6 comments/ 18272 views/ 1 favorites Peter's Lament By: cheesy80s Peter had intense sex with his lover three hours before she disappeared. He opened one gunk-crusted eye to find Petra gazing at his face, her own hinting a smile of intimacy that Peter never knew was possible from another person. Petra was naked, her short hair, a kind of standard brown color that looked closer to burnt honey in the pale grey light of that cloudy morning, rested on her cheeks. Peter glanced down to her breasts, exposed from the sheets, and eyed the pink nipples stiffening. He sensed her hunger, but Peter hesitated to call it lust. From Petra, it was so much more. A deep need, sexual and emotional, that overtook both of them. When they made love, Peter pictured the two of them like balls of pure energy, feeding off one another, tendrils of pure white pleasure reaching out, connecting until they were nothing but a pure blazing brilliance. The morning Petra disappeared, Peter's erection came quickly, as it always did in her presence. Peter reached around her, pulling her petite form close to him. They were such opposites, an impossible pairing. Peter felt his tummy, grown 20 pounds heavier than he should have ever allowed, rest against the flat muscles of her stomach. He sensed the smooth virtues of her skin compared to the hairy appendages that made up his body. Peter moved his mouth to a nipple, amazed at how perfect they were, practically no areola but a thick, hard nub the color of pink bubble gum. She truly was blessed. His tongue snaked out, licking with pressure up and down the nipple head before consuming her breast. She moaned, grasping his body closer to her as she pushed her chest further into him. Peter felt her kiss his neck, his ear. "You know me, Peter. I want to fuck loudly. To do it all. I don't care who hears," she whispered in her delectable Eastern European accent. "What about the others? They'll probably wake up soon if they haven't already," Peter smiled, knowing he'd fuck her in the middle of a grocery store if she asked. "I don't care. I want your tongue inside me." Petra broke his embrace, shoving the blanket and quilt down until the weight of their pile tipped and fell to the hardwood floor. She then moved, kissing his chest as her body maneuvered so she could ride his mouth. Peter glanced at the morning outside the glass doors to their room overlooking the lake, the mist glossing the dark, stilled waters of Lake Anna. Then Petra's thighs and mound wrapped his view, her smell, a slight muskiness, wafting into his nostrils. Peter smiled, kissing a cluster of three small, brown birthmarks that trailed like a constellation into the thatch of her dark pubic hair. He kissed her outer lips and swollen mound. Petra moaned as she bent over and began to kiss the crease between his testicles and groin with the kind of hungry relish she normally used to kiss him as they came together. Peter experienced one of those overwhelming erotic surges as she began to nibble and lick; he could almost cum with that alone. Peter wasn't a lasting lover; he often became easily overtaken by Petra's sexual energy, her abandon, coming much too soon to please her. Petra never seemed to care though, although he never dared to fall asleep or get up until she had her sexual fill. Still, Peter had gotten better in the seven months of their lurid relationship, lasting longer than he ever had with his ex-wife or the three other lovers he had in his lifetime. Petra grasped his cock, already stiff and jerking. She licked its head noisily, her own gravelly moans expelling hot breath against his shaft. "Stop kissing me. Use your tongue," she growled playfully. He slipped with a slithering grace between her mound, her lips, his saliva mixing with her own pungent arousal. He began licking in small see-saw strokes, probing deep into her vagina, massaging her inner folds. Petra pressed her vulva against his mouth, his upper lip pressing her clit deliciously. Petra swallowed Peter's cock noisily, speaking her pleasure in sighs and moans as she sucked him in her mouth. Her tongue massaged his cock as she began to peck at him with increasing friction and speed. His cock began those spasmodic episodes that warned him he wouldn't last much longer against her ministrations. Peter let his tongue's flicking widen, dipping and then rising out of her. He grabbed her ass cheeks, pushing her even more forcefully against him. She loved rough oral, allowing herself to succumb to orgasm simply by striving for it without spending time on the gradual building of sensation. He knew this helped her along. "Oh yes, my God, Peter," she shouted, arching her back cat-like, her nails clawing the tangled and damp hairs against his thighs. Petra began to thrust herself against his mouth, reaching for that orgasm. His stifled moan oscillated with the rising and falling of her skinny thighs. "Eat my cunt. Yes, eat it faster. Oh, oh yea oh." Peter felt he knew Petra as well as if they were born and raised together despite that he met and became consumed with love for his Georgian beauty in a matter of seven months. He could read her moods, the subtle changes that she exhibited, like a psychic reading auras. He marveled at how she could be intense with him, sharing such similar interests in science and technology, but at the same time, so completely feminine and innocent, succumbing to him for critical decisions, letting Peter's genetic need to dominate and protect take wing. Such two dynamic women embodied in a solitary lithe sexual creature. Peter could also read her body, the signals she gave him with the twitching of her legs, the contractions and flexing of muscle, the pace of her breath. Those signs were his conductor that orchestrated her orgasms. Petra fully stroked his shaft as she road his mouth, her hand rising up until she palmed his head in an agonizingly delicious twist of her wrist. She repeated it twice, tensing Peter's cock, urging his own orgasmic dam to burst. Then her own pleasure rose to the apex, and she stopped, squeezing her own breasts and pinching her nipples between the crevices of her fingers. "Cumming, Peter. Yes. Cumming," she yelled out before launching into a diatribe in her Slavic language. Petra shook, her juices seeping from the folds and coating Peter's tongue and lips. He held her hips against him, even as he labored to breath from his nose nestled between her ass cheeks. Petra lurched forward with a shudder, pushing his head away from her pussy. "No more. No more, sweetie. Wait," she said, crawling further down his body. Her hands and mouth resumed work on his manhood, kissing the shaft with long, drenching licks. He was tight and primed, and felt himself begin to lose his control the moment she encapsulated his cock into her magical mouth. Petra plied her fingers to his jellied sack, coaxing the pleasure from him as she dipped her head forward and back up. Her suckles weren't particularly fast or urgent, but she seemed to use every muscle in her orifice to trigger each nerve ending in his penis. Peter's breathing became erratic, and his voice rose as the orgasm approached. "Pet...Petra. Oh God, baby, I'm coming. Please, baby, I'm coming," he rasped out, one hand grabbing her forearm while the other wrenched at the flesh on her bottom. She moaned, letting saliva thicken in sheets along his shaft as she prepared to drink down his load. "Honey, please, you don't have to ... to...ew...ew....Gooooooooooooood!" His cum jetted