0 comments/  8238 views/  0 favorites

Tail

By: Mister_Grey



"One easy way to tell a cetacean from a fish is by the tail. A fish's tail is vertical, straight up and down. The tail of a cetacean, like a dolphin, is horizontal; it spreads out from side to side."

I'm listening to Dr. Demarbre give a lecture to a crowd of visitors to the Dolphin Institute in Honolulu, where I'm doing an internship while working on a Master's degree with a concentration on the behavior of social animals. I'm just along for the ride, and much of what she's telling the group is review for me, which is a good thing, because I can't concentrate, because I can't stop thinking about fucking Dr. Demarbre.

It started this morning, when we were introduced. It's my first day at the Institute, and she'll be supervising my internship. She greeted me in the lobby, and I was surprised to be met by someone so young, or at least who seemed to be young; I really have no idea how old she is. She's quite small and lean, and her face is unlined, betraying no indication of her age. She's completely businesslike, but I just couldn't help it; being a man, I immediately had to start sizing her up as sexual partner.

Well, my first thought was, "She's not my type at all." As I say, she's lean, skinny even, with an almost entirely flat chest, though the air conditioning did make her nipples stand out through her polyester shirt, which is always enticing. She wears her long, straight chestnut hair pulled back from a relatively plain face, with thin lips, hazel eyes peering out through wire-rimmed glasses, and a long beaky nose (though this last wasn't necessarily a problem. Have you ever seen Streisand in "What's Up Doc?"? Damn.) It didn't really hit me, though, until she turned around to lead me on a tour of the facility, and that's when I saw her ass.

In contrast to the rest of her frame, her buttocks were like twin soccer balls, straining against the fabric of her khakis. I was riveted, and instantly the image sprang into my mind of bending her over, and my hands tightly cupping those twin globes, raising their flesh between my fingers, as I drove my... well, you get the idea.

What can I say? The oddest things sometimes attract me, and I was hooked. I was only half-aware of the tour, unable to pull my gaze from that glorious, tight-yet-fully-rounded behind waggling in front of me, and the fantasies it engendered in my libidinous mind.

"You'll also notice the dolphins lack gills on their sides, like fish have. Instead, cetaceans breathe air directly through the blowhole on top of the head."

Blow. Hole. If she weren't talking about dolphins, I'd be convinced she was doing this on purpose. 

Her lecture goes on for another twenty-five minutes, taking in the major interest points of the Institute's public portion. Once she finishes, the crowd dissipates, and Dr. Demarbre steps up to me again. I savor a momentary mental image of my come covering her face.

"So, now you have an idea of what I do here. Working with me, you'll be expected to assist me in, and become familiar with, all these day to day activities. From time to time, I'll attach you to some other researchers and departments, where you'll do other things, some boring, some interesting. Of course, time will be provided for you to do your own research, and you'll also be allowed to run your own experiments with the dolphins, pending approval from the Director, of course. Any questions?"

Your place or mine? "When do we start?"

"Well, officially we start tomorrow morning. If you're available, though, why don't you meet me back here about 7 PM? I can show you how the place is run overnight."

"I'm at your service!" Doing my best to drop the subtlest hints possible. 

"Wonderful. I have some office work to do on my own until then. In the meantime, I recommend you get some dinner; there's an excellent sushi restaurant on Memorial. See you tonight."

"By all means." She spins on one heel and stalks off down the corridor, treating me to one more long look at that gloriously swaying behind.

She wasn't wrong: the sushi is damn good. I'm distracted, though, turning over in my mind every word she said, every gesture she made throughout the day, wondering if I have some "in" there somewhere. Was there some ulterior motive in her invitation to meet her in the evening? Come on, I say, it's her workplace. There's gotta be a dozen night watchmen, and every inch of the place is probably on security camera. Besides, she's all business, focussed on nothing but her work. You focus on your work. 

I can't help it, though. As I nibble a tiny construction of raw tuna, its cool pink meat, and oceany taste mingled with the tang of lemon juice, conjure a fantasy of my tongue buried up the hilt in Dr. Demarbre's pussy. I finish the meal with a hard-on.

No chance, I think. There's no way she has anything planned for you other than showing you more of the Institute. But still. If there's even the tiniest possibility that something might happen tonight, I want to be ready. I shower, run the electric razor over my face, and select the least wrinkled fresh clothes from my luggage (no time for the iron). 

There's a light rain falling as I pull into the parking lot of the Institute. The mist is refreshing. The guard checks my ID and buzzes me through the gate, and I wonder if his jaunty wink is just amiability, or betrays some knowing.

Dr. Demarbre emerges from a side door to meet me, still dressed in her Institute uniform. For the first time, her face bears a slight smile. "You've changed. That shirt suits you."

This is promising. "Thanks."

"Follow me." Oh, gladly. That fabulous posterior pulls me forward like a magnet. She takes me through narrow, white-painted corridors, a stark contrast to the pastels and flowing lines of the public areas. We pass doors to labs and offices, decorated with "Far Side" cartoons and pictures of sea life.

"This area is off-limits to the public, but you'll be able to access it once we get your ID and pass key printed up tomorrow."

"Great." I take a stab at a compliment. "Do you work out, Dr. Demarbre?" 

She stops and stares over her shoulder at me through those glasses. Uh-oh. But... "I swim quite a bit. And call me Sheila."

She opens one door, and leads me into what looks like a break room. There's a couch, a table, sink, fridge, microwave... but the most striking feature is a huge round window, looking right into the dolphin tank. The water is dark, but moonlight filters down through it, softly illuminating the room with a wavy blue.

"Wow," I say, and I step up to peer through the glass.

"It's quite something, isn't it? The dolphins are probably sleeping right now; I'm going to leave the lights off to avoid waking them. During the day, though, it's quite a show." She joins me at the window as a large shadow flits by. "Oh, there goes one, still awake."

"I'm very lucky to be here." I turn to look at her, and she boldly meets my eyes and holds my gaze. I get a little nervous – the good kind of nervous.

"It wasn't luck."

"Really?"

"I requested you personally. Your resume was impressive, of course, but I also read the paper you had published in 'Marine Sciences Review' last spring. It was good. The real clincher, though, was the author's photo." One corner of her mouth kinks up in a half smile. I'm in!

She steps towards me and takes off her glasses, and I realize I haven't noticed until now how beautiful those hazel eyes are. "What do you know about dolphin sex, Steven?"

My mouth goes dry, but I put up a brave front. "It's brief, but frequent. Sometimes violent. Individuals couple freely…"

"Sometimes with the same sex." She comes a little closer.

"Yeah…"

"But that's not what you're interested in."

"Not in the least." I move to meet her, and the rest is automatic. My mouth meets her small, wet one. She kisses me hard, bringing her teeth into play. My hands explore her back; I can feel strong muscles over her scapulae, and the cords and trench of the lumbar region, just over that amazing bottom. We come up for air.

"You shaved."

"Mm-hmm."

"Next time, don't."

We kiss again, and I send a hand up under her shirt to cover her dorsal region, free of the obstacle of a bra strap. She parts from me just long enough to shrug that shirt off, revealing her petite torso in full. I cup my other hand over one breast, covering it with room to spare, and roll her nipple between two fingers. She squeaks, dolphin-like, into my mouth at the stimulation. She intertwines my hair with her fingers, and pulls my face into hers, intensifying the kiss even further; our teeth scrape lightly.

I barely even notice when she undoes my own shirt and slips it off me, but I sure as hell notice a few seconds later when she starts fiddling with the fasteners on my pants. My stiff cock springs out, like dolphin leaping from the surf, and she kneels and takes it into her mouth.

Mmm. She sucks it like she needs it to live, squeezing my buttocks and pulling my hips forward to drive the hard thing further into her throat. She sucks it so hard it hurts a little, which I find I kind of like. All the while she's making little noises of appreciation, and undoing her own pants, which drop to the floor, revealing a severely cut blue thong. She lowers a hand to slide the crotch of those panties aside and pushes three fingers into herself. The scent of her moist cunt zooms into my nostrils; my dinnertime fantasy comes back to me, and I'm overcome by an urge to tongue that cleft, but she cuts to the chase. Unmouthing my dick with a wet POP, she says, "You'd better be ready put this into me now." 

Ready? My prick is literally aching to enter her. I lift her up onto the table; she's slipped off her pumps at some point, making it easy for her to kick her pants completely off. I have to work my own shoes and socks off with my feet. I grip my cock with one hand and work it to keep the distraction from flagging my arousal. She watches me from the table, alternately dipping a finger into herself and running it slick over her labia and clit.

I move forward. She wraps her legs around me and puts her pussy-wet hands on my shoulders to guide and encourage me, and I dive into her. Unh. She's good and tight. "Oh, yeah," she says, and I feel her muscles down there grip me like a fist. She raises her ass off the table, using me for support, and drives me into her up to the hilt. 

My first thrusts set her gasping, and then she's bucking against me with increasing intensity. Her gasps turn to small cries, and then to moans, and then she's shouting at me, "Oh, you're good, you're good." The movement of her hips drives her pubic bone hard into the base of my penis, again and again, another exquisitely pleasurable pain. The hard points of her fingernails pressing into the meat of my shoulders adds to the chorus of my singing nerves. My own pleasure mounts, and I'm worried I'll explode inside her, ending this much too soon, but then her noises cut off abruptly, she falls back onto the table, and something happens I've only ever heard about before: a gush of clear fluid rushes out of her, forcing my dick out and soaking my groin and thighs.

"Jesus," I say, and she's lying there quivering and laughing. I realize she's beautiful when she's laughing.

"Phew. Nice job." She sits up and starts pulling on my wet prong. "Your turn. How do you want to get off?"

The question I've been waiting for all day. "I want you from behind."

"You got it." She slaps the tabletop and flips over onto all fours, and that heavenly rear is spread like a new country before me. Between the creamy globes of her buttocks, her tiny pink anus winks at me; below that, her dripping snatch invites me to return. I cup one cheek in each hand, savoring their yielding firmness, and push my cock back into her. It's not long before we've built back into a fast rhythm, our bodies slapping wetly as they pound together. She starts crying out again, and I brave slowing down long enough to massage her asshole with a moistened thumb, then gently slip it inside her.

"Mm-hmm. You know, you can shove it in there too, if you want."

"Later. I'm close…"

"Go for it. But if you come inside me, you're fired." 

Her threat doesn't stop the feeling welling up in me: like my nerves vibrating, starting from my groin and spreading sympathetically through my torso and extremities. I pull myself out of her just in time and grip my penis to ensure completion and aim. Like a whale spouting, my jet of white fluid, the stored product of a full day's pent-up need, arcs through the air to land on Dr. DeMarbre's – Sheila's – ass, on her back, in her hair. She reaches back and rubs the stuff into her skin. My knees buckle as she turns her naked self, slick with sweat and my come, to face me.

"Well done. You'll be expected to perform that task at least once a day, if you stay with us. Do you think you can manage that?"

I'm still recovering from the release, but I answer in the affirmative.

