride her vibrating mount, her urgent, urgent needs split in two, but both with the same end in mind. He steadied himself, placing his fingers on her rapidly bobbing head. His legs felt weak, unable to keep him from collapsing. Never before had a woman attacked his cock so vociferously. It was as though she literally wanted to eat him. And failing that, would lick and suck the skin from his cock, the muscle, the sinew, the veins, until finally reaching the pool of cum all ready to stream forth and mark her as his own. He hadn't expected this when she'd first perched on the mechanical shaft. He'd been ready to play with her pussy, increasing and decreasing the tempo to keep her on the edge, near the peak, until she begged sufficiently to where he might bring the tempo up to ten, and listen to her glorious screams of pleasure. He'd planned, at some point, to bend down and suckle her nips, giving her another point of pleasure to deal with. It had been easy to read her body, to see when she was getting near to the big orgasm. Her arms would become rigid and draw inwards. Her words would become dirtier and more vehement. She'd look like she was ready to leap off the barrel, though he knew that was the farthest thing from her mind. Then, with deliberate precision, he would dial down the stimulation, taking perverse pleasure in the look of dislike she'd give him. Up and down, up and down, he was taking her on a seemingly never-ending ride of pleasure, using that pleasure as both a boon and a punishment. Now, though, he wasn't sure how to proceed. His cock felt like it was in heaven inside her wet, warm mouth, as she hungrily devoured him. She would pause every so often and, unbidden, take his balls into her mouth, the lust in her eyes making it clear that she would do anything for him. Or that he could do anything to her. And there were so many things that he wanted to do with her. And to her. Instead, he gently withdrew his shaft from her mouth, smiling at her pouting frown before advancing the control up two notches. The increased vibration in her cunt clearly registered on her face and she was once again focused on the myriad sensations coursing through her body. He turned the dial two more steps up, putting her in a range she'd never experienced before. It was hard to tell if she was smiling or grimacing, but he had to assume it was pleasure from the way she was absently twisting her nipples and pressing her pussy down against the saddle. Another step up put her back on the edge, and he had a fleeting thought of teasing her some more. But there was a thin line between fun and cruelty, and he didn't want to pass it. He'd barely notched the next step when she began to cum... Her body convulsed, wracked with pleasure of an intensity she'd never felt before. She saw stars before her eyes. Literally stars, white streaks of light as bold as the afterimage from a bolt of lightning. Every muscle in her body leapt into the air, every nerve screamed in absolute ecstasy. She almost bit her tongue, saved only by the wail that seemed drawn directly from the center of her soul. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, crashing into each other, peaks combining to create even greater peaks. She slid awkwardly from her perch, legs splayed to let the air, the soft, sweet air, cool her womanhood, and chill the molten juices that were still flowing freely from within her. She felt delirious with pleasure, not sure where she was, only that her pussy still throbbed and orgasms were still ebbing back and forth within her. She felt arms about her and clutched to them like a babe, seeking only comfort and some explanation of why she felt this way. She felt herself being hoisted up and carried, like a bride into the honeymoon suite, then deposited gently onto silken sheets. The coolness of the fabric against her skin started another round of smaller orgasms, and she shuddered and moaned as they coursed through her. She felt fabric being drawn up. A kiss on her brow. And then she surrendered to the exhaustion. He watched her sleep for a while. Whereas before she'd been curled and tucked into a fetal position, now she was splayed out beneath the sheets. He could trace the curve of her body from the folds in the fabric. He ached to trace her figure from head to toe with his fingertips. To memorize every atom of her. To breathe the scent of her while penetrating her, deeply, passionately, possessively. But from the exhausted smile on her face, it was clear that his needs would have to wait. She woke as if coming out of a dream in which reality and slumber had somehow been switched. She was clearly in bed. And naked. And next to someone. Her husband? No, the proportions felt wrong. The room came into focus. A cabin. The cabin. Now synapses started to firing and the memories returned in a flood, the most recent first. She looked for the sybian and found that it had been moved against the wall. The rugs were all back in place, and if she'd left a mess from her orgasm, it had already been cleaned up. The candles were burned down about half way. How long had she slept? Long enough for her mouth to feel gummy. Long enough to need a trip to the facilities. She slipped from the bed, careful not to wake him. Grabbed a new pair of panties and his shirt for the trip outside. No need to make it easier for some backwoods slasher to get her, was it? The light in the bathroom was painfully bright. Immediately she noticed a card perched on the edge of the sink. "I want you," the outside read. And on the inside: "To wake me when you get this card." She smiled. Her pulse had quickened when she read the front. She would wake him. And then he'd see what it was like to be so exhausted. First, though, fresher breath. And maybe some cool water for her more intimate parts? Back in the cabin, she watched him sleep for a few minutes. He'd sprawled into her area, laying almost diagonally across the bed. Had he been drawn by the warmth? Or had he simply rolled around, expecting to reach some impediment but finding instead that the bed was unoccupied? Did people even have such motivations when they're sleeping? It certainly seemed that way to any nursing mother, whose husband would suddenly and conveniently be "sound asleep" anytime that the baby needed attention. Thinking of late night visits made her wonder about the time. Well, he clearly wouldn't be able to catch her checking the clock. Her cellphone read a little after midnight. Certainly not too late to start something, especially since they'd be leaving in just 12 hours. One Weekend Stand Ch. 07 She stripped, then carefully crawled back under the covers, purposely choosing the side he was facing. It wasn't the side she would normally sleep on with her husband in bed, so it felt kind of weird. But for what she had in mind, sides wouldn't matter in a few minutes anyway. Snuggling up to him, he responded instinctively, pulling her closer without waking. She breathed the scent of him. Different, yet still familiar. A mintiness, too. He'd evidently brushed his teeth after putting her to bed. She kissed him, gently, on the brow. The cheek. The nose. The jaw. Each kiss a little longer, a little harder, a little warmer. As his eyes fluttered open she put her lips to his. Did he really know who he was kissing? Did he kiss this way all the time? Did it even matter? He moaned, deep in his chest, and she felt the vibrations thrum into her body, channeled through the points where their flesh pressed together. He was kissing her in return now, hungrily, achingly. For a long time, minutes or hours, they fed on each other, molding their lips against together, as if to draw out the very essence of the other. She wanted to remember every sensation, yet still wanted to give him