out of Peter in long, almost painful ropes. Petra sucked and drank, then pulled away from his head and continued to lick and suck the underside of his shaft as more cum billowed from the head and clumped down onto her nose. Petra let out a slight giggle as Peter clawed her ass and the bed sheets, his upper body convulsing in his release. **** The order of reality was tangled, his memory distorted. Petra's blowjob was the first thing that came to mind when asked by the FBI agent what was the first thing he remembered that morning. The agent, Cole Howard he said his name was, focused on Peter as though he were a condemned man. The three other agents, all dressed in sharply-pressed navy suits and dark glasses, stared at him with intent, awaiting every word that he would utter from his mouth. The small room felt stifling, and almost seemed comically cliché, as though pulled from the set of a 1970's cop show. Peter asked for a cigarette; the request seemed the logical thing to do at the moment. It had been five years since he had last touched tobacco, going cold turkey and battling the urges, losing to the kitchen for comfort food and fattening snacks. That probably poisoned his body worse than any Marlboro would ever do. The man closest to the door removed a packet of Dunhills from his suit jacket. "Take as many as you'd like, Mr. Seymour," he said, his voice bland, and certainly not reassuring. After all, Peter was a condemned man. All because Petra disappeared. * * * * Peter believed hands to be a miraculous and intimate body part. Petra's hands performed a miracle on Peter in a matter of minutes after he finished coming. His manhood became engorged as though the desire never left him to begin with. Petra settled against the crook of his arm, kissing his chest and taking one of his nipples into her mouth gently. "Oh God, Pet. Again? You just drained me," Peter said half-heartedly. "No, I said more. I want your cock now. And I want to scream and I want you to fuck me in every position you can," her accent became thick again, as it did when lust overtook her. There was a distant thud coming from the floor below them; Peter heard footfalls, the distant gurgle of a drain, a door gently shutting. The house guests were rousing. Peter smiled, "And your friends won't be embarrassed, huh?" "No. They know what a slut I am for you," she said as her lips touched his, hers sandwiching his top lip then bottom one before snaking her tongue into his mouth. Petra rose on her haunches, straddling his hips. "Rub yourself against my pussy," Petra said, hefting her breasts in each hand as her head tilted back, her slight Adam's apple pushing against her throat. Peter grasped his shaft, studying the way his head splayed apart his girlfriend's vulva, the lips cascading over the head as gently as her own lips. Petra rocked to his own movement. His cock head rubbed a line from clit to the base of her vagina, her moisture licking his flesh. The sensation crept upon him, and he let out a soft moan. Pushing his hand away, Petra steadied his penis and in a swift motion, engulfed it inside her. She rode him hard and fast. "Oh, your dick feels so good. Fuck me," she bawled out, oblivious to everyone else in the house. Despite himself, naturally shy and conservative, Peter was overcome by Petra's raw inhibition, her physical exertion to sex, and his own pleasured voice rose to match her shrills. Petra planted her hands against his belly, her fingers sinking into the spongy flesh. Her feet positioned on either side of his legs as she rose, allowing Petra full control of the penetration. In that position, Peter felt her hole close fully around his shaft and head, as though her womb contracted by two sizes. His hands began their involuntary journey across her abdomen, her chest and shoulders. Peter wanted to just touch her, to feel her shape and splendor. He often told his lab partner at VizoTech that Petra was divinity distilled in human form, and just touching her body made him reconsider the existence of a God. Petra tilted back, grabbing his shoulders for both support and to urge Peter up off the mattress. He rose, shifting his legs back underneath him as Petra fell back to the bed, her legs sliding across his chest as her knees hooked over his shoulders. Their penetration remained unbroken and Peter began his slow, methodical thrusts into Petra's netherworld. "Oh God. Go deep, Peter. Go deep, honey. Fuck me hard," she pined. Petra raised her arms above her head, bunching a sheet as though using the flimsy material for leverage against his humping. He heard the squishing sound of her lust flooding her canal, and the sticky delirium her pussy coaxed from him. Peter bent forward, taking a tongue she extended into his mouth and sucking upon it like a small penis. Soon his orgasm began to sneak into the general euphoria of their love-making. Petra stopped, and pushed Peter off her body. She then stood and bent over the bed, her fingers parting her lips as her middle finger sank into her depths. Peter remained transfixed on the mattress, gazing like a dumbfound schoolboy. "Hurry, Pete. I'm almost there. Fuck me from behind; I love your cock from behind," she said. Peter rose and stood behind her. She grabbed his cock, bent her knees slightly and fumbled with the head against her slit. Peter pushed inside her and immediately began to thrust. Petra arched her back, touching and pinching her nipples, her eyes tightly shut and her face tense. "Oh Christ. Yes, fuck me. Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," Petra screamed out like a mantra. Peter struggled between the intensity of the pleasure and attempting to hold back just long enough. The mood shattered the moment someone knocked at the door. "No!" Petra yelled out. "Go away. Not yet." "Yes, darling Petra, I hear you." The voice was the slick British tone of Jerome Benjamin, Petra's college friend and current work partner at her job. Peter felt a cold jab of embarrassment and reality seep into the room; he looked down and felt dirty and somewhat guilty, his cock buried inside her body. And for the first time, Peter noticed a network of blue veins tracing randomly against the creaminess of her rump. Some may have found that unattractive, but for Peter the image was all the more raw and alluring. "Give us a few minutes, Jerome baby." "That is fine, but Sandra, myself, Lucilia and Markel all would love a little morning ride on the boat," he said from beyond the door. "Perhaps not as good as fucking, but it's something we all can do together for a change." Feeling larger than life, Peter grinned and felt his cock surge. Petra smiled and rubbed the two of them to keep the sensations trickling. "Okay, I will be down in a few minutes." "Thank you, my dear," Jerome said. "Oh by the way, Peter, now may be not the best time, but thank you again for your wonderful hospitality. And no matter what Petra says, she never screamed that way for her last boyfriend." Peter laughed despite himself and despite the situation. Petra's friends were definitely an oddity; but they made him feel apart of their tight circle, as though he was always part of their crew of international school friends. Of course the reality was furthest from that scenario. Peter was never apart of anything, too smart and bookish and shy to connect to people, and during those times he did, they often failed in messy disentanglements, including a divorce that took him six years to just begin to recover from. But