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Stars

By: Da_Imp



I don't know exactly who's idea it was to do this, but, it was a damn good one. The air out here is so clean it almost hurts to take a deep breath. The colors seemed to come alive the further we got away from the city. Now that we're here, everything seems like a Kodachrome photograph. So sharp, so distinctive, so overwhelming. The sky is a blue that I swear I have never seen before. I look at it and I can honestly believe that space is just the other side of some thin veil up there and not that far away.

We set up the tent in a clearing just off the water's edge and, we found out later, just above a small spring creek. The sound of it splashing and gurgling toward the lake was so relaxing that it became a part of my reality. I'm going to miss it when we leave. As we finished setting up the tent, I turned and was greeted with a two orb sunset. The one just above the trees and the one just below them on the water. I called you over, stood behind you, wrapped my arms around your waist, put my head on you shoulder and savored all of the beauty that was around me. As I watched the two suns move toward one another I took your scent in and pulled you a little closer. I believe I could have stayed that way forever, but you pointed out, "Going to need some light soon fire fighter, why don't you go grab some wood."

"Sure thing." I kissed your cheek and head out, stealing occasional looks through trees as the balls of light disappeared and the orange pink glow began to fade.

I made it back to camp with as much wood as I could carry and found the ring of stones you'd laid out for the fire bed. I dropped the wood and went to work building the fire. Since I can't be simple about this process it took me about ten minutes to realize that you weren't with me. Once I got it lit, and made sure that it would stay that way, I called your name. I heard your return from down by the water. I walked down and heard the creek for the first time. 

I found you just above the water line with a blanket and supper laid out. We'd known that we wouldn't get here in time, or with the desire, to cook, so, per your usual good planning, we fixed supper at home and now it appeared we were ready to eat. Grilled chicken kabobs, roasted red potatoes and a salad. Yeah, we were roughing it. "You're too good to be real, you know that?" You looked up at me, smiled and said thanks. I sat beside you and just listened for a minute. There was a symphony playing around us and I was suddenly lost. The frogs, the toads, the creek and all the little bugs, each was doing it's own thing and yet it seemed that the night would not be complete if one was to suddenly stop. Nature's harmony never ceases to amaze me when I take the time to stop and let it.

We ate, talked, laughed and listened. At times we found ourselves whispering even though we were the only people around for miles. It almost felt like talking in church, you just know your supposed to be quiet despite your solitude and surroundings. 

The light from the fire that I built had dimmed somewhat and was casting a warm and flittering glow over you and I stopped to stare. I've always thought that you were beautiful, but there is something about the light from a fire that takes that beauty and adds a hint of mystery to a face that I know so well. My heart warmed and the world disappeared. I leaned toward you, held you in my hands and kissed you. I felt your lips against mine as we came together. I held you there just savoring the contact. Then contact and warmth became movement and the stirs of passion. I was aware of my lips becoming wet with the movement of yours and the ease with which they moved across each other only served to heighten those sensations. I pulled back, my eyes still closed, and tried to absorb the moment. You still take my breath away. Even after just a simple kiss, I almost felt overwhelmed at the thought of you.

I laid back, and that's when I saw them for the first time. Stars. Everywhere you looked in the sky were stars. The constellations were there, as always, but this was not the view from our back yard. All the gaps were filled in, you could not find a spot above that was not occupied by at least one star. The planets stood out even though surrounded by the masses of white dots. Mars was even more red. Jupiter and Saturn, bright, vibrant and in no way mistakable for stars. "Have you seen this?" I asked like a child making a new discovery. You lay next to me, looked up and said, "I was wondering how long it was going to take you to see them. Why do you think I put us down here?" I turned and kissed you again, "Thanks." Your smiled told me that I was welcome and that you were more than pleased with my enjoyment of the view. 

I put my hands under my head as my eyes moved slowly from horizon to horizon, trying to take it all in. I'm not usually at a loss for words, but this defied description. I lay there lost in the wonder above me and more in love with you for your thoughts of me and what it was that I would enjoy. That meant a lot to me. I felt you when you moved next to me and placed your head on my chest. I moved my arm and wrapped it around you, then I kissed the top of your head. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"For what?" You asked. "For this!" I said as I waved my hand across the sky. "Well, trust me, I didn't put them there, I just found them for you." I placed a finger under your chin, lifted your face to me and kissed you again. "I want to make love to you under these stars." I said. You looked into my eyes and replied, "I'd hoped you would."

I rolled and we met, side by side and facing each other. Our lips fell into a caress as my free hand stroked your cheek and hair. I removed the band that held your braid and tossed your hair in my fingers to release it. My hand was bathed in the warm silkiness as your locks fell free. I rolled toward you, moving you to your back. As you went down, I flipped your hair up with the hand that was under your head so that you were not laying on it and my mouth moved to your throat. I licked and kissed your neck, your jaw and up to your ear. Stopping there to play in it's folds and creases with my tongue. I sucked your lobe into my mouth, released it and then followed up the bone behind your ear with a series of kisses, sucks and licks. 

We started on each others buttons simultaneously. You, while pulling my head into you and me while moving my mouth slowly round your neck. As the fabric gave you access you brought both hands to my chest and I directed my kisses between your breasts as your shirt did the same. I pulled your shirt up from the waist, pausing long enough to undo your bra as I passed it. You put your arms over your head long enough to allow your shirt it's freedom and then they came down, over my shoulders, pushing my shirt down as they went. I raised up over you, tossed it aside and sent your bra flying after it. 

I paused to look at you. The fire light was still working it's magic as the cool night air worked a little magic of it's own. My skin came to life as a breeze blew in from the water. Even though it was against my back, the sensation was enough to bring my nipples to attention. The scar tissue on the one that I'd ripped as a child letting me know the moment that occurred. I bent to see if it had worked the same trick on you. I reached for your nipple with my tongue and found a wonderful taught nub awaiting my affections. I circled it slowly, looking into your eyes and then moved onto it, feeling it against my lips as I pulled it into my mouth. My lips surrounded it, sealed against your areola as I pulled you in and out of my mouth. I felt it as you stretched with the pulls and then came back as I released the tension. After a moment I held you there, my tongue lapping over your nipple. When I felt I had sufficiently warmed you, I released the seal and drew in a long slow breath. The small gasp that escaped your lips let me know that I had gotten the response that I had been wanting. I moved across you and lay next to you. I lifted your other breast to my mouth and slid my pursed lips over your other nipple. After a moment, I drew that in and held it as well. 

While my mouth was occupied with your breasts, I ran my hand down your stomach. I slid my finger tips up and down between your ribs and your waist, then I moved them from side to side. I paused at your belly button, circled it a time or two and then moved on. I undid your belt and then your jeans. The sound of your zipper echoed over the water but the locals didn't seem to notice. I moved myself straddle of your legs as I began to release you from your Levi's. My mouth moved down with me as I slowly peeled them from your body. I eased them over your hips, leaving your panties in place, and then I placed my hands against your flesh and pushed them down while caressing your legs in the same motion. As they passed your knees my mouth moved from thigh to thigh, kissing and tasting its way down. When I got them close to your feet I started to worry about your shoes, but there was no need. You had discarded them earlier, so I simple passed your jeans over your feet and tossed them aside. I reached up from your feet and hooked a finger in the waist band of your panties at each hip, removed them and discarded them as well. 

There you were, the light from the fire casting moving shadows down your body and again I was amazed. I felt as if I could just look at you for hours. Then your beauty stirred that part of me that brought me back, and I remembered why you were in the state you were in. I turned and sat between your feet. Made short work of my shoes and socks, then stood in front of you. I began to remove my belt when you stopped me. "Oh no you don't. You got the pleasure of removing my attire, now I get the same." With that you were up on your knees and I felt your hands at my waist. You left my undone belt in place and slowly popped each button on my 501's. With the light of the fire coming over your shoulder it became evident that I had neglected to put on any underwear before leaving the house. "Why fire fighter, your not fully dressed. Shame shame shame." With that you leaned in and began to kiss my lower stomach as you let my pants fall away. Your hands rose to my hips and then cautiously moved around my back and then began to caress my ass. I reached down and ran my fingers through your hair, loving the feel of it against my skin. I felt your nails as they were drug up and down my ass cheeks and a shiver ran up my back and straight through my cock. 

It twitched under your chin, having risen to the occasion simply from the pleasure I derived from undressing you. I can't say that you noticed it, but I felt it graze you and then a hand was on it, holding it against your face with your palm as fingers stroked its shaft. Your mouth moved along side it, kiss through that area that drives me crazy and then down beside my balls. I felt your hands move down the backs of my thighs and this was where they decided to stay. I looked down to watch you. (I love to see the enjoyment in your eyes as you bring me joy. Much the same way I love to watch your expressions as I pleasure you.) Your mouth was moving slightly back and forth over the large tendon in my crotch. Your tongue bolting out occasionally, lapping toward my ass and then bathing my balls. I was waiting for you to move on when you suddenly stopped, pulled back and told me, "Lie down." I obliged. 

I laid myself with my head toward the fire and then you climbed on top of me, your head toward the water. The scent of your pussy was intoxicating. The clean, crisp air served to amplify the aroma that I have come to know and love. I took you in through long deep draws, savoring every nuance with each breath. My hands slid up your thighs and over your supple ass as you eased yourself back toward my waiting mouth. 

You leaned down, took my dick in your hand and began to stroke it slowly and softly. You used only your finger tips, barely making contact. A sensation that made my balls crawl. I felt your breath against my crotch, then I felt your tongue. You pulled it slowly down from the base of my member toward and then over my nuts. They moved again. I took this as my cue to begin as well and placed my tongue on your outer lips. Dragging to and fro till I had covered its entire surface. I then moved to the other lip. I heard a small moan escape you and then, that moan became a, "Mmmmm" as you sucked my balls into your mouth. I could feel the vibrations of your utterances as they first surrounded, then penetrated my cods. I raised my head, pulled down on your bottom and buried my face in your sweet mound. 

That intoxicating scent now filled me. I knew no other fragrance, I became completely lost within you. I plunged my tongue into your wetness. I had added your taste to your scent, now I was truly lost. I pulled you back harder, lapping at your sweetness, trying to find the source of the flavor. I felt your nails take the place of your finger tips moving along the length of my dick. I felt you release my balls and temporarily drop your head to my thigh and try to breathe. Your breaths caused shivers as they moved across my sac. I felt them draw up, then I felt you lift up. 

The hand that had been caressing me, now took hold of me and began to stroke me. I felt that same breath suddenly surround the head of my dick. That air was replaced by the warmth and moisture of your mouth as I was drawn inside it. I had to lie back for a moment, the sensations here seemed more intense and I certainly was not about to miss a minute of this. I gathered myself and returned with fervor to your pussy. I parted your lips with my thumbs, held you open and rushed in. I licked, I sucked, I pulled and I poked. I removed my thumbs once I was well within you and allowed them to return to mauling and stoking your ass and thighs. I felt you begin to rock across my face, then I felt them same rhythm as your lips slid first down and then up my dick. I was being pulled and released at your whim, and, at the same time, you were adding to the fray with the undulations of your hips. I let you use my face as a hobby horse for a moment, then I grabbed you, held you in place and moved my lips to your clit. I didn't play with it, I pulled it into my mouth, held it for a moment as my tongue flicked at it, then I began to move it in and out rapidly between my teeth. This caused you pause and I felt you tense around my shaft. I felt a drawn out pull, completed as the head of my member popped from your lips. I was quickly returned to your passions as you matched the intensity with which I was sucking your clit. I added a thumb into your pussy to help with the feelings. I then eased a finger into your ass. These three together seemed to almost be too much. 

You released my cock several times and attempted to stroke it as you rushed to breathe. But you always returned with renewed fervor and energy. I felt as if you were about to pull me from my foundation. I felt your lips as they traveled down to my base, I felt your tongue dance around me as I moved inside you and I felt the back of your throat when my head reached it. I began to move my finger and thumb in and out of you in unison. I pressed them against one another, holding and rubbing you between them. This seemed to work wonders for you, so much so, that your rocking increased, as did your pace on my dick. I released your clit from my mouth when my head couldn't keep pace with your hips. I replaced it with the thumb from my other hand. I began to roll, press and mash it against your pubic bone. My mouth moved to your thigh which it sucked and licked. I moved my head from thigh to thigh and even occasionally lifted it to nip at your ass. 

I had fought my own orgasm as long as I could, I'd hoped that I could get you off with me, but now my own climax was imminent. I let my finger and thumbs fly as I laid back to await the rush. As I lay there I heard a change in the sounds as my thumb moved in and out of you. I felt your juices begin to drop onto my chest and I heard a steady, "Hhmm, hmm, hmm, hmm" begin come from you. Your head was flying up and down on my dick, my fingers were a blur moving in and over you and that's when we both locked in place. I thrust up toward you, burying myself in your throat as best I could. You pressed back, locking my head against the blanket as your flow gushed over me. I felt myself drive wad after wad of my load into your still pulling throat as wave after wave of your cum ran over me. I gathered myself as best and as quickly as I could in an attempt to drink you into me. I wanted every drop of that nectar and I pulled, sucked and lapped at it as best I could. You swallowed every dollop I had in me, making an already grand sensation all that more intense.

I lay there trying to breathe. I removed my digits from within you and started kissing your pussy. Little pecks, simply because, at the moment, I couldn't do anything else. I felt myself in your mouth. I felt your gentle pulls and prods of your tongue. I found my kisses beginning to linger, I found my tongue involved, licking up you slowly, and then kissing you again. Then I reached out to you and turned you back toward me, face to face with me and I kissed you. I held you underneath those stars, the one we never saw from home and I kissed you. You had consumed me and I you, yet there were remnants of both of us in our kiss. Our kiss was us, together as one. But I knew, and I think that you did too, that we weren't done.

I rolled your onto your back and we fell together. We melded in that way that only we do. For all of the spent energy, the return to passion was easy, powerful and complete. Yet somehow this was different. Even though our time together had just been as physically wonderful as it seemed it could possibly be, this was better. Being able to see you, feel you, caress you and be with you stirred not only the body, but the soul. This was us at our best, this was US. 

I began to move slowly in and out of you. Our mouths came together, your arms around me and onto my back. Mine, holding me just off of you while still allowing contact. I could feel your nipples as they brushed back and forth across my chest. I moved slowly, wanting to feel as every inch of me moved in and out of you. Our tongues and lips played with each other, teasing touches and slow caresses. The light from the fire continued to fade yet the cast it gave us on that shore only added to the intensity of the moment. I moved my mouth down your neck, wanting to give special attention your other sensitive areas. I paused on your throat, pulled that tender flesh into my mouth and relished in your taste. The light smoke from the fire added to the atmosphere. It gave off a scent that intensified how alone we were, how it was truly just us, almost as if we were in another time. 

