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Stainless Steel Dream

By: Beaker



She lived in a stainless steel house in the desert. Stainless steel walls, stainless steel ceiling and floors, shiny steel furniture... Only the glass windows, big and wide and full of sunshine, were not steel. Despite the coldness of the metal, the house was warm, but very lonely. For years, she lived with her houseplants. Her sleep was filled with eyes she longed to gaze into, lips she wished she could touch.

One morning, as the sun polished her kitchen floor, the doorbell rang. The low bell reverberated through the house, and through her heart. That bell had been silent for nearly 5 years. The girl knew instinctively, and her heart leapt.

She opened the door to his silhouette, dark at first against the brightness of the desert floor and the near-white dusty sky. He was young. He carried an old red gascan. At first, she thought she might be mistaken, but then the light shifted and her pale eyes met his. 

"I'm sorry to bug you, ma'am, but my car broke down. I was wondering if you had any gas, or if you might be able to give me a ride to a gas station."

"Yes, sure. Come in." She led him inside. "I don't have any gasoline, but I could take you," she gestured out the kitchen window.

"Sounds great," he replied, his eyes roaming the shiny interior. "Crazy house you have here."

She shuffled through the top drawer of her bureau, then the next, a frown creasing her forehead. "Blast it! Where are those keys?" She turned to him, apologetically. "I'm sorry. Nothing's ever where it should be."

"Here, let me help-"

"No, no! Really-"

"Come on, it's no trouble-" He gripped the drawer, but she pulled it hard away from him. WHACK! The deep drawer flew from their hands and crashed onto the floor, spilling its contents across the hallway. 

Moments crept by silently as they both stared at the mess, not sure what to say next. She felt like an ass for pulling it like that. What was she thinking? She opened her mouth to apologize, turned towards him. His eyes met hers, and she knew she couldn't speak. Impulsively, she took his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. 

The feel of his mouth against hers sent an electric shock through her core. His eyes widened, surprised, but then his lips responded to hers. A low moan escaped her as she lightly sucked his top lip, the stubble rough and lovely against her tongue, then the bottom lip. He parted his mouth and their tongues briefly touched. She pulled away slightly, then kissed him deeper. His hands found the waist of the low-cut sweat pants she wore, gripped the curve of her hips.

He stopped. She looked deep into his eyes, fearful of her own lust. She bit her bottom lip. "C'mon," she whispered huskily, and took him by the hand to the living room. She sat him on the sofa, then straddled his lap. She pushed her swollen, aching sex against the swell in his jeans. 

"Oh," he moaned as she wrapped her arms around him and kiss-licked his sweet neck. Her tongue swirled around his earlobe. He slid his hands beneath her sweats to clutch her pert ass. His fingers roamed her stomach, pulling her t-shirt up above her tiny pink-tipped breasts. He palmed them, rubbing the nipples with his thumbs. She moaned into his throat. She watched as he bent down and tongued one hard nipple, then the other.

She pushed him back against the couch, then slid down his body until she faced his blue-jeaned hardness. She bit it lightly through his pants, then undid the top button with shaking fingers. She gripped the zipper pull between her teeth and yanked it down. His cotton-cocooned erection was readily accessible through the zipper opening. The swollen purplish head popped out the top of his undies. She swirled her tongue over it feverishly. He gasped at he hot breath against his cock.

Impatient, she pulled the cotton aside to expose him totally. He watched lustily as she cat-licked his shaft from its base to the tip. He moved his fingertips through her soft, fine hair until he found the clip that held it bound. In a movement, her hair was free and pooled its silky length across his stomach. He buried his fingers in it, guiding her as she took his twitching hardness deep into her hot mouth. 

Groaning, he laid down on the couch and moved her until her legs straddled his face. In a quick motion, her sweats pooled around her ankles and her slick shaven pinkness lay inches from his eager mouth. He pulled a finger over her arousal-slicked lips, ran it over her clitoral hood. She moaned through a mouthful of him. He lightly tongued her opening and found it delectably sweet, warm, and fragrant.

She moaned loudly as he worked his tongue quickly all over her aching slit, her pale ass cheeks in his hands. She licked his sac, then took it in her mouth. His groans vibrated deep inside her. "No, stop, or I'll..." he whispered.

She nodded, and turned over to meet his flushed, moist face. She licked her juices off his lips and chin while rubbing her swollen wetness over his hard cock. She kissed him deeply. They tasted each other and themselves. She reached down and took him in her hand, stroking him slowly. She guided his cockhead till it was nestled against her silky opening. She then thrust her pelvis backwards, taking all of him in at once.