every sensation to remember. He pulled her closer, tenderly but assertively, until every inch of skin that could be touching was touching. His mouth against hers. Her breasts against his. Stomach. Thatches. Privates. Legs intertwined. Feet caressing the other's. His hand pressed in the small of her back. Hers holding the back of his neck. As close to one as two can be. Close enough to feel him hardening, his manhood trapped between them. She'd never been one for graphic terms or dirty talk. She'd do it for her husband because it turned him on, but it never did anything for her. But now, in this place and this time, she wanted to let loose as freely and nastily as when she'd been on the sybian. She wanted to tell him to give her his dick, his rod, his staff, his snake, his fuck stick, his whatever term would turn him on the most. What came out was "cock," whispered raggedly between kisses, repeated whenever they had to break for air. It was enough to elicit a question from him, whispered just as raggedly and with as much urgency. "What do you want?" he'd breathe. "Cock," she'd request. "What do you want?" "Cock." What do you want? Cock. What... What did she want? Was that all? Would that be enough? He rolled over, onto his back, carrying her with him until she was pressing down upon him, his thick rod stuck between them like an extra limb. With strong hands on her ribcage he bench-pressed her upwards, until only their thighs were still touching. The sheets slid back until her upper torso was bare, and she shivered as his gaze swept her body from top to bottom. Then he was lowering her down, slowly, edging her forward the whole time. When she came to rest on her elbows she found her right breast just above his lips. She settled down an inch and her breast was deep inside his mouth. He sucked, licked and kissed her tit with the same passion he'd displayed when kissing earlier. Only this time she couldn't respond in kind. She could, however, feed him her other breast simply by shifting her body over. After which she went back and forth for some time, any self-consciousness tempered by the evident pleasure he was taking in her. She reached between them to grasp his cock. She had more to give. Much more. He wasn't sure which of them had decided to feed him her breasts. Or which was getting the most pleasure from it. For his part, he felt much like a king might feel. Or a barbarian conqueror, taking the queen of the kingdom he'd just won. He knew now what he'd been missing earlier, all those years in which she'd held him in some sort of spell, enthralled by her despite everything that could keep them apart. She'd always imagined herself to be some sort of noble in a past life. A lady of the court. Or the wife of a rich businessman. But now he recognized her for what she was. And how her very presence seemed to stir such lust in all the men she met. She was not of the court, but above the court. In ancient Egypt, a princess perhaps. Or even in line to be queen. It was all there, he realized, for someone with some sense of history to decipher. Her svelte body, light skin tones and expressive eyes all prized by those who ruled so many years ago. Her facial features seemed frail, but he'd seen how quickly they could transform into a commanding presence, daring any to cross her and promising pain if they tried. It was her breasts that had given him the final clue, once he'd really had the chance to truly appreciate them. Jutting outwards, firm and defiant, created to tease and reward. He could see her already, sitting astride a throne, the thinnest of silks cascading off her shoulders, only barely hiding what most men would give their lives to possess. Her position would be a barrier to some men but a challenge to others. And they might find a way into her bed, find a way to sample her beauty and passion. But they would never really have her. It would be like keeping a snowflake in the palm of your hand. She didn't know, of course, and wouldn't accept it even if he told her. To have a past life was enough for her. She wouldn't presume to think that she was of royal lineage. It would put her in that group of egotistical women who did think they were something special, all those many years ago. No, she was happy to believe that her past lives were just a little more exciting than the present one. She'd think he was flattering her if he told her his theory. She'd think he was making it up. Knowing the reason for his enthrallment did nothing to break the spell, however. He was just as greedy as ever. He rolled her onto her back and sought her lips, kissing her this time with all the knowledge he'd just acquired, kissing the empress in her, willing her to discover her past through the simple transference of passion and heat and shared bodily fluids. She clutched at him, pulling him down across her, bringing them closer than close once again. She reached between them, her hand suddenly hot on his cock, fingers measuring its girth, thumb caressing the tip. A second movement, the parting of her thighs, made her interests clear. He eased himself off her, just slightly, and let her feed the head of his cock into the entrance of her warm, wet cave. This time he eased himself in, his lips never leaving hers, supported by his forearms, his lower body cradled by her open legs. He wanted to catalogue the sensations, to remember them forever. This moment. This time. Her eyes closed tight in concentration. Her breathing harsh in his ears. Her mouth questing against his. Her breasts so welcoming, quivering with each motion. Her lean, flat stomach, wicked with sweat. His cock, deeply embedded within her, their bodies moving only slightly in a timeless rhythm. Her legs now locked powerfully around him, keeping him in place. As if he'd ever want to leave. They moved together slowly, she answering each thrust of his with one of her own. He was an oral and aural lover. The oral part he'd quenched for now, with kisses about her face, neck and breasts. The aural part now loosed itself, unbidden and unstoppable. "What do you want?" his nature whispered. Silence. Then, softly, tremulously, "Cock." "What do you want?" he repeated, the emphasis on the word want. "Cock," she whispered back, her voice harsh and demanding in his ear. Back and forth he urged her on. "How do you want it?" "When do you want it?" "How do you like it?" The nastier the question, the cruder her answer, and the harder he fucked her. Soon he was looming over her, slamming himself into her, against her, eyes closed in concentration, his every sense tuned to the point of impact, where her wet, hot cunt convulsively squeezed his cock with every stroke, drawing his cum closer and closer to the surface while bringing him closer and closer to losing complete control. It was his greed that finally caused him to slow for a few moments. He was of two minds for a moment. Part that wanted to fuck her silly, spew his cum all over her and rub it deep into her skin like an age-old body cream. And part that wanted to make it last as long as possible, knowing that this time might be the last time, and the last time should be the best time. When he slowed she knew exactly what he was up to. He didn't need to say it. She doubted if he would've, anyway. But she felt the same way. Could they make it last just a little bit longer? Who knew what the morning would bring? Maybe she could get him hard one last time. Or maybe this was his last stand, so to speak. Who knew how much stamina he really had? For her part, she was nearly used up. She already dreaded the thought of her husband "welcoming her home" when she returned, wanting sex when all she'd want was a long night's sleep. Ack! Why was she thinking about him? She had other things to think about. They