I felt your hands move up my neck and into my hair. I felt your breath on my ear, then the pull of your lips on my lobe. We were moving in tandem, our rhythms in stride with one an other. I turned my head so I was looking over my shoulder as I savored the sensations we were generating. I noticed the moon had risen above the tree line and the eerie light that it brought to our scene. Then your hands were on my face, "Where'd you go?". "Just lost, no where in particular." I said. I looked down at you and wondered, why me? Just for a moment I couldn't and didn't understand, and then you smiled. That smile cut through to my soul and I just knew. I loved you and nothing else mattered. The why's didn't matter, now was all that mattered, you were all that mattered. 

"Kiss me and cum with me." You said. I questioned you for a minute with my eyes, then, well then I just trusted you. I leaned down and kissed you. A tender kiss, yet one that encompassed all of the passion and love that was inside both of us. Our bodies moved together. My arms moved under your thighs and held them up for full penetration as my mouth never left yours. We moved with one an other, we moved as one. Your hands roamed my back and arms, our tongues twitched and caressed each other. I felt you thrust up to meet me as I came down and I felt you tighten around me as we moved together. Our kiss was occasionally interrupted by your breath catching in your throat. And then I felt your hands on my ass. I felt you pull me harder into you. I felt your chest rising and falling with each increasingly deeper breath. Your mouth left my and the breaths became shorter and vocal. Your hands coax me into a faster and harder pace. My hips began to bounce off of you, my mouth pressed into your shoulder and I gasped for a breath of my own. 


Stars



It is now about 6:30 in the morning and the Syrian sun rises over Damascus. I have been living here for a while now and have just met a woman her name is Anna. Neither of us is from this city. It seems rather fitting that we found kindred spirits within each other. As I rise from the bed, I notice Anna bringing me some breakfast, wearing a flower in her hair and that is about it. Therefore, we sat down and enjoyed our breakfast.

"Best you pack were going on a trip, to Africa," I said.

Going to Africa is something she had always wanted to do, as living in England had meant she never saw the sprawling plains of Africa and the animals at their most wild. I however grew up there and know the plains relatively well.

She was pleased and responded with a seductive grin and the words "When do we leave" ushered forth in a husky tone.

We got packing and I took our bags down to the car. She came down in a rather practical jeans and a t-shirt. We got in the car and I drove off. Work had lead to our paths crossing and now a holiday would bring them even closer. We get to the airport and get on the plane.

A few hours later, we decide to enter the bathroom for a quickie. She unzipped my pants and my cock fell out. She sucked it unbelievably well, lobbing my hard manhood into her mouth.

My balls started tingling and she knew what was coming but also knew she had to work a little to get the ending she and indeed myself were wanting. I shot load after load and she swallowed every bit of it.

After wiping what remained of me off her face, she stepped out and I followed a minute later. We took our seats and buckled up as we were about to land. She sipped back on some water with ice and I told her that she would never forget this trip.

We landed at Nairobi airport, hopped into a Land Rover, and set off into deepest Africa. After about two hours, we reached the campsite where just the two of us would be for the night. It was within a reserve and there were a few rather secluded luxury tents, ideally suited for our activities later on. She was asleep when we reached the preserve.

She had fallen asleep during the journey, probably conserving her energy for what was to come; I on the other was bursting with energy. So we first headed of on a game drive, as she had wanted to see more. Therefore, we went ahead saw all the majesty of the African wilderness, the wildebeest, springbok, zebra, lion, and cheetah all in the very heart of the wild. So we soon returned.

The sun slowly began to die over the horizon, the distinctive sounds of the wilds of Africa. Soon the stars will be out and under this African night sky. Her beautiful light caramel skin is enticing and inviting. I sit overlooking the wilds in front of me. The roars of lions in the distance echo under the clear night sky, which is scattered with stars shining bright without the city lights obscuring them. 

Tonight we are star-crossed lovers in the depths of the wild under the African night sky. She walks to me and straddles me, wearing a white vest and a pair of short safari shorts. The moonlight smoothly shines and caresses her body whilst the eerie glow of the sun still lingered in the distance. As the heat of the day begins to die, the heat within our souls begins to smoulder and the passion is aroused between us. Here in the heart of Mother Nature our souls begin to intertwine before our bodies do the same. 

I slowly slide her vest off and toss it into the tent, I then unbutton her shorts. Then she stands and slides them off. My clothes soon follow; we lay down on the ground that spawned the human race. Then slowly start to intertwine our bodies then we gyrate, twist, and turn. We soon start to sweat and keep going as we go for endurance tonight.

She gives my manhood another seeing to with her luscious lips and pierced tongue, which added a further dimension. I could feel the metal of her piercing as it slides up and down my shaft simply increasing the hardness of my penis. The sounds of the nocturnal wild still echo through the savannah but tonight the passionate moans of two lovers enter the fray and the all the wild knows it. There is more intuition in nature than is realised, tonight however we know it, and the entire savannah does as well.

She stands up and slides my penis into her awaiting and eager pussy. She then begins to rock back and forth and slide up and down slowly at first and the she begins to increase the tempo. 

Her eyes remain fixed upon the moon as it dominates the skyline and is the light of the world as it were. I feel her pussy clench around my penis and it feels good; my balls slowly begin to build up tension. She knows this well, but I have much fuel in the tank. Her eyes glisten in the moonlight as she turns around to me to look me in the eye.

As she is facing me, our eyes locked together and we continue to gyrate and start to sweat. The spirit of nature itself is here and it intertwines with our own spirits. We are still at it, it has been two hours already and we are still going strong. The passion simply grows stronger and our inner fire is stronger and more powerful than ever before this transcends love. The sex we are giving each other is mesmerising and so good it is scandalous. 

Life is about more than your status and job, it is this moment. I turn her over, we do it like the lions, and cheetahs of the wild with all we have going into this night. The ground is soft and the sand, which has been here since the super continent surrounds us.

The pace quickens as we reach climax. We go harder, faster, stronger, and louder. Then she lets go and coasts, while there in seemingly suspended animation climaxes her whole body vibrates and I feel like a shuttle launch. As I shoot my life source right into her and she loves it, moaning in sheer ecstasy. Then we lay down next to each other, naked, covered in each other's bodily fluids, exhausted, and satisfied.



Stars



"Oh my God," the view takes my breath away and those three words are all I can manage. The sky stretches for miles and in it, shining brighter than anything I can see in the States, are millions of stars. I'm sure I'm a funny sight, standing with my mouth wide open, head tilted back, and eyes as wide as they'll go. 

"You know, if you move, they don't go away," she smiles at me and I move out of her way so she can step onto the deck. 

"I know that, smart ass," I watch her take a seat before leaning against the railing. "There are always so many lights that take the awe out of the stars where I live." Venturing a look at her, I try not to show that I'm a bit nervous, "There are places in the country where you can see them better, but this view," I look up again, "is amazing." 

"Thank you," she starts, then stops smiling, pretending to be slightly hurt. "Oh, you didn't mean me." 

Walking towards her, I smile, "Aww, come on. You know you're the brightest star out here." I take a seat next to her on the bench and elbow her in the side. 

She catches me off guard by shaking her head slowly as she looks at me, "No, I'm not. Trust me." 

"Okay," I sigh, "you're not going to point up at the North Star and give me some bullshit about how it's the brightest, are you?" 

She smiles slowly, and is very fucking sexy, "No." She brushes hair off my shoulder and her smile falters just a bit, "Is that a scar on your eyebrow?" 

As if I've been burned, my hand flies to cover my eyebrow, "Yeah." I can't make eye contact, "It's from the..." my voice trails off. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her leaning towards me. When her lips touch my face, I clinch my eyes closed and bite my lip. Her face is close to mine when she whispers, "I'm sorry for pointing it out. I didn't know." 

Turning to face her, we're now impossibly close, but she turns away before I can even say anything, "I know you didn't know." I reach out and turn her face back towards me, "You didn't hurt me. I promise." 

Nodding quickly, she takes my hand and smiles, "Ok." Standing abruptly, she announces, "I'm going to get something to drink. Would you like something?" 

"Um, yeah," I mumble, "a soda is fine." As she turns away from me, I can't help reprimanding myself for making her feel uncomfortable. 

She returns with a drink for me and as I grab it, she doesn't let go until I look at her. I watch her visibly swallow and she almost whispers when she talks, "You didn't say anything or do anything bad." 

Unsure of what to say I just nod, "Okay." 

She smiles quickly and looks away, "Those fucking eyes, though, shit." 

"Oh," I breathe with a smile. Looking down at the deck, I can't stop the grin, but make a half-hearted offer, "I could close them if you like." 

"What, and walk around blind?" She laughs out loud and turns away from me, "No. I'll get accustomed to them. I'll be fine." She takes a long swig of her beer before adding, almost so quietly I don't hear, "Maybe." 

I stand and slowly walk over to her. Once I'm a step behind her, she reaches out and grabs the railing, as if she's anticipating a touch before it comes. There's something about this little show of vulnerability that brings out the confidence in me. I guess I just needed to see that I'm not alone with the nerves. That my being here is affecting her the same way being here is affecting me. Not sure what to do, I decide to go slow and I don't touch her, "Do you know any constellations?" 

She takes a shallow breath before looking up at the sky and pointing, "That's the Southern Cross right there." 

Squinting, and genuinely interested, I lean closer to her, "Where?" 

With something to focus on other than my body right behind her, she tries to get me to see what she's pointing at, "Just there. Do you see that big star with the three small ones around it?" 

Chuckling softly, I answer, "Yes. Right next to the bigger star with the four other small ones around it?" 

"Don't be an ass," she turns to look at me over her shoulder. 

"I'm not being an ass! I'm asking a legitimate question!" She turns back around and I mumble, "I hope you give better directions in bed." 

Turning her head only slightly back my direction, she answers softly, "Keep acting like an ass and you won't find out." 

Oooh, fire! I lean in closer to her ear, "If I keep acting like an ass," I press against her back, "you'll melt into this deck." 

I watch with satisfaction as her jaw clenches before she shocks me, "I might melt into the deck, but I bet you'll melt in my hand." 

"If you do it right, yeah, I will. Thing is, if you melt into the deck, there won't be a hand for me to melt into." 

Half turning towards me, and with a little bite to her words, she retorts, "If you'll let me turn around we can have this conversation face to face and you won't seem so cowardly." 

"Oh," I scoff, "so now I'm a cowardly ass?" I lean back just enough to let her turn to face me. I don't look her in the eye immediately; instead, I look down at the deck, "If you melt into the wood, who will give me directions in bed?" I look up at her now, knowing that the light from the deck is shining on my eyes at just the right angle to make them very, very blue. 

She can only breathe, "Um.." 

I lean in and whisper, "What?" I put a hand on the railing behind her and press against her body just slightly, "Tell me. If you melt into the deck, who will tell me how to make you cum?" The words fall out of my mouth and if you could shut the sound of our breathing out, you could almost hear them hit the wood below our feet. 

With a slight height advantage, she finds her guts and leans down to whisper, "You shouldn't have to be told. You should be paying attention." 

"Good point." I raise my chin just enough to almost make our lips touch before whispering, "May I kiss you?" 

Not letting our stare break for a moment, she answers, "Please." 