that was then. In a matter of seven months, Petra had washed him clean of his uncertainties, of his fragile self-image and in turn, replaced the lesser with confidence and egotism that made him feel all the more sexier. Petra seemed engrossed in his body, one that would never gain a second glance from any other female at a beach, or at least the one part of his body that could sedate her continuous sexual cravings. She also broke past his shielding shyness that was often mistaken for snobbishness or even outright intellectual boorishness. Petra collapsed her upper body onto the mattress again, bending her knees slightly. Peter felt his cock press deeper into her womb. She began rubbing herself, expelling slight, girlish moans as she humped him in small circles. Peter took her subtle movements and began to slowly stroke her labia with his shaft. Her moisture coated him still, but it had become sticky, almost overly oiled and his thrusting slapped out loud in wet pops. "Faster, Peter. Make me cum," she cawed. Peter holstered his hands against her waist and drove himself hard in and out of Petra's slit. She clawed the bed, crying out in an unrestrained pleasure that bordered on the wails of pain. Peter fucked her for all he was worth, an average man with an average dick with an above average brain and a very above-average engineering job fucking a woman who surpassed all the women on the planet. And she was all his, easily so, as though their entire lives before seven months ago was a prelude to the day they met. "Gaw...gaw..God. Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," she cried on in litany. Petra quieted again, the imminent moment of release, quaked and shot her hand to her clit, rubbing with a raw vigor. Then she came. And without much more preamble, so did Peter. Releasing a stream into his goddess. **** "What do you do for VizoTech, Mr. Seymour," Agent Cole Howard asked, studying Peter's sweat-stained oversized Petey's Bar and Grill tee-shirt, the man's ragged, unshaven face. "I don't know what that has to do with Petra," Peter retorted. The response was met with silence. The three agents behind Cole shuffled slightly; the movement may have been nothing more than the switching of weight from tired feet, but to Peter, it seemed tinged with a menacing undertone. "We'll get to that in a minute," Howard said, glancing again to a folder splayed on the table before them. "It says you're the lead engineer. We know that VizoTech has just won a major contract with the U.S. military. I sure can get your job information elsewhere, but your cooperation would certainly save me time." Peter exhaled smoke. It amazed him just how easily he could pick up a cigarette, light and begin the habit again with little more than a clearing of his throat after the first drag. The Dunhill tasted like shit. But after finishing the first one, stubbing out the smoldering butt, and helping himself to a second, Peter wondered why he ever quit in the first place. "Mr. Seymour? A contract with a government entity entitles us to full disclo...." "Yes. Okay. I guess it isn't too much of a secret anymore," he said. "I was lead designer, engineer – inventor if you will – of liquid applicable stealth technology. Basically, paint for aircraft and missiles and anything that can fly that can make them invisible to radar. Light years ahead of current stealth tech, where the aircraft has to be designed from schematic one to achieve radar invisibility." "I see," Howard began, easing back into his chair. "So something like that would be of interest perhaps to other countries. Maybe terrorists." The word blasted Peter cold. Something wasn't right, hadn't been all along. In the back of his mind Peter always suspected that one of these agents would eventually inform him that Petra's body had been found somewhere, that her missing status would be updated to homicide. He thought of this clinically, simply as a matter of fact. Not that he wished it. But solely because he never deserved Petra to begin with; their union was a fluke of fate and science. She was much too beautiful, too perfect, for his fortune to have ever lasted. So Peter prepared himself for her death by becoming analytical. Howard opened another folder that he retrieved from one of the agents behind him and began to methodically lay out pictures -- obvious surveillance images -- of a women with blond hair. The first one showed her cupping an elegant-looking fur coat to her neck, her face smiling serenely at another man who was turned away from the camera. The second picture, the same blond girl, was perched on ragged military jeep, the symbol on the side faded and weather worn so Peter couldn't determine it's country of origin. Peter eyes scanned the girl, and then to the other faces around her, particularly of the driver's face, his chiseled European features striking a chord of familiarity to him. Peter noticed the Uzi she holstered to her side. A third picture, this time of another girl, her hair long as the last time, but luxuriously thick and radiantly red, the girl smoking an exotic looking cigarette in a café somewhere, speaking to another woman that also looked vaguely familiar. A fourth, the same girl talking to the same European man as earlier this time emerging from the revolving door of some unnamed hotel. Peter's Lament His mind remained jumbled and confused; it was as though Peter struggled to swim after diving deeper into the water than he intended; his arms ripping the water to break free to the surface for glorious air Peter's quest for meaning. It took a moment, but the realization hit him. He was looking at Petra in each of these photos. Not only Petra, but her friend Jerome, and in one of the pictures, Jerome's wife. And the other couple that stayed with Peter and Petra at the Lake Anna house the whole weekend. Howard continued to display five other pictures, each with Petra altered in physical ways and in different settings. The agent eyed Peter's astounded face, satisfied he garnered the right reaction. "I take it this is your Petra," he said. Peter remained transfixed, shooting an accusing look at the agents before him. He was angry. Confused. "Her name, at least as far as we can tell, is Giangia Stanovich. The Caucasian daughter of a former Soviet army commander who broke rank and defected to the Afghani rebels during the 1980's. They later turned into the Taliban. She left the country shortly after the Soviet Union collapsed, studied abroad and fell back with her terrorist brethren." "This is a joke," was all Peter could say. "Afraid not, Mr. Seymour. The woman you knew as Petra is the most dangerous woman in the world," he said flatly. "So as you can see, we really need to know just how much she learned from you about your little stealth product." ***** None of the story made sense. But how would the agents know? None of them were with Petra during those seven months, especially with her, touching her, kissing her the morning she disappeared. The Petra he knew was beyond any of the few lovers crossing his path during his lifetime. She was just as connected to Peter. Within three weeks, Petra and Peter were living together at Lake Anna. And life melded so perfectly; no need for compromises, no arguments. A serendipitous timing of wants, needs...desires. Peter and Petra would wake every morning at six, making fervent love before showering, dressing and sharing a spare 15 minutes with mellow cups of coffee staring at the lake, and talking