"Oh!" she screamed. He gasped as her velvet-soft pussy clutched him. He pushed forward as she rocked back and forth, massage his swollen cock. Her lovely breasts bounced, her eyes rolled back in pleasure-pain as his size invaded her. She looked down at him and found that she was watching her. A warm tingle shot through her. She bit her lip, feeling the approach of her orgasm.

"I'm going to come," she whispered. "I'm going to... I'm going to.. Ooh! I'm COMING!" She threw her head back, her back arched, and slammed herself up and down his length.

"Mmm... was that good?" he asked as she slumped down across her chest. 

She smiled, then - without pulling him out of her soaking wetness - spun around until she faced his feet. She looked over her shoulder, then began to move. "Oh, yes..." he sighed, watching himself disappear between her swollen pink lips. She slipped a hand between her legs and alternately stroked her clit and his sac. Her squeezed her asscheeks as she slid up and down on his purple-pink shaft. 

The sight of his shaft sliding inside her shaven heaven was too much. He knew he couldn't last much longer. He pushed forward in time with her, pounding deeper and deeper. Her moans mingled with his as their rhythm increased to a frenzy. He came, slamming deeper into her than anyone had ever been. The pressure on her clit set off her second orgasm. Her screams of pleasure echoed through the house.

They lay for many minutes, spent. Then, she stood up. She pulled on her pants. "You have to leave now," she told him.

"Huh? Now?"

"Yes. There's a market about a mile north. They have a gas station there."

"You're not going to give me a ride?" He stood up and followed her, tucking his spent member into his pants. "I don't understand..."

She opened the door and handed him his red gascan.

"Can I see you again? After I get gas, I mean."

She smiled a sad smile, and gazed deep into his beautiful eyes. She cupped his cheek in her hand. A tear formed in her eye. She looked down at the floor before the tear could break free. "Maybe. Who knows?"

He nodded, confused but heartened that she hadn't said no. "Okay, you put on a pretty dress. I'll get my car gassed up and I'll come right back and take you out to lunch. You hear me?"

She nodded, but didn't look up.

"All right," he said. "I'll be right back."

She was right. In no time, he was filling up his can at Al's Market. An old man, presumably Al, watched him suspiciously.

"That's some girl back there! Crazy house. What's her story?" he asked Al.

"Who?"

"The girl! The girl in the shiny house over there!"

Al's face scrunched up. He spat in the dirt, then turned and went back into the market.

The man shrugged, assuming he'd hit on a taboo subject. Damn Midwesterners. 

When he walked back to see if she was dressed, he got a shock that caused him to drop his gascan. Where the crazy silver house had been was nothing but Joshua Trees and barrel cactus and dust. He walked the desert for a solid hour and found nothing before giving up. Back in his car, he began to wonder if it was all a dream. He reached into he pocket for his car keys. He pulled out an odd shaped key he'd never seen before. A shiny silver key. As he it turned it over in his fingers, the wind carried to his ears the sound of a woman crying.

Stainless Steel Dream Ch. 2



"Fuck! Damnit!" David threw the socket wrench to the ground and clutched his torn thumb. He sat hard on the cement. That was the last straw. Five hours he'd spent trying to get the junkyard-restored radiator in place, but the blasted thing refused to fit - this despite Juan Marco's assurance that it was "just de one". Now he was out fifty bucks and he was still without a ride. That last cross-country trip took a toll on his old Mustang. The tires were shot, the windshield pitted from the dusty Midwestern highways, and the steering made an odd noise. Unfortunately, his financial state was such that buying another vehicle was out of the question. Hell, even next week's groceries seemed a questionable prospect. 

The job opportunity in New York City dissolved before he hit Texas, but the company didn't bother to get in touch with him the cell phone number he'd supplied with his resume. Instead, they left a message at his apartment, and like an idiot he didn't bother to call in to check his messages at home. What a waste of a trip, he thought. Wrecked car, dashed job hopes...why did he take the damn trip in the first place.

A silver house appeared in his mind, then disappeared.

He took his key ring out of his pocket. He fondled the strange, silver key - the only "souvenir" of his trip, if you could call it that. If you asked David, he'd say it was also a "souvenir" of his brush with his own latent insanity. It had all seemed so real...the strange silver house, the girl with the green eyes, the incredible lovemaking. 