Caught between pure lust and the anticipation of the first kiss, I don't know if I should take her fast or take my time. My brain, in a moment of clarity before being clouded with desire again, makes the decision for me and brings my hand up to stroke her cheek. This movement makes her eyes close. I wonder, in this moment, if she knows how beautiful she is. I reach out with my other hand and grab the railing behind her. Milliseconds before our lips meet, I'm vaguely aware of her hand in my hair. But once flesh meets flesh, I am aware of only one thing...I see stars...but my eyes are very much closed. 

~~~ 

In frantic flashes, I try to remember everything about these moments. The feel, taste, smell, sound, and sight...little pieces of a night so perfect that you want to rush home and tell your best friends about it. The best part, though, is that she is one of those people I'd tell...in detail. With my mind turned off (except for the storage part), I focus on us. Not the sky. Not the deck. Nothing but us and this...time. 

A shoulder blade in the moonlight... A palm flattened against the small of a back... Legs intertwined and shifting... 

Her mouth is open against my throat and her tongue slips out to flick against the skin there as she closes her eyes and sighs, "God, yes." Her arms quiver just a bit as she grinds her hips against me. Her skin is warm against mine and her lips are so soft I don't feel them until she moves to kiss another spot. 

I reach up and pull the band out of her hair, causing the waves to fall around her shoulders and our faces. With a smile, I brush it from her face and whisper, "You are so beautiful." Even with the slight amount of light provided by the moon, I can see the blush on her cheeks. When she pushes the top half of her body off me, I shift and kiss her neck. It's kind of salty and I find that I like it. She takes one of my hands and raises it above my head to press it against the wood under us. I look into her face and realize she's studying me. 

Fingers of one hand laced together... Hearts pounding so loud they're surely waking up the universe... Sighs so soft they almost don't make a sound... Eyes searching, finding, imploring, drinking in the view... 

Wrong. I was so wrong. I thought she'd be shy. When I dreamed of these moments, I was in charge most of the time. That's how it's always been...I've been the one to do, feel, put in more than the other party. So, finding that she's comfortable taking control is making me feel a way I've never felt...wanted. Desired. Maybe even needed. 

Her voice breaks through my thoughts, "I remember you telling me that I'd know what to do when I was in this position." She smiles wickedly at me, "And you know what?" Without waiting for my response, she finishes in a whisper, "You were right." She lowers her head to mine and kisses me passionately, leaving me only when we're out of breath and things are very, very hot. 

"You're quite good at that," I whisper to her, smiling. 

"Mmmm," she breathes against my shoulder, "and you are, too. You are very good." She shifts slightly atop me and groans, "Shit." She shivers and I smile. 

"Like that, hm?" I take a moment to lightly lick her neck and then slightly bite the same spot, making her shudder. 

When I suck there, she actually loses her breath, but not before muttering, "Fuck." 

I pull her harder against me and growl, "Yes, please." She settles herself against my leg and then plants her thigh between mine. I grab her hip with my free hand and guide her to the right spot before whispering, "Right there." 

Hips rising and lowering in a rhythm created by delicious friction... Moans so deep they seem to originate in the Earth... Ecstasy so exquisite it can only come from the holiest of places... 

The sound of her grunting is the only thing I hear between my own breathing and both of our gasps. All her weight seems to be on my thigh and I'm using hers to keep me from floating off somewhere with this feeling she's creating. When she rolls her hips away from me, I want to pull her back down. And when she rolls them towards me, I rise to meet her. 

Her head tips back and she's so fucking stunning in this moment I almost don't want her to climax. I just want to stay here. Right here in the few moments before the end where every sense is shut off except the ones that are bringing you pleasure. I want to stay suspended in the feeling of being the object of her desire, the one that gives her the most amazing sensation humans are allowed to feel with their bodies. 

Eyelashes against cheeks against lips... Kisses so sweet they almost rain down like little crystals of sugar against heated flesh... Names whispered like prayers and growled like demands... 

"God," she moans, breaking into my thoughts. "Oh my God." 

I pull her head down to kiss her deeply and without reservation. I want her to feel how much I want her. I want her to know what she does to me...all over. I manage to whisper, "I want you so damn bad." 

Her eyes meet mine and she says, quite convincingly, "I want you more." 

Never one to let her get away with a statement like that, I quip, "Impossible. That is absolutely not possible." 

Without stopping or slowing down, she smirks, "Trust me, if you touched me right now, you'd know I want you more. You'd feel it...everywhere." 

I'm sure there's as much of a challenge in my eyes as there is in my words when I retort, "Wanna bet?" 

She snarls, "We have plenty of time for that. Right now, though, I'm going to finish what you started." She grinds harder and faster now and it's driving me to distraction. 

I gasp, "Please." Somehow I know this is going to be my last conscience thought. 

Dropping her head forward and resting it on my shoulder, she whispers, "yes", over and over. I pull at her, not caring if it hurts, in an effort to get her impossibly closer. Just before the white light hits us both, she picks her head up to kiss me. 

Lips seeking to taste every inch... Tongues dancing a tango only the moon and stars are meant to witness... Fingertips of the unoccupied hand tracing, caressing, memorizing every curve... 

This kiss, number whatever of millions, is slow and adoring as opposed to being fast and frantic. Our tongues tease each other by playing chase in and out of our mouths. And when she begins her "end", she gasps, allowing me to bite her bottom lip gently as I meet her there. 

Trembling bodies arching, bowing, then relaxing... Realizing the air is cool against skin that seems to have been set on fire... Breathing erratic, stopping, and restarting...  

As she lies on top of me in the aftermath, both of us breathing heavily and spent for the moment, an evil grin spreads over my face. I wrap my arms around her waist, "So, I started this?" 

After a moment, I feel her laughing before I hear the sound. She doesn't pick her head up, or move any other muscle that I'm aware of, "Mhm."



Stars and Angels



Note: This story is a complete work of fiction, and in no way represents the personal experiences of the author. It is primarily a love story for anyone to read, but it is erotic, and if you're offended by incest, gay lovers, mild language, or graphic descriptions of straight sex, I strongly suggest that you don't read this!!! That being said, this is my first story and I hope you all enjoy it. 

*

Christmas Eve

The sky was glittering. When Glinda looked up she felt a bit dizzy; she wondered if it were really stars she was seeing or if angels had strung up the holiday lights. She shivered with cold. It was so deeply winter that the air actually hurt to inhale, so she kept burying her face further into her red, fuzzy scarf.

Glinda listened absent-mindedly to the sound of carolers passing on the sidewalk next to her, listened to the bells jingling on the sides of the carriage of which she was an unenthusiastic passenger, listened to the horses snort and clop merrily through the snow on the asphalt. After spending her entire life in New York, the charms of the city and old-fashioned carriage rides wouldn't raise her spirits. She shut her eyes and prayed that Christmas would just vanish. It was a similar prayer to the ones she'd murmured every December during her childhood, but maybe after eighteen years the gods would finally hear her and she would wake up long after Christmas had gone. 

* * * * *

December 24, 1989

Dear Diary,

Today Daddy died. I was out throwing snowballs with Mallory and Mommy was lying there sleeping. She was in one of her deep sleeps so she didn't hear him fall. I feel sick and very sad. I love Daddy a lot. Maybe God will wake him up tomorrow. It's Christmas and nothing bad can ever happen on Christmas. I wanted to send a letter to Santa asking to give Daddy life instead of presents but I don't think he'll get it in time. I can't sleep tonight, but I'll try. I'm crying too much.

When she was six, the Fairy Girl (as her father affectionately called her) lost her daddy. He fell down two flights of stairs in their home after suffering a mild stroke and broke several ribs. He may have lived, but his wife had passed out drunk at the kitchen table. Fairy Girl found him first when she came inside, covered in a thick winter coat and a light sprinkling of snowflakes. 

The thing Glinda remembered most these days wasn't the awkward way he was sprawled out on the floor or the blood on the carpet, but the large, beautiful pine tree in the corner. Daddy bought it at Central Park the day before and had decorated it while she was out. The lights were turned on and the ornaments were colorful and enchanting. All that was missing was the star on top: Glinda put it up every year.

That year felt least like Christmas to Glinda because her mother was crying and her father was gone and there wasn't even a star to top off the tree. Fairy Girl sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree, gently touching every glass ball and garland and popcorn kernel as Daddy had left it, waiting all day for one of the holiday miracles she'd always heard about to happen and her father to burst through the front door.

* * * * *

The morning before, bright white light had woken her up, streaming in through her bedroom window. When Glinda forced her eyes open, she saw the first snowfall of the year, fluttering elegantly and wetly outside. 

She went to the bathroom to get dressed for work, although she would have done anything to get out of it. She worked at a coffee shop with her best friend Jean; her only real friend. Jean was dragging her to a party at a friend's house tomorrow night. "You need to get out and meet people," she'd told her. "Actually do something for the holidays."

Glinda didn't care. She stared at her reflection, wondering where the lonely child she still felt like had gone. She had short blonde hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders. The platinum streaks she'd bleached in had almost grown out, making her look a bit older and more sophisticated. She had big, bright blue eyes and quite pale skin. She was definitely too short and thin to be a conventional beauty, and she could cup her breasts neatly in the palms of her own small hands, but she thought she looked nice enough.

Daddy had always told her so. He'd call her his beautiful girl, taking her to the theatre on Broadway to see musicals, buying her peanuts during the intermission and fanning her with the playbill when she got too hot. 

Glinda listened to the running water in the shower, waiting for the steam to fog up the windows before she'd bother undressing. It was too cold in that house. The tiles beneath her feet froze her toes. She remembered how Daddy used to nibble on them, to dance her around the house, to call her a Fairy Girl. 

"Why do you call me that?" she asked him once.

"Call you that? Isn't it true, my girl?" Daddy had joked. 

"How -- I'm no fairy." She thought of the illustrations in the books Daddy read to her.

"You're not? I thought I saw wings hiding back there somewhere..." and he would grab her and tickle her until she cried mercy, mercy.

Glinda realized that she was a little old to still miss him. But how could she not? Even though it had been forever, she remembered him perfectly. He was tall and muscular, and he had brown hair that was lightly graying at the temples. He was a beautiful man with beautiful brown doe eyes that crinkled in a smile, with a ringing laugh that warmed her heart. He'd tease her about the princes in Disney movies and fairy stories, promising her that someday she'd have her very own prince.

Glinda was too young to understand, but now she did and it made her angry, resentful. She may be a woman now and not a child but she would much rather have her Daddy back instead of Prince Charming. She sometimes imagined her prince finally rescuing her, but Prince was really her Daddy in disguise.

Glinda took her hot shower, soaping her body vigorously, trying to wash away pain like dirt. After drying in a fuzzy towel, she escaped into the hallway and began dressing herself. She'd only gotten as far as her black cotton panties and bra when she stopped, her nerve endings tingling from the shower and thoughts of Prince waking her up on Christmas morning. 

He'd be tall and handsome, with a strong and musky scent. Glinda sighed softly, leaning back against the wall. He'd take her and kiss her and call her his beautiful fairy, and he'd kiss her again only this time less gently and with need. Her fingers slipped inside of her panties and she slid them down over her lightly trimmed bush, nudging them through her swollen pussy lips. She gasped at the first touch to her clitoris -- fantasies like these always aroused her quickly.

"Open up your legs, baby," Prince would say, breathing fast. Glinda stripped quickly for him and he lifted her up (Daddy had been very tall, she remembered, so the best and most comforting thing was for him to reach down and raise her off the ground, holding her neatly so they were eye to eye). Now she felt every detail, the heaving of his chest through the soft cotton shirt he wore, his erect nipples and the growing bulge against her thigh telling her he loved her and would protect her. 

Glinda massaged herself with her knuckle, tracing her hot, wet pussy lips and then slid a finger deep inside, flicking her clit with her thumb and imagining Prince's tongue there. Whether his mouth was lavishing her own or her vagina, he was always making noise -- moaning or gasping or simply breathing so she knew he was there and she felt him, voicing his pleasure and causing vibrations to hum and flow over her skin.

Prince grabbed her breasts and tongued the nipples, kissing them. He hugged her close and as soon as he'd unzipped his pants, his cock sprung out at attention. Glinda touched it innocently, angelically, filled with desire. He delicately slid his big hard cock in her. It was the most beautiful thing, and Glinda drove herself against him. 

As she pumped with him, she imagined that each thrust brought both of them back to life. Glinda felt the petals spreading open as she fingered herself faster to keep up with the imaginary Prince's speed. Like a fire in her belly, the flames licked her opening. If sex were only magic, it could bring Daddy back to life and make up for his never being there, make up for her whole childhood wasted on a mother who didn't love her and whose eyes were always coated with alcohol and couldn't even see her, let alone raise her. Daddy... Prince came inside of her, the thick streams of cum shooting in her groping pussy, and the fire in Glinda erupted too until she felt her own pulse between her thighs, her whole hand wet. She slid down to the floor, quivering, heart pounding and her orgasm ended as so many of them did: in tears.

* * * * * 

Having sex never pleasured Glinda like her own dreams did. She'd tried a few times with guys she wasn't that interested in, usually Jean's blind dates, but she just couldn't come with them. She would thrust and thrust and open her eyes and see not Prince but someone so much less real groaning weakly on top of her. Glinda knew Jean meant well and in some ways was the only one who cared if she was alive -- really living -- or just going through the motions. But she didn't go out on arranged dates anymore. She didn't bother.

All that day at work, making people lattes and scratching her sweating forehead beneath the ridiculous white fur brim of the Santa hat employees had to wear, Glinda kept thinking about a decision she'd made with Daddy when she was still a child. How she so vividly heard her little girl voice in her mind was a mystery to herself, but she clung to the memory like a lifeline:

"Oh, Daddy, you forgot to put the star on top of the tree!"

"So I did. Listen, Fairy Girl, why don't you put the star up?"

"Me?"

"Yes you, silly baby...don't you remember? You put it up every year!"

"Do I, do I really Daddy? Did I last year?"

"Well of course. You're my helpful girl. And guess what -- I have a surprise for you."

"What is it? Can I open my presents now?"

Daddy threw back his head and laughed; Glinda was glowing with pleasure for making him happy. "Not quite. But I do have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ornament -- a new one.

"It's a fairy!" Glinda screamed, clapping her hands.

"Nope -- an angel, sweetpea. Doesn't she look like you? And it's for the top of the tree."

"But I thought the star went on top."

"It can. It's up to you, darling."

Stars or angels...should she put the star that looked like Daddy's sparkling eyes or the angel with the fairy wings who really did look like her with golden hair and shimmering eyes and a harp like a toy on the top of the tree this year?

* * * * *

Glinda sat on her bed, staring into her closet. The electronic train that Daddy had had was chugging around her Christmas tree. She hated decorating for the holidays but the realistic train noises reminded her so much of him and she could still imagine him beside her when she turned it on. 

"Pathetic," Glinda murmured. "Too pathetic. A girl in her twenties going to an adult party and still wishing Daddy was here to help dress her." It's not like Glinda thought about him all the time. Sometimes whole days passed -- guilty days, days where she felt ashamed and like she was missing something she needed, and only remembered later at night when she felt turned on and alone who she'd missed. But at the holidays, she kept replaying scenes in her head. Scenes of Daddy, scenes of Prince, scenes of the death of the dream of both.