both slowed down, barely moving together. He whispered in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was. Telling her that she was from another age. Telling her about the kingdoms she could command and the legions that would fall to her feet. It wasn't the type of pillow talk she was used to. It was better. He painted pictures with words of an empire where she was the empress. An empire dedicated to truth and beauty and above all, a love of animals. And while he moved within her and spun tales of her past, she felt a flicker of recognition light within her. She'd dreamed of such things, often enough to be memorable. She'd never spoken of it, she was sure. So how would he know these things? How could he so accurately describe her dreams? Suddenly her need for him was more carnal and nasty. She whispered her need to him. He withdrew, turned her over and then slid his cock back inside her, taking her like a dog in heat. She unleashed her passion, sliding back and forth on him, pulling his hands forward to cup her breasts, shaking her head wildly. She spewed all manner of filthy suggestions at him, urging him to take her as violently as he wanted. They continued that way for some time, minutes of unbridled passion followed by slower, more intimate lovemaking. And then back again. She'd never done it quite like this. His cock rarely left her pussy. And when it did, she used her mouth to cool it down or heat it up. Normally, she didn't like to do that. But now, here, she was more than ready to do it. She wanted to make it last, too. Make this the best part of the whole weekend. Though her time on the sybian set the bar pretty high... He wouldn't last much longer, that much was clear. He'd been within a few strokes of cumming several times already. Actually, it was a miracle he'd lasted this long. Usually his efforts to hold back never amounted to much at all. He'd get to the edge, think about holding back, and then his body would take over and he'd lose all control. This night, though, it was as if she was on the same wavelength. Every time he needed to slow down, she helped him. The difference between a woman who enjoyed anticipation versus one who liked instant gratification, he guessed. The question wasn't when to cum, but where. He was sure she'd be OK with pretty much anywhere, except her mouth. She provided the answer without being asked. "Inside me. I want it deep inside me," she murmured to him even as he took her hard, looking down at her. They locked eyes then, his cries intermingled with hers, and suddenly he was spasming deep inside her, coating her pussy with stream after stream of hot, viscous liquid, his body as rigid as his cock, her body writhing and quivering beneath him. He kept pumping inside her, her fingers now tenderly trailing along his back, his body spent but his passion still seething. Then he allowed himself to settle onto her, careful not to crush her but still covering her whole body. He kissed her as tenderly as he could, not as a matter of course but in abject thankfulness. He wasn't sure if he should say thank you. "I love you," bounced around his brain, and then, without warning, it was on his lips and then past them. What? He waited for her to stiffen beneath him, to begin the long and painful explanation of why that couldn't be possible, why they couldn't allow that to happen. But, to his relief and surprise, her answer was a simple, "Me too." She hadn't been waiting for it, so to speak. Just half expecting it. A weekend like this could set anyone's emotions into a jumble. Besides, she knew that he didn't really mean "love you" like I want us to get divorced so we can live together in newly-wedded bliss. Or even "love you" like we should start an affair and complain about our spouses after making love every weekend. No, he meant it like a man who just had a wonderful sexual experience and wanted to say thank you. As did she. "Me too," she replied, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Me too." To be continued... Note: All comments are welcome. Let me know what you think! One Weekend Stand Ch. 08 Sunday morning When she awoke it was still dark, though possibly the darkness of near dawn. There wasn't any real indication of that, just a feeling in her gut that indicated a new day was near. As her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, she began to pick out the dark shapes in the room where they'd shared so much. What they'd shared... What they'd shared and would never share again. Of that she was certain. Oh, sure, they might give in to a moment of mutual weakness and have a quickie at some point. Even she, with her belief in absolute certainty, couldn't be absolutely certain that it would never, ever happen again. But it wouldn't come close to what they'd shared over the past weekend. The closeness. The intimacy. The melding of two souls. And she knew she'd been holding back, and suspected him of the same. How powerful would it have been had they both been free with each other the entire time? Overwhelmingly powerful, she suspected. Perhaps dangerously so. She struggled to understand what she was feeling. They were both in situations that wouldn't normally lead to anything more than a little flirtation. She loved her husband and her child. Well, maybe her child more than the husband. But, still, loved him enough to want to share some part of her life with him. And her friend, and now lover, headed his own loving family. He'd been very clear all along that nothing would be allowed to get between him and his wife and child. Not even her. Yet he lay sleeping soundly next to her in this bed. And she lay next to him, his seed still deep inside her. Not that she had to worry about a child from him. But could anyone get any closer than that? They could, because she felt that they had. It wasn't just about the sex, or the lovemaking or the fucking or whatever other sexual variation you wanted to label it. She felt that they'd shared something far more basic and fundamental. Or, if not shared, allowed the other to see a side they'd both kept hidden, not just from each other but from everyone else in their lives. Including their respective spouses. For herself, it was an admission that she could be selfish and take something just for herself, without guilt or even a moment's regard for someone other than herself. That he'd gotten pleasure from her was more a lucky happenstance for him than any plan on her part. Sure, he'd led her to the precipice. He'd shown her the pleasures that she might experience. He'd tempted her and manipulated her. But the final decision had always been hers. She wasn't doing it in exchange for anything, except maybe the freedom to do it for herself instead of in exchange for some bauble or compromise or other negotiating tactic. She'd come into the weekend wondering what would happen and soon would be leaving it just a bit freer and just a bit more enslaved. Enslaved. Tied together with a secret that could never be revealed. She wondered when he would be warning her of that. Wondered whether he would warn her at all. That was the most wonderful thought of all. He treated her as someone of infinite depth, not just a woman or a wife or a mother or a lover. But someone who could and would figure out the intricacies of their situation, and make her own decision on how to handle it. Someone who could be trusted. Did he treat his own wife with such respect? She often felt that her husband was obsessed with husbanding her. He loved taking care of her to the point that he was smothering her. And it was no secret that he distrusted any sign of independence that she might reveal. She wasn't sure what was behind that. A fear that she might move beyond his realm of influence? Or that she might