Sighing, he tossed the keyring to the ground. It landed with the strange key on top, reflecting sun straight into his eyes. He squinted. What did it all mean? 

He went into the house and grabbed a cold Sam Adams out of the fridge. His phone rang. He slumped dejectedly into his La-Z-Boy as the answering machine clicked and whirred. A woman's voice crackled through the small speaker. His mother.

"David? Are you there? It's Mom. I have some very bad news, dear. Gramma Jane has passed away. They're holding services-"

He jumped up, grabbed the receiver. "Hello, Mom?"

"David? Are you screening your calls again?"

"Yes, Mom, I am. What were you saying about Gramma Jane?"

"She passed away, David. In her sleep." She paused. "I'm sorry, baby."

"No..." David slumped back into the recliner, disbelieving. Gramma Jane was only 67, for crissake, and healthier than anyone he knew. She was also the only family member David gave a crap about. He had planned to stay with her in New Hampshire for a few weeks while his New York apartment was readied, but after his would-be boss gave him the news that not only could they not hire him, but they were also laying off 20% of their sales force, David had driven straight home to the West Coast, disgusted. Fuck. She was going to cook him chicken pie, and they had planned a fishing trip, just like they'd taken when he was a lonely, awkward young boy. Now there would be no more trips with Gramma Jane. Ever.

"...$50,000, plus the house. You were always her favorite, so it's no surprise, but you'll need to get all the legal stuff sorted out, and-"

"What? Huh? I'm sorry, Mom, I missed that. This is...overwhelming."

"I know, dear. It's just that Jane left you her house on the East Coast, along with what's left of her savings, which looks to be about $50,000."

"Fifty THOUSAND dollars?" David repeated.

"Yes, dear. Gramma was quite a saver, you know that. Too bad her money skills never rubbed off on you!" his mother chuckled. She was always pleased at the opportunity to needle him about his lack of financial smarts. Money came and went for David, though it was less a matter of his intelligence (as he was a bright guy) as it was a matter of apathy. Money just didn't matter to him. Saving it, maintaining it, watching over it - all that bored him to tears. He liked the freedom money could buy, but just couldn't bring himself to care enough about the stuff to mind it well. Thus, despite a string of high-paying sales gigs, he still sat near penniless, busting ass on his broken down Mustang convertible.

Until now, that is. 

Grief still sunk into him at the news of Gramma Jane's passing, but the life raft that the money and house represented buoyed his mood a bit. Certainly, $50K wasn't a fortune, but it was a tidy nest egg - enough to help David get back on his feet and then some. And the house..he'd dreamed of living in that New England cottage on a tidy 2 acre plot since he was a kid. He finagled the necessary info from his mother, then got off the phone before the guilt tripping could begin. He sat in silence, wondering how such a wonderful new start could come from such a sad event. Unconsciously, he rubbed the silver key between his thumb and forefinger.

The funeral was a crowded affair. Gramma Jane was the type to get involved in her community, and representatives of an assortment of clubs and charities attended. Then the reading of the will and the probate garbage began, but thanks to Jane Belman's excellent planning the transfer of all properties and monies went exceptionally smoothly. By summer, David had packed up and was on his way to the lovely cottage at which he spent most of his childhood.

As he drove into the maple-framed driveway he was struck by how small the cottage looked. But it wasn't until he was actually inside the small white ivy-covered building edifice that he realized how much he'd grown, and how little the house had grown. The countertop that he once jumped onto lay at hip-level, and the endlessly long kitchen tile now seemed a tiny, cramped space.

Shaking aside his nostalgia, he unloaded his belongings, went into town for a pizza and groceries, then settled in his new bed for a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, he made a ham & egg omelet with toast, then spent the next week dusting away cobwebs, cleaning, and painting. 8 days later, the cottage was restored to his childhood cheerfulness, and David finally felt at home.

He decided to celebrate his efforts with an afternoon at the creek that bordered the property to the north. In his lawn chair and sunglasses, he gazed out at the New England greenery and the dimples of sunlight on the water until his lids grew heavy with the afternoon sun.

A crackle of twigs woke him suddenly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, half awake. Turning quickly, he was stunned by the sight of the Girl. She wore an unfashionable but lovely sundress. Her slender hips pushed out the fabric; her nipples made lovely dents in the cotton. Her hair shone in the sun, but it didn't match the light in her eyes.

"Hey! Where did you go? Who are you? I-" he started.

"Ssshh..." She knelt and put a finger to his lips to silence him. She replaced the finger with her own lips. They kissed slowly - lightly, then deeply. She untied the top of her dress, then stepped out of it, exposing her porcelain body to him. 