"Good." She starts to dress. "Now, go home and get a good night's sleep. The real work starts tomorrow."

The real work? Jesus. As I pull up my pants, the dolphin slides back into view in the window. Maybe it just seems that way because they have their eyes on the sides of their heads, but I swear to God it winks at me. 

Tail



Walking down the street, Sasha tried in vain to keep her tail under control. However, it seemed to have a life of its own today. Her aroused emotional state caused it to flit about restlessly, clicking the ground with every other step and smacking tree trunks and sign posts along the way. With a giggle, she lifted her tail to her left hand and held it firmly, but caressed it softly with her thumb. Looking down, she traced the soft line of leopard-like spots along its length. Her tail was, in Sasha's opinion, rather attractive. The soft down of hair was golden in the sunshine with the spots a light shade of auburn to match the curly locks on her head. When relaxed, it reached the ground and just barely began to curl there. It was flexible and sinuous. Oh, the things she could do with that tail... She was on her way from her last final exam, in biochemistry. Knowing she had aced both the exam and the lab, she was excited to see her boyfriend and let him know his girlfriend was brilliant. Only another year and she would complete her degree in microbiology.

As she walked, Sasha watched the other people's tails swaying to and fro. The man directly in front of her had a rather short tail, only reaching his knees, with long tawny hair. Obviously a business man, he had his tail neatly groomed and carried it down rigidly. The woman to his right was a blond bombshell, strutting about in her high heels and short skirt. Instead of wearing her tail through the hole in the waist of her skirt, as is custom, she let it come out beneath the hem. It snaked up and down her legs as she walked. A father carrying his little boy on his shoulders was walking ahead of Sasha to her left. His long, black tail was reaching up behind him to support his son's bottom to prevent him falling backward. The little boy had his tail wrapped tightly around his father's neck. 

Sasha reached her bus stop and sat to wait for the 4D to Bringham. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly texted her boyfriend: on my way home. see you soon. As she hit send, an elderly woman sat down on the bench beside her, bumping her arm. Sasha's phone flew from her hand and hit the ground with a clatter. She reached her tail out and swiped it up quickly, bringing it to her face to inspect it for damage. 

"Oh, I'm quite sorry,"the woman crooned, patting Sasha on the thigh with her white frosted tail. "I'm so clumsy."

"That's alright. No harm done."

As they waited for the bus, Sasha planned her evening in her head. She knew her boyfriend would have supper ready for her when she walked in the door. After supper, she thought they might take a walk by the river, get an ice cream cone, and sit on the beach. It had been ages since she'd had the time for leisure. The past several months had been crammed with studying, papers, and presentations. And she couldn't remember the last time her and Eric had made love. Tonight, she would remedy that problem. 

The bus pulled up and the group of people that had gathered at the stop filed in the doors. About to take the last seat, Sasha noticed the old lady from earlier shuffling behind her. She offered her the seat, then moved to the back of the bus where she took hold of a hand hold above her head. As the bus wound through the streets, Sasha began daydreaming of what her love making session that evening might involve. Subconsciously, her tail began coiling itself around her right leg, caressing up and down slowly. To a casual onlooker, she might have just been cold. To someone looking more closely, they might have noticed it quivering ever so slightly.

Sasha reached over and pulled the cord when her stop neared. The bus pulled over to the curb and stopped with a soft swish. The side door opened and Sasha wove her way through the other passengers and jumped lightly onto the sidewalk. She hurried down the block, her tail swaying behind her, and turned onto Hill Street. Taking the front steps two at a time, she pushed the door open and eagerly set down her bags. She could hear Eric in the kitchen and could smell the roast and garlic.

"Is that you, babe?"his voice called.

"Sure is,"Sasha called back, reaching down with her tail to pull off her heels. She dropped them on the mat while she pulled off her coat. Walking into the kitchen, she pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it loose over her shoulders.

Eric was at the stove, stirring some delightful smelling concoction in a silver sauce pan. His tail, long and smooth, was reaching out behind him. Sasha walked forward and took his tail with hers, entwining them. She wrapped her arms around his waist and reached up on her tip toes to kiss his earlobe.

"Your brilliant girlfriend has arrived,"she announced.

"And just in time,"Eric said, turning toward her, spoon in hand. "How is the gravy?"

"Fabulous,"she told him, licking her lips and smiling. "Can I set the table?"

She moved toward the cupboards and began taking out the dishes. As she set the table in the adjoining dining room, she described in detail her exam questions and why she thought she had earned at least a 99%. He smiled wryly, loving her feigned arrogance. Walking up behind her, carrying the roast on a large white platter, he smacked her bottom with his tail. 

"Grab the veggies, will you?"he asked, leaning over the table to set the platter down.

Through supper, they talked about Eric's day at the office. Another deal had gone through and he was excited this might bring him closer to the promotion he was vying for. He'd been working toward it for the past year, often staying late to get ahead on a project. They talked about their upcoming vacation to California, which Sasha was very excited over. Later, when the dishes were washed and away, the couple donned their jackets and headed to the river bank for a walk. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, sending ruby and golden sparkles over the water. Hand in hand, tails entwined, Eric and Sasha walked slowly to their favourite lookout point over the city. 

"I love this time of year,"Sasha said, taking in a deep breath of fresh spring air.

"Me too. It's the perfect time for new beginnings, life changes,"Eric said softly.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Sasha stopped and turned toward him. He lowered his gaze for a moment, then returned his vivid blue eyes to look back into Sasha's honey brown. His tail gave away his emotion, as it stood stiffly upward behind his back. He was nervous. Sasha's stomach flittered with butterfly wings.

"Sasha,"he said quietly, his tail swishing once. "I have loved you from the very first time we met in San Francisco. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have met someone so sweet, intelligent, and sexy. I thought it had to be a trick, that my room mates had put you up to it. But after our first date, I knew that you were the one I had to be with for the rest of my life."

Reaching inside his jacket, Eric knelt on one knee, the sparkling cityscape rolling out behind him. His tail curled its way around his side, seeking out hers. She reached out with her tail and grasped it, holding tightly. He pulled out a small box and opened it, looking up sheepishly. "Sasha, will you do me the most wonderful honour of being my wife?"

Tears sprang instantly to Sasha's eyes."Of course!"she managed to whisper, nodding her head enthusiastically."Of course!"

Eric pulled the glittering ring from its nest and slipped it onto Sasha's finger. She held her hand out to admire how it looked there, bursting into a happy sob. Eric stood and took her into his arms, crushing her against him. Then pushing her away slightly, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. His tail wound behind her and up her back, caressing her softly. She snaked her tail behind him, stroking his bottom and lower back.

Breaking off the kiss, Sasha whispered, "Let's go to bed."

Hurrying home, he chased her playfully, grabbing her tail and pulling at her coat. Once inside, they slammed the door and leaned against it, kissing passionately. Eric's tongue slipped into Sasha's mouth, probing gently along her teeth, meeting her tongue softly. She trailed her fingers along his neck, pulling at the back of his hair. Her tail whispered along his arms and back while his danced across her butt. They became more urgent, little gasping noises occasionally escaping their lips. Sasha jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling herself as close to him as she could. He moved down the hall toward the bedroom.

He dropped her playfully onto the bed. She lay back and watched him as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head, revealing his straining abs. He unzipped his jeans and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops. Slowly he began pulling off his pants, shimmying and tugging, all the while with a look of pure lust in his eyes. Standing in front of her in his boxer briefs, she moaned as his tail snaked around his hip and over his package in front. Her tail, taking on a life of its own for the second time that day, began caressing her breasts. She could feel her nipples begin to harden beneath her bra.

The boxer briefs were beginning to bulge further as Eric watched Sasha fondling herself. He reached his tail under the waist band and began stroking his engorging member. He leaned forward over Sasha and began unbuttoning her shirt. Her white lace bra showed her dark brown areola and nipples straining to be let loose. When her shirt was undone, he continued on to her shorts. He popped open the top button, catching a glimpse of the white lace panties underneath. Slowly he unzipped the shorts and pulled them off. Sasha's tail was tracing along her abdomen, making little circles around her navel. Eric could see the soft downy leopard pattern along its delicate length and he felt a deep pull in his groins.

Sasha couldn't take any more teasing. She sat up and pulled Eric on top of her, into a deep kiss. Her hands trailed over his back, pulling him into her tightly. He reached beneath him and took a breast in his hand, kneading it through her bra. Suddenly she rolled over, pushing him onto his back, and straddled his hips. She reached back and undid the clasp of her bra, moving her tail to cover her breasts as the lingerie slipped off. Eric moved his tail to pull at hers so he could get a glimpse at her bare chest. She made a little tsk, tsk noise, holding his tail between her hands. Slowly, she began to fondle his tail. The soft golden brown hair made tight little spirals along its length and she traced them with her fingernails. Eric shuddered. Without knowing it, Sasha's tail had moved away from her chest and onto Eric's stomach and was stroking its way lower. Eric reached out and took Sasha's breasts in his hands, squeezing them firmly. She responded by grinding herself over his briefs. She could feel his hardness beneath the thin film of fabric. Her panties were already beginning to soak through.

Again they were kissing. Eric moved his hands around behind Sasha and into her panties. He took large handfuls of her ass and squeezed. Her tongue and lips moved aggressively over his mouth. She moved to his neck and collar bones, kissing and nibbling. Her tongue traced over his nipples, just teasing at first, then she took one deep into her mouth and sucked. He groaned loudly and arched his back. As she moved her kisses to his stomach, she ground her breasts into his hard member. Finally, she reached the waist of his briefs and took them in her teeth. With the help of her tail, she pulled them very slowly from his body. His cock stood tall and hard, the veins seeming to pulsate beneath the tight skin. Leaning forward, she let her nipples touch the head of his cock. She circled it with her breasts, squishing it between them. He moaned loudly as she sat back and her tail moved to encircle his cock. She knew the feathery down would be a sensuous tease. Moving her tail up and down, she began stroking his throbbing member. His breathing quickened. While she stroked his cock with her tail, she moved to lay on her side beside him and they began to kiss again. 

Eric brought his tail around him to slip under the elastic of Sasha's panties. While he fondled her breasts with his hands, his tail began to fondle her pussy. He could feel the tight curls of her pubic hair and the wetness gathering in her folds. She reached down and promptly pulled off her panties so he could have better access. He circled his tail over her clit, moving it down into to the folds to gather the moisture, then back to glide over her clit. She was making small panting and whimpering noises. She moaned loudly as his tail slipped inside her suddenly. He plunged it deeply in and stroked her inside. He pulled it out again and touched her clit then slipped it deftly back into her deep well. With his tail inside her, he reached down with his hand and began to finger her clit. Her breaths came in short gasps as a climax began to build. He sucked a nipple deeply into his mouth. This was all she needed to explode in a loud and wet orgasm. When she had stopped quivering, he slipped his tail out of her sopping pussy and brought it up to his lips, where he licked it clean while she watched.