end up in the bed of another man? She laughed silently at that, her hand thoughtlessly straying to rest on the exposed shoulder of the man beside her. She was having trouble creating a straight path of thoughts. She was coming up with all sorts of answers, but couldn't pin down the questions. Maybe a walk would help. Carefully she slid out from under the covers and padded to the door, not bothering to wrap even a shirt over her shoulders. The walk to the shed was short, and who would be around to see her in the dark? He watched through slit eyes as she headed to the door, her nude form sensuous as it passed between the bed and the door. The outline of her body still stirred a desire deep inside him, and he smiled inwardly as her thin legs, smooth stomach and prominent breasts were alternately revealed and obscured. Even now, after all they'd done, his body was aware of the possibilities. Whether his body could do anything about it was another question completely. He'd felt her awaken earlier and could tell by her relative stillness that she'd been mulling over some very deep thoughts. If he'd had to guess, her thoughts would concern what they'd done all weekend and where that left them for the future. She wasn't the type to be impulsive. She thought her actions through before doing practically everything. Though they'd never discussed it, he couldn't imagine her ever doing something so impulsive as, say, kissing a man before he kissed her. Or making the first move without having a fallback position where she could deny it was the first move. Of course, to be honest, the same could probably be said of him. At least where it concerned her. He didn't have many close friends. And so, a psychologist might say that he didn't want to jeopardize his friendship by interjecting sex. Said psychologist would by only half right, however. Because he knew that he thought differently than many people who saw a clear delineation between emotional intimacy and physical intimacy. Those people would talk of taking a relationship to a new level. For him, at that high stratus of intimacy, the emotional and the physical were on the same level. Over the years, they'd already shared their hopes and dreams. Sharing their desires and, yes, lusts, was just another part of that great dance. He knew she wouldn't see it that way. She was about actions and reactions. About circumstances and consequences. And if he could even find a way to express his thinking, she would probably say he was rationalizing. Which would be true, of course. Rationalizing was the best way to explain one's actions after the fact. As far as he was concerned, it was also the best way to get to the true reasons one did what one did. He was adept enough at pulling back the gossamer fabric shrouding the real truth in his rationalizations. He knew when he was fooling himself. And was, usually, brave enough to let his subconscious confront his conscious self. That self-criticism usually hurt far less than anything coming from without. Still, he wondered what she thought about all this. Was she feeling guilty? Shocked? Pleased? Would she feel the need to confess to her husband or friends or neighborhood priest? He wouldn't. Of that he was sure. He'd often felt that his way of looking at life was different from that of a lot of people. Events occurred in segments. Not disconnected, but connected in ways that were hard to discern, far below the surface. Their dalliance (and he liked the casualness of the word) was the next obvious step, perhaps even inevitable. To somehow obstruct that step would have been as pointless as obstructing the flow of a river. Eventually the water would find a way around and probably to a much more corrosive effect. Except for the denials that had heightened their pleasures, there was no point to damming anything. His fate was as much in her hands as his was in hers. A weak moment on her part could destroy his marriage as easily as the reverse. He knew why he'd planned this weekend, enjoyed every moment of it and wanted it to continue. Did she know the same? In the end, he could only trust that she did. She stopped in the middle of the walk back to the cabin and took a deep, long breath, enjoying the soft caress of the cool night air on her bare skin. Her mouth tingled, freshly brushed, along with the patches on her body where she'd washed herself but weren't quite dry yet. She stretched up onto her toes, her legs pleasantly sore from the previous evening's vigorous workout. Through the pine needles above stars sparkled, blinking from view and back into sight as she swayed as lithely as a reed in the whispering wind. She felt truly free, unencumbered and unhindered. She'd discovered a truth just moments before while attending to herself in the small bathroom in the shed. While this weekend had begun as an obstinate rejection of her husband's control, it had grown into something much more. A confirmation of her own independence. That, and a realization that she could only be constrained as much as she let herself be. She could passively follow the rules if she wanted. Or she could question the rules and set her own. Without guilt. Without remorse. And, when she decided, with her own needs at the forefront. She'd had these moments of self-discovery before, though not so often now as in earlier years. The trick, she knew, wasn't making the discovery. It was remembering it. And remembering it often enough to let it make a difference in her life. The phrase "old habits die hard" came to mind. A soft wind touched the trees, bringing the scents of the forest to her nostrils and tongue. They were majestic against the sky. There long before she'd arrived. And there long after she'd be gone. An image of polished wood passed fleetingly through her consciousness. She didn't know why, but she was suddenly shaking inside. He'd fought off sleep while waiting for her to return to the cabin. The sight of her dark form, the outline of her body, had been so intoxicating that he'd replayed it in his mind again and again, hoping to fix it in his memory. Though, to be honest, he wanted to remember so many sights and sounds and tastes and touches, he doubted there would be room in his mind. She entered as silently as she could, but his eyes were so attuned to the darkness that he could easily see her outlined in the doorway. She padded to the bed, her feet barely making a sound against the wood floor. Instead of climbing back beneath the covers, she sat on the edge and touched him lightly, as if to rouse him. He pretended to come awake, enjoying the sensation of her hand upon his shoulder, cool from the outside air yet leaving him feeling scalded on the inside. She made as if to climb back into bed, but he had something else in mind. Taking her hand, he swung out from beneath the covers. With nothing more than a finger across his lips, wordlessly telling her to be silent, he led her back out into the night. It was cooler outside the cabin, though not unpleasantly so. He led. She followed, though she soon guessed what their destination might be. The pine needles on the forest floor stuck to their soles like glue, stuck in place by the pine sap from the trees overhead. They'd surely need to clean their feet before re-entering the cabin. They walked unhurriedly, unable to see the arrows on the trees but pretty sure of the correct direction. They said nothing to each other, content to be together yet apart, communing with nature in the most intimate fashion. Time passed slowly, or perhaps not at all. The light of the stars gave them all the illumination they needed to stay on course. Soon they crested the right hill. Below them lay the grand wooden table, open to the night skies, glimmering in the starlight. She allowed him to lift her onto the table, her body trembling in anticipation of its first kiss upon her bare skin. He lay her upon the flat surface, and she concentrated on the sensations, drinking them in with a need that was almost painful in its intensity. Dew covered the table top, a sheen of the purest water that created a natural bond between her skin and the solid wood surface below. She lay on one side of the table and waited while he reclined on the other side. There was a forearm's span between them, and though she wanted him to close the gap, he remained on his side, his hands folded atop his stomach. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in a similar position, again expecting his touch against her most intimate regions. But once again she waited in vain. He remained isolated from her. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed by that. When he asked her to open her eyes, her breath caught in her throat. The stars, a splendorous sight, floated on a tapestry across the roof of the world. So many it would be impossible to count. She found herself instead searching for the parts of the sky that weren't glistening, that were dark against the brilliant illumination. Softly, his voice no more than a whisper on a breeze, he instructed her to tune out the trees around them, to let her spirit hover above the table beneath them, to become free of the earth and become one with the universe. And suddenly, almost like magic, she was. She felt suspended, her body unencumbered by gravity or laws or expectations. She floated amidst a sphere of stars, their light pure and clean, bathing her body in a calming, healing aura. Her mind was suddenly free from cares, their absence palpable, creating a void into which all manner of sensations rushed in: freedom, peace, assurance, joy, comfort, warmth, love, excitement, restfulness, and a host of other feelings she couldn't put a name to. She reveled in the feeling. Captured and jealously guarded it. Forced herself to remember to breathe, then giggled with delight as the freshness of the air fed the fire within her, enhancing each sensation until it was as bright and sharp as a winter's icicle on the coldest of days. From a distance, seemingly across the galaxies, she heard a murmur, a whisper, a breath. It took her a moment to realize that it was nearby, and another moment to realize the whisper contained words, and still another moment to put meaning to those words. It was him, whispering to her. Start over, she asked. And the words floated freely around her, a warm breeze softly caressing her. What links are ours with orbs that are So resolutely far: The solitary asks, and they Give radiance as from a shield: Still at the death of day, The seen, the unrevealed. Implacable they shine To us who would of Life obtain An answer for the life we strain To nourish with one sign. Nor can imagination throw The penetrative shaft: we pass The breath of thought, who would divine If haply they may grow As Earth; have our desire to know; If life comes there to grain from grass, And flowers like ours of toil and pain; Has passion to beat bar, Win space from cleaving brain; The mystic link attain, Whereby star holds on star. At the end she wanted to ask if he'd written it, but held that urge in abeyance. Instead, she found that core of her where the joy existed and returned to it, as a swimmer might return to the warmth of the summer seas. She didn't know how long they laid there, isolated on the table yet sharing an experience that she would never forget. When his hand caressed the side of her face, she was suddenly aware of the warmth of him and the coolness of her own body. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, surprised to find a sheen of dew glistening on her skin, chilling her and making her shiver. After helping her from the table, he hugged her, pressing his body against every inch of hers. Though he too was covered in dew he felt much warmer, and she clung to him, rubbing her limbs along him until the chill dissipated. Without a word they set off back to the welcome comfort of the bed, each content to travel together and apart, hoping to remember as much of the moment as they could. He smiled in the dark as she climbed under the sheets and snuggled against him. Her body was still cool to the touch, but pleasantly so. He fought to keep his thoughts from becoming sexual; he focused on the sensual instead. He'd never shared his star meditations with anyone, not even his wife. It was a poem he'd memorized long ago, one he'd stumbled upon after a night of sleeping under the evening sky. Perfectly apropos. He knew he'd been able to take her to a special place. He didn't want that feeling to end. Or to sully it with his carnal meanderings. Still, he'd only be acting in a caring manner if he snuggled against her and shared his warmth, right? And gently reached across her and cradled her breast? And softly brushed his lips against the back of her neck? And entwined his legs with hers? He knew he was rationalizing. He knew he should let her bask in the afterglow of their most recently shared experience. But while that experience left her drowsy and peaceful, it left him hungry for more. He looked past the delicate curve of her ear into the room beyond. Was it brightening with the first glow of the sun? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. When they left the bed, they'd have just a few short hours before their return to civilization. She to the marriage that was more work than pleasure. He to the marriage where the pleasure was all but extinguished. He pulled her tight and let his eyes fall shut. He'd waited forever to get her in this bed, denying himself all but the slightest morsels of physical pleasure. He could wait another hour before imbibing once again. She stirred, slowly awakening, her mind drowsy and muddled. She vaguely remembered cool summer air, a breeze against her nude body. And stars. A lifetime of floating wonderingly inside a sphere of stars. Her awareness slowly cleared. They lay spooning, his hand loosely clasping her breast, his legs twined between hers. When she shifted her bottom she could feel his member pressed against her, for once placid and undemanding. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been like this with a man, outside of this weekend, of course. She hadn't done this often with her other husbands. It always felt too close, too stifling. This was the same position, but somehow different. Was the situation different? Or were they different? Despite the languid feeling in her limbs, part of her wanted to get him stirred up. To press her naked ass against his cock and see how long it would take for this mind to catch up to his body's response. To let the fingers hovering so tenderly above her breast be awakened by her hardening nipples. To give herself to him in full measure and watch the pleasure and delight race across his face. She could see it in her minds' eye, their final joining, lust and love and everything in between all exposed for each to fully grasp and enjoy. But then she decided to be still, to build back some of the anticipation they'd shared during their long and intricate journey to this bed. Waiting would make the heart grow even fonder. And she did so love to tease him. Sunshine brought tears to his eyes when he next opened them. The room was decidedly brighter, the light reflecting off the polished panel walls. The covers beside him were depressingly flat. Still, he blindly felt around underneath them. She was pretty thin, after all. But no, there was a definite lack of another person in the bed. Disappointing. A rustling in the kitchen area clued him in to her whereabouts. She already had a couple of bags on the counter. A fresh cup of coffee