very little. Then they both parted, heading to work – he at VizoTech and she as a real estate researcher for Jerome's firm. By the third month, half of Peter's closet and a newly-purchased chest of drawers were dedicated to Petra. They were in synchronicity. Some days he would get out of work early, and Petra would take an extended lunch break. She'd often be home before he opened the door, perched on one of the wooden kitchen chairs wearing one of his dress shirts, draping over her like a wispy robe. She'd huskily tell him she was hungry for lunch, make him sit down as she snaked between his thighs, unzipping his pants and releasing his quickly hardening penis. "I want your yogurt," she giggle, and then began licking the underside of his shaft. "Give your Pet some milk for lunch." Petra was magical with oral sex. Tender, instinctively applying just the right amount of pressure, suction, squeezes and touches to coax his orgasm. He would lounge in the seat, smiling with half-lidded eyes, stroking her delicate brown hair as she kissed his organ. As he felt the twinges in his testicles, the trickling of sensations that mounted second after second, Petra would take his hands in hers, place them at the back of her head, urging him to force her mouth into his groin, to let go and fuck her mouth. The intimate offer alone sent him reeling in incredibly lustful geysers. After he recovered, Petra would take a paper plate from a cabinet, a can of whip cream, sometimes chocolate sauce and even once French onion dip, slather the food to her swollen lips, coating the vulva and her inner folds, telling Peter it was his lunch time. He would spend a half hour, sometimes longer, tasting her insides, swallowing the food stuff and licking the lingering tastes away to consume her own tastier juices, until he was devouring her own seeping cum and riding her orgasm. What the agents didn't know either was just how much trust the two constructed between themselves. By the third month of their relationship, Petra and Peter existed in a bubble where each other's needs were distinctly understood before a word was spoken. And tales of her most inner demons, the painful memories she harbored inside during her childhood and teenage years in the country of Georgia were shared as freely as her sex. But the test of her trust, the utmost test, came one night, still aglow from lovemaking, Petra lost in thought while stroking his weakened shaft lovingly. "I want to say something, Peter." "Yes?" he responded, looking down at the top of her sweat-dampened head. She did not return his gaze at that moment. "I want you to know that I trust you so much. You have been wonderful and shown me that there are kindness in the world." Petra sometimes would lapse into a more struggled English, her accent thicker and her grammar sloppier, when she became more emotional. "There have been men in my life, you know, right? Men of my past, as you would say." "Of course," Peter said, stroking her cheek. "I have a past, too. I would never judge you." "I know that. But many of those men wanted something from me I would never give, one part of me I wanted to hold sacred because I could not trust them fully. Do you understand what I am saying?" "I think so," Peter said after a moment. Petra finally looked up into his eyes, her cheek still against his chest. "I will give that part of me to you because I trust you, and I love you, Peter." He was stunned. At that moment, neither had ever used the word love to describe exactly what had been building between them for those few months. But the words coming from her mouth the first time set him on a high he had never experienced in his life. Before, love to Peter was a confusing, messy union rife with double speak, and worse, those compromises that ate away at his soul. With Petra, the relationship was pure and free of complications. But to know that it equated to love for her almost made him weep. "I love you too, Petra," he said quietly. "I want to put your cock in my asshole, Peter. It is the one part of me a virgin, and with you, it would be a gift, my gift to you for being you," she said. "I know I don't make sense, but...." "No, Petra. This is such an unbelievable offer. But I'm scared; I mean I don't want to hurt you." The screen door to the porch jittered against a sudden gust of wind off the lake, and even through the door, Peter felt a cooling chill casting upon the naked couple. He held her closer, enclosing her nimble breast in his palm, feeling her nipples stiffen at his touch. "I know you won't hurt me Peter. I trust you won't hurt me." And that was all that was said. Petra disengaged, and swerved to the bathroom, emerging moments later with a discolored plastic container of Vaseline, its label mostly peeled off into hairy wisps of faded blue and cream. Petra handed him the bottle and positioned herself so her pussy approached his mouth. Peter let out a gasp, his hips involuntarily jerking upwards, as Petra engulfed him and began her gentle, passionate kisses against his stiffening shaft and ballooning head. He kissed her lips once, twice, letting his tongue enter her slit. She moaned softly. He knew what she wanted – to feel the pleasure of her mouth to relax her while he administered the lubricant. Peter opened the bottle and scooped the opaque cream on his middle and index fingers. Gently, with his other hand, he parted her cheeks, exposing her wrinkled hole. Never before had he seen that part of her. Actually, he'd never seen that part of any of his past lovers. None had ever wanted to engage in such an intensely intimate act before. Of course, his ex-wife admitted during the disintegration of their marriage that her year-long affair involved having anal sex with her lover. He always remembered that, how that detail emerged during the course of dispositions prior to their divorce trial. It wounded Peter deeply, but he'd never admit it, never give her that satisfaction. With Petra, those wounds would be healed twice-fold. Her hole wrinkled to the center and was darker than the creaminess of the rest of her body. Her hole expanded slightly, Petra flexing her sphincter to offer his lubricated fingers for his exploration. Peter was gentle, perhaps overly so. But he worried so much about hurting her, rupturing that trust that had become the communion between them. His middle finger worked inside of her, massaging around the rim of the hole and then trailing the Vaseline inward. Petra moaned against his cock, her hips pushing slightly against his finger. The first finger was soon followed by the second, and for what seemed like hours, Peter played and massaged with her hole. Petra gave no indication of pain, but instead seemed to ignite in a more animalistic passion than he had ever witnessed before. Petra's mouth would disengage from his penis, and she cry out, demanding that he fuck her with his fingers. By then, her body was moving too erratically for him to maintain his tongue's contact with her pussy. "Deeper, baby. Go deeper inside me," she yelled, arching around to watch him work and to hold her own cheeks apart. Soon Peter found his two fingers buried in her backside to the knuckles, the Vaseline painting every inch of her canal. Petra moved off his body and laid on her back, opening her arms to offer herself to him. Peter rose, straddling her body in the missionary position. "Thank you." It was all he said. Petra smiled devilishly, reaching down between him so her fingers graced the