Sasha moved to Eric's waist, where his manhood had stood at attention, just waiting. She blew softly on the head, making Eric shiver. Her tongue flicked out and touched him, a hot iron searing him with longing. Suddenly she took the whole shaft into her mouth, sliding it back into her throat. He moaned loudly. Her head bobbed up and down slowly as she sucked. Her tail came forward and began to caress his sac. She could feel the hard orbs beneath the velvety skin as she fondled them. Her lips left his cock and she moved her body so her head was toward his cock and her feet were at his head. She moved forward to take his balls in her mouth, so gently. She sucked softly as his breath quickened. Then she moved her tongue over them and downward to the spot between the sac and asshole. Skirting teasingly around his pucker, she moved to the highly sensitive space between his asshole and the base of his tail, his krill. As she began to lick and kiss this spot, her tail moved between her own legs and began to fondle her clit. She let it circle and probe, then dove it deeply into herself. 

"Baby, that's so hot,"she heard Eric whisper. He reached forward to hold her legs open so he could watch as Sasha thrust her tail in and out of herself, her juices flowing out around it. She could hear his breathing becoming ragged as she kissed his krill harder. He sounded like he was getting closer to cumming. But she couldn't let him waste his cum to the air. She popped her tail out of her pussy. Getting up on all fours, Sasha moved around to face Eric. Again, she straddled his hips, hovering over his straining and throbbing cock.

"Tell me what you want, baby,"she growled.

"I want you,"he snarled back.

"You want me to what?"

"I want to you to fuck me, to ride me till I cum inside you so hard you'll be aching for a week!"

At that, Sasha slammed her pussy down onto Eric's cock. He took a sharp breath in and his hands grabbed her hips. She began to slide herself up and down on his hot member. She could feel his hardness within her, touching her deep inside. As she rocked, her breasts bounced up and down. She reached her tail behind her and beneath, where she began stroking Eric's sac. He had his hands full of her tits, and his tail was flicking against her clit. Her head was thrown back, her throat tight and exposed. Her breath was coming in sharp bites. She could feel his balls tightening and his cock solidifying inside her. He could feel the walls of her pussy clamping down around his throbbing dick.

"Cum with me, baby,"he grunted. "Cum! Cum! Oh god I love you! Cum baby!"

Sasha's body began to quiver violently as she rocked up and down. "I'm gonna cum! Baby, I'm gonna cum!" She burried his cock as deeply as she could inside herself and began grinding in small circles. His tail pressed hard against her clit and her tail stroked his sack feverishly. "I'm cumming," she panted. "Cum baby! Cum with me!"

"Oh god!" he screamed. "I'm fucking cumming!"

She could feel his cum stream out of his cock and hit her deep inside. She began shuddering uncontrollably, moaning, "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!"

Finally, the orgasms subsided. Sasha collapse forward onto Eric's chest, panting. His half hard cock was still inside her. She loved the fullness, and the wetness. They kissed deeply, caressing each other with hands and tails. After a long while, they disengaged, Sasha pulling her pussy off Eric's cock with a slight slopping noise. She lay down beside him, snuggling into him and pulling the blankets over them. She began to snore quietly as his tail stroked her bare back.



Tail for Two



The gray cat huddled beside the front door of my house while the wind lifted the fur of her scruffy coat, now covered with snow crystals. The children named her Vamp when she was a kitten, and she had lived up to her name. What went through her mind as she nestled in the door frame was something we would never know. What we did know was that whenever we opened the door, she streaked inside, setting off squeals and laughter because once again we had been duped by what was supposed to be a dumb animal.

Vamp dashed inside, raced up the stairs and found the most inaccessible corner to hide, away from hands eager to toss her back into the cold. Her hiding place was beneath my daughter's bed, behind stuffed animals and other toys. I lay on the floor and slid beneath the bed to find green eyes glittering back at me. The cat's head and face peered out among all the other critters that surrounded her, an image that always brought to mind E.T. hiding in Elliot's toy filled closet.

I reached for the cat and she pulled back, trying to escape my grasp, but my hands curled around her fluffy, resisting body. I felt a touch of guilt when I realized she was purring, yet I knew the damage she did to my carpet because she wouldn't use the litter box. With firm resolve, I pulled her from her hiding place and held her close to my chest, hoping to send the message that I did love her.

She purred contentedly in my arms as I took her downstairs, continued to purr as I tossed her back into the cold. She stood there looking at me as I shut her out, then resumed her vigil by the front door.

I touched my cheeks. They felt warm and I noticed my breasts rising and falling much faster than normal. Time to take a break. As I eased down into the soft embrace of my leather chair, I smiled. That cat would give me all the exercise I needed. And she did need love, like I needed love. I had needed love for a long time. Sometimes the pain was almost more than I could handle. It was as if I was lying on the floor and some heavy weight pressed in against my chest. I had a hard time breathing then. I wanted to tear open the back door and go running through the snow, screaming until the pain disappeared.

But, I knew the pain wouldn't fade that easily. It was my only companion now other than the children of course. The children were wonderful company. I loved them both. But, I wanted more. I wanted someone, that special someone to lean on and to share with. I wanted someone that felt warm and strong against me on the cold mornings. I imagined turning to him and feeling his strong arms around me.

I shook my head as I pulled myself up from the softness of the chair. Such a life was nice in dreams, I thought. Dreams and imagination had a way of being perfect. I wished I could stay in my dreams and never leave. But, my world was real, too real. A divorced single-parent knew reality in a way that few others did -- bills to pay, children to dress for school, snow to shovel, oil to change. I had even learned to fix the odd little things that kept breaking around the house. Last summer, I had replaced a few broken shingles on the roof. Yes, I knew the real world.

The next hour was mine. I had claimed it two month ago. I would let nothing interfere with my hour. Anna and Christopher wouldn't be home for a couple more hours and the house was clean. The freedom of a whole hour to myself was intoxicating. A couple weeks ago I started spending it at a bagel shop about a half mile down the road. The exercise was good and I might meet someone interesting. Magic was in the air as I headed down the road.

I slouched against one of the walls of the bagel shop when a man I had never seen before pushed open the glass door. As he held the door open for a blond woman, he plucked at his brown mustache. It was the same color as his carefully manicured hair. The woman slid by him toward the counter and he matched her carefully measured strides. As he walked, his soft gray turtle neck stretched across broad shoulders that accentuated his deep chest and tapered waist. He was no thoughtless dresser. Even his brown Dockers were so obviously casual and relaxed as to be intentional.

The man touched the blond woman's elbow. She didn't respond, but continued staring at the counter. Eventually, they gave their order and retired to a formica-topped table to eat their bagels.

When the man left for the restroom, the blond woman unfolded the Sunday edition of the Denver Post. She laid various sections neatly on the table and with minimal motion began reading. As she turned the pages, her scarlet and lavender fingernails caught the light shining through the glass windows. Her lips formed a pucker of concentration, revealing little lines radiating from them into the rest of her face. Her face had so little movement it could have been a stone statue. Her cheeks were touched with pink and a splash of blue rimmed her eyelids.

Finally she moved. She raised her eyelids revealing blue-green eyes. Then she lowered them again and continued reading. She was immaculately dressed with a gray and white checked suit. She was perfect in every way -- beautiful, slim, flawlessly dressed -- like glass.

The man with the brown mustache returned and sat down. He bit into his bagel and sipped at the vanilla hazelnut coffee. Abruptly, the woman stood up. Her chair slid backwards and hit another table with a soft clink. The man looked up and the woman swung her chin toward the glass door.

The man's eyebrows curled and he gazed down at his unfinished bagel. "I'm not done."

The woman grabbed his chin in her hand and pulled. Her lips were like a pencil mark on a marble statue. "Yes, you are! Now get going!"

She glanced briefly in my direction. For a moment our eyes locked, then she looked away. I felt as if cold fingers touched my shoulders and slid toward my neck. I arched my back and shivered. My hands were shaking.

The man slowly rose and gathered his bagel and coffee cup. His shoulders sagged as he dumped them into the trash bin.

I hardly noticed what the man was doing for something far more interesting had pulled my attention. As the woman turned to leave, I saw the back of her gray coat for the first time. Directly in the center of the back were several large white spots. It looked as though a bottle of bleach had been accidentally dumped on the coat. The perfect woman had a flaw. I felt like whistling or singing a tune. And that is what I did a few minutes later with swinging arms as I strode home. Snow had started falling and as I sang, I tried to catch the falling flakes on my tongue. Some of the notes must have sounded awful, but I didn't care.

When I finally reached my house, I was a little tired, but otherwise feeling quite wonderful. The friendly gray cat was perched by the doorway, waiting. I leaned down to run my fingers through the animal's soft fur. As she purred, I noticed the white snow on her gray coat. I thought briefly how familiar the white on the gray appeared. Then the cat sat down and stared at me before licking her paws and wiping them against her face.

I was careful not to let Vamp into the house.

*********************

The next day I slumped over a cup of French Roast, my thoughts in the clouds, when the glass lady walked in. She was alone this time and seemed different. Perhaps, it was just exhaustion, but she seemed older, more brittle. Watching her sit upright at a nearby table, I noticed small lines radiating from her eyes. Once, as she sipped her coffee, her hand trembled. At first I thought I was mistaken, but it happened again, just a small tremor, yet surprised me since she had seemed so self-assured the previous day.

Sipping my coffee, I wondered what had happened to her companion -- the man with the brown mustache. He had seemed so strong and handsome, and yet something had been wrong. It was as though he was afraid. I wished I had talked to him. Perhaps, I could have said something simple, a comment on the weather or a discussion about skiing. But, I had frozen and now my chance was gone. That was the way it was with me. I always missed those magic moments when I could choose to change my life forever. I always did nothing and that was a choice too.

Glancing up, I noticed the glass lady staring at me and turned my own beacons on her as well. Neither of us moved for several seconds.

"Where's your friend?" I asked breaking the strained silence.

She didn't answer at first and then a smile slipped over her face. It was the first time I'd seen her smile and I wondered if her face would crack apart. At the thought, my lips turned up as well. I had no reason to dislike her and yet almost instinctively I did. Perhaps I was jealous for I had certainly liked the man with the mustache.

"We parted ways," she said.

"Maybe he didn't like the way you pushed him around?"

"What do you mean by that?" Her voice was sharp as her smile fell, replaced with a granite expression. Her brows pushed forward to form a hood around her eyes.

"Yesterday, you jerked him out of here before he even finished his bagel." I hated confrontations like this, didn't know why I kept pushing at her. It was like an inner compulsion.

She leaned back, her hands lightly tapping the formica table. "You liked him didn't you? Was he handsome?" Without even allowing me to respond, she continued. "Have you been having fantasies about him? I'm sure you want someone to take you from your loneliness."

My lips trembled. How did she know my situation? Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I was certain she was just guessing for in all outward appearances I was like a mountain. No one could tell how weak I actually was. With practiced calm I smiled and flicked away a piece of imaginary dust.

"You got it -- loneliness -- that's my middle name. What's yours -- hunger?"