While Glinda gazed unseeingly into her closet, her mind drifted off what she would wear to the party that night and onto other memories of Daddy. She thought about rubbing between her legs again but figured it wasn't worth it; her hand would be tired and she would cry and have to shower again. The party was in two hours. 

"Jean, if you didn't mean so damn much to me I wouldn't bother going!" Glinda said out loud. 

Only Jean did mean everything to her. When Jean had first met Glinda, she did everything she could think of to cheer Glinda up. She took her to concerts, she threw her surprise picnics and brought her library books she thought she'd enjoy, and she gave her flowers on every birthday. It wasn't until she came over late one Valentines' night with a box of chocolates and discovered Glinda crying that she learned exactly what was troubling her friend.

"Sick, isn't it?" Glinda mumbled, sniffling. Jean handed her some tissues. "I sound awful."

"No, you sound like a poor little girl who lost her father," Jean said quietly.

"I never...I never was like that when he was alive."

"Of course not."

"I mean, I was only six. I was innocent. It's just that he was my whole world, and the only thing that meant anything...and he loved me, and when he told me I would find a prince..."

"Haven't you ever heard about Oedipus?" Jean asked her.

"Please don't start preaching Freud psychology to me..." Glinda groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"I'm just explaining to you -- lots of children develop an attraction to their parents. It's very normal!" Jean insisted.

"Yeah, I feel normal. I'm twenty-four years old and I'm single because I'm in love with my dead father. I'm sure it happens all the time," Glinda said with a sigh. Jean didn't know what to say. Glinda sighed. "It isn't that I'm actually in love with him, really. I don't know what I am. Because I didn't really have much of a mother, well, I depended on him. Everything about my past is so strange. I just miss him. I miss the good part of my life."

"Well, how about making the best of the life you've got now?" Jean tried, coaxing her with the open box of truffles. 

She looked so hopeful that Glinda couldn't help but laugh. She selected a white chocolate truffle that looked irresistibly creamy and expensive and smiled. "Thanks, Jean. I'll try," she said, taking a bite.

"I'll try," Glinda said out loud, decidedly, standing up and walking straight into the closet. She grabbed a gorgeous, red velvet dress that looked like a Gothic ball gown and held it up to herself in front of the mirror. It was soft and lovely, and it hadn't been worn in years. Glinda smiled. "This Christmas, I'll really try," she murmured.

* * * * *

As soon as Glinda got to the party, she found Jean waiting for her. The party was at a fairly big house; she'd never met the host and apparently Jean hadn't either, but was invited by a friend of a friend. It was ridiculously crowded.

"You look beautiful!" Jean exclaimed when she saw Glinda, transformed into a spectacular vision complete with snowflake earrings.

"Thanks, so do you," Glinda replied, admiring the artful way Jean had done up her hair.

"Have a cookie?" Jean offered a tray of butter cookies shaped into bells and sleighs and things, topped with rich sugary sweet frosting. "They're warm -- freshly baked, too. I stole it right out of the kitchen," she whispered excitedly.

Glinda laughed and took one. "They look delicious. But what on earth is this supposed to be?"

Jean cocked her head and studied Glinda's cookie. "I don't know. It looks like the baby Jesus or something."

"Good God!" Glinda cried, laughing. "What kind of barbaric cookie cutter is that?" 

"I don't know...listen, grab yourself a glass of champagne and go dancing. Enjoy the party -- I've gotta go mingle."

Glinda let Jean go. Jean was the perfect party girl, able to flutter gracefully and sweetly through the crowds, meeting guys and charming girls, but Glinda wasn't so good at it. She took the champagne but suddenly didn't want any. She made her way through all the fancifully dressed merrymakers until she found an empty seat on the couch in the front parlor. She sat there beside a pot of holly, watching people dancing with garlands like feather boas and kiss under mistletoe, wishing only to be with her father when she was young, setting out plates of cookies and carrots and a glass of fresh milk for Santa. 

"Now Fairy Girl, stop bouncing around," Daddy said gently. "You need to go to bed! Early to bed on Christmas Eve or Santa might not come."

"Read me a story first?" 

"Oh, alright..." 

Glinda hid her eyes discreetly behind her hand, pretending to be resting on it, so no one could see her crying. 

* * * * *

Christopher saw Glinda first. How could anyone, he wondered, have missed her? She sat by herself in a stunning red dress, cradling an untouched glass of champagne and staring impassively into space, and she wouldn't have looked more gorgeous or more heart-broken if she had been laughing or weeping. 

He had strode in confidently, preparing to yell out, "Ho ho ho, merry Christmas!" trying desperately to have fun and be dignified in the ridiculous Santa costume he'd adorned for the party. Glinda stopped him cold. That blonde haired girl with the blue eyes stared at him; she saw him too. The way she was looking at him made him feel naked and uncomfortable, because he thought she saw through him. 

Christopher pushed his way through the crowd, offering silent smiles to everyone, trying to get to Glinda before someone else did. He felt urgent. Glinda watched him approach. She could see it in his eyes from across the room, and she wondered why such a cute guy dressed up for the party was so unhappy. Still, she really wasn't in the mood. 

Christopher almost went away, but the contemptuous look she was giving him made him want to step up to the challenge. 

"Hi there," the guy said, grinning at her.

Glinda offered a half-smile. 

"What do you want for Christmas?"

"Another glass of champagne?" Glinda suggested, hoping he'd fetch her one and she could escape. 

Unfortunately for her, a whole tray of champagne went drifting by at that precise moment and Santa snatched one, handing it to her and taking the full glass she already held. In one swift motion, he ripped off the white beard he was wearing and drank the entire glass. "Waste not, want not," he said with a shrug and a smile.

Glinda tried not to laugh.

"Your name is?"

"Glinda. Who are you?"

"Can't you tell?" Glinda made a face. "Oh, alright. I'm Chris." As though wanting to introduce himself properly, Christopher removed his hat and white wig revealing a sexy crop of shoulder-length dyed-black hair and a handsome, youthful face. "It's a pleasure, Glinda." 

Glinda shook hands and with a sort of defeated expression patted the seat beside her on the couch. "So," she began when he sat beside her. "Who coerced you into playing the fat and fuzzy man this year?"

"Easy now! Santa may not give you what you want this year if you talk about him like that," Christopher joked.

"I'm not worried. He hasn't given me what I want in eighteen years," Glinda replied.

Christopher bit his lower lip. Glinda took that moment to give him the once over. She couldn't tell what his body was like under the red coat, but he was wearing black silk pants, and judging from his legs, hands, and face, he was thin and well-built. A bit of a prince, perhaps. Anyway, he smelled nice too -- like cologne and peppermint, and he had a nice-sounding, low voice. He could have been a singer.

Christopher, in turn, looked at her. The red dress was low-cut and revealed a small, satisfying swell of cleavage and an unblemished pale neck and chest. It was like she was cut from perfect porcelain. Her face was round and very pretty, memorable by the dark makeup, bright red lipstick, and shimmering blue eyes. As if she had read his mind, she said, "Mine is lighter than yours. Do you think I ought to go darker?"

"What?" Christopher asked, confused.

"My eyeliner. Do you think I should go darker? We have the same skin tone almost, and yours is a lot blacker than mine."




Stars and Angels



Christopher laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Glinda rolled her eyes. "I can see you're wearing makeup. Congratulations -- very subtle though. It's pretty."

Christopher felt a little embarrassed. "It's just -- for the costume, you know." He was afraid she'd think he was gay and lose interest. "Actually I do wear makeup sometimes."

"Well that's good. I think all men should. It's sexy." Glinda wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She chewed on her tongue and took a sip of champagne, to keep busy. Why was she flirting with him? 

"I used to be a singer in this punk club near Broadway." He gnawed on his lip, unwilling to tell her how long ago that had actually been. "We all kind of dressed up a little. Do you listen to rock?"

"Yes," Glinda said. "Classic rock. Not much new stuff."

"I don't blame you." Christopher cleared his throat and slapped his hands on his thighs. He seemed nervous. 

Glinda couldn't help it. "What's wrong?" she blurted.

"Huh?"

"Why are you so sad? Aren't you supposed to be cheerful or something? I'm not saying you should be, but I think it's rather expected of Mr. Claus."

Christopher would have been annoyed by anyone else suggesting he was pretending to be fine when he really wasn't, but Glinda seemed so sincere and it seemed to really matter to her. "Girls," he said with a sigh and shake of the head, and Glinda smiled at his feigned exasperation. "Do you really want to know?"

"Do you really want to talk about it?" Glinda asked.

Christopher ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe later."

Glinda thought he was more and more gorgeous every time he spoke, and she knew that if she didn't do something soon, one of the other girls at the party might butt in. "Do you want some fresh air as much as I do?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go outside."

* * * * *

Suddenly conversation came so easy. It never felt so easy to talk to someone, but Glinda and Christopher talked for over an hour as the crowd inside anxiously awaited the promised Santa and his sack of presents. Jean, on her part, kept asking if anyone knew where the fuck Glinda was. At last, the two came back inside shivering and covered with snow and laughing and Glinda helped him hand out presents. 

Jean grabbed Glinda's arm when she saw her. "Glinda!" she cried. "Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere...I was afraid you'd left."

Glinda smiled at her.

Jean caught sight of Christopher holding her hand and a devious grin crossed her face. "Oh, point taken..." She disappeared in the crowd after giving Glinda a playful pinch.

When Jingle Bell Rock came on, Christopher took his beard and hat off again and asked Glinda to dance. She accepted. They danced forcefully, like it was really a mosh pit, driving their bodies against each other. Some people laughed. Glinda slammed her body against his in wild abandon until finally he caught hold of her to calm her down a little. The truth was she liked it; she wanted to thrust herself against him, feel the heat of his body. She could feel it now under the coat: he had strong pecks and a flat stomach. She wanted to touch him. She didn't know what was coming over her, why his dark hair was suddenly turning her on and why her sadness was vanishing, but it was actually the third glass of champagne coming over her and she felt good.

Christopher, for his part, stopped Glinda from moshing beside him because he thought she was too damn beautiful when she did it; her carefully brushed blonde hair now messed up and hanging in her face. He brushed it out of her eyes, trying not to get an erection and embarrass himself or her. She was breathing hard after the dance, her breasts heaving and sweat trickling down between them. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"What are you doing?" Glinda asked flirtatiously. 

"It's a slow song. Do you want to mosh to Silent Night?" he asked in her ear. Glinda burst out laughing and he smelled the champagne on her breath. He wanted to kiss her, to see what she tasted like -- champagne, champagne and flowers, champagne and sugar, champagne and...

"I've had a great time," she whispered suddenly. He had to lean down and she had to stretch onto her tiptoes to reach his ear with her lips. "I hope you have too...I'm sorry I let myself drink a little too much. I won't get drunk, I promise."

"Don't worry," Christopher said, smiling. "I've had lots of fun." Glinda grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Christopher was surprised, but he let her do it and pretty soon he was kissing her back. 

Glinda almost apologized, but after seeing him panting raggedly, his eyes shut and his hair dangling like icicles in front of them, the words died in her mouth. She wasn't sorry. He'd enjoyed it.

"Do you want to tell me, now? About why you were so sad earlier?" Glinda asked, trembling a little. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to know. Maybe because she knew how it felt to not understand this 'most wonderful time of the year,' even though everyone around was smiling and giving gifts and putting up trees and oblivious. 

Christopher pushed his body roughly against her, so they were dancing as close as possible, and Glinda felt the weight of him all over. She gasped, and he leaned over so he was speaking almost into her mouth. "Alright," he whispered.

* * * * *

Ten Years Earlier

The club was packed. Christopher couldn't breathe but he kept singing anyway, his mouth pressed up against the microphone as he wailed about love and sex and drugs and all the things a rock star is supposed to sing about. If any one of the girls leaning against the front of the stage or leaping and jouncing in their tight T-shirts had asked him, he would have admitted that he hated the way his black hair with bleached tips hung in his eyes while he sang. He had no desire to get involved with drugs ever again . He didn't want to be a celebrity; he just wanted to make music.

His bass guitarist, Josh, strummed the strings of his instruments as sweetly as he would stroke the head of a child. Christopher swallowed hard, feeling a forbidden stirring of passion in his heart when he looked at him. The two of them were best friends. They started a musical group together in junior high and left their hometown in Florida to play the clubs in NYC. Bewitched by the city and the women -- all the sexy, horny women -- who wanted them, they stayed and made it fairly big. Now that they were playing the popular clubs, Christopher wanted out.

"Hey Josh?" Christopher asked after the show. 

They were backstage, drinking warm beer. They had cleared all of the girls out of the room and opened a window, but it still felt oppressive. The harsh white bulbs over the mirrors bothered Josh so much that they turned the couch around to face the other direction. 

"Hey," Josh said.

"Do you ever get disillusioned?"

"What do you mean?"

"By all this, man. Don't you fucking hate it?"

Josh took a swig of the beer. Christopher watched him quietly, wishing that he hadn't helped him style his hair into a tall, pink-tinted Mohawk -- it had been so much easier to touch when it was hanging straight down; it was so much prettier in its natural brown color.

"I mean, it's Christmas Eve," Christopher continued. "Another Christmas Eve and what the hell are we doing? We should be eating roast ham or opening presents -- and drinking some damn champagne, right? Eggnog."

"Apple cider," Josh said with a laugh.

"Right. Not this shitty watered-down beer. We're wasted."

"Sure I hate it," Josh replied, his voice a drunken grumble. "But I gotta keep doing it."

"Why?" Christopher demanded. 

Josh smiled, but he didn't look Christopher in the eye. "Because of the music. And the protection."

Christopher understood. They were young, male lovers. No matter how beautiful and wild and rambunctious the city was, it didn't block out the ugly realities for bi-curious people like them. So long as they were hot rock stars who played good music and acted famous, no one would care.

"But I can't do this," Christopher finally said. "I hate this place. I hate all the places we've played in the past week."

"They're better than anything we ever hoped for."

"Exactly. I didn't hope for this. Any of it." Christopher gestured between the two of them, and Josh clenched his jaw. His knuckles grew white on the neck of the beer bottle.

"Christ, Chris...why are you doing this?"

Christopher shook his head and stood up. "I quit" He began to walk away, then turned. His voice was unsteady. "It isn't because of us."

"The hell it isn't." Josh burst out into nervous laughter but Christopher cut him short.

He knelt beside him and kissed him passionately. Josh responded immediately, reaching out in an uncharacteristically shy manner to rub Christopher's groin through his torn jeans. 

Christopher grabbed the back of Josh's head and held him close against his face, yanking him back when he tried to pull away. "Don't talk," he muttered in Josh's ear. He fumbled between their bodies and pulled open his friend's shirt. He skimmed his fingers delicately down his rib cage, then up to his chest, flicking his nipples softly.

Josh growled and flung Christopher to the floor, sliding down on top of him and undoing his jeans. When Christopher felt Josh's mouth close around his warm, twitching cock, he groaned and fell back onto his elbows, reveling in the moment. 

Christopher had always felt, whether it was with a man or a woman, that sex combined with love had a mysterious magical element. Something amazing and life-altering. In fact, Josh had saved his life once. The first time they made love was when Christopher confessed he was considering suicide. The pressure of "celebrity," as it were, had driven him crazy. He had O.D.ed twice by the age of twenty, and nearly five years of tripping from one concert through another, crashing at strangers' apartments had turned the world into hell. Christopher said that he was sorry. 

Josh had looked stricken, for a second, with tears welling up in his eyes. Christopher looked up to Josh as "the man" (Josh was a year older) and this alarmed him. Real men don't cry. But suddenly Josh had gotten angry and thrown him hard against the wall and screamed at him -- "You can't die! Do you hear me? If you die, I will fucking kill you, understand?" And then Josh kissed him. 