flesh of his cock. She maneuvered the head against her sphincter and began pushing forward. His head pressed in, squeezing past her ring with ease. At that point, Peter began to push as well. The whole time, Peter studied her mesmerizing hazel eyes, watching for signs of pain. Her eyebrows creased, the thin lines nearly joining at the center of her brow, her mouth open and gasping. But everything about it screamed pleasure -- intense, nearly metamorphic pleasure. Centimeter at a time, Peter entered her, and for once he was thankful for being average sized. With each deeper intrusion, the two waited; Peter could feel Petra flexing her inner muscles, accommodating this new object. "You feel so big, Peter. You're filling me up so deliciously," Petra mewed in a thicker accent than usual. "Do you want this ass, honey? Do you want my cherry ass?" "Oh God yes. I want to be inside you." "Yes. Take it, Peter. Take it all. I want to feel your cock up my ass." Then she'd begin to rock her pelvis again, little waves that inched him deeper into her anal canal. Before long, Peter was buried inside of his lover, and she began to kiss him. That progressed to pure lovemaking – not like before, with power and urgency, but relaxed, intimate, growing this new-found love to realms deeper by every stretch of the imagination. Petra told him to lift himself up from her chest, allowing his cock even deeper into her. With each penetration, Petra expelled a noisy breath, like she was tiring from an intense jog. "Pee...Pee...ter. My. God," she gasped. Peter hesitated, holding his hips in mid-thrust. "I'm sorry, Petra. Am I hurting you?" "No," she shouted, clawing his shoulders. "Keep going, Peter. Keep going. It...feels....so.....goooood......Don't. Stop. Don't. Don't. Yea. Yea." Those breaths rose in a crescendo that reached to the top of her voice, the sensations between the two rising and rising and rising until.... What Peter felt at first reminded him of the tickling blast from a toy water gun. He was surprised, confused. He looked down between them and witnessed geyser after geyser of clear liquid spraying from her vagina and onto his belly. After the first one, Petra's voice let go, her screams filling the bedroom and the house. Her pleasure filled the silence and stilled darkness of Lake Anna. Her legs began to convulse, suddenly wrapping around his waist and clutching Peter further into her, then shaking down until her heels began to pound in the back of his thighs. All the while Petra screamed out her orgasm, not uttering a single intelligible word, but only the primordial voice of someone lost to the basest of all pleasures. Peter couldn't withhold against her orgasmic assault. He came hard, his body jerking with each jet of cum, filling her ass with him. They collapsed and Peter fell into the deepest sleep of his life. **** So there was no way the FBI could be right about Petra. No way those pictures and the agent's story added up to anything more than a case of mistaken identity. That was not the Petra he knew, the one he discovered that night. Peter's thoughts became as hazy as the smoke. The butt of his third cigarette became hot. He stubbed it out, this time on the pitted table face. Agent Howard and his goon squad had left him alone for the past ten minutes, leaving Peter to his sexual daydreams. Those memories were the only way he could stay connected to Petra, a psychic fiber to keep her real. For the first time, Peter felt a sort of desperate sadness begin to percolate within his heart. He couldn't easily discount the FBI's version of events. The girl in the photos was remarkably like Petra, even the way the girl sat on the jeep or held that coat to her chest. The mannerisms all so familiar and bittersweet. His mind wandered back to the dock, to those last few images captured and framed in his mind. Her beautiful, lithe body climbing into the boat. The way her legs gracefully arched over the side, landing in the belly of his Bayliner. The way her bikini framed her curves, at once demure but incredibly erotic. The door nearly swung its full extent before Peter noticed anyone approaching. Agent Howard came in alone this time, shut the door and sat before him. There was a different look to him this time, a more personal expression the spoke of failing hope. "Right now, Peter, your CEO, Malcomb Vizor and the other top executives are cloistered in the company's conference room with top brass from the FBI," Howard began. "They're hearing the basic outline of what you told me so far: That your former lover may have seduced you to gain access to sensitive information concerning new U.S. military capabilities." The agent, his shirt much more wrinkled than Peter remembered from earlier, let that statement sink into the stale atmosphere in the interrogation room. Peter didn't respond. "The problem that we need to ascertain is just how much she actually got from you," he said. "Worst case scenario, Mr. Seymour, is that Petra extracted chemical formulas and other secretive information for your stealth paint." "Impossible," Peter finally breathed out. "My entire system is encrypted, using a variable system that is accessible only by central computer. I am the only one with the password series. Even if I work from home, I am the only one who can access it. For the company's sake, there is a hard copy of that formula in their bank somewhere, but other than that, I am the sole proprietor." Agent Howard leaned forward, his hands clasping together in prayer. For a moment, Peter instinctively flinched back, but couldn't pinpoint why he did so. "We know that, Mr. Seymour. Your CEO has told us so much," Howard said. "Our agents want to comb your system, looking for indications of an outside break-in. Or at least signs of software tampering. The only way we can get in is with your codes." Peter felt a chill, glancing around the room for some sort of air conditioning vent. The room was plain and solid, the nearest vent seemingly dead of any air. "No way." "Peter, please be reasonable. The board of directors of VizoTech has already given the bureau consent. Your CEO is asking you to give us the code," he said. "I could get a federal judge to compel you to give us your passwords, but that would eat away too much time, Mr. Seymour. The sooner we can investigate a crime soon the better chance we'll have in capturing Petra and her companions. Please, Mr. Seymour, time is critical here." Peter hesitated. "Even if what you say about Petra is real, why do you think I'd help you find and capture her." This time the agent leaned even closer, attempting to shrink the space between them. This time, Peter felt, the agent tossed off his professional interrogator air and instead donned an actual understanding to Peter's plight. The engineer became disarmed. "So you can ask her yourself, Peter. Ask her why she left you, why she disappeared," he said. "So you can hear the truth from her." **** Just a week before Petra disappeared, she and Peter were lounging on plastic-strapped yard chairs near the mouth of his plywood floating dock. The morning began overcast, and just near lunch time, the sky became even more of a battleship grey. The two were silent; Peter reading and Petra drawn and lost among the gentle ripples on the face of Lake Anna. "You ever wonder what secrets are beneath there?" Petra broke the silence they had been sharing for the past hour. For the first time since they met and began their relationship, Petra awoke that morning