I don't know why I used that word, hunger. It just popped out, but I must have struck a nerve, because for a second, just the briefest second, her face changed. It was as though a mask fell and with mouth twisted, her eyes blazed. Almost immediately, her face became granite again. It happened so fast, at first I thought my imagination was working overtime. But as I considered it, a long pink tongue pushed from her mouth to slide over tight thin lips. Then I knew I hadn't been seeing things.

Turning away from the intensity of it all, I concentrated on my bagel and coffee. At the sound of a scraping chair, I glanced up to see the woman leave her table for the door. As she turned away, I saw the back of her coat. My bagel plopped into my cup with a splash stared open-mouthed. There was almost no gray now. The white color had spread like a fungus, or bleach perhaps, but what kind of bleach spread like that. It was more like a life form of some kind, a bacteria growing on the petri dish of her back.

At the last minute directly in front of the door, she turned toward me staring. Then, she licked the back of her hand and wiped it across her face. The movement was the oddest thing I had ever witnessed and yet seemed familiar to me. As I glanced down at my hands, I noticed them squeezing my coffee cup so hard that the amber liquid spilled all over the table. I grabbed my shaking arm to steady it.

When I arrived home, I was out of breath running so hard. I didn't care about the exercise, I just felt like running as though something were chasing me. Only I knew that wasn't true.

The cat was waiting patiently by the door when I arrived so I reached down to touch her fur, before yanking my hand back at the last moment. The dark color of the fur had changed. It was white now, the entire back of the animal was solid white like snow. Only it wasn't snowing. Paint perhaps? I bent closer to touch the fur. Not paint and yet it had a different feel from the rest of the cat, thinner perhaps, lying flat and lifeless on the poor animal.

Then, the cat leaned back to lick her paws. She raised a wet mitt into the air and rubbed her whiskers with it, sliding the paw from her wet nose back toward her ear. As I stared at the cat, something in my brain clicked like a switch on a train that tells the engineer the track ahead has been derailed. Fear gripped me and I rushed into the house.

My children would be out of school in half an hour so I dashed to the phone.

"Mom. Can you pick up the kids from school?" I couldn't understand her response.

"Mom. Are you able to drive?" I thought I heard sure but it could have been sheesh.

"How many have you had?" I couldn't understand the response, so I hung up, my mind racing. Who else could I call?

While I was thinking, the cat began to meow, but it was more of a howl though than a meow. I had never heard anything like it before, for no cat I had ever known screeched with such a mournful cry as though it was a harbinger of death crying for my soul. I thought of the nightmares I'd been having recently where a giant mouth lunged for my head. As the mouth came close, I could smell the rancid sweet aroma of decaying meat.

I couldn't bear the noise. It pierced into my heart, a knife to my soul. Finally, I got up and peered between the shades that covered the back door window. The cat stared at me with red eyes, her coat a solid white, a cat no longer, at least not any cat I'd ever seen. No, this was some kind of monster. And my children were coming along at any moment.

Grabbing the phone, I dialed the school. "I need to talk to Christopher and Anna," I told the secretary.

"They're already lining up for the buses," she said. "You want me to run outside and find them?" Her voice had this question in it as though I was crazy or something.

"Of course! This is an emergency. Important! Hurry!! Get them. Please!"

She must have believed me, because the phone went to Burt Bacharach background noise. I waited with the phone growing out my ear while the howling continued.

A few minutes later the melodies cut off and the secretary was on the line again. "I'm sorry, but the bus already left. They should be home in a few minutes."

I was in big trouble and I had no idea what to do. I couldn't call the animal control people -- not enough time. This was a problem I must solve on my own.

An idea popped into my head, and although it was risky, I felt as though I had no other choice. I had to do something before the children arrived and could think of nothing else to do. Opening a can of tuna, I placed it inside an old rabbit cage from the basement where it ended up after the death of my son's favorite pet. Slowly, I opened the back door. The cat dashed into the house straight toward me, but she slid to a stop at the last moment and with nose twitching, glanced around. Then her instincts took over and she bolted for the food. As she entered her prison, I locked the cage. 

Falling into my easy chair, I sprawled legs extended staring as the animal hissed with the realization of her confinement. I had no idea what to do next. The cat's meows were even more dreadful inside the house and I thought of dragging the cage to the nearby creek to end her misery, but I simply no energy left, so I remained staring at nothing. At some point the howling stopped and as I watched the creature, its hair began to fall out. With a final screech, she fell to the floor motionless.

Unless I did something, I was certain the cat would die. I shouldn't feel the way I did. My feelings always got me into trouble, but I couldn't help myself. I opened the cage, pulled the cat's limp body out, and fed it some milk through a medicine dropper. Slowly, she opened her eyes. I couldn't let her die no matter how dangerous. Only once before had I let something precious die within me and that had been for my very survival.

As the cat slowly came back to the world of the living, I slouched in my easy chair staring at the limp form. But, my thoughts were far away. Long before Aaron ran away, he had died to me. The pain still hurt. Nothing was so painful as the death of love. And once love dies, it's hard to get it back. I wasn't even sure if it was the love that caused the pain. It was more the raw need that awakened me at night -- a need to be close to someone, to share the dreams in my head.

I heard a groan and my eyes riveted to the white hairless form. An old woman slowly took shape on the carpet. Her pale form was white like ivory as though the sun had never touched her. Her skin hung limp and loose on her bones like white sheets over furniture in an empty house -- lifeless and shapeless.

I helped her crawl onto the couch in the corner and slipped one of my Mexican blankets around her. 

"I'm hungry," she said, her voice raspy. "Do you have any meat?"

When I returned with a steak, she grabbed it from my hand and started devouring it, razor teeth biting off huge chunks, blood dripping down her chin. As she ate, she grew younger, skin tightening up, wrinkles smoothing out, even her teeth flattened.

Eventually she transformed into the young blond woman I had seen at the coffee shop. She lay her head back on the couch staring into the ceiling, naked, skin pale, legs apart, breasts firm, pink in color. She was a beautiful woman.

By this time I had returned to my easy chair studying the transformation.

"Why?" My voice sounded loud in the silent house.

She raised herself to a sitting position. "I just want to live is all."

"I don't understand. How can I help you live?"

Her eyes were beginning to change again. The blue-green was fading into pink. "Haven't you ever heard of vampires and werewolves?" Her voice was barely audible. I nodded and she continued. "Most of it's pure poppycock, but some of it is true." 

A fit of coughing took hold of her for several minutes. "We feed on the energy of others, but it's not like we suck the blood. We can only take what is given freely. Of course we can be quite tempting at times. And certain people give more easily, are easy targets, have more energy."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Her eyes were red now and growing in intensity. "You're one of those that can give us the most." The woman smiled, showing her razor sharp teeth. "Your energy is like pure white light to me. I noticed it the minute you were born and have waited years now. You're like the purest and strongest food for me. We're perfect together -- you love to give and I can only take."

The woman licked her upper lip with a long pink tongue. I shuddered and clutched my arms around my chest. "Your husband, Aaron, was one of us. He tried to take too much and almost killed you. When you stopped giving, he ran off."

She stood up, her eyes glowing. "But you're strong again and I need you." She opened her arms toward me. "Come to me. You want to give and I'll be gentle with you."

"NO!!" I stood up and backed away. "You'll kill me."

"I have what you crave," she said softly. "She rubbed my back and slowly removed my blouse, then my bra. A mouth pressed against my breast, her tongue slowly licking my nipple. Meanwhile, her hands were busy unbuckling my belt, sliding off my pants. The panties were next and then I was naked.

Almost immediately, she parted my legs, sliding her head between them. A warmth slowly spread from between my legs upward, over my stomach, breasts, until I felt it on my cheeks. Soon it was as though the area between my legs was on fire. I felt the cat woman's coarse tongue slopping over my pussy, between my legs, back to my pussy. Every time she flicked my clit, I jerked in little spasms. 

Part of me wanted to shove her away, but I felt captive somehow, unable to move. The feeling was just too wonderful, freezing me. At some point we ended up on the floor with her pussy in my face, mine in hers. So I started licking her just as she did me. When my spasms gripped me, I just licked harder.

Soon she was groaning, the slop from her pussy running down the sides of my face. I started to scream. It was as though I was in pain or perhaps too much pleasure. I wasn't sure. I have had many orgasms over the years, but nothing like this. The feeling was pure ecstasy shooting through me like a knife through the center of my soul. I felt like I was running along this cliff and about to fall over the side. If I could just maintain control, I would be fine, but I was slipping ever closer to the abyss.




Tail for Two



A tiredness covered me like a heavy blanket. I grew weaker and weaker, craving sleep but couldn't indulge myself. As tired as I was, I was having orgasm after orgasm. It should have been something like heaven but was more like hell for the choice was not mine. All the power was in the hands of the cat woman. Somehow I knew I must break free.

Yet my energy was gone, my will fading fast.

"You're killing me," I cried.

A smile spread over her face, mouth hanging slack, eyes bright like blood. "You may die, but I promise you one thing. You'll die with a smile on your face. It's the reason you were born. Give me everything you've been holding back for so many years. You know exactly what I mean."

I did know what she meant. That was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. The pull was overpowering - to give in finally after all the loneliness and pain - to be complete at last. I needed to find something to distract me, anything.

"What really did happened to the man with the brown mustache?"

Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes closed for a second. Then, they opened again. "The bastard got away." Her face was rigid like stone, mouth closed, eyes blazing. "You distracted me that first day at the bagel shop. Two of you in the same room, like being in a candy shop -- too many tasty treats." She smiled with one corner of her mouth turned up. "Sometimes givers figure out how to get away. He's gone now, but I have you."

Distracted with her talking, her grip weakened. Kicking away from her, I raced over to the couch, naked, my back to the wall, eyes rotating back and forth, searching for a way to escape.

Slowly the cat-woman stood up from the floor. She shuffled across the wood floor toward me. As she shuffled her feet, I could hear the sound like sandpaper rubbing a plank smooth. I pressed my back against the couch as if I could disappear into the wall. Then she leaped at me. I struggled to push her face away. 

A loud bang echoed off the walls. The woman stopped fighting me. Struggling to my knees, I saw her, lying on the floor, a pool of blood by her head. The man with the brown mustache was standing by the door, a smoking gun in his hand. I ran to him. His arms encircled me. For the first time in a long while I felt safe.

*********************

I never felt the years pass. Everything changed around me, but inside I stayed the same. I was like this eternal being, a mountain that was impervious to the ravages of time. My face wasn't as smooth as it once had been, but inside I was still a rock.

Paul aged poorly. His trim figure developed a paunch and his chest sagged. Long ago, he had trimmed his mustache. I didn't mind any of this. Our shells wither and die. But, the inside of a person -- it never needs to age. With Paul, it did.

I remember when he came home with the bad news. I was just as frightened as he, but I thought we could somehow overcome it. We were in love, we could face the problem together. But, it broke Paul. He was never the same after that -- he stopped exercising, popped a six pack of Bud every other night, and stayed up to all hours watching every bizarre TV show he could. No one but Paul would ever watch an entire infomercial.