Even now, over a year later, Christopher felt that magic as he plunged inside Josh. Josh's voice saying his name over and over sounded sure as shit more beautiful than the hardcore versions of Christmas carols they played onstage. Josh's sweaty hands gripping Christopher's felt so safe. And yet this love-magic Christopher believed in so strongly didn't save their band. It didn't save Josh, either, when he got hit by a drunk driver two weeks later.

* * * * *

They were still dancing, and Glinda was crying. Her red velvet dress twirled around them both, the rim of it circling against her ankles. Christopher seemed relieved to have told somebody about his pain, relieved that she understood and that she heard all but wasn't leaving. Glinda actually was secretly nervous that because of the painful memories he wouldn't want to follow through with all their flirting, but a sudden thickness she felt pressing into her belly reassured her. She wanted it, and she wasn't afraid. 

* * * * *

It was after midnight. The party was still going on. Christopher tossed someone his Santa hat and shrugged off the coat too and mumbled that he had to leave. That someone didn't mind taking over Santa duty; as far as he was concerned, it was a perfect chance to take some naughty girl onto his lap and bribe her with gifts. 

Meanwhile, Glinda and Christopher left. They half-tripped, half-floated down the streets. Either they were the only two people on earth or they just imagined it -- everything was empty. They were laughing, or maybe only smiling with lips that seemed to dance because of too much excitement and sparkling wine. On Christopher's side of the street were the street lamps, decorated with tinsel and garlands and innumerable red and green lights that seemed reflected tenfold in Glinda's bright eyes. The shop windows ran alongside Glinda and she stared inside each of them, entranced by the trains like Daddy's running round the tracks blowing real steam and the teddy bears clashing cymbals and the Santas and little elf dolls that danced on white cotton snow spread beneath them. All those sweet electronic toys that tinkered merrily away seemed to be telling Glinda, "Mm, yes, go for it sweetheart...live a little, for one Christmas in your life. This could be your real Prince, yeah?"

Stumbling inside of Glinda's apartment, out of the night air, they began to kiss -- they just fell against one another, trying to get warm again and melt the snow in each others' hair. 

Glinda wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned, a little overwhelmed. Christopher stroked her back through the red velvet dress, growing hard when he felt her small, perfect breasts pressing against his chest. He nudged her legs apart with his knee so she could grind against his thigh. They kissed for several minutes, their embrace becoming so close that the heat between her legs was maddening to both of them and Christopher began imagining that he could feel her wetness soaking through onto his leg. 

Almost frantically, he began tugging the sweater over his head, breaking the kiss long enough to toss it aside.

Glinda stopped his shaking hands, clasping them calmly in her own. In a calm voice she didn't recognize, and couldn't believe in her present state of happiness, she said, "Not here."

She led him to her bedroom, like a little Christmas fairy taking him into an enchanted grotto in the forest.

"You keep your Christmas tree here?" he asked in surprise, seeing the tall pine lovingly decorated at the foot of the queen-sized bed. 

"It helps keep the nights less lonely. More festive," she explained, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him. She would never admit why it was really there, or that her fantasy from the previous day was coming true.

She reached down and pulled her dress up, revealing perfect legs in sheer black stockings. Christopher's mouth fell open. "Help me?" she asked in a nervous, little-girl voice. Christopher swallowed hard and tried not to burst. He got on his knees and pulled off her black stiletto shoes. Her toes flexed when he stroked the arches of her feet. She was begging to be kissed. He placed his mouth against her toes, gently sucking them through the nylon stockings. He reached up to her thighs and helped her unclip the garter belt so he could pull the stocking off, relishing the feel of her smooth legs. 

Glinda ran the toes of one foot down his bare chest while he rained kisses over another. He sucked and licked her feet, paying ample attention to the small crevices between her toes and the patches just between her heels and her calves, which were extremely sensitive. She chuckled, thrilled, pressing her feet into his chest. 

Christopher stood and kicked off his shoes and undid his pants, and Glinda moaned at the sight of his long, thick cock. She lifted her arms and he pulled the dress over her head, deliberately brushing her bare breasts as he did so. He tugged on her nipples, the kissed them and sucked them. But it wasn't enough. Glinda put one hand on his ass and pulled him closer, finding his cock with the other. She pushed it deep into her mouth and Christopher gasped, grabbing her shoulders for support. She sat there for awhile on the edge of the bed, sucking his cock and licking the shaft and grunting and Christopher couldn't help pushing himself against her, feeling waves of pleasure coursing through him until his own toes curled into the carpet. 

After kissing his dick and fondling his butt and inner thighs, she concentrated on his balls, weighing them on her tongue. They were heavy and swollen, like the lips of her pussy.

Christopher wanted to repay her and began kneeling, but she stopped him. "I can't wait," she hissed. "I can't, Chris, I need you."

Christopher nodded, reaching one strong arm beneath her thighs and lifting her like a child, preparing to lie her back on the bed. She grabbed him and whispered something to him, and Christopher chuckled breathlessly. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and threw her back against the pillows. She raised her hands helplessly and he flung himself on top of her, as though he were leaping offstage into an audience. He kissed and sucked her all over and Glinda tried in vain to put his dick inside her, but he kept moving just out of reach. He pinned her hands up over her head, licking her breasts and the tender insides of her wrists.

She squealed loudly, and he stopped in surprise. Laughing, Christopher kissed her deeply on the mouth to silence her. "Okay, little girl," he said softly, and he positioned himself over her. Before he could ease himself in, Glinda thrust her hips up hard, taking him almost halfway in. Christopher moaned helplessly, feeling Glinda thrash with desire. She was soaking wet, her wetness sucking his cock in tight and rubbing against his thighs. When he plunged in deep, they both cried out and he felt her wetness on his ass and lower back, covering his balls. She was impossibly warm and slippery inside, and she clenched her muscles around him. She gasped for air, and he began pushing in and out of her tight sex.

They rolled over in the bed, shining under the lights on the Christmas tree like a field of tinsel flowers. Glinda loved the way they reflected on Christopher's face when he moaned beneath her. They laughed sometimes, joyfully, like playing children. He grabbed her breasts and she clutched handfuls of the blue satin sheets and drove herself hard against him. "Glinda," Christopher moaned when she twisted her body so her clit was grinding his cock. "I think that I love you."

Glinda came so hard that she fell forward, crying out and shaking all over. He rolled them over again, driving into her as she screamed his name. She orgasmed again and again, her pussy tightening and expanding in spasms. Christopher moved his cock hard and fast, dragging the head along the soft inner walls of her vagina to prolong the pleasure for her. Just when he thought he couldn't hold on much longer, Glinda grabbed him by the hair and gently, almost playfully, bit his neck. He lost it.

Christopher gasped and slammed his hips against her, spurting his cum deep inside her, Glinda trying to pin him in deep by holding him there with her legs. Finally, he started to breathe again. 

"Touch me, baby," he growled.

The words acted as a trigger for Glinda and she came again, raking her fingers across his back, her body contracting and her sopping pussy taking his cock deeper as he softened, feeling safe and released inside. They couldn't get close enough to one another and as they laid side by side they clutched at each other's bodies fervently to stay together. Glinda buried her face in Prince Christopher's neck as they fell asleep and smiled to herself, barely believing she was good enough. 

* * * * *

Christopher slept, dreaming not only of Glinda but of all pleasure. He could see himself back in the clubs, and he was singing again. He sang like he meant it this time, playing the instrument in his hand hard and riding on the rock n' roll, not realizing or caring that he wasn't young anymore, that no one remembered him from before, that he was taking a risk now.

And there were still risks. The music may have been magical but there were still drugs, wicked, lusting people who stared at him like they wanted to eat him alive (it was flattering at first but scary and meaningless when he was alone at night), and he missed Josh. But in the dream that he thought would come true he saw Glinda standing in the audience and cheering, wanting him. He was in love with that girl, so different from the girl he'd met at the party. That girl had been sad. Dream-Glinda's eyes were as bright and joyful as they'd been when he'd made love to her the night before.




Stars and Angels



If Christopher could have woken up right then he would have known that dream-Glinda was alive and watching him tenderly, joy bubbling over in her. She moved dizzily in the bed, running her hands over the midnight blue satin sheets to feel them, touching her bare thighs and starting at how amazing it felt to really feel; to not to be numb for the first. She smiled at Christopher sleeping, looking like some living Greek David, all perfect and blissful and nude.

Glinda felt cold air coming in through the crack in the window she'd opened because of the almost overwhelming heat they'd created the night before. It tickled her naked body and she shivered, but didn't want to close the window. She realized that the Christmas lights on the tree were still on -- it was Christmas morning. And the angel smiled at her from the top. 

"Hey, Glinda," she heard Daddy whisper. 

"Daddy?"

"I'm here, darling."

"Where? Where are you?" Glinda felt stupid, looking all around. 

"Shh, I'm inside you. I just wanted you to know that I love you, Glinda. Has Santa come, little girl?"

Glinda cast a sidelong glance at Christopher. "Sort of." 

"I think he left a present for you. I think you'll be okay now."

"What present?"

"Goodbye, Glinda."

"Wait, Daddy..." Glinda thought to herself, but the thought was only a tiny cry and the pain wasn't so strong anymore. She could let Daddy's spirit go. But what had he meant by a present?

Standing up, she felt a sharp pain cutting through her, slicing down from the base of her neck to her lower back. She sucked in her breath, wondering what invisible blade was now carving through her. The sensation of intense pain quickly passed and she felt something new, like she had suddenly been reborn with a better body. She felt a shower of something light, cool and dusty raining down on her. Snow? In the house?

Glinda ran to the mirror and cried out when she saw her reflection: wings. Bright lilac wings, round and small like butterfly wings, fluttering against her skin. She was covered in golden glitter. 

"Jesus." She heard a low breath behind her and spun, looking at Christopher. "G-Glinda...?"

"Do you like them, Chris?" she asked him, her voice high and sparkling like a child's. "Do you? You gave them to me."

"How - "

"Don't try to talk, Chris. Just feel them. Touch them." Glinda turned around and let Christopher run his hands over the brand new, small appendages, flickering against his skin. They were like flowers, intricate with veins and swirling purple designs that shuddered with pleasure as he stroked them. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was a dream within a dream.

"My God," he groaned. He got out of bed and stood close behind her, letting them brush his chest softly, like breath, and the stirring wingtips brought his cock to life. "You really are an angel, Glinda."

"No. A fairy." Glinda giggled, then turned around and stood up tall to kiss him on the lips. Then she darted on ballerina feet to the window and shoved it all the way open, leaving a trail of glitter from Christopher's shoulders down his arms, stomach, and thighs. "Watch me, Chris," she purred, her eyes shining. "Watch this."

Before Christopher could stop her, she leapt from the window and he ran to it so fast that he almost knocked over the tree. But he wasn't afraid, and he knew by her cries of delight that it was working. He gasped with pleasure as he watched her flying, fluttering through the snowy air outside, the same air that rushed into his face and stroked his now-hard cock. "Merry Christmas, pretty girl," he murmured to the ecstatic fairy outside, dancing through the sky above New York.

The End. 



Stars and Stripes



The story that follows is a fantasy, containing elements recalling my past. Nobody is under eighteen, and you shouldn't be either, if you're about to read on.

*

My story began soon after leaving sixth form college, when I had just turned eighteen. Well before that, I had offers, but resisted them until I had at least an academic grounding. The offers had been based on what I regarded as my good luck -- I was tall and slim -- too slim, in my own view - and had a pretty face, framed by long, thick, shiny, honey-blond hair, which I kept straight, with a centre parting. When I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror, I was always disappointed in my breasts, which were very small, though firm and pointed -- they had just never seemed to grow.

Anyway, when I had finally left college, there was nothing to stop me from accepting a lucrative offer to train as a fashion model, despite my mother's protests -- she wanted me to become 'something decent' like a secretary, where I would 'meet a nice young man.'

Bags packed, I said a tearful farewell to my disapproving mother and silently proud father, and took the train to London and my new life.

Sharing a grotty flat near Westbourne Grove was the best I could do -- my flatmate was Irina, an Estonian model who was working for the agency I had joined, and whose English was minimal.

I soon found that being a fashion model was a tough call -- there was a year of working training, the hours could be long, and the competition fierce, and, at times, bitchy. I loved some of the clothes I got to wear, and the nervously triumphant feelings you got on the catwalk, where you always dreaded tripping in your staggeringly high heels. Sometimes I felt decidedly sexy, and became aroused, knowing that all these people were watching me, my nipples sometimes visible through diaphanous gowns, under which I often went naked, so as to avoid panty-lines etc. But the life wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had believed, explaining why most of the girls I got to know were hankering after 'getting into the movies.' I thought this a distant ambition, until one evening, when I had just finished modelling filmy evening dresses for a store-chain, at a run-of-the-mill salon, a tall, dark middle-aged guy, going grey, dressed in a good suit, approached me in the coffee bar.

'Been watching you,' he announced, without preamble, and with a faint accent I couldn't place. His eyes were wandering between my face and my breasts, which were only covered by a thin layer of green silk -- the last dress, a halter-neck number. It was chilly, and I knew that my nipples poked at the material visibly.

'You are Lisa?' he asked rhetorically, and I nodded.

'I have a proposition for you,' he said.

I gave him THE LOOK. Like, I'd heard this one before.

He laughed, 'Yes, I know. But this is real. I've been watching the way you move, and I like your face too.' Where was this leading, I wondered? I was almost ready to walk out.

He went on: 'Ever thought of getting into films?'

'If this is a chat-up line, I've heard more original ones.'

'I don't blame you for being cautious,' he smiled, and flipped out a card, which he handed to me:-

SINTON PRODUCTIONS

Martin J. Van de Bergh, Director



There was a phone number and website, too. I waited for him to continue. I certainly should like to get into films, I thought, but lacked any sort of Drama School preparation, and had a good idea what sort of films that might leave open to me. I told him I had a good job, and was reluctant to risk it by getting into something that couldn't last. He looked me in the eye, a half-smile playing on his lips, and I realised for the first time that he was a good-looking guy. A bit on the old side, maybe, but definitely dishy. Fit-looking, well dressed and smelling of a good cologne -- Monsieur Rochas? Probably.

'If it's not a rude question, what do you make?' he asked. I told him.

He made a show of taking out a pocket calculator and fiddling with the keys. 'I believe you would be taking home four times that amount, assuming, of course, that we find you suitable,' he said, slipping the calculator back into his pocket.

I wondered about walking out there and then, but there was something hypnotic about the man's gaze. 'Just what sort of films are we talking about?' I asked, then added, 'Porno, for sure.'

He didn't answer, but took a little folder from his jacket pocket, extracted a small stack of postcard size photos, and fanning them out, showed them to me. All were of pretty girls, in evening dress, and every one was a stunner.

'All these girls work for us,' he said, 'do you see any scrubbers?'

I had to admit they were impressive, but I was very suspicious. He went on, 'Look, Lisa, I don't expect instant decisions. Come and have dinner with me tonight, and we'll see if we can come to some arrangement. I expect we can let you carry on with your current employment while you give it a try, eh?'