So many questions burned in his mind. Who was she? Why was she here? Was he losing his mind? But all thought disappeared as she looked deep into his eyes and rubbed her hands across his bare chest.

She straddled him, her soft, moist netherlips brushing against his naked stomach. She pushed her small breasts against his face, and he greedily accepted her hard pink nipples into his mouth. Her back arched, and she moaned softly. She sat on his now-raging erection and kissed his lips softly.

He ran his fingers across her bound hair. "So lovely," he murmured. She smiled shyly. His fingers found the clip that help her tresses, and in a click they fell across her shoulders in a shower of gold. He ran his fingers through the fine strands, gripped the mass in his hands. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure. She rocked back and forth on the swelling in his pants - her clit on fire, her scalp singing.

"Oh!" she moaned as a quick, hard orgasm ripped through her. Her back arched. He watched, his erection growing even harder at the sight of her firm breasts arched, her trim stomach pulled in, her face a mask of pure pleasure.

She fell against him, then shimmied down the length of his body until her head lay in his lap. She unfastened his shorts and extracted his stiffness from them. She licked the bead of precum from its head, then began to pull all of her golden hair into his lap. At first, David didn't understand what she was doing, but when realization hit him, he moaned with desire.

She began to wrap her tresses around his painfully erect cock. He gasped at the feel of her silky hair, so tightly wound around him. The tips of her hair fell across his crotch, teasing his sac. Then she wrapped her hand delicately around him and began to move the soft hair over him, up and down.

"Ohh my God!" he exclaimed as sensation radiated through him. The sight of himself disappearing to the golden mass increased his pleasure, and he soon found himself close to orgasm. "You should stop," he warned breathily. He was afraid of soiling her hair.

She looked up at him and smiled as if she read his thoughts. Instead of stopping, she increased the rhythm of her hand, the silky hair moving tightly over his cock. His pelvis pushed forward and he grunted, squirting streams of his manhood across her cheek and her wrapped tresses.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "I-"

"Don't be," she smiled. In an instant, her hair was pinned up atop her head, though not quite as neatly as before. Streaks of his come glazed her flushed cheeks. He eyes radiated a green glow that was at once lovely and fierce. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. "I love you, Davey. I always will."

Davey? He suddenly felt like a child. Davey was his childhood name. Before he had a chance to speak, she'd donned her quaint sundress and disappeared into the trees. He searched for an hour, but as before he found no trace of her. He would've thought it was a dream, or that he was going mad, were it not for the golden strands he found in his shorts later that night. He collected them, taped them to a card, and gazed at them in front of the fire. He fell asleep and dreamt of hair and green eyes and long white arms.

The next day, he decided to put the mystery woman out of his mind by cleaning the attic. His first impulse was to spend the day searching the creek banks for her, but he knew she wouldn't be there. She seemed to exist solely to drive him nuts, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her. Next time she appears, he swore, he would pin her down and make her explain. He would resist her porcelain flesh, her golden hair, her soft pink lips... His cock stirred in his pants, and he sighed dejectedly.

Dust covered every surface in the attic, and the air tasted stale and old. He opened the windows, but no wind came to clear away the aged air. He shuffled through the bags of old newspapers, old clothes, and knickknacks that Jane accumulated. He swept and dusted and bagged for a good 4 hours. 

After he cleaned away half the room, he happened upon a small black lacquered chest in the corner. Since it had been buried beneath other boxes, it was free of dust and cobwebs. He tried to lift its lid, but found that it was locked. The fact that it was locked made him even more curious, and he looked for a way to pry the chest open, but it was too well made. Then, after a few minutes of staring at the silver lock, a strange idea came to him. He reached into his pocket for his keyring, and brought forth the mysterious tiny silver key that had appeared in his pocket in the desert. He inserted it into the lock and turned. A "click", and the lid popped open.

"Strange!" he whispered aloud. Inside were old photo albums - so old, that photo corners were used to hold the black and white pictures in place. A house - this house, he realized. His mother as a child. He'd seen photos of her before, and knew her curly blonde hair and silly grin. He turned the page, and his heart stopped. 

His mother was holding a fishing pole over the creek. A tiny woman was helping her bait the hook. A tiny woman, the little girl's mother...in a quaint sundress...with blonde hair pinned atop her head.

Jane? he thought, incredulously. Gramma Jane.

He closed his eyes and ran his dusty fingers over his face.