That nonsense about givers and takers seemed like a dream from long ago. How bizarre, a cat-woman bloodsucker. The real world didn't have such creatures. The real world had bills to pay and more bills and still more bills. It was about survival, not sweetness and kindness. 

So, I pulled out the old scrapbook and leafed through the pages. Just like every other time, the clipping leaped out at me. It was yellow with age, but the picture was clear and the words were the same. It had truly happened. The cat-woman had indeed been killed that night with police running around asking questions of everyone. It had been a time of magic and mystery. And I had found true love. I wondered, if a person could lose true love. But, how could love be true, if it was ever lost.

I stood up from my leather chair when I heard the car door slam. He was back. I stood by the door as he approached, trying to gauge how successful he had been. Not very, I surmised by the way his shoulders slumped.

After he sat in his favorite chair, I handed him a Bud. "Did we get the extension?"

He wouldn't look at me and kept staring at his beer. "No, we didn't."

"We'll just declare bankruptcy again. That'll teach 'em!" My voice rose.

"Can't do it this time," Paul said. "We did that two years ago. Can't do it again for five more years."

"But what'll we do?"

Paul drained the beer. "I have no idea." He looked at me with those brown eyes, but all I could see were the red lines on the whites. "We'll lose the house of course." Then he laughed and crushed the beer can. "We can always live out of the Villager."

I put my hands on his neck. The muscles were tight, so I gently massaged them. "We'll think of something," I said, rubbing his temples in a gentle circular motion.

"I need to find a decent job." Paul stood up and walked to the window.

"You've had jobs," I protested.

"Sure. If you call being a grocery clerk a job."

I slipped my arms around him, my face buried in his back. Tears slid down my face. The rock didn't feel like a rock. The mountain was crumbling. As I held him tight, I suddenly realized that I had never been a mountain. It was all a show for others. Inside, I was a scared rabbit.

I could feel his need, the pain of unemployment, the fear for us. I remembered the times we had visited people and they had asked him what he did for a living. His mouth would twitch and he would start his spiel about managing a meat packing plant. Of course, he never mentioned that he had done that four years ago.

"You're a hard worker and so very bright," I whispered. "You'll bounce back." I slid my hand below his belt. No response.

"When will the children get home?" His voice was low, but something of the old Paul was there somewhere.

"We have at least two hours."

We took our time.

Naked in bed, I waited for him, caressing his back, telling him how much of a man he was, how he would find a job, a boss of something. But it was taking too long.

So I wrapped my mouth around his noodle, all soft and gushy. With a sucking motion, I rolled my tongue around it, sliding my hands over his legs.

As he hardened, his hands touched me as well, over my legs, around my buttocks, inside my thighs, into my slit. His mouth became active, his tongue a lizard, flicking against the inner parts of my legs, sliding closer to the spot under my stomach, the place where my wetness started to drip. 

He slurped the juices, his lizard tongue flicking against my clit. I pushed down on his face feeling his tongue enter me. My mouth continued to suck him, swirl my tongue around his growing penis. I slid my hands over the base of the shaft barely able to get them around the thing. Moving my mouth up and down, I slid my hands around the base.

He groaned pushing his pelvis into me. 

"Fuck me baby," I cried.

Hard as a rock, he turned me onto my back, spread my legs and eased into my pussy. I quivered as I felt him enter me. As he pushed into me, I pushed back. Soon he could push no further. I was filled with him. It felt wonderful. All the pain and struggle of the past year somehow didn't seem quite as bad. We had each other.

He started the in-and-out motion. Every time he entered me to the fullest, his pelvis pushed against my clit. It was wonderful. I felt him puffing as he moved back and forth inside of me. My breath came in gasps. I was about to come. 

"Ahh," he cried as he shot his cream into me. Soon I followed suite and shook with a powerful orgasm.

I thought of how we hadn't changed that much after all. Life was changing around us and it was so hard, but we had each other -- forever -- true love. No cat woman or darn job could take that away.



Tail in the South Pacific



(Note to reader: For a fuller context for this story, read the "Wolf Creek" novella series and "The Photograph 1: John" and "The Photograph 2: Jamie.")

Joe knew his unit shouldn't have entered the Scharzwald this close to dusk. The doughboys had been picked off one by one by the huns, hidden in the trees. But Joe knew someone must get through and warn the big brass. He was the last one alive. He had to press on; he could not fail. This could be the turning point. The Yanks and all of their loved ones across the sea who depended on them to prevail over Old Fritz could be saved if the warning of the impending German troop movements got to the American lines in time.

They saw each other at the same moment as Joe splashed out of a shallow creek; the German soldier was as surprised to see Joe as Joe was to see him. A moment of shock during which it registered with Joe that the German was just a boy, a young and scared boy. Could he possibly be an enemy? He was shaking like a leaf. Could Joe possibly take advantage of that? Was he sent here to hunt young, vulnerable boys? Could that ever be the right thing to do? In the moment of indecision, the boy raised his ancient two-barreled pistol and sent a bullet whizzing through the material of Joe's uniform sleeve.

An overload of sensations: surprise, slight pain from the bullet nicking his arm, the sound of the misfiring click of the second chamber of the youth's pistol, and a new, ominous sound—harsh snuffling and snorting and thrashing about in the underbrush beside the creek. A huge wolf, a magnificent creature, really, broke into the small clearing Joe had been caught in and stood, menacingly between the American doughboy and the young German hun, his great muzzle turning from one to the other, trying to decide which direction to pounce. With a little cry, the trembling German youth slipped from his precarious perch in the tree and fell to the ground. The wolf was upon him in a flash. Awakened from his paralysis by this new, more worthy, better-defined foe, Joe whipped a long-bladed knife from the sheath at his thigh and fell upon the wolf, slicing and stabbing the beast relentlessly—man against the natural elements, a suddenly clear-cut understanding of the point of the struggle of man.

The battle was furious but short, and once more man was triumphant. With a mighty heave, Joe thrust the carcass of the magnificent wolf aside. The German youth was gashed and his clothes lay on his bruised and trembling body in tatters—but he still breathed and his eyes were filled with panic and fear as they looked up at the panting American doughboy standing over him with raised and bloody knife. Joe . . .

"Jules! Jules! Jules Kincaid, where have you crept off to? Oh there you are. Come in this instant and go to your room. You can see what time it is."

Yeah, right, Jules thought. Time for one of those men to come and start playing hide the sausage with you. With a sigh, Jules left off writing his story, closed his tablet, and slid back into the shabby little Kincaid living room from the Chicago tenement fire escape. The fire escape and his stories were Jules's escape from the sordid world he and his mother had been propelled into by the death of his father the previous summer.

"Jules, hurry up now and go to your room. It's almost eight o'clock." Jessica Kincaid sounded more weary than angry. This wasn't the life she'd planned for either of them. At least Jules had his stories to escape into. All she had was her low-paying receptionist job by day and what she had to do by night to bring in enough to keep the two of them going. All because of Joe. All because of his bravado—and because he'd never learned how to swim.

"Step to, Jules. In your room now. And finish up your homework, or you'll never graduate with your class. Don't be spending all of your time on those adventure stories of yours, do ya' hear?"

Jules heard all right. He heard that hated name, Jules, pounding at him. He certainly heard that. The first thing he was going to do come July and his eighteenth birthday, in the year he'd had his eye on for a decade, 1917, was to get rid of that name, have it legally changed if he could. Reduce it to nothing more than an initial if he couldn't. But as far as hearing, he could do that better than his mother seemed to think. And he had two good eyes too. Who did she think she was fooling?

There wasn't a thing wrong with either his hearing or his eyesight an hour later, when, shortly after hearing the knock on the apartment door, he opened the door to his bedroom a crack and saw them doing it on the couch. His mother was on her butt on the sofa, sideways, with her back arched and her shoulders digging into the sofa arm. And her legs were splayed wide. And some big bruiser of a guy was kneeling between her legs with his knees buried in the sofa cushions and that big fat dick of his buried in Jules's mother. The guy was gruntin' and groanin', and Jules heard his mother making all sort of moaning sounds with her mouth. But from where he stood, he could see her eyes. And her eyes were dead and focused on someplace far, far away. This wouldn't have been happening if those Krauts hadn't swarmed over his dad—his war hero dad—and gotten the best of him finally after he'd killed hundreds of them. His dad would put a stop to this if he were here. Jules himself was almost eighteen, and he'd learned a thing or two about fighting, but he somehow knew that his mother didn't want him to intercede. She apparently was doing what she wanted to do. But she sure wouldn't be doing it if his father were still alive.

Jules's attention was arrested by the working of the man's dick inside his mother, the rhythm of the movement as it pushed in and pulled out in concert with the man's grunts and his mother's moans. It was almost poetic and was arousing—or would be if it weren't his own mother who was being worked. But then Jules had the most guilty feeling, and he saw now that his mother had seen him watching and that her eyes had become even more dead than before and were brimming over with tears as her mouth formed a silent, wounded scream.

The inevitable confrontation between mother and son the next morning didn't take the direction that either had envisioned.

Jules caused the floodgates to open by trying to deal with the tension between them—and the reason behind it—indirectly by extolling the war hero exploits and high moral character of his dead father—assuming his mother would get the message without forcing them to talk about what he'd seen. But Jessica was having none of that, although she took her reaction to a place she'd carefully never taken it before. And she surely would not have taken it now if her world hadn't been shattered by the undeniable truth of what her son had seen the previously night, a truth that had been there for some time but that she could, until now, pretend wasn't real because it wasn't acknowledged.

"God, will you stop this about your father, Jules. Joe wasn't a war hero. He didn't even make it to France. His ship sank and he drowned. We aren't still fighting because some quirk stopped him from saving the world. He died a useless death—and he left you and me with nothing."

"He loved and protected us and went to France to make the world safe for us," Jules responded stubbornly, refusing to hear the truth. "He . . ."

"The only one he loved was himself, Jules. He wanted me until he had me and then I was just another one of his possessions. And it was the same with you. He . . ." She couldn't go on; she recoiled in horror at what she'd said. She'd never spoken of her husband to her son like this. Even though she had spoken the truth. She might have said something before now, knowing that Jules was sinking ever deeper into his misconceptions, but Jules was growing up to be so much like his father. She didn't want to plant any more of Joe's self-possession and disregard for others in Jules's brain than was naturally there.

Both sat there, staring each other down. Jules still worshipped his father. What he was hearing now wasn't the warning that his mother intended; it was more like a blueprint.

At length, Jessica changed tack. "It isn't about last night. I was going to tell you anyway, but now it's just as well that I did it."

"Did what?" Jules asked belligerently.

"Last week I was informed that you won the school system's citywide writing competition. I was going to tell you then, but something else came with the contest win, and I've been struggling with it ever since. I think now, though, that it's the best thing that could happen—for you, certainly."