steamed in her cup. Was she already packing? What time was it? How long had he slept in? And worse, had he missed his opportunity? As his mind began functioning more efficiently, he began to notice more details. Her luggage was, promisingly, still open and not standing by the door. She was dressed, but not fully, wearing nothing but a sexy top and a pair of panties. And, most tellingly, she clearly hadn't taken a shower yet, as her hair remained dry. Her smile when she finally turned around told the rest of the story. She wasn't ready to leave just yet. When he beckoned her over she brought something he hadn't noticed before: a tray heaped with fresh fruit, chocolate covered strawberries and a huge glass of orange juice. Breakfast in bed? He hadn't enjoyed that since, well, since so long ago that he couldn't remember it. He sat up and balanced the tray in his lap, suddenly acutely aware that he was naked under the covers. He felt strangely prudish, especially after all that they'd done that weekend. One Weekend Stand Ch. 08 He asked her what the special occasion was. Her answer, that he would probably need the extra energy, made his eyes widen and a grin appear on his face. Maybe he hadn't missed his opportunity after all. She sat cross-legged in front of him, tantalizingly close, their skin separated only by the thin sheet atop him and her own thinner clothing. Though he tried not to stare, her position gave him a full view between her legs, the promise of her mound not at all inhibited by the sheer fabric of her panties. In fact, the opposite was true. He found it more and more difficult to move his gaze away. And her constant shifting, plus the precariously balanced tray, meant he always had to keep an eye on things in that area. It took him a while to wonder whether she was doing it on purpose. And even longer to decide that it didn't matter. He'd just enjoy the view. And damn the blush creeping up his neck. They talked freely and cleverly in between bites. He commented on the freshness of her melons, which elicited a reply on the lack of good sausage. Soon the innuendoes and double entendres were flying, mixed in with many veiled references to the many activities they'd shared over the past 48 hours. It occurred to him that even if they never again shared of each other, they'd still have those memories to share. It wouldn't be nearly as good, but it would be better than nothing. She flirted with him much more openly than she had before. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. She would lean forward with real or feigned interest, giving him a quick flash of her full breasts. Shifting on her seat would pull her panties enticingly tight. And her smile was alternately bemused and beguiling, as if she was privy to a secret that he couldn't seem to unravel. Before too long, her teasing had the desired effect. Solemnly, he set aside the tray in his lap, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. Silently, he placed his hand behind her head and leaned in, pulling her close, not that she needed the prodding. Tenderly, he captured her lips with his. Their kissing wasn't the frantic passion shared on the first day. Rather, they kissed each other with confident ease, their tongues jousting playfully. She tasted of strawberries and melon. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her neck, the surface of her skin and let himself swoon in the exotic richness of it. He felt apart from himself yet deeply connected to her. Her hands found him under the sheet even as he pushed his hands underneath her top, finding and cradling and caressing her smooth breasts. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his palms. Her breathing shortened, her body swayed within his arms. Her fingers closed upon his manhood, fondling it, juggling it, stroking him. His erection swelled and hardened, as did her nipples as he thumbed and pinched them. They fumbled together with her top, trying to pull it off without breaking their kiss. Once it was gone and thrown in the corner, they resumed with a feral urgency. Now he felt like they were sharing a soul kiss, that he was pulling something from deep within her core, savoring it, trading it back and forth, impressing it into his memory like a precious jewel, to be brought out and admired when life itself became too plain and staid and uninspiring. He leaned back, using his feet to push down the sheet and grinning as she slid her panties off her cute ass, leaving nothing to impede the feel of hot skin on hot skin. He pulled her atop him, so she lay facedown along the length of him, his legs split and cradling her waist, the reverse of the position they'd shared during much of the past two days. She rubbed her torso maliciously against him. He could see from her eyes that she wasn't done teasing him, but that she wouldn't be upset if he put an end to it in the most dramatic way possible. He drew a deep breath, held it, then let it go, psychologically and symbolically expelling all his inhibitions and fears and internal qualms. He let his hands wander over her body, squeezing her ass, rubbing the backs of her thighs, caressing the smooth curves of her hips and waist. He kissed her with unleashed passion, letting the fire within leap out and sear her flesh, fuse their duality into a single monument that would last for eternity. When they finally joined, she was as ablaze as he. Her hands roamed his body, squeezing his shoulders, guiding his hips. His own limbs roamed as wantonly; no part of her went untouched. His cock remained sheathed deep in her cunt as they rolled from edge to edge, atop, astride, aligned, again and again. They writhed together like snakes in a pit. He wondered whether he was fucking this woman or every woman, but then a particularly sharp pang of pleasure shot through him and the question was gone. She rode him. And he wished he had more eyes to behold her or a camera to record with as he saw the pleasure in her face and the quiver of her breasts and the ripple of her torso and the tremor of her womanhood as they joined in pleasuring the other and themselves together. He rode her. And his lips dipped down of their own accord to taste whatever bit of her he could reach. The top of her head, the lobe of her ear, the nape of her neck, the side of her breast, her fingers, her wrists, her shoulders, her lips. He moved against her, slowly but with authority, changing speed and forcefulness as his nature decided. It was as near to making love as he'd been in a long time. They had no timetable. He reached the edge several times and held it back each time, selfishly wanting to make it last. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel guilty about that. Much unlike his home sex life. He took her to the edge as well. And pushed her over it, too. When she went home, he wanted her to be exhausted and sated. It was a sneaky way to punish her husband, but he didn't care. If the man didn't know how lucky he was, then he deserved to be punished. When she came, she moaned not her husband's name, but his own, among her cries and gasps. It was the first time all weekend that she'd done that. He worked all the harder to get her going again. They slowed and sped up, rested and rushed, clung together or pulled apart, each to their own internal rhythm, responding as much to their subconscious as to the other's prompts and requests. They talked and whispered and giggled and gasped. Their silence was as potent as their screams of pleasure. She played him as much as he played her, their lust unguarded and their intentions intense. When he finally came he was as deep inside her as he could thrust himself. She lay tightly pressed beneath him, her legs pinned between his shoulders and her own. He continued thrusting even after he came, even as his erection began to flag. The urge to keep going overrode all other thoughts. Soon, though, he had to pull free, his lust finally slaked. He was sure she had orgasmed again just before the end. For once he could just lay back and catch his breath, confident that he'd done all he could. If there was any doubt, they were driven away by her exhausted sigh and languid kiss. She had to lay back and catch her breath. Her heart was threatening to pound out of her chest and she didn't dare try to stand up. She was sure her legs wouldn't hold her up. She hadn't been that wild in bed since, well, since almost never. Back to her days in college, probably. And even then... This weekend felt like a honeymoon. Or unlike one, as both of her honeymoons had been a lot more sedate and a lot less exciting. Probably because she'd been in a sexual relationship well before the big day. So there wasn't much to discover about her betrothed on their magic night. Bliss was a word that she didn't throw around very much. But it was the best way to describe how she felt. The ripples from their latest activities were still echoing through her body, emanating from a spot just below her stomach and radiating in circles to splash upon distant shores. She let her mind float free and imagined it bobbing and ebbing in time with the waves, untethered to any worries. Not that it was true. But it was an appealing conceit. Inevitably, though, her thoughts circled back to the enormity of what they'd done. This was no simple, explainable one-night stand. Nor an alcohol-fueled coupling. No, they'd planned and conspired to leave their mates for a full weekend, to steal away under the cover of cover stories to lay under the covers and uncover each other. Even that clever wordplay failed to alleviate the sobering effect of the thought behind it. Still, she'd made her decision and it was too late to regret it. And, honestly, she didn't regret it in the least. They'd shared some experiences that some couples might take a lifetime to discover. And some that couples might never bring themselves to even try. Most intriguing of all, she hadn't just been a passive participant in many of them. She was an instigator. And that felt better than she'd expected. She was surprised to notice that her teeth were clenched and her body tense in anticipation of something. But what? She searched her thoughts and suddenly it became apparent. She was still expecting some sort of a warning from him. Some sort of subtle reminder that telling anyone about their weekend would be catastrophic for both their marriages. For her part, she couldn't see a reason why she'd reveal anything to anyone. If she wanted to get rid of her husband, she had more than enough just cause to justify a split. And if she wanted to hurt her husband, she had better ways to do that, too. Still, despite how right the weekend felt physically and emotionally, it still felt wrong mentally. Due, probably, by her strict interpretation of her marriage vows. She'd always said that once she'd made the promise she'd stick to it. But had she really broken it, or just bent it a little? OK, a bit. Alright, a lot. But it wasn't really broken. A lot had to do with her feelings for her husband. The extenuating circumstances. She loved him in an abstract sense for the home life they'd built together. The companionship. Most of his fathering skills. His sense of humor. And the occasions when he at least tried to be romantic. It was the rest of the time that caused her grief. Their assignation hadn't changed any of those feelings. She was no more or less happy with her life now than she had been during the drive to the cabin. Her life would go back to the way it was as soon as she left his Jeep and hit cell phone coverage again. Even thinking of that first phone call caused her fists to clench. Perhaps he noticed that or just the tension in her body. Either way, he touched her chin and turned it towards him, leaning in for a soft kiss clearly designed to help calm her thoughts. With a definite effort, she turned her mind away from the speculating and focused instead on the comfort of the bed, the coolness of the air and the pleasure of his body next to hers. No, she wouldn't be telling anyone about this. It would ruin the memories. He let the kiss linger, her lips soft and accepting. He didn't know what had made her tense up, but if he had a guess, it would be her husband. He'd known her a long time, even before she'd met her present spouse. He wasn't going to let himself get caught up in wondering why she'd married him. He'd done that all before and it was all academic anyway. What mattered now was how she would handle this past weekend. He hoped she'd be handling it as he was: a very special break from a mundane existence. A secret vacation. A memory that they could pull up far into the future, exaggerate as needed, and brighten up their lives inside the sanctity of their own minds. He couldn't imagine a reason why he'd tell his wife about this. He didn't feel particularly guilty about it. He thought of it as more of a vacation from married life than a betrayal of any kind. He and his wife both operated under the philosophy that life was a fluid thing, That what you "know" now might change in the future. That what you say today might be different later. That how you live now will surely be evolve. That's what all of life is for. They'd make lousy politicians. They were constantly changing their minds based on new information. They were inveterate flip-floppers. So, it wouldn't ever be in his best interest or in his wife's if he came clean about this weekend. In fact, if he told her in order to alleviate some guilt he might feel in the future, he'd be hurting her in the process. How selfish was that? Others might think of that as more rationalization, but the same could be said of any second thoughts. He categorized rationalization as the mind's way of interrupting potential pain. Or at least diverting it. Back to the original question. Would she or wouldn't she? A man probably wouldn't, as keeping the guilt to himself would be more caring, or at least less damaging, than inflicting it on his wife. Assuming that he still loved his wife and wanted to keep the marriage intact. A woman? They were much more complicated. More likely to assuage their guilt by getting it out in the open. Or use another man as a weapon. Or just drop it into an argument as a kind of atomic bomb, excellent for steering the discussion into a whole new level of combat. Get a man overly emotional with an atomic bomb statement and a woman can win almost any argument. He didn't think she'd use it that way. She already had plenty of weapons in her war against her husband. She had no bones to pick with his wife. And if the two of them ever had a falling out, he didn't think she'd ever use it as a weapon of mass destruction. The collateral damage would hurt both of them too much. However, thinking that he knew what she would do and knowing it were two very different things. He knew he'd painted himself into a corner on this one. He'd positioned himself as Mr. Kind, Caring, Trusting guy, and now any mistrusting comment on his part would put a chink in that image. He did want to remind her to keep quiet. He didn't totally think she needed the reminder. But he'd look condescending if he did so. And, in the end, it wouldn't really matter. There'd always be that seed of doubt in both their minds, no matter what the other said. It was mutually assured destruction on a personal level. They showered. Separately. She'd half expected him to join her under the cold stream. When he didn't, she wondered if he'd begun distancing himself from her. A paranoid thought. But, she mused, probably