in a pensive mood, rising straight from waking and taking a shower without the couple's usual sexual forays. They ate a quiet breakfast and then headed to the dock. Within the first ten minutes though, Petra pulled him down onto the damp wooden planks, exposing his cock and riding him to a quick mutual orgasm. That had been two hours before and nothing was said since. Peter looked up from his book. Petra remained transfixed to the lake, gazing within and beyond its dark and murky surface. The weather obscured Lake Anna, the clouds deepening its dark tones until the surface seemed vaguely olive and its depths the shade of tar and night. "The surface is for everyone to see, for all to play on, you know?" she continued after a moment. "But no one knows what it hides beneath, what secrets lie buried. There's where the lake's true dark nature is, you know?" Peter remained speechless, not so much out of some respect to her epiphany, but more out of amazement. This was just a week before Petra disappeared, and that day Peter realized there was just as much depth to his lover as Lake Anna. He was stunned. Petra looked up finally. "Let's go inside. I want to show you something." The something turned out to be six inches and pink. Peter had never seen the dildo before in his house and had no idea where Petra had found one, especially in such a conservative area of Virginia. A series of vinyl straps trailed limply from the dildo's stub and partial fake testicles. For a moment, Peter felt somewhat awkward and hurt. The pink jellied dildo was slightly bigger than his own cock; her presentation of the sex toy felt like an indictment on his inadequacy. Petra just smiled and stroked his simmering boner through his shorts. She reassured him in her minx seductive tones. "No Peter. I love your cock best," she said. "I used to use this before you came into my life. But now I want to use it on you." Peter continued to stare at his lover, his mind failing to register exactly what she meant. He glanced at the pink cock again then back to her face. His bedroom – their bedroom – was cast in grey shadows, the beechwood furniture losing its normally golden luster to the gloom. Peter felt cold. "I'm not sure, Petra. I've never had anything inside me before. And I'm not gay." She pouted, jutting her luscious bottom lip out before lifting the dildo closer to her mouth and letting that lip luxuriously trail the opaque underside of the fake shaft. The demonstration was completely alluring. "Peter, pleasuring your anus doesn't make you gay." Peter's Lament "Okay, but at the least, it will hurt like hell. I mean, I haven't so much as put a finger in there in my entire lifetime." "You had me, you entered my virgin ass," she suddenly looked serious, a little annoyed at his continued resistance. "Yea, but you instigated that. And I didn't hurt you." She remained silent a moment, studying him with a stony gaze, her pupils becoming narrower despite the gloom. "Do you trust me?" "Of course." "Then prove it, Peter. Let me fuck you. Let me make you a virgin no longer either." The protest, of course, was half-hearted; Peter would have never denied her any whim, no matter how bizarre, and this certainly rivaled anything he could have ever imagined. But nonetheless, the request left him stark, left wondering about his lover and just how much more there was to Petra than he suspected. Petra had bad experiences, probably used sexually as a teenager in Georgia. He even suspected that Petra was briefly a prostitute or online sex performer in order to pay for her access out of Georgia and to America. But whatever demons colored her past very rarely haunted their relationship. And Peter wasn't sure what this characterized, whether this desire to penetrate his rear was some form of revenge much like he felt his anal experience in Petra was an exorcizing of his ex-wife's demons. Peter rose from the bed, the dildo a centerpiece between their little pow-wow. He walked to the windowed doors to the sunroom, and gazed beyond them to the murkiness outside. Lake Anna rippled with hundreds of gentle raindrops, not enough to obscure it glassy surface, but enough to make staying on the dock unpleasant. That he would do this, there was no question. What frightened him more was that a part of Peter yearned to try this, excited him enough to cause his hole to pucker at the thought. Petra maneuvered behind him, sliding her arms around his waist, letting her hands, her fingers, massage his belly and chest. He felt her mouth, the scent of candy and the warmth of melted butter, painting kisses on his back. Peter felt his body respond. "Please, Peter. You were so gentle with me, and I never knew it could ever feel that way," she whispered. "Let me inside of you. It has been my ultimate fantasy, and I could only share it with you." Peter trusted her words; no matter what she did for her passage out of Georgia, he doubted this was something that his lover experimented with. She was too strong to allow anyone to bull her into that. Besides, for Petra, this was a loving bond, Peter guessed, one that would consummate their relationship and bring them closer together. Arm in arm, the couple went to the bathroom; Peter with a gradually hardening penis and Petra, whose gain bounced the pink dildo erect between her thighs, strapped to her hips like a horse's harness. **** "What guarantee do I have about prosecution?" Agent Howard looked up from his cell phone, its screen awash with some cryptic message that Peter could barely make out from his side of the table. Another agent entered the room as Peter stubbed out his fifth cigarette. For a moment, he felt guilty, musing as to how he couldn't kiss Petra when he saw her again, at least with tobacco on his breath. That reunion would probably be permanently stayed if the FBI had its way. "Unless you're hiding something, Mr. Seymour, no one will prosecute you. I can't vouch for your employer though," Howard said. "No, I mean for Petra." "We catch her, she'll be prosecuted as an enemy combatant. Plain and simple." Peter waited a moment, letting the tension build, and avoiding the steely gaze of the second agent whose red hair seemed a bit too full for the typical g-man. If this negotiation tool was going to work, then he had to lead Howard to believe that there was no way he'd be willing to cooperate. "Trash Petra's friends all you want, but if you want the codes, then my girlfriend is immune from prosecution," Peter said. Agent Howard shook his head, and loosened his tie. This time, the man picked up the pack of nearly empty cigarettes and lit one himself. He exhaled the first drag with a little guffaw. "You seriously believe she was your girlfriend, Mr. Seymour?" Howard said before pulling another drag. "I mean, she left you there alone for you to deal with this shit storm, man. Left you hanging to answer questions you have no clue as to the answer. And you want to protect her?" "I guess I'll find out for myself what really happened when I talk to her. But if you want the codes, then she goes free." **** The warm shower water and a deep massage did little to settle Peter's jangled nerves. His ass remained trap-shut in anticipation, in fear, of the dildo's intrusion. Peter leaned against the cool fiberglass stall, his rear end jutting outward toward Petra's body. His eyes remained closed, concentrating on her hands and the mellowing water cascade. Petra stroked him with her right hand while the index finger of her left