Jules was interested now. He actually knew he'd won the contest. And he knew what his mother hadn't told him. He had been agonizing for days that she would say no, that he would be trapped in this tenement with her and in this sordid life forever. He'd already decided he would enlist and go off to the waning fighting in France and Germany if she didn't agree to the what came with the contest win.

"The novelist, Arthur Brolin, has agreed to take you on as a personal student," Jessica said. "But he's leaving for a year's sabbatical in the South Pacific in late June. If you want to apprentice to him to learn what he can teach you about writing, you'll have to be gone for a year. You'll have to leave Chicago. And I can't come with you."

Jessica had voiced these stipulations like they were negatives. But they were honey to Jules's ears. Each and every stipulation. He was free. He was going far, far away from Chicago and his mother, and he was going to study under the novelist, Arthur Brolin!

* * *

"It's good, of course," Arthur Brolin said as he handed the typewritten pages back to his pupil, Jules Kincaid. But he wasn't looking at the young man and he offered no further comment.

Jules followed his teacher's gaze out onto the white-sand beach beyond the palm tree line. Sid—their Sumatran houseboy, Sidharto—wearing a gaily colored sarong pulled up and tucked into his waistband to escape the foam of the waves, was casting his net into the turquoise-blue surf of the perfect beach. For his year of writing sabbatical, accompanied by his young protégé, Brolin had settled on this beach paradise, just up the coast from the coastal town of Bengkulu, yet so isolated that few came this way. Here, Arthur Brolin was like a king in his domain—and few knew or cared how what he did in his domain.

Brolin sighed, still gazing intently on the rippling muscles of the lithe, diminutive, yet perfectly formed houseboy, who was focused on catching their dinner. Jules knew what that sigh was about. He'd heard Brolin fucking the houseboy in the dark of the night in their thatch-covered sprawling hut. Jules had no illusions why Brolin had come this far from the American Midwest for his year's sabbatical of writing. And, now, he also had no illusions about why Brolin had volunteered to bring him along and to mix his own writing with developing the young escapee of the Chicago tenements.

"It's good . . . but?" Jules said, waving the pages of his latest attempt at a short story near enough to Brolin's line of sight to break the man's concentration on the fishing houseboy.

"It's good. It's very good . . . ," Brolin answered again, absentmindedly.

"But what?" Jules persisted. Brolin was usually much more communicative than this. But Jules had been writing story after story for two months now in this Dutch colony paradise, and he still hadn't won anything more than lukewarm comments from Brolin.

"But . . . we've discussed this before, Jules," Brolin said as he gave his handsome, eighteen-year-old student his full, undivided attention now. "It's good in a mechanical sense, but it has no passion."

"No passion?" Jules asked. Brolin had put his hand, that hand with the long sensuous fingers, on Jules's wrist and hadn't taken it away. Jules shuddered at the touch, but not wanting Brolin to feel his trembling and misconstrue it, he let the words tumble out.

"What is this about no passion? I write adventure stories. I write of men struggling against the elements and eventually winning out over nature or the cruelties men force on other men, like war. War stories, like the one we just went through. Situations where people like my father struggle against impossible odds. I pour out everything inside me on these. But you say they have no passion?"

"Your writing is very good . . . no, extremely good, Jules, as I said. And there's nothing wrong in the themes you pursue. But they are missing something nonetheless. And I think what they are missing is passion. I'm sure you put everything inside you into your writing. But clearly the problem seems to be that you don't have nearly enough passion inside you to give to your stories—to make them sing with passion, to put them above what any other young writer is producing. I didn't invite you out here to make a competent writer of you. I brought you out here to make an internationally acclaimed writer of you. And I think you have that in you."

Jules had lowered his head and was trying his best to drink in what Brolin was saying to him. But all he could think of were those searing fingers on his wrist, feeling his pulse, no doubt searching for the passion inside him.

"I do. I do feel very passionate about what I'm writing," Jules stammered out in his defense. "I feel . . ."

"You only feel within the limits of your experience, Jules," Brolin said softly. "And your experience is limited. You can't really feel passion as a writer until you've experienced passion. That's what the best writers do. They let themselves go and they experience it all. And it comes out in their writing. You are young, so young. You've experienced . . . nothing . . . really, before now. I could . . ."

"You showed me this picture, this picture of an elk," Jules rushed on, not wanting to hear what Brolin wanted to say to him. You told me to write a story about it, about a majestic animal, about the relations between all that the elk is and my protagonist, Joe. And I did that. I wrote of Joe and an Indian warrior coming upon each other in the wilds of Wyoming and how they fought each other, meaning to do so to the death. And how the appearance of an elk stag on the mountain ridge above them made them both stop and realize how futile their fighting was and then separate and go their own way. I wrote that with passion. Man against the elements, the majesty of nature, the bonding of men in dire straits."

"That wasn't the bonding of men," Brolin said in a voice both soft and full of steel. "Those men fell away from each other when confronted with the majesty of nature, as represented in the elk, Jules. Don't you see? Nature won. That didn't show the strength of your protagonist; it showed his weakness. What I see inside you, what I think you have to give in your writing is showing the ascendance of your protagonist over nature and over other men. The passion in the protagonist's relationship with nature, as symbolized by that elk stag, is not in accommodating or respecting the elk, but in mastering and possessing it. And the same can be said of the man, the Indian warrior."

Brolin's voice had become insistent; he was flooding Jules's mind with the power of his smooth, honey-toned voice and the strength of his storytelling. Jules felt almost as if he was going into a trance. He could feel the pressure of Brolin's grip on his wrist, and now he could feel the palm of Brolin's other hand on his thigh. Jules felt his chest heaving, and, looking at Brolin, he could see that his mentor was similarly affected. They were both bare-chested and in colorful sarongs, just as Sid was. They had gone completely native. Jules felt what was coming next, but the mesmerizing effect of Brolin's voice and Jules's aching need to produce the writing that Brolin wanted, to become the writer that Brolin said he was capable of becoming, possessed the young man, and he made no move to stop his mentor.

"Bonding is important to a writer, Jules," Brolin was saying. "Experiencing bonding and letting the passion of that build and pour down to your fingertips as your fingers sit on the keys of the typewriter, and imbuing your writing with a full, mature knowledge of passion through experience . . ." His eyes were fully intent on Jules now, although Jules was still unable to look up at him, and his hand on Jules's thigh had slipped into a fold in the sarong and rested on the warm, smooth skin inside Jules's thigh, high up. He was lightly stroking the inside of Jules's thigh with his index finger and a thumb, sending ripples of electricity through Jules's body.

"You need to acquire a much deeper and richer experience to even begin to know what the passion is, Jules. Bonding. Bonding. I could . . ."

"Kiai Brolin. Kiai Brolin! Venerable teacher! Look what I've caught." The chestnut brown houseboy, Sid, full of life and laughter and with a smile as broad as his handsome face, was running up the beach toward Jules and Brolin, a big fat fish in his hand. "We eat well tonight, Kiai Brolin. The god's are good to us."

Brolin joined the infectious laughter of his houseboy and also joined in the rejoicing over the catch. When he turned back to Jules, though, his young apprentice was gone and only the scattered sheets of his "only very good" short story and the picture of the majestic elk stag remained where he had been sitting on the pillows beside the low table at the palm-treed verge of the white-sand beach.

Hours later, unable to sleep, burning with the implications of what Brolin had told him, knowing now, instinctively and irrevocably, that Brolin was right—that he would never be able to write with the necessary passion until he had allowed himself to experience passion—Jules crept out of his room in one wing of the thatched hut and quietly moved to the doorway of Brolin's room in the other wing.

They were there. The little Sumatran houseboy was flat on his belly on Brolin's bed, his legs tight together and his hands firmly gripping the brass rods of the headboard above him for dear life as Brolin, nude and crouched above him, encasing the pelvis of the smaller man with his strong thighs, his sensuous fingers wrapped around the Sumatran's wrists, plunged a thick and long cock between the houseboy's pert butt cheeks again and again and again. Sid was whimpering and Brolin was panting hard. Jules stood, transfixed, and moaning slightly to himself as his hand went to his own rising cock and the passion of the moment flooded into him. This, more than anything Brolin had been telling him earlier, demonstrated the majesty and monstrousness of what full, passionate possession meant. Jules's mind started to race and all sorts of sensations and images flooded in. He withdrew from the doorway.

A pen and some paper; he had to find a pen and some paper. He had to write. Now!

* * *

Jules wrote far into the night, feverishly. He knew the writing was better than he had ever accomplished before. But he also knew that it wasn't good enough. His mentor had been right. The experience of the passion was what was missing. What he had seen earlier had transmitted to him in some degree, but that wasn't enough. He knew now what he had to do. He had to have the passion; he had to become the writer he wanted to be.

He was focused so intently on his work that he hadn't noticed the sounds until they had become insistent, close by. Drums and shots and screams.

Jules jumped up from his desk and ran to the window and pushed aside the palm frond matting. The sky was aglow over Bengkulu, lighting up the beach and the pounding surf of the Indian Ocean. Bengkulu was burning. It seemed as if the whole sky to the west was ablaze. A shot rang out nearby, and Jules instinctively fell away from the window.




Tail of a Bunny: Birth of the Bunny



Why is a puckbunny called a puckbunny? Because they hop from ‘stick’ to ‘stick’

Quick definition: A puckbunny is a hockey groupie, a.k.a. puckfucks, etc.


*  *  *  *  *


Novalyn Springs was mad. Mad, mad, mad, mad, MAD!!!! 

“That fucking asshole,” she snarled, as she punched and kicked the punching bag in her private gym, “I lose my virginity to him on the night of his graduation, and then he goes and screws that slut, Jenny!”

Nova’s now ex-boyfriend, Ethan Moreu, had been the star center for his college hockey team. When he had been signed by the NHL team in Anaheim the day he graduated, they had gone out, partied, then gone back to his dorm and had sex. Ethan had promised that when the season started, he would bring Nova to live with him. She had believed him, and also believed that they would get married eventually. Until the day she had walked in on him having sex with the school’s biggest puckbunny, Jenny Boyer.

To top that off, Jenny was the one living with Ethan in California now. At first Nova had been hurt. Ethan had sworn he loved her! Now that she had to face the truth, she found it wasn’t very pretty. Ethan had been dating her for her money, plain and simple. Novalyn’s family was one of Boston’s oldest and richest. She had been given a strict upbringing, which had led to her being extremely naive. Ethan had taken advantage of her naivete, dating her to get more attention at the college, and then from the NHL scouts, who knew Garret Springs, her father. He had grown up with some of the scouts, and had season seats with the Bruins, which had led to him forming business and social relationships with many people employed by the NHL.

Money really wasn’t the only reason Ethan had dated her, just one of the main motivators. Nova was a very pretty girl of twenty one. Her eyes were aquamarine blue, and her hair was a natural champagne blonde. Her heart shaped face showcased her fine eyes, a pert little nose, and lips that were made for kisses. Her body was slim, with nicely sized breasts, and a firm bottom, compliments of the many hours she spent with the personal trainer her daddy had hired for her. Thanks to Ethan, she was no longer naive, and she had a vengeful streak a mile wide. Nova was determined to get back at Ethan, and get back she would, one way or another!