Perhaps I should have walked, I thought, but I found myself nodding and agreeing to meet him for dinner in a posh West End bistro. I had a definite feeling that I had nothing much to lose. I told him not to come and pick me up, as I had somewhere to go first. I told myself it was for security, but in truth, I didn't want him to see the dump I lived in.

I put on a short black dress which clung nicely to me, I thought. Then, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw it -- the dreaded panty-line. I reached up under the dress and pulled down the silk panties, stepped out of them. Being naked under a dress wasn't exactly a novelty nowadays, after all. I wondered about putting my hair up, and decided against it, brushing it out until it shone. I had got used to wearing heels, on the catwalk, so slipped on a pair of stiletto-heeled slingbacks.

'You look good,' said Irina, 'where you go?'

'I'm going out to dinner,' I supplied.

'Oh,' she said, 'then fucky-fucky?' She giggled.

'No fucky-fucky,' I replied, but wondered if that just might be on the cards -- I'd heard all about the 'casting-couch.' If that's what it took, I thought, I could do worse.

When I got to the restaurant, he was sat at a corner table, what looked like a gin and tonic in front of him.

'Hello, Mr Van de Bergh,' I said, as I took the seat opposite.

'Marty,' he said, 'everyone calls me Marty. And you look great.'

'Thank you Marty,' I said, sheepishly -- I wasn't used to such comments on my appearance. We ate an excellent dinner and only talked generalities until we relaxed with a coffee. Then he looked at me with a slight smile on his lips. Whether it was the effect of the half-bottle of Burgundy I had drunk, I can't say, but I found myself moistening as I looked at those eyes, and actually started to wonder what his body would be like under the trendy leather jacket and chinos he wore.

'Have you thought any more about what I said?' he was saying.

'I think I need to know a little more, Marty. It all sounds too good to be true.'

'Why don't I show you the studio, then we can talk some more?' He was summoning the waiter as he spoke, making the universal 'writing in the air' sign.

'Now?' I asked, but it's nearly ten o'clock.'

'It's just around the corner,' he said, and then he was flipping out a credit card -- Gold American Express, I noticed -- to pay for the meal. Meekly I followed him out, then he held the door open for me. Treating me like a lady, I thought.

He was as good as his word. The studio was no more than a couple of minutes' walk away from the bistro, and he unlocked the door using a key from a huge bunch. When he ushered me in, down a corridor, and through a heavy door, requiring another key, I found that I was stood at the entrance to a large, luxurious room, with heavy drapes all around, and two plush sofas, in front of which were ornate coffee tables. It was warm and pleasant, with a nice aroma hanging in the air, thick carpeting underfoot. The only signs of its purpose were a big camera sat on a tripod in one corner, and a big reflector of some sort in the opposite corner.

'Sit down, and I'll get you a drink,' he said, 'cognac OK?' I nodded, and sat down, my skirt riding up a little more than I had expected, so that a fair length of naked thigh was exposed.

'This is the studio?' I enquired.

'A small part of it,' he said, as he fetched two balloons of cognac from a trolley I hadn't noticed, 'there are several other stages.'

He sat down beside me, his maleness starting to impose itself on me. I took a glass from him, and sipped. It warmed me right through.

'I suppose this is the casting couch?' I asked, smiling.

'If you want it to be,' he replied, putting the ball firmly in my court. But his hand was on my knee as he spoke. If there's one thing I can't resist, it's having my knees fondled.

I looked him in the eyes, and, something inside me controlling my actions, parted my lips a fraction and pushed the very tip of my tongue out between my teeth. His hand moved up my leg, stroking slowly, while his other arm went around my neck, pulling me in so that he could kiss me. I let him, and couldn't prevent a little moan of anticipation escaping my lips when they parted from his, as his hand went up under the hem of my dress. My own hand found its way to a hard bulge in his chinos, as he kissed me again, this time letting me take his tongue deep into my mouth. I found his zipper, and dragged it down. He wore nothing under his trousers, and a huge erection sprang into my hand.

'Mmmm,' I murmured, 'you want me, Marty, don't you?'

'Yes, Lisa, I do.'

I pulled away from him, stood in front of the sofa, then pulled up the hem of my dress, up to my waist. I straddled him then, knees either side of his legs, and slowly lowered myself onto him, impaling myself on his pulsing, hard cock, until his entire prodigious length was embedded deep, deep in my hot wet cunt. Then I eased the straps of my dress off my shoulders, baring my breasts, so that I could cup them, tweaking my hard, extended nipples between thumb and forefinger, as I started to ride him, slowly at first, raising my body so that just the very tip of his glans was inside me, then lowering myself again, gripping him with my cunt-muscles, then releasing him as I lifted up again. His breath was coming in short gasps and I knew he couldn't last long, so I increased the pace, and drove frantically up and down.

'Fuck me, you bastard!' I yelled, and that did it. He stiffened, rose to meet me, and I felt him cum, a hot stream of spunk, deep inside me. Simultaneously, I almost blacked out as a great climax overtook me. He collapsed, spent, beneath me.

'Oh fuck,' he said, finally.

'Again?' I asked, mischievously.

'No, my dear,' he said, 'I think I'm getting old.'

After we had cleaned up, he looked at me and said, 'Well, Lisa, you'll pass.'

'Pass what?' I wanted to know.

'Anything you want to pass, I think,' he replied, 'but, for now we should talk about your new job.'

'Just hang on a minute,' I said, 'I haven't agreed to anything yet.'

'But you're going to, aren't you?'

I nodded dumbly -- I thought I'd do most anything for Marty, who'd just fucked me like I'd never been fucked before. My old boyfriend from college had taken me a few times, it's true, but never like this -- I thought it was the first time I'd had an orgasm without using my fingers on myself. But he had stood up, and was already over by a door opposite to where we had come in, pushing a button.

'I'm going to introduce you to someone,' he said. It was news to me that there was anyone else in the building. He explained, 'There's a flat upstairs, and a couple of our girls live there.'

Someone answered, and he spoke into the grille under the button -- I didn't understand a word, but it sounded like Russian.'

He turned to me. 'Nadia will be down in a minute.'

In less than that, the door swung open, and in strutted a girl whose photo I had seen when he showed me his selection. She was a platinum blonde, looking amazingly natural, with eyebrows and complexion to match the pure white of her fine, long, straight hair. Tall and slim, she would have far outshone any of the models I worked with. She wore a long black silky negligee, which parted as she walked to reveal a short black slip of similar material underneath, and endlessly long, slender legs, perched on stiletto-heeled mules. Marty introduced us and Nadia kissed me on both cheeks, wafting a flowery perfume across me. I worked with some beautiful girls every day, many of them truly gorgeous, but none could compare to this creature, I thought -- I was intoxicated by her presence.

'I told you we had some pretty girls working here,' said Marty, 'and Nadia is just one of them. When you go home tonight, I want you to think: why do they work for us here? Girls like Nadia could easily find work modelling, or doing promotional work, I think, don't you?'

I nodded, just a little concerned when I realised that Nadia, standing there smiling, hadn't understood a word of what Marty said. When he had patted her bum and spoken a word or two of Russian to her, she clicked off through the door in her heels, leaving a strong breath of her fragrance behind.

'But she can't be much use for acting?' I asked, naively.

'Come on, Lisa,' said Marty, 'I'm not making scientific documentaries here.'

I blushed. 'S'pose not.'

'Look,' he said, 'give it some thought. You're one hell of a pretty girl, you look good in clothes -- and out of them -- and you sure can fuck. If you're interested, come see me after work tomorrow -- I'll be here all afternoon -- OK?'

As I made my way home, I thought about it, then thought some more when I ought to have been sleeping -- and again on the way to work. A porn actress? Shit, was that what I wanted? I had never seen my career going that way! I had virtually decided to turn Marty's offer down flat by the time I got changed for the catwalk. Today's gear was swimwear, and I thought I looked good in a bikini, but Helen called me 'tarty' when I modelled a leopard-skin effect, very skimpy outfit, and it was all I could do not to tell her the bikini was at fault, not me. Then I got into a silly argument with Sandra, one of the more experienced girls, about smiling when I apparently shouldn't have, and the girls seemed to be ganging up on me at that point.

'What the hell?' I thought, as I slung on my coat at finishing time, and turned towards Soho, and Marty.

'Thought you'd come,' he said, when he came to the door, and waved me inside. 'We've just done shooting for today,' he said.

The room was much bigger than it had been the night before, and I realised that a long partition had been slid open. In the space behind it was a king-size four-poster bed, surrounded by red velvet drapes, and made up with black satin sheets. Lounging on a couch beside the bed were two girls. One was Nadia, again wearing the black negligee she had worn the night before, and the other was an olive-skinned brunette, her long jet-black hair caught up in a pony-tail, wearing a white corset and white stockings, and nothing else. She was every bit as gorgeous as Nadia, and showed no trace of embarrassment when I was introduced to her, even though her shaven pussy was quite naked.

'This is Monica,' said Marty, 'Monica, this is Lisa, who is about to join us.'

While I was trying to frame a protest -- I still hadn't agreed to join them -- Monica was looking me up and down, lovely dark, nearly black, eyes appraising me carefully. She smiled, showing the glint of a diamond embedded, fascinatingly, in one of her front teeth. 'You're very pretty,' she said, her voice rather deep, with a trace of an accent. Spanish? She was, I thought, amazingly attractive, and it was hard to take my eyes off her. After a few moments, in wandered a tall, hunky guy, blond and muscular, who was introduced to me as Jack. I learned that Nadia and Monica lived upstairs, while Jack went home to his pregnant wife in Clapham every night. 'And you've missed the others -- tonight's an early night,' said Marty, 'so we'll get started tomorrow, if that's OK with you, Lisa -- Monica will show you the ropes.'

'I'll look forward to that,' said the brunette, and I could have sworn she licked her lips as she said it.

We sorted out a few details, like what time I could make it each evening, and I went home with a written agreement to pay me a substantial sum for three week's trial period. If, at the end of that, we were mutually suited, I should start full-time.

And be a pornstar -- I said to myself as I sat on the tube train. Shit, what had I done? At least, I reasoned, I could get out after the three weeks, and nothing lost.

I was a bag of nerves as I knocked on the door the next evening, and was let in by a harrassed-looking, balding guy.

'Art,' he introduced himself, over his shoulder, 'cameraman. You'll be Lisa?' Then, without waiting for my reply, 'Monica'll get you ready for your screen-test.'

Screen-test? I knew nothing about it, or just what to expect, but before I had time to ask, or even think about it, Monica, in a towelling robe, had appeared, and was propelling me into a small dressing room, lined with mirror-doored wardrobes.

'Get undressed,' she said, then noticing that I was trembling, 'Don't worry, you might just enjoy it.'

'Wh...what......?' I started to ask, but Monica was laughing, a deep, throaty chuckle, and didn't enlighten me further as she had me strip naked, then put on a narrow blue satin garter-belt, to which she cinched the long black stockings she had me put on. Then she produced a pair of the highest stilettos I'd ever seen, needle-heeled with platform soles. It was like walking on stilts as I tried them out.

'Don't worry,' she said again, 'you'll not be doing any walking, darling. And, by the way, you look great -- I could fuck you myself.' She chuckled on as she brushed my hair, and I thought: I could get used to this! Monica's nearness was by no means unpleasant, but when she had finished with my hair, and helped me touch up my make-up, she led me back into the studio, and indicated that I should totter on my heels over to the bed. Obediently I sat down on the smooth satin sheet. I had to admit to myself that I felt aroused, not only by the sex-laden atmosphere of the place, but especially by Monica, who I thought was lovely.

Marty, who had been nowhere to be seen, appeared, and said, 'Hi Lisa, welcome! We're going to see how you look on screen -- you won't mind being fucked, will you?'

I was aghast -- I'd not expected this. I knew what sort of films Marty made, but talk about a baptism of fire!

Then I saw Jack, in nothing but a pair of boxers, and thought: hmmm, may not be bad after all! But Jack had merely come to collect a pair of trousers hung over the back of a chair, and smiling sort of shyly in my direction, he went. A couple of minutes passed, and it was a touch chilly in the studio, but suddenly a shadow loomed over me and there was a huge, hairy, overweight guy, naked as the day he was born, leering at me from the foot of the bed. My eyes fell inexorably to his belly, and there sprouted an enormous, thick cock, not fully erect, but headed that way, as he supported it with a big, hairy hand.

'This is Carl,' said Marty, then, turning aside, 'Ready, Art?' A grunt signified that he was, and Carl knelt down beside me on the bed, thrusting his dick towards my face.

'Well, blow him then!' yelled Marty, and I took the offered weapon in both hands, feeling it leap into life. I looked up at Carl's face, and he was grinning evilly as his mighty dick grew and stiffened in my grasp. Taken completely by surprise, I hadn't had the benefit of any sort of foreplay, but was still feeling aroused from my contact and preparation with Monica. I brought the crown of his dick to my lips and licked the very tip with my tongue, then took an inch or two into my lips, looking up at him as I did so, and seeing desire written on his craggy features. Encouraged, I took him deeper into my mouth, and as I did so, he manoeuvred with more agility than I would have thought possible, until he was into a '69' position, his face between my legs. I felt the sheer joy of his tongue probing between my pussy-lips, then it was flicking at my clitoris in a way that only my fingers had ever done. I moaned with pleasure as his tongue now slid into my damp cunt, and took his rampant cock deep, deep into my throat, until I had to fight not to gag. Releasing him slightly, I sucked hard on his wonderful shaft, as he lapped my cunt expertly. Then, before I knew it, he was kneeling between my legs, and I lifted my buttocks off the bed to meet him as his huge, thick cock speared me, bringing involuntary tears to my eyes as his huge size stretched me beyond belief.




Stars and Stripes



'Oh, oh,' I cried, as he plunged into the very centre of me, filling me with his great phallus, then almost withdrawing before pounding deep into me. Again and again he rammed me, kneading my tits as he did so, and I groaned loudly with each mighty stroke.

'Oh yes, Carl!' I shouted, 'fuck me hard, yes, yes!' And he needed no more encouragement. All my meagre previous experience told me that he must cum -- must cum, but now! On and on he went, though, driving in, pulling out to make his strokes longer than I would have thought possible, until, from somewhere on another planet, I heard Marty's voice say, quietly, 'OK, Carl.'

With one, even harder thrust, he stiffened and then pulled out so that I felt a sense of sudden loss, until I realised his dick was right in my face, and he was pumping it with his hand.

'Open your mouth, darling!' yelled Marty, and I obeyed, as Carl let fly a stream of hot cum all over my face, some of it going straight into my mouth.

'Look as if you like that, Lisa,' said Marty, and I tried for a smile, but it wasn't easy with a mouthful of spunk and my face covered in hot jizz too.

Carl hadn't said a word from beginning to end, and just stood up and walked away.

Frankly, it had been a wonderful fuck, I had to admit.

When I had cleaned up and got dressed again, I went out into the studio to find Marty still sitting by the bed. Art was nowhere to be seen, his camera paraphernalia standing unattended.

'Well?' said Marty.

'Well, what?'

'You know.'

'It was OK.' I didn't want to sound too enthusiastic.

'You did well. The moans sounded authentic.'

'I wasn't acting!'

'That's great, Lisa. I think you'll be fine. How are you about girls?'

I looked at him to see if he was serious. He was. 'Girls?'

'Would you, for instance, object to doing a session with Monica, or Nadia?'

'I've never seen myself as being remotely lesbian, Marty.'

'But I saw the way you looked at Monica when you first met.'

I must have looked sheepish then, and he laughed. 'Don't worry -- I quite understand, and I'll let you watch a scene Monica and Nadia are doing together -- maybe you'll like the idea.'

What I didn't realise was that he meant now, and the two girls were already prepared for their scene, both clad in satin corsets, Monica's white, Nadia's flaming red, and with stockings to match. Neither wore anything else, apart from stilettos and jewellery. They sat on the bed, holding hands and exchanging a few words in, so far as I could make out, a mixture of Spanish and Russian, which made them both giggle.

Art reappeared, and went to fiddle about with lights and camera, then announced he was ready. There was no clapperboard or anything like that -- just Art saying, 'OK.'