massaged his sphincter hole, gentle strokes in lazy circles around his puckered rim. For the moment, Peter was enjoying the ministrations, a creeping pleasure that ebbed and flowed from his hardening cock. He heard the light, hollow clapping of plastic and turned to see Petra place the Vaseline lid on the shower ledge and dip three fingers into the gooey mess. A wet sucking sound emitted from the container as her fingers emerged awash in the smoky jelly. Peter closed his eyes again, summing up the courage and fortitude of the sex act. "Relax, baby. I promise what little pain you feel will be unmatched by the pleasure I will give you," Petra whispered barely above the crashing shower stream. Her tongue snaked out and traced the edges of his ear and lobe, causing Peter to shiver. At that moment, his sphincter gaped slightly, and the tips of his lover's grease covered finger slipped by the first wall of defense. Peter breathed in sharply as Petra, assuring him in her best seductive voice, probed deeper by the second until her index finger was buried in his rectum. Her finger burned inside of him, not overwhelmingly, but enough to cause him discomfort as she began to shift the finger in and out of his canal. "The pain will stop in a minute," she said. "Just relax and trust me." And sure enough, his anus eased, fitting itself around her slender digit. Petra soon added one, then two more fingers inside of him. The burning returned each time, but for shorter intervals before Peter just fell filled. Soon her three fingers made short jabs as her other hand continued to stroke him, and before he knew it, Peter was moaning. His cock felt more electric with her ministrations inside his ass, more alive with nerves and sensations. Peter didn't realize just how deep Petra's fingers were in his bowels until she slipped them from him. He turned over his shoulder, watching Petra lubricate her pink phallus. As her hands greased and stroked the fake cock, Petra moaned as though the dildo was an actual extension of herself. The image was strange and highly erotic to Peter; Petra, the idea of feminine sexuality masturbating a male organ. Petra, her pert breasts dripping water and her soft curves glistening in the bathroom light, fondled pink testicles and swilled the pink head while growling with a pleasure that, while Peter was sure was imaginary, seemed to evoke a very real sensation within her. It would be the one moment in the entire time they had been together at that point that Peter hesitated about what he believed he knew, understood or even imagined Petra was capable of. Petra glanced to Peter's eyes, her own brown globes ravenous with desire, and began to massage the spongy, pasty flesh of his bottom. "Oh baby, I'm so hard for you," she cooed. "You make me so hard. I want you to jack me off." "Huh?" "I want you to jack me off. Play with my balls and stroke my cock, baby," she said, not belying an ounce of irony to this exchange. For the first time since entering the shower, Peter turned, leaning back against the stall. Petra grabbed his hand, placing his right against the pliable shaft of the dildo. With the other hand, Petra slipped it to the faux balls, and underneath them, so his fingers found and rubbed her slit. Peter understood in an instant what she had been asking him, and his hands began their work with what he hoped was the same tender sensitivity Petra often used on his own member. Petra leaned back, her face submerging into the shower stream as her brown hair parted layered against the water's pressure. Peter stroked her phallus, amazed at how lifelike it felt, even to the point of a rigid network of veins snaking along the shaft. Petra sighed and moaned out with each stroke. Peter's other hand felt her liquid coat him in curtains of lust; he arched his fingers to allow slight penetration beyond the vulva. The move spurred her hips forward. Peter suddenly experienced a surge of power. "You like me stroking your cock, baby?" Peter cooed. "You like my hand rubbing your nuts and squeezing your shaft?" He doubted he could have said anything else that would have garnered a reaction like he received with those questions. Petra shot up from her reverie, her hands clasping against his forearm, as though wanting to pull him away, but daring not to. "Yes. Oh God, yes. I love your hands," she rasped out. "Jack me off. Jack my cock off in you...your....ha....hand." "How 'bout I suck you off? Huh, baby? You want me to swallow your load, suck your beautiful cock all the way to the root?" Peter's own words shocked him; he never even knew he was capable of such depraved acts. And for a moment, he worried Petra would hold him to his offer. Instead, his words set her off. Petra's hips became erratic and frantic, humping his hands urgently. She expelled a litany of unintelligible words and moans before clasping her arms around his body and shooting her tongue inside his mouth so it danced with his own. "Cumming. I...I....I'm cu...u...ummming!" she broke the kiss and screamed, Petra's body going rigid like volts of electricity ripped through her form. Her nails bit into Peter's arms and he almost had to hold her up from collapsing into the narrow shower floor. Finally, Petra's body settled into a warm embrace, Peter salvaging the last vestiges of her sticky orgasm with his fingers. **** "The codes, Peter. You got your deal," Howard said. Peter sighed, rereading the emailed memo sent by the agent to a department director in Langley, Va. It seemed valid enough, but even if they tried to revoke it, Peter knew he would fight a losing battle. They'd get his codes anyway. At least now Petra had a fighting chance. So Peter gave Agent Howard and the three other agents a series of codes that were the proverbial keys to the kingdom at VizoTech. **** Peter was fucked for the first time in his life the weekend before Petra disappeared and Agent Howard and his small goon squad canvassed VizoTech computers for evidence of industrial espionage. It wouldn't be much longer until Peter was to be fucked a second time. As Petra continued to descend from her orgasm, she pecked little kisses across Peter's chest and again began massaging his anal entrance. The dildo, strapped to her groin, poked against Peter's abdomen uncomfortably. "I'm still hard," Petra chuckled. "Honey, you'll never not be hard with that thing." Petra forced Peter to suddenly turn, and again he was pressed face-first against the fiberglass wall, his rump extended toward Petra. She applied more petroleum jelly to his rectum and to the dildo, slinking two fingers inside of Peter and wiggling around. Peter again breathed in. "Petra, wait a second...." "Shhhhhh." She whispered, finger over her mouth and against his ear. "No turning back now, baby. I want my cock in your ass. Just try to relax." Peter closed his eyes and waited. He felt the cool head slide on his greasy bottom and slip between his cheeks. Petra toyed with the dildo, rubbing the head up and down, over and over across his sphincter. Despite his trepidation, peter felt the tingles of desire sprinkle across his skin. He sighed out loud as Petra grasped his soft cock and began to stroke it. Grease remained on her hand, and soon his cock was slick and hardening fast. Still she just taunted Peter with the dildo. Petra would press upwards so the head would just begin to ply open his hole, but then she'd pull back, letting it slide down his crack again in agonizingly slow flicks. Petra's hand was producing