Finishing her workout, Nova headed to the shower. As the hot water poured over her and the steam billowed around her, she pondered how she could get back at Ethan. She couldn’t get him traded from Anaheim, or cut from the team. That would require her using her father’s social contacts, and she couldn’t do that. She wanted to do it herself. What would hurt him the most? Nova frowned. Then it hit her.

During their last fight, Ethan had told her she would regret breaking up with him when he was a star player. He had laughed at her, saying that one day she would brag that she had lost her virginity to him. From reading the papers, Nova knew that Ethan was really struggling in the NHL. If she slept with someone who really was a star, she could rub that in his face. Better yet, she could sleep with a lot of them! She knew many of the puckbunnies from the Bruins, so they could probably tell her what to do and where to go. 

Rejuvenated, Nova dressed in fresh clothing and headed to her computer. She found a web-ring run by the local bunnies, and investigated clothing, make-up, and other things she would need to know to be a successful puckbunny. It wasn’t too hard, really. Tight, short clothes, gaudy make- up, and the willingness to have meaningless sex seemed to be the main requirements. She could easily get the clothes and make-up, and she had a Norplant to keep from getting pregnant. She wasn’t looking for a husband or for money. She wanted revenge. 

Nova stopped for a second. Which team should she start with? She clicked to the NHL website. Anaheim was the first team on the list alphabetically. She scrolled down to the bottom of the list. If she started at the bottom, she could potentially sleep with 29 NHL stars to rub in Ethan’s face. So, her first stop would be Washington. Nova jumped to the Capitals’ site to scan the roster for a good candidate. No one who was married, because then she would be worse than Jenny, the whore. 

Nova’s pretty face twisted into a malicious grin. Perfect. He was it. She shut down her computer and called the airline for tickets. She was pleased to find that there was a flight leaving the next day, giving her time to pack. She giggled with glee as she pulled out her Fendi luggage. 

Next stop: Washington, D.C.! 



Tail of Perversity



The house was dark, except a sliver of dim light coming from under the closed bedroom door. She did not expect her hubby home for at least another hour yet. Knowing that he would be tired from his evening shift, she put the sexy novel down on the night stand next to the bed and took a long slow stretch.

She flipped the TV on but none of the usual programs seemed to keep her mind from wandering about the steamy love scene that she had just read in the novel. Her thoughts of the lust that she imagined from the story began to fill her every thought now.

Her right hand moved from over her head from her half reclining position down to her side. Along the way, her wrist brushed against her right breast. She felt the flame beginning to increase in her loins as she played over in her mind of the lovers in the story. She moved her hand once again. This time it came to rest at her pubic mound. Her restless hand began to glide slowly over her soft tuft of pubic hair.

She convinced herself that it wouldn't hurt to go ahead and play around to help relieve the nagging thoughts that kept her from relaxing as she waited for her Lover to get home. Besides, she was sure that he would just want to shower and go to sleep.

She slid around on the bed until her butt rested just at the edge of the bed, just like her and her Honey often position themselves during sex. Her feet rested on the very edge of the mattress, leaving her bottom half completely exposed.

She grabbed the small vibrator from the night stand and laid it next to her so she could use it after she manually worked up a good lather. 

Her right hand began to softly explore the moist folds of her womanhood. Her fingers tauntingly spreading her luscious lips apart as the one finger began to rub the hardening bud that would send her mind over the edge. She would occasionally slip a finger just barely into the opening of her aching pusswah.

Her other hand would grab and massage her breasts in a medium groping fashion, much as she imagined the two lovers in the book had done.

Her passion was now at a point where she reached for the vibrator. She fumbled to flip the slide switch to the on position. She felt the cylindrical shaft vibrate in her hand. She moved the rubber tip of the vibrator down her belly, stopping to hold it just above her furry mound, feeling the vibration traveling through her tummy and lightly land at her swelling clit. She knew that it wouldn't take much of the vibration to send her to her peak and over the edge.

When he walked into the house, being ever so quiet, not wanting to awaken his sleeping Beauty, he slowly and softly closed and locked the door. It took him a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that filled the house.

He was happy to be home early this night. They had gotten their work finished early, and the Boss rewarded them by letting them leave a half an hour early. He stopped at a convenience store on his way home to get a small cup of hot coffee, hoping that it would help him ward off his fatigue, so maybe, he could have a good romp in the hay with his Bride.

His eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he began moving down the hall toward the bedroom. He noticed the light peering out from under the door, and began smiling, knowing that she would be glad that he was home early. 

The second shift really put a crimp in their lifestyle, including a normal sex life.

He walked up to the door, still creeping as he walked. He expected to hear the faint sounds of voices coming from the TV. She usually always watched TV to help keep her awake until he got home at night. Instead, he heard the dull hum of the vibrator as well as her intermittent moans.

For a fleeting moment, his heart sank, knowing what that sound indicated. He had heard it many times before when the made love. He very slowly eased the door open, trying desperately not to make a sound. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door was opened far enough for him to see that his sweet lover was in her usual position at the edge of the bed. Only this time, he was not at the side of the bed with her.

A grin sneaked across his face as he carefully sat his hot coffee cup down on the floor and he began to remove his shirt. He leaned down and picked the styro-foam coffee cup back up and figured he would just barge into the room.

Again he smiled. This time he would slip into the room, as quiet as a mouse, and try and get in front of her, without her knowing it. He knew this would really take some doing, because she was normally the first one of them to hear things. He also knew that her moans were becoming louder as the vibrator worked it's magic on her.

He could see from his view point, that her eyes were closed in an imaginary setting as she climbed her peak of ecstasy. Even better, he thought. He took one big gulp of the hot coffee into his mouth, then sat the cup on the floor again. This time, he didn't swallow the hot liquid, rather he held it in his mouth. He got down on all fours and began slowly dog walking from the other side of the bed, slowly moving to the side where she was totally exposed.

Her breathing was becoming rapid and irregular. He knew that he needed to hurry to pull off his surprise, but also knew he must remain quiet, or it would spoil everything.

By the time that he finally made it directly in front of her weeping pussy, she was beginning to lift her hips off of the bed as the vibrator relentlessly hummed into her now crimson hard pleasure pearl.

Just as he swallowed the hot liquid in his mouth, his woman began the cries of her passion. He immediately raised his head from the side of the bed, and stuck his steaming tongue deep into her slit as she came.

She felt many emotions as he did this. Surprise was foremost, and in an instant that changed to a burning lust as her tummy tightened with wave after wave of release.

Her juices wee greedily lapped away by her Man. She grabbed a fistful of hair on his head as he hungrily lapped the nectar that seeped from her soft pussy. His hot fiery tongue stayed buried as deeply inside of her as he could stretch it. The heat from his pink tongue radiated heat inside of her soft, wet, velvety walls. 

Her climax was doubled when he had performed his sneak attack. The vibrator had taken her to her crescendo just at the exact time that he had delved into her aching kitty, giving her a vaginal orgasm as well as her clitoral climax.

She laid on the bed, her legs now dangling from the side, as she regained composure and her normal breathing. She did manage a quick "Hi, baby" to her lover as he stood and leered at her.

You naughty Girl! I can see I'm going to have to give you a good hard spanking. He was toying with her of course, but strangely, his words quickly flared her desires again. She knew that she needed more than a toy and her imagination. She needed HIM. In her!

She played the game back with him, "You can spank me Only if I cant make it up to you somehow. Ok?"

He grinned with their play, and agreed to give her one chance at retribution.

She sat at the edge of the bed in a seated position. She began tugging at his belt buckle, then the button of his jeans, and finally the zipper. As she peeled the thick denim down his hips and past his thighs, she noticed the bulge in his underwear. There was a noticeable shadow of wetness on the tip of the bulge. 

"What have you been reading?", she asked playfully.

He quipped back to her, " Aw no reading. Just been watching this hot sexy chick play with herself!"

That was music to her ears as she quickly slid the white boxer briefs down his legs, exposing a sumptuous hard cock. The thick bulbous head was a dark pink and almost had a purple hue to it. The thick vein jutted from the side of it and ran from the base to one side of the tip , just below the head. A clear drop of pre cum adorned the tip of his hot cock.

She stuck her pointed tongue out, and quickly lapped the clear sticky fluid from its perch. He moaned as he watched and felt her do this. She began licking with a wide flat tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip. She was happy to watch the mushroom shaped head flare as her hot tongue neared the bottom of his tip.

After she coated the entire shaft with her thick spit, he pushed her onto her back. She was now in their favorite position as he leaned down onto her. 

He kissed her deeply, snaking his tongue into her mouth only to be greeted by her tongue gliding back over his tongue. His passion was at a white phosphorous stage now as he moved from her lips and playfully bit at the side of the nape of her neck. She turned her head, giving his mouth and tongue a full and unobtrusive opening to her neck.

She could feel his weight as it began to bear down against her lying body. His erect cock was nuzzling her in the wet matting of her pubic hair. She kept the bottom half shaved, but at his request, kept a neatly trimmed tuft of hair just above her full lips.

His hot cock head began probing for her opening. She felt the thick hard shaft as it pushed against her swollen clit. It felt good to her. The hot tip she could feel nudging between her soft folds. 

She opened her legs wider, giving his searching cock easy access to her wanton pussy. She could feel the stickiness of more pre cum as his tip nudged her inner thighs and lips. Her passion was now at an impatient moment once again as well.

She reached down between them, grasped his throbbing shaft, and placed the bulbous tip into her opening. As he eased ever so slowly into her depths, she could feel the large tip as it spread the walls of her velvet tunnel, only to feel them wrap around the shaft that propelled the tip.

His slow sawing motions began to gain a quicker pace as their excitement began to peak. Soon, he was slamming into her pussy with a short fast thrusting motion. Each time his cock was buried to the base, his shaft would bump against her clit, sending fire running through her. With each thrust, her breasts would bounce in an up and down motion, keeping unison with each thrust.

Suddenly he told her to look at him. She saw deep into his glazed eyes as he did hers, their imminent climax.

His cock erupted deep inside of her. She felt his heat as his cock spasmodically kept in time with the convulsions of her climax. He could feel her opening as it squeezed with each convulsion, causing his cock to spurt yet another jet of his hot sticky seed deep into her loins.

Both totally drained of tension, he slid off of her and laid down next to her reclined position at the edge of the bed. 

He then slid an arm under neck and pulled her close to him, just holding her in their after glow. "Damn, I hope I come home early more often", then he chuckled as did she.



Tail(s) From the Other Side



“They’ve all gone, man”

“What, all of them??”

“Yeah, some fucker took all of our stock. We worked fucking months on that man”

“Well, the next fucker we see trying to sell a kilo of magic mushrooms gets fucking sorted”

As the voices faded away I looked up into the trees. Magic mushrooms?? The mushrooms I had eaten must have been hallucinogenic. I shook my head and smiled slightly. Shit. I grinned wider. I might need to invest in some ecological products in the future!! If they give that kind of trip then this was something I could get used to.