The girls started to kiss, Monica stroking Nadia's lovely hair as their tongues entwined. I saw that the Russian girl had a coral stud near the tip of her snaking tongue, and that her hands had found Monica's nipples, which poked out above her white corset, fingers and thumbs tweaking and pulling at the hard little knobs. Monica's whole body seemed to writhe, and for a moment I pictured myself in Nadia's place. It wasn't an unwelcome sensation. And neither was the next thought -- that I could be in Monica's stilettos.

'¡Sesenta y nueve!' yelled Marty from his chair, beside which I stood, and, as Monica shuffled around on the bed to get the pair into a '69' position, Marty's hand went up my skirt. I didn't object.

I had a clear view of Nadia's wet cunt as Monica came up for air, and saw that her clitoris, like her tongue, bore a piercing, in the form of a little silver ring, then Monica's head plunged again into the Russian girl's pussy, as she opened her long legs as far as she could, stretching her luscious pink cunt wide open. I found my breathing getting fast and shallow, and Marty's hand was now ploughing along my soaking crack, as I neared another steamy climax. My knees felt too weak to hold me up as Monica screamed loudly, but then I saw that she had squirted copiously over the bed and the wall beyond, soaking everything. It was too much for me, and I staggered and almost fell as a massive orgasm overtook me.

'I don't need to ask you again, do I?' said Marty, without explaining what it was he meant, and I nodded in agreement. I knew I would love to do a scene with either of them.

'That's all for tonight, folks!' announced Marty, looking at his gold Rolex, 'cleaners are due any minute.'

As I rode home on the tube, I knew I wanted to be a pornstar, or at least to give it a good try. And I could scarcely wait until the following evening.

The next day, my modelling assignment was at a well-known store noted for its range of Gothic clothes, and when I walked onto the catwalk, I was wearing a black satin pencil-skirt so tight around my knees that I had to turn half-sideways to take the small step up onto the stage. I also wore uncomfortably high heeled, pointed shoes, so that walking was a trial, but there was something about this type of restraint that turned me on unbelievably, and I enquired about the price of a similar skirt. The lady in charge, a heavily-made-up fifty year-old called Stella, told me she's let me have the very one I had modelled at a big discount. I looked forward to wearing it on the street, and found myself getting damp, just at the thought.

I then showed a line in tight corsets and other typical goth gear, but nothing had the same effect on me as the hobble skirts -- I wondered if I was just a little strange, as I squirmed into the satin skirt to make my way to the studio!

'Love your skirt,' said Marty, when I arrived, 'it gets me thinking about you, Lisa.'

I didn't get the chance to ask him just what he was thinking, as a young-looking girl I hadn't seen before approached. Smaller than the two I'd met -- I guess you'd call her petite -- she had slightly sharp features, and shoulder-length brown hair. Her long legs were perched on high heels and she wore a microscopic, silky, flared green miniskirt and a black transparent blouse, at which shapely breasts with dark nipples thrust enticingly. I thought she looked lovely, more attractive to me than either Monica or Nadia.

After introducing her as Niki, Marty turned to speak to her, and did so quietly, so that I couldn't hear what was said, but when he turned back to me he was smiling.

'We're going to shoot an anal scene -- would you like to watch? It'll give you some idea what to expect.'

The door to the apartment opened, and in walked a statuesque black guy. Well over six feet tall, he could hardly walk straight through the very ordinary door, due the the width of his shoulders, and his magnificent body tapered down to slim hips, and muscular legs, which could be seen under the short robe he wore. He strode across the floor as if he owned the place, and stood by the bed, acknowledging Marty and Art, stood by his camera, with a nod, scarcely appearing to notice either me or Niki.

But Niki walked sexily over to him, trailing a hand over the black giant's chest as she went to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing a flashing white smile from him.

'That's Donovan,' whispered Marty to me, 'watch!'

Now on camera, Niki beckoned to the black guy, and put her tongue out just a tiny way between her teeth, in that unmistakeable gesture, at which Donovan flipped loose the tie on his robe. I gasped. Still flacid, he sported an enormous dong, hanging, it seemed, halfway down to his knees, and thick as my wrist. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be impaled on such a gigantic weapon. Carl, of my recent acquaintance, was just a little boy by comparison!

Niki seemed to like the idea, though, and as soon as Donovan was close enough, took the mighty organ in both hands, and began to stroke, smiling up at his face. Then, leaning towards him, she began to run her long, studded tongue the whole great length of it, as it started to stiffen, and, unbelievably, to grow still more. I was rivetted to the scene, and felt the familiar wetness under my ultra-tight skirt.

Niki, mouth stretched as wide open as it would be at the dentist's took the very tip of Donovan's cock into her luscious lips, and then started to suck him hungrily, taking as much of his huge length deep into her throat as she could, and almost choking each time he went deeper. His eyes were closed in ecstasy as she gave him a wonderful blow-job, and I knew I would have changed places with her had I had the chance. I longed to finger myself, but the tight skirt I wore precluded anything like that, so that I should have to resign myself to just watching.

Niki now pulled away, her eyes still on Donovan's face, and scrambled up onto the bed, kneeling and looking over her shoulder at the black hunk. Positioning a pillow, she lowered her head onto it, at last looking away from him, then, flipping her tiny skirt up above her waist, to reveal a shaven, naked pussy, spread her knees as wide as she could, reached her hands behind her, and pulled her arse-cheeks wide apart, so that her arsehole gaped lewdly, a dark, mysterious, inexplicably inviting hole.

Donovan, proudly holding his massive dick, got onto the bed behind her, and dribbled spittle accurately into the girl's waiting anus, then, without further ado, rammed his prodigious length unceremoniously into her rectum. Niki gasped as she was impaled, but it was the sound of ecstatic pleasure, rather than pain, and I just couldn't believe how her velvet tunnel had accommodated such a tremendous shaft. He fucked her hard -- harder than I would have thought possible, lancing into her until his balls ground agaisnt her round buttocks, withdrawing almost completely as he pulled away, only to thrust in once again, as she moaned in her lust. His big hands cupped her breasts through the silky black blouse, and he groaned as his pace quickened. But just when I felt sure he was about to cum, he pulled out and flipped her over onto her back as if she were a doll, then again skewered her, this time plunging his great cock into her glistening cunt, driving in and out a dozen times, then returning to her arsehole. Again he fucked her until he was on the point of shooting, whereupon he pulled out, kneeled quickly beside her, and shot a huge wad of creamy cum all over her face. Where it fell close to her mouth, she licked it in and swallowed it with all the signs of delight.

'Excellent!' called Marty, 'Get it nicely, Art?'

'Sure, boss,' said the cameraman.

Marty turned to me. 'Now you've seen what true pornstars can do, Lisa. Are you still interested?'

'I need to sit down,' I said, 'my knees have gone all wobbly.'

He laughed. 'Has that effect on me too,' he said, 'Like a drink?'

We all sat down, on two sofas, Donovan between Niki and myself, and talked about all manner of things -- football, the weather, and so forth -- but I couldn't help stealing a glance at the black guy's robe, wondering if the gap in it was going to part and reveal the source of the lovely smell of sex that came from that region.

'Love your skirt,' he said to me, at length, in his deep voice. He was the second person who had said that since I arrived. 'It must be hard to walk around in.'

'It is,' I said, and was about to murmur something about fashion when Niki said, 'You into restraint, then?'

I didn't know how to answer that, but Marty came to my rescue. 'Lisa's a model,' he said, 'but I think she likes that sort of thing. We'll just have to see, won't we?'

I looked at him to see if I could tell what he was thinking, but his smile was bland.

When Niki and Donovan had gone off to shower and change, and Art was fiddling about with his equipment, Marty took my wrist and said, 'Well, Lisa, what do you think to what you've seen.'

'Terrifying,' I said, 'I don't know how she takes .....'

He was smiling at my discomfort. 'You'll be surprised. I'm not a woman, but they mostly say it's the most exciting experience, and it's great for the guy, I know that.'

'But Donovan is so huge!'

'Hang on a minute,' he said, and went over to a chest of drawers, then came back with a box. 'Put this in tonight,' he said, 'and leave it in all day, if you can.'

I opened the box to find a conical blue plastic knob, with a flange attached by a stalk to the broad end. Its purpose was all too obvious.

I couldn't wait to get home and try it out, but when I did so, even with a liberal application of KY jelly, it was acutely uncomfortable, even to the point of making me think twice about being a pornstar. But I bravely left it in my arsehole all night, and, by morning, had almost started to forget it was there.

Most of the next day was spent sitting around, with only a couple of walks down the catwalk, wearing bridal gowns for the last day of a show, so I was ready for a change when it was time to visit the studio again. I went in the dress I had worn to work that morning, a light cotton pleated summer dress, mid-thigh length, feeling daring when I went naked underneath it, and wondering if the still-inserted butt-plug was altering my gait. I was now more-or-less used to it, however.

When I got to the studio, though, the first thing Marty spoke to me about was the plug, and he wanted to know if I still had it in. When I told him yes, he beckoned for me to follow him over to the chest of drawers, from which he produced another box, rather larger than the one the plug had been in.

'Bend over!' he told me, and when I did so, he deftly pulled out my plug, which made a very audible 'plop' as it came out, and gave me a not-unpleasant sensation. He showed me the little pink globe he was putting inside me, and I actually enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation as his fingers lingered around my anus. A tube trailed out and down my leg, with a bulb at its end. Marty began to pump the bulb, and I felt an amazing sensation as the globe expanded quickly inside me. Pleasurable at first, it gave way to pain as it grew, filling my whole body, it seemed.

'Oh Christ!', I yelled, 'that really hurts, Marty, 'I mean, really!'

'Just think what it will be like having Donovan up there.'

'I don't want ever to find out,' I told him emphatically.

'Ever is a long time, darling,' he said, 'In Spanish, they say poquito a poco -- little by little. Try and stand that for as long as you can, then we'll see about breaking you in tomorrow, shall we.'

'Oh no, I don't think I can,' I moaned.

'Of course you can, Lisa. I don't intend you to have Donovan just yet. In fact I think I might introduce you to new pleasures myself.'

That was better. I didn't have exactly a crush on the director, but I did like him.

We settled down to watch the filming of a threesome, with Carl being attended by Nadia and Monica, and I found that by the time the scene was well under way, I had almost forgotten the pain in my anus, wetness in my pussy having taken over, as I squirmed on the sofa, my fingers inexorably drawn down between my legs. I came, a lovely gushing orgasm, as Carl spurted over Monica's flat stomach, and Marty couldn't resist a comment: 'Nice of you to come,' he said.

When we were leaving, he asked me to wear my hobble skirt next evening. 'It so obviously turns you on,' he said. 'Yes,' I agreed, surprising myself, 'I believe it does.'

I spent the next day modelling some pretty nasty clothes -- old-fashioned twin-sets and tweedy stuff like that, and, although I was nervous, I couldn't wait for the evening, and it was in great anticipation that I wriggled into my satin skirt, stepped into high needle heels, and slipped on a white silk blouse. I left my globe in place, as I had just about become accustomed to it, but I felt deliciously uncomfortable as I walked, taking very short steps, as there was no give at all in the skirt, towards the studio.

'You are a voyeur's dream,' said Marty, when I arrived -- I didn't really know what he meant, as they were still early days for me then -- I was only just beginning to understand the relationships between discomfort, pain and desire.

'Anyway,' he said, 'come and watch with me -- we're shooting a bit of a specialist scene.'

'Specialist?'

'You'll see. One of the great things about this business is that we have an infinite number of tastes to cater for.' He led me through to the bathroom, where a huge tub was already half-filled with water, and Art was waiting with his camera. In walked the gorgeous Niki and Monica, both decently covered, wearing long silky nightgowns.

'Ready?' asked Marty, and both girls smiled at him, while Art signalled that he was shooting.

Lifting their gowns with graceful, ladylike gestures, the girls stepped up to the rim, and down the steps into the tub, the bottom foot or so of their gowns floating. Monica stood behind Niki, and began to caress the smaller girl's firm breasts through her nightdress, then slowly reached up and turned on the shower head. Slowly, both girls' gowns were becoming transparent and moulding themselves to their bodies, and Niki turned her head around and kissed her partner, studded tongue snaking into Monica's mouth as the brunette continued to knead her tits. Soon, Monica sat on the edge of the tub, while Niki, now soaked through, knelt between her legs and, hitching up her sopping gown, started to tongue Monica's pussy. I was sat beside Marty, and reached across to feel his cock through his bulging chinos.

He looked back at me and inclined his head towards the door, then stood up. I followed him out, and across to the bed. He sat down, and I went to stand beside him, so that he could unzip my skirt. In a flash, I was naked save for my heels, and he found the tube attached to my globe, and pulled it out with the now-familiar 'plop.' I gasped as he did this, and his hand was exploring my crack, first fingering my growing clit, then parting my labia. I sank onto the bed, and abandoned myself to his exploration, at the same time unzipping him, and releasing his ready shaft from his boxers. He groaned as I held him, then again when I took him in my lips, feeling the hot stiffness of his erection urgent in my mouth. His hands kept exploring, and fingers went deep into my cunt, already wet through from the restraint of my skirt, then the sight of the two girls at their 'watersport.'

Then Marty did something I hadn't expected. Roughly, he grabbed my hair and dragged me across the bed, forcing me into a kneeling position. I was about to complain, when he fetched me a resounding slap across my behind, then another.

'Oh!' I cried, 'That hurt!'

'It was meant to, you little slut,' he said quietly, 'now open your legs.'

Never having been spoken to or treated like this, and not considering myself at all submissive, I was in some kind of shock, but found myself obeying, shifting my knees apart on the bed, my head resting on pillows. Marty was behind me now, between my legs, and I felt his fingers probing my expanded arsehole, which had been occupied by foreign bodies for two days.

'Mmmm,' he murmured, 'you're ready, Lisa.' Then I felt his knob insisting itself against the portals of my anus, and he was inside me! Even though I had been plugged, nothing prepared me for the excruciating pain of my first penetration, as his big dick was thrust deep into my tunnel, invading my most intimate place. It hurt terribly as he plunged within me, and no less so as he withdrew, only to drive in brutally again. I screamed again and again, and was dimly aware that Nadia was sat beside me, stroking my cheek, then kissing me, cradling my head in her long fingers.

Marty was nearing his climax, and despite the intensity of the pain, a mighty orgasm was welling up in me too, and Nadia now reached down and massaged my clit as Marty's strokes became faster and even more agonising. Suddenly, he straightened up and thrust one last terrible impulse into my ravaged arsehole, and, as I felt the hot wetness of his cum invade me, I almost fainted with the power of my own climax.




Stars and Stripes



'Jesus!' said Nadia, and went to fetch a towel.

'How was it?' asked Marty, at length.

'Fucking awful,' I replied.

'It will be better next time,' he said, 'you'll see.'

I nodded doubtfully, but, on my way home, I had a lot to think about. The bastard had slapped me, and pulled me by my hair! Almost worse, he had called me a slut! And worst of all, I hadn't complained. Did that mean I really was a slut -- and knew it? What I did know was that I had a sore arsehole, and I grinned to myself as I sat on the tube, knowing I had crossed an important threshold -- more so, I thought, than when I had lost my virginity in my long-ago college days.

'You look like the cat that got cream,' said my flatmate Irina when I got home, her new command of English idiom getting an airing. I hadn't realised I was smiling.

The next few days were boring -- it was weekend, and Marty told me the studio would be closed until Monday. I still had a couple of low-key fashion shows to do, but felt at a loss when I didn't have the studio to go to. I got to thinking about my own reaction to things that had happened to me, as well as the curious sensaation of arousal I felt when I wore that skirt.

When I arrived at the studio on Monday evening, this time wearing a miniskirt and a tight little tank-top, I found Marty in a state of agitation.

'What's up?' I asked.