a decent amount of pleasure, and Peter found himself involuntarily shoving his hips forward to meet her gropes. He felt her other hand slip to his own hips, and the moment he dreaded began. Petra slunk the dildo against his entrance and pushed. At first, Peter sensed nothing more than just pressure, and it seemed his sphincter would not comply. His hole lasted only so long. Peter clenched his teeth, sucking in breath as he felt the head slip passed the mouth of his ass and dip inward. No pain, just a feeling of stretching. And something more: Those tingles, increasing in intensity as her hand continued to softly play with his cock. "That's it, baby. Just relax," she mewed. Pressure again, and this time, the dildo began to slide slowly into his canal, first the entire head, then the beginnings of the shaft. Peter again felt his insides burning at the intrusion moaning out more in pain than pleasure, but Petra continued her invasion forward. Petra began to rub him harder and faster, and soon the erotic sensations tampered down the burn and mixed with it to produce something not altogether unpleasant. Petra stopped halfway down, continued to push, but it seemed his ass wouldn't yield another inch. "Oh God, Petra. Fuck me." He heard her gasp in pure arousal, animalistic lust. And Peter pushed back. The dildo sank to its fake balls, and while only six inches, the phallus completely filled him like a medieval pike. Petra was rampantly jacking Peter off, but he hardly noticed. He only felt the burn and the pain and each minute droplet of water from the torrent that was the shower at that moment. It was as though his whole body was alive with sensation, intense, not sexual, but just like a physical scream of virginity loss. His anal cavity adjusted; Peter felt his muscles yield, forming around the dildo. Soon Petra began to jut in and out in slight, shallow jabs. Her hand continued to work on him. "Oh. Mmmm. Oh, yea," Peter cawed. The burn had subsided, and while some discomfort remained, there was a rising pleasure within him. Petra took his moans as encouragement and lanced him with longer strokes. "You like this, baby? You like my cock fucking your ass?" "Yea. Yes. God, yes. Don't stop," Peter responded, his voice rising and shrill, almost feminine. He felt feminine. Not homosexual, but softer, exposed and open, both emotionally and physically. He was giving his lover something, a pleasure on its own level that fed into an intimacy he never thought possible with another human being. And the more Peter became the woman, the more Petra morphed into the man. One hand still stroking his cock, another reached up and tweaked one of his nipples. Peter pushed his chest down into her palm, craving the attention and sharp pinches. "Oh my God, fuck me." "That's it. I will fuck you. I will fuck you whenever I want," she began to shout at him while ramming the dildo inside him. Her constant gentle demeanor changed, her voice instead betrayed a cruelty Peter had never heard before. There was a subtle hint of anger, but Petra's voice spoke more of power and domination. And his lover fucked Peter like a demon. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" "Yes. Keep....fucking...me....feels soooo good." And indeed it was. There was no pain, no burning. Each thrust brought with it an intense shooting fountain of pleasure; each stroke of his cock brought his body closer to total oblivion. An orgasm was approaching, one that was unmatched by anything in his life. "I can do anything I want to you, can't I?" Petra stammered. "Yes. An...any.....thing." "I can be anybody I want with you. Anybody, and you'll never question me." "No. Be anybody...please....just .... Kee....keep....fucking me." "I can lie to you. I can make you do anything. I can make you believe in anything I want. And you'll just beg for my cock, all the time." "Yes!" "Cum for me, Peter. I want you to let go. Feel my cock erupting inside of you." Peter was losing control. His body convulsed as wave upon wave of sexual electricity rode through his body. "Cu....mmm...cummm....mmmming. Oh God!" His penis exploded. Cum jetted out from his tip and splashed against the shower stall in the same volcanic intensity as Petra's own cum the day he fucked her ass. Peter nearly lost conscious, his legs slipping on the floor as her dildo rampaged his anal canal and her hand milked him of all sanity. Peter was the virgin bride, felt completely feminine against his lover, his husband with the soft skin and beautiful breasts. Peter was numb. Petra disengaged her dildo from him and an ache returned. As did their roles. The perverse energy their coupling produced drained away with the water, leaving Peter feeling both bruised and fallow. Petra turned him around, and she too reverted back to the gentle lover he always knew her to be. She kissed him deeply, not sexually, but with an emotional relish and tenderness. "Thank you, Peter," she said, as she sank to her knees, the water draining on her head and face, as she swallowed his cock in her mouth. Despite his intense orgasm, Peter soon became hard and emptied another load into her mouth, salvaging some of his masculinity before the two exited the shower and slept the rest of the day away. **** Petra did the same thing a week later, after the two made love in the bedroom despite their house guests. She and Peter took a shower together and she knelt before him, his backside soapy and her hands massaging suds as her mouth worked magic on his renewed erection. "Cum for me, Peter. I want to swallow your seed," she said, breaking off from her sucking. Her mouth engulfed him again, her saliva coating his cock and his length reaching to the back of her throat. Peter held her shoulders, leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling his cum creep up his shaft and his body caressed by the impending orgasm. It was a gradual plateau, his breath coming in short gasps, rising in a crescendo with each spark of pleasure. "Yea. Yea. Yea. I'm coming, Petra. Suck me down, take it." Peter jerked his body forward, cradling her head and dumping his own into the shower. He moaned out as Petra gurgled his juice and continued to slurp his shaft. Soon she rose, finished showering and exited with Peter, hand-in-hand. By the time they both got to the dock, Jerome, his wife and the other couple were already lounging in Peter's Bayliner, its motor growling in the water. Peter's blue and white striped boat certainly wasn't top-of-the-line, and smaller than most of the other vessels on Lake Anna, but it was more than adequate for a bachelor. Today though, Peter was not only part of a loving relationship, but now also had house guests. And they filled the boat entirely, save one extra seat for Petra. He may have been welcomed into Petra's friends' fold, but there were some places there was no room for him in their midst. And his boat, which would be ticketed by authorities for more than five passengers, was now their little circle. "You don't mind, do you?" Jerome said, sitting behind the wheel and his eyes shielded by sunglasses. He looked almost too preppie, like someone straight out of a Miami Vice episode, with a white golf shirt and white and navy shorts. Petra, her black bikini framing her curves deliciously, arched her legs over the boat's side, and sat with pure grace on the fifth seat. It was that one moment, of Petra entering the boat, that would always stay with Peter. It was his last image of Petra before she disappeared.