just the first of many. While he showered, he also washed out his shirt that she'd worn during most of the weekend. A good thought. It probably carried her scent. That was the kind of thing that spouses would subconsciously notice. Then become suspicious about. Then start probing about. And then, well, nothing good. Packing was interesting. He kept sneaking his underwear into her luggage. He wasn't sneaky with his comments about what her husband would do if he found another man's underwear in her luggage. Or the wild stories of alien abductions she'd need to concoct in order to explain such a scandalous discovery. Finally, she thought she'd removed all his clothing surprises from her bag. But then, he stared at her with such intensity that she felt compelled to pull her bag apart again. Of course, there was nothing of his in it. She pretended to be upset at his mocking laughter, but in the end she couldn't hold in her own laughter. And when she tried to retaliate, he'd taken her panties and stuck them in his pocket, for use "in a dark ritual to be held later." In the struggle to reclaim her possessions they ended up on the bed again, and only after distracting him with a long kiss was she able to reach into his shorts pocket and grab her panties. That he momentarily trapped her hand in there did nothing to detract from the fun of it. Soon they had everything ready by the door. The cabin was cleaned. All the toys were back in their proper spots. She wondered briefly what the cleaning crew might think, then pushed the thought away. Not something she really wanted to speculate about. Instead, she turned her attention back to him. He seemed as reluctant to hit the road as she was. After a brief discussion they decided that noon would be a good time to hit the road. That gave them almost two hours to kill. Having freshened themselves and the cabin, it seemed like it would be a bit of a hassle if they returned to bed. Though she would've if he said he wanted to. Instead, though, they agreed to just take a walk through the forest. They weren't far from the cabin when he asked if she knew where they were. She pointed to the arrows painted on the bottom of the trees. It wasn't long before they were playfully sniping at each other. He insisting that she just noticed the wayfaring clues. And she insisting that she'd known all along and had just been humoring him. She thought she got in some good shots before he silenced her with a long kiss. That kept her quiet for a while. It also proved that she'd won. They didn't stray too far from the cabin, though the hills took their toll on her legs. Maybe if he hadn't left her so weak-kneed that morning? Not that she was complaining. It would be nice to go back to the abandoned homestead, but she didn't want to be all hot and sweaty when they returned to the car. The day was already shaping up to be a hot one. It was oddly peaceful in the woods. No birds were trilling in the trees. No squirrels scampered along the ground. The air felt completely still, not oppressive, but almost as if waiting for something to happen. She knew that some would think such a thought to be silly, believing that nature might act in one way or another. But she'd always felt herself to be an extension of the natural world; tuned in more than the rest of the population. Just as she'd always known, somehow, that she'd led other lives in the past. Her friends called her an old soul. Even they didn't know how right they were. She stopped at the crest of the next hill to see if she could locate the source of the weird feeling. But all she saw was hills and more hills, topped with trees and more trees. She wondered how far the land went on like that, folded upon itself like bunched up cloth. Maybe for miles. Maybe only as far as the next ten hills. She wanted to head out, right now. Just pick a direction and head out and not care if she got lost or not. She'd ask him to join her if he wanted, but if he didn't, that would be OK too. She imagined herself just striking out, in a random direction, hiking the hills until she was good and lost, a modern pioneer woman not dependent upon anyone or anything. Independent. Responsible for only herself. And without any man feeling responsible for her and expecting unwarranted gratitude for doing things she would rather do herself anyway. He could tell she was thinking about her husband. Her whole stance changed when she did that. She got a faraway look in her eyes. Like she wanted to be far away from him. From what she told him of the man, he could see why she was disappointed with the way things turned out for her. Alright, not everything. But some of it. He knew he was only hearing her side of the story. She was probably exaggerating on some of it. He even sympathized with her husband on some of their issues. Not that he told her so very often. She was convinced of her husband's failings, and he didn't really think he could convince her otherwise. Besides, even if she was exaggerating, the guy did have quite a few issues. Being that insecure when you have a beautiful wife is simply a formula for disaster. And being an old-school "Me Tarzan, You Jane" kind of husband when your wife prizes nothing more than her independence is like adding gasoline to dry wood; all it takes is a tiny spark that explodes way out of proportion. One Weekend Stand Ch. 08 He thought he knew how to handle her. Though handle was probably not the best word. Better to say that he knew how much she valued her freedom, and how much he could enjoy watching her enjoy her freedom. Not that he wanted to marry her. She had her share of foibles and flaws that drove him crazy. More than a few were deal breakers on the marriage front. Still, it would be fun to live with her for a few months. In a perfect world, they could shack up for a year. Then, when she was driving him crazy, they'd head back to their respective lives. In a perfect world. No chance of that happening anytime in say, the next 3,000 years. Memories of this weekend would have to do. Better still, he was the kind of person who could take those memories and extrapolate them into whole stories. To vividly imagine a year spent together, free from worry, want and responsibilities. With nothing to do but learn more about each other. And explore their sexual horizons. He pulled her to him and kissed her, moaning deep in his throat when he found her lips to be soft and pliant and accepting. When he broke off she kissed him back, with as much emotion and urgency as he'd shared with her. They held each other close, her legs wrapped around his, their bodies pressed tight, so tight against each other. As they kissed a passionate energy swelled from one to the other, back and forth, like a wave impossibly surging higher and higher as it reached one shore and reflected back to the other. He'd closed his eyes and his only awareness was focused on her. He felt aware of every particle of her, every molecule of her body. He could hear nothing but her ragged breathing and the occasional gasp emanating from deep within her core. He smelled nothing but the scent of her. Tasted nothing but the sweetness of her. Saw nothing but the memory of her, naked and welcoming of him during their brief but explosive time together. They kissed like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn't. And that was something that neither wanted to face. She sat in the Jeep, quiet, alone with her thoughts. His hand rested on her thigh, nonchalantly, just like it had on the ride up. Her last view of the cabin came in the side view mirror as he maneuvered the Jeep back onto the dirt track. "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear," the etching read. If only that was true. If only. The end. Note: All comments welcome!