'What's up? Monica's on holiday, and Nadia's gone down with gut-rot, and we're supposed to be shooting a girl/girl scene to complete a set for a new DVD, that's what.' Then he looked at me thoughtfully. 'You could do it, with Niki, of course, couldn't you?'

I was suddenly a bag of nerves. 'But a lez scene!' I said, 'I've never.....' But Niki was sat behind him, demure in a white tennis dress, and I certainly didn't want to hurt her feelings. Besides, I had been so very turned on when I had watched her tub-scene with Monica. I looked at Marty. 'In the tub?' I asked him.

'No, Lisa, straightforward bed job.'

'I'll give it a try, if you like.'

He enfolded me in his arms and kissed me. 'That's my girl!' he said, then, turning to Niki, 'Help her get ready, darling -- undies, eh?'

Niki took my sweaty hand in her cool one, and led me into the dressing room, where we both disrobed in silence, then turned to look at each other and simultaneously started to laugh, effectively breaking the tension.

'I'm going to enjoy this,' said Niki.

'Me too.' And I meant it -- her small, slim body was flawless, her breasts taut and pert, her stomach dead flat, and no trace of hair anywhere. I was instantly ashamed of my 'landing strip' albeit a small, well-trimmed one.

'Help me get rid of this, Niki, will you?' I said, and she went to a bathroom cabinet, and produced a can of foam and razor. Ten minutes later, I was as smooth as she was, every vestige of fuzz removed from my mound, around my labia, and even around my arsehole. I felt better.

Niki put on a black platform bra, her nipples exposed above a little frill of lace, a skimpy black suspender belt, to which she hitched black, lace-top stockings, and a tiny pair of black lace panties, with ribbon ties at their sides. I could have eaten her.

She then helped me into a red corset, which constricted my waist tightly when she laced it up in the back, then hitched its garter straps to white stockings. I slipped on a pair of white, transparent panties, tied, like Niki's, at the sides. We both stepped into incredibly high platform-soled, needle-heeled shoes, and busied ourselves with hair and make-up, ignoring Marty's impatient yell for us to hurry up.

Niki hung a gold-plated chain around her waist as a final touch, and we were ready. She gave me a light kiss, careful not to spoil her lip-gloss, as we walked out to be filmed.

'Ready -- at last?' called Marty, and Niki flipped him the finger as we positioned ourselves on the bed.

'Let's see you kissing,' said Marty, and, for the first time in my life, I had a passionate kiss from a girl. It felt strange at first, but I soon found my body responding, and returned her lovely deep, tonguing kiss with fervour, my arm around her neck, touching her stiffening nipples with the other hand, the taking one between thumb and forefinger, so that Niki produced a throaty moan right into my mouth. I was really starting to like this, the feel of her slender feminine body pressing against me, her soft lips opening against mine, then her hand seeking to part my legs, tracing my slit through the diaphanous panties, her breath shortening as she became excited.

But she was no more excited than I was, and when she pulled at the bow at one side of my panties, I pulled at the other, anxious that she got access to my naked pussy. Her questing fingers found my clitoris, tweaked and flicked at it as it grew, and she whispered, 'You're wet, aren't you?'

'Yes, darling,' I confirmed, as her fingers found the warmth of my cunt.

Soon I was helping her out of her panties too, and my own fingers were working at the surprising tightness of her pussy, which seemed as damp as mine.

She signalled that we should shuffle around into '69' position, and I gratefully complied, parting her slim legs as wide as possible, opening her pink, glistening cunt to my eyes. I thought it was the loveliest sight, and plunged my tongue as deep as it would go into her fragrant vagina.

'Oh yes!' she murmured, just before her own tongue, its stud rasping on my membranes, found its way deep inside me. It was ecstasy, and I writhed in her embrace, renewing my assault on her cunt. She reached over to the bedside table and found what she was seeking, a long, flexible, pink double-ended dildo. Without delay, she pushed one end into her soaking fuckhole and handed the other to me. Understanding immediately, I penetrated myself with it and wriggled up towards Niki until we both had a maximum length of the dildo inside us. Then Niki threw back her head and rode the instrument, which meant that it was, in effect, fucking us both.

In a very short time, Niki's moans turned into short, gasping screams, then she gave one huge thrust -- and squirted liberal quantities of her fluid all over me, as a lovely orgasm rippled through me as well.

'Fucking fantastic!' yelled Marty, 'hope you got that alright, Art?'

The taciturn Art nodded, and fiddled about with his camera, while we girls got up from the bed and sloped off, arms around each other, to shower and change.

When we came back, dressed, Marty and Art were having a coffee, and we were invited to join them.

'Well,' said Marty, after a while, 'What do you think, Lisa?'

I didn't know how to reply, and he must have seen I was lost for words. 'I'm off home in a minute. Come and have a drink with me, then I'll drop you off at home, if you like.'

We sat in the pub, and it was obvious Marty was trying to get around to saying something. I let him sweat, then he eventually said, 'You know I said that your hobble skirt got me thinking about you?'

I nodded, wondering what was coming.

He looked at me for a long moment, as if wondering how much to say. 'I make some films,' he eventually said, 'that I can't make in Britain -- the law is just too fussy.'

'Stronger than the scene we've just done?' I asked, incredulously.

'Different,' he said, 'For, shall we say, different markets.'

'Oh?' My curiosity was certainly piqued.

'What do you know about BDSM?' he asked.

'Not much,' I replied, 'I've seen horrible magazines, with people tied up, in stupid masks, gags and stuff, but it all looks like staged nonsense to me.'

'And a lot of it is,' he said, 'but the stuff I do is much more elegant, and what's more, it's real. I have a studio in Spain where I make films. Would you like to see one?'

'Why not?' I said.

'Tomorrow evening, then,' he said, as we got up to leave.

I had no idea what to expect when I got to the studio the following late afternoon. I only knew that if he thought I was going to let somebody put me in a rubber mask, with a bloody great gag in my mouth, and have my tits tortured, like I had seen in the disgusting magazine I had seen at college, he had another think coming.

Marty greeted me, looking, I thought, a touch nervous, then led me through to a viewing room, just beside the dressing room, where two rows of cinema-style seats were placed in front of a projection-screen. He went to the back, as I sat down, and there were a few clicks and whirrs, then the screen lit up, and numbers counted down on a cloudy screen. When it cleared, it showed a castle on a hill. Emblazoned in front of it was the title: 'CASTLE TORMENT.'

The next screen showed the huge castle entrance, with a massive doorway, and the announcement: 'Scene one.'

A blonde beauty -- slim and tall, gorgeous enough to have won just about any 'miss' title, dressed in a blue cocktail dress, her wrists cuffed behind her, was being led, forcibly, it seemed, through into the castle, a woman either side of her, each dressed in very tight black dresses, laced from neck to hem at the back. I noticed that the captive and the two 'guards' all wore very high stilettos. The scene looked ritualistic.

A voice-over said, 'Sylvia has been discovered, by her husband, having sex with his best friend. He does not wish a case to be brought, but, as he is a highly influential man, he has been able to ask Castle Torment to punish Sylvia in a manner appropriate to her misdeed.' Some music played as we saw 'Sylvia' being led down a corridor, and through a heavy oak door, into what appeared to be a dungeon. Once there, one of her two guards took a key from a chain around her neck and unlocked the cuffs. Sylvia massaged her freed wrists, but was soon roughly seized by the other woman, who buckled leather restraints on her wrists, then led her to a place underneath a chain which dangled from an overhead beam. Once there, she unzipped Sylvia's dress, and pulled it down from her shoulders. She was instantly naked. Soon Sylvia's wrists were hooked up to the chain, so that her arms were extended above her head. Thanks to the heels she wore, she was in contact with the stone floor. Her ankles were then attended to, and when they too wore leather restraints, they were placed at either end of a metal bar, so that her long, slim legs were held apart. The women stood respectfully aside as a man in a monastic-looking robe came into view, carrying a cruel-looking whip. He stepped up to Sylvia and ran a hand over her golden flanks. She flinched at his touch, and he smiled, then stood back, swished the whip's long lash experimentally through the air, then sent it snaking out to the helpless girl, flicking her round buttocks with the very end of the thong, which was knotted, and produced an instant red blemish on her white flesh, and wrung a sharp cry of anguish from her. He moved closer, and his next blow sent the lash curling right around Sylvia's narrow waist.

'Oh, oh!' she moaned, but he wasn't satisfied, and adjusted his position, moving further back, so that his third stroke was a stinging one, right across her tender lower back, making a pale red welt from side to side. She screamed, and writhed against her unyielding bonds, as he drew back his arm for another stroke. The whip swished through the air again and again, making an audible 'crack' as it encountered soft flesh.

When her torturer walked around to the other side of her, her back showed a ladder of red lines -- a testament to the man's skill with the whip. She was sobbing. But now he was in a position to whip her from the front, and his first stroke fell across her firm young breasts, causing her to scream loudly as the cruel whip traced red lines across the tops of her breasts. He mercilessly lashed her belly and the fronts of her thighs, until her body was a mass of red tracery. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, as tears streamed from her. The robed man stood back, saying something to one of his assistants, and they released Sylvia's wrists and ankles, then led her to a table-height bench at the other side of the room. One of the women pushed her torso down over the bench, while the other kicked the blonde's feet wide apart, displaying her pink pussy. The man stepped up behind Sylvia, and one of the women stood beside him, lifting his robe to display a mighty erection. Without delay, he rammed it straight into Sylvia's exposed cunt. Three or four huge, pounding strokes, and, with an animal grunt, he stiffened and obviously came inside her, then pulled out, shook himself, and walked straight off camera. Marty, using his remote, stopped the film.

'Wow,' I said, as Marty guided my hand to the bulge in his trousers, 'that turns you on, doesn't it?'

'Oh yes,' he said, 'and don't tell me you didn't find it exciting -- I could hear your breathing!'

Dead giveaway, I thought, but I hadn't realised for one moment what effect the film was having on me.

'Shall we watch another scene?' he asked, and had pressed the button before I could protest -- which I doubt I was going to do, anyway.

'Scene two,' announced the caption, with a message advising that films could be purchased through a website called 'starsandstripes,' - a nice double pun, I thought - then the same -- or a very similar -- 'dungeon' filled the screen. But now there was a slightly inclined bench, on the lower end of which sat another gorgeous young blonde, somewhat darker and more Mediterranean-looking, wearing a cotton summer dress, and high heels. Slowly she stood up, and proceeded to do a sexy striptease, looking straight at the camera. When she slid down her panties, there was a glimpse of a silver ring in her pussy, matching the dangling decoration in her navel. Her tongue was also pierced, and sported a silver stud. Now wearing only her shoes, she sat down again on the lower end of the bench, and reached down beside her, picking up a short whip. To my amazement, she started to whip her own body, using, it seemed, every ounce of strength she had. Her mouth was open as she struck, the whip snaking around her naked back, and her expression showed anything but pain. Soon she seemed to tire of this, and threw down the whip, looking off to her left, and calling out something I didn't catch. Then she turned over and sprawled face down, up the inclined bench, her hands grasping its high end, feet over the lower end, just clear of the floor. A man -- the same guy from the other scene? -- appeared and took up the whip she had dropped, immediately laying into her back, buttocks and the backs of her thighs. She didn't cry out, but writhed around on the bench, then, taking one hand off the end of the bench, she reached down between her legs and began to masturbate, as the whip fell. Slowly at first, then with more and more urgency she fingered her glistening wet cunt, the camera going in close so that the ring could be seen to hang from her now-erect clitoris. Suddenly, as the whip scored a blood-red line across both her thighs, she thrust two fingers deep into her vagina, and squirted her juices violently across the room, some droplets finding the camera lens.

'Jesus!? I exclaimed, and yanked Marty's prick from his trousers, then crawled over and straddled him, loving the feel of his hard manhood inside me. He came almost instantly, but such had been my excitement that I had no trouble in keeping pace with him, and climaxed immediately.

'There's more!' he said.

'Oh fuck, spare me, please!' I replied, 'I need a drink.'

Over a gin and tonic, he asked me, as if it were necessary, about my reaction to what I had seen.

'I've only one question,' I said, 'why me?'

'Something to do with your skirt -- you know, your restraint gear,' he said, 'I thought you might be interested.'

I was more than interested -- fascinated would be a better description -- but didn't want to sound too eager. After all, I hadn't had time to think about what I'd seen yet, and had no idea what Marty had in mind. That, at least, was soon cleared up.

'What do you say to going out there with me?' he asked, 'just to see if you like the set-up.'

I looked hard at him. He wasn't going to invest in a trip to Spain unless he expected some sort of commitment from me, was he?

'I'll have to think about it,' I told him.

So, the following Tuesday, having given up my not-so-hopeful modelling career, I sat with Marty on the British Airways flight to Madrid, nervous but excited at the prospect of.....of what? What the hell was I doing? I'd seen a couple of film clips, and Marty had told me a little more. The pay wasn't just good, it was great, but I didn't kid myself I was only going for the money -- no, I was just thrilled by the whole idea. But common sense told me I was mad. Then, when had that ever stopped me doing anything?

The drive was a long one, two hours along a smooth motorway, signs telling me it was the way to Cáceres and Portugal, then a slow drive along a narrow road until I thought we must be quite close to the Portuguese border. Lonely woodland cloaked rolling hills, and once two deer strolled casually across the road in front of us. The fragrant scent of wildflowers drifted in through my open window, and a big bird I thought was an eagle hung overhead in the still, warm air.

We turned down an even narrower lane, by a sign which said: Finca San Marcos, then another which I took to declare the road private. After passing over a low hill, we dropped into a valley, where a rambling stone building -- or rather a cluster of buildings -- nestled well away from any other sign of human habitation -- we hadn't passed another house of any description for several kilometres. Marty piloted the hired Renault through a wide gap and into a central courtyard. I gasped as I saw the big 'castle' portal I had seen on film -- it was nothing more than a mock-up wooden structure. We drew up outside an office which had a prefabricated look, and stood at the door was a fairly tall, powerful-looking guy, with open features and a curly mop of slightly greying hair. He might have been in his mid-forties. Marty introduced him as Mario. 'You've seen him on film,' he said, and I must have looked shocked. So I was facing the guy with the whip, the guy whose arse I had seen as he pounded into the prone Sylvia, the guy who had whipped the other girl to a climax.

'Mario is our director here,' said Marty, 'and it's a labour of love for him.'

'You're not exactly complaining about your lot, either,' Mario said to Marty, his English faultless, his voice deep and, I thought, very sexy. In fact everything about him was sexy.

'Lisa may well be interested in working for you,' said Marty.

'She looks well-qualified,' he replied, then, to me, 'Look, I'll get Lucia to show you to the room we've got ready for you, then I'll introduce you to the rest, over a drink. How's that sound?' Not waiting for my reply, he pressed a buzzer, and a couple of minutes later, a vivaceous brunette, all flashing dark eyes in an oval face, walked through the door, having to sidle sideways to negotiate the step, in her tightly-laced black satin dress and high heeled, pointy shoes. It looked identical to the dresses worn by Sylvia's escort on the film. Some sort of staff uniform, I supposed, and wondered if I should be fitted out with a dress like that -- it wasn't an unpleasant thought.

But Lucia was leading me across the courtyard, and through a door, which led into a long corridor, off which several doors opened. It looked like a hotel corridor, with lights that came on automatically. Towards the far end, she stopped, and opened one of the doors. I noticed that no key had to be used.

The room was about twice the size of my West London bedsit, with an ensuite bathroom, walk-in closet, and a view over open woodland. The bed was a king-size one, made up with black satin sheets, the bathroom well stocked, and when I looked in the closet, I saw that there were rails full of clothes. I caught Lucia, as she was about to leave, and asked her if someone's clothes had been left there, but she seemed not to understand, and just said, 'Eight o'clock, yes?' and made eating signs.