As I moved off to start my new life dealing in Magic Mushrooms, I noticed my sleeve. That it was torn, I reached over and pulled the torn material to one side and saw that there a perfect half circle of pointed teeth marks in my bicep ……………..



Tailor Made



* RRRRRIIIIIIIIIP *

Oh, damn.

I pulled my arm out of my Italian wool suit jacket and examined the rip in the fabric. One of the seams under the right arm had split, opening up a large, unsightly hole that I was sure my little travel sewing kit wouldn't be able to patch.

"Hello? Front desk?" I asked, picking up the receiver on the bedside phone.

"Yes, sir?" came the reply from the other end of the line.

"This is Mr. Sanders in Room 573. Do you offer tailoring services here? I've unfortunately got a nasty tear on my suit coat."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but we don't have a tailor on staff."

"Do you know of somebody in the area who might be able to do an emergency repair? I must have this for a meeting this afternoon, I can't be late."

I heard her fumbling through some papers. "I've got a name here for a tailor over on Fifth, might be able to help you. We've sent guests over before, might be worth a shot, mm?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you, I'll be down shortly for directions." I had a meeting in three hours and certainly didn't have time to go looking for a new suit jacket. I cursed my luck.

The receptionist at the front desk gave me the address and told me how to get there. It was only three blocks' walk, so I hot-footed it out of the hotel, suit jacket still draped across my arm.

Wandering through the old part of town down 5th Street, somewhat aimlessly, I saw the building the desk clerk had told me to look for. It was a rather unassuming brownstone but it had a green and yellow striped awning. I looked at the hanging sign displaying the street number - 415 South Fifth. Must be the place. I buzzed the door and it clicked open.

"Hello?" I asked, walking into the shop. It was a small place, one of those old-timey shops where you had the feeling the proprietor lived in the apartment upstairs and ran things out of the lower level. I half expected to have seen an old lady, her hair in curlers, running the wash through an upstairs window on a line between buildings.

"Hello, is anyone here?"

"Just a minute." came a response from a back room. English accent, I thought, maybe Irish. Pretty girlish voice. I sat on one of the parson's chairs in the front room, hoping I was in the right place. If not it might be quite the odd circumstance.

A redheaded woman ducked her head out a room down the hallway, then back in. "Sorry, just a bit longer."

I fidgeted with my suit jacket. A cool autumn breeze blew into the shop and I noticed that the door hadn't latched and was swinging open, so I went to close it. Finally I heard footsteps again, and the woman walked out of the room and down the hall towards me. She was maybe about 25, with long legs, shoulder-length hair, ample breasts, dressed demurely in tan pants and a white blouse that had a little lace ruffle at the top. Very pretty girl, I thought. I MUST be in the wrong place.

"Hello. May I help you?" she asked, smiling, her hands clasped together.

"Yes, I'm looking for Marcus? I'm looking for a tailor... do forgive me if I've stumbled into the wrong shop."

"No, quite the opposite, but I'm afraid Marcus is out of town for the week." She extended her hand. "I'm Julia. You're ...?"

"Lee. Lee Sanders. A pleasure, Julia." I said, tipping my hat and shaking her hand. "I suppose, then, I'll need to seek the assistance of another shop."

"To the contrary. What've you got? I'm sure I can take care of it." she said.

"Well, it's a rather expensive suit -- "

"Yes, I see," she said, running her slender, soft fingers along the fabric of the suit coat. "You got this in Milan, did you?"

"Yes, how did you --"

"I recognize the stitching work. Marcus is my father; he and I go to the trade shows every year to make sure we stay on top of the latest. Can't hardly mend something if you don't know how it was put together." she smiled.

I handed her the coat, noticing how pretty her eyes were. They weren't hazel, but rather a light green with flecks of gold and a little bit of chocolate brown.

"Oh, this is. Mmm." she frowned, her nose wrinkled. "Come with me, Lee."

She led me down the hallway to a workshop, a bigger room than I expected to see in a small row house like that, where bolts of fabric lined the wall like books and there must have been ten different kinds of sewing machines.

"Julia, I'm afraid I'm in quite a hurry --"

"No worries, I can fix this. I just have to make sure I have the right threads. This is a specific wool we don't use much. You've ripped this right up... you he-man, you." she said, giggling and squeezing my bicep. She lingered there for a couple seconds. Her fingers were warm and soft and she blushed slightly before tearing off into another room.

She returned with two spools of thread clutched in her hand and flung herself into a side chair by a sewing machine. It was an old antique model, sat down into a ornate wooden table made just for that purpose. It had either been in their family for decades, I thought, or they had paid a pretty penny at an antique shop. All I really cared about was whether it worked. 

I walked over to observe and stood slightly behind her chair as she turned the coat inside out. She reached down and pulled a tool out of an open drawer in the table, and then started to pull the lining apart. She worked quickly, but masterfully - she obviously knew what she was doing. And from where I stood, I also had a good view of her cleavage. Her milky white skin was lightly freckled on top of her breasts, held closely together in the blouse by a nude-colored bra. Her neck was the same color, and I suddenly longed to touch her, to run my hand along her soft cheek, to smell her hair. I felt a twinge in my pants as my cock began to stir.

Julia had continued to work, gently removing the lining from the affected area of the suit coat, oblivious to my admiring her beauty. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, her eyebrows raised and lowered. It was as if her entire body was involved in her task. She took some thread and raised it to her eye, squinted, and satisfied it was the right color, extended her tongue and licked the end of it. Her tongue was a deep rose red, and I could only wish that it was the head of my cock she was licking. Involuntarily, I let out a slight moan.

Julia's concentration was broken and she turned her head to look at me. Her face was inches from my erect penis.

"Oh. My." she said, bringing her hand up to her lips. "Is, uh... is that for me?"

I gulped. "Uh... I, I'm sorry..."

Julia turned her torso, giving me an even better view of her breasts. "Don't be sorry, Lee. I'm used to men paying, uh.... undue attention." She gave me a half-smile and shifted in her chair, uncrossing her legs again.

"I really should sit down so you can finish your work." I said quietly, visibly embarrassed. I was surprised when she stood up.

"I think that can wait." she said, and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her lips hovered an inch from mine, parted slightly. Her neck was tilted; her eyes were closed. Her body pressed into mine and the kiss happened naturally. I wrapped my arms around her waist and drew her closer to me, pressing my lips into hers. 

She raised up on her tiptoes but couldn't stay there very long. I picked her up and held her in my arms. She giggled like a teenage schoolgirl.

"Ooh! You are strong, aren't you." she cooed and kissed me again. I turned my attention to her shoulder-length wavy auburn locks, nuzzling her neck and her ears. She gasped as I nibbled her earlobe and planted soft, delicate kisses in a line down her neck to the collar of her blouse.

"Put me down on the table over there, Lee." she whispered into my ear. "I want to suck your cock."

I did as she asked, and she wasted no time undoing my belt and the zipper on my pants. She pulled my pants down to my ankles and put her hands on my hips, running her fingers up and down the length of my silk boxer shorts.

"Silk. Very nice. These look lovely on you." she said, nervously. Her eyes were wider as she looked at my cock pressing against the thin fabric. "But I think they'll look better down."

She carefully slid them down to avoid snapping the elastic against my cock. My eight inch tool sprung free, stayed horizontal for a moment, then curved slightly upward. Julia licked her lips. "Oh, it's beautiful!"

"Thanks, I guess." I said. I'd had girls remark on how big my cock was before, but no one had ever called it "beautiful." I wasn't sure how to respond, but when she placed her hand on it, it twitched and I gasped. Her long, slender fingers wanked my shaft, sliding up over the head. Pre-cum oozed from the opening and she took some of it in her fingers, playing with it, watching the clear liquid string between her fingers like glue. Finally she laughed and licked it from her fingers.

"Mmm, now let's see how the rest of you tastes." She took the head of my cock into her mouth, her tongue arched, running along the underside and wiggling back and forth. My hips thrust forth, eager to feel more of her warm mouth on my shaft. She made a surprised noise, and then matched the movement of my hips, taking about half of my cock into her mouth. I could feel the head nearing her throat and was disappointed when she pulled back. A strand of drool stretched between my cock and her mouth. She wiped her mouth with her hand and looked at me in amazement. I guessed I was bigger than the last lover she'd had and I'd caught her unawares.

"Fuck! You've got a big shaft. Is that how you like it? Like to ram that thick tool down a girl's throat, do you?" Julia said, stroking my cock with her spit. "Well, let's have it, come on."

She put my cock back in her mouth, stretching her jaw, slowly forcing more of me into and down her throat. I groaned with pleasure as her soft tongue slid along my shaft but she was right - I liked it harder than that. I put my right hand on the back of her head and began to fuck Julia's mouth, driving more of my thick cock between her pretty lips. She fought the impulse to gag and her eyes rolled back in her head. She made slurping noises as a mixture of drool and pre-cum ran out of her mouth and down her chin. One of Julia's hands pulled at the root of my cock and fondled my balls, and the other was down her own pants, playing with her pussy. As divine as this was, I had a hunch her jaw was getting tired and her pussy would feel even better. I pulled out of her mouth and encouraged her to take her pants off, which she did quite readily.

"I see we have similar tastes," I said as she kicked off her pants leg to reveal a pair of white silk hipster panties, a significant wet spot shining in the middle of them. She smiled, still stroking my cock. "Although you would look better in a thong." 

"I would look better with your cock inside me." she said, pulling her blouse over her head and unsnapping her bra. She was completely naked now, and she reached out, grabbing my ass cheeks. "Fuck me, Lee, fuck my tight little pussy."

My eyes devoured the beautiful nymph seated in front of me, her hair tousled, her breasts heaving high on her chest with each breath. Her little pussy lips were the same color as her tongue, and seemed to bloom from her thighs, like a rare flower. She looked, for lack of a better word, delicious. My cock throbbed, aching to be inside her. I reached down and pulled her legs apart wide enough for my hips to fit between them. She bit her lower lip, and threw her head back.

"Oh, god, please fuck me." Julia begged. Her nipples were engorged and she pinched at her left breast, her right hand grabbing onto my cock. "Do you know how long it's been since I had a man?"

Even if it hadn't been six months since I'd been laid, I would have needed no other encouragement. Julia took my cock in hand again and positioned it at the entrance to her pussy and I pressed it into her, the mushroom-shaped head easily slipping inside her soft folds. She was incredibly tight, though, and she winced as my girth began pushing inside her. I gave her a minute or two to adjust, and when her breathing slowed and she began to rock her hips, I began to pump in and out of her.

"Oh, fuck, Lee. Ohhh, yes, fuck me. That feels sooo good... ohh..."

"Julia, you're tight as a drum, oh, my god, your pussy feels fantastic!" I moaned, leaning into her. My cock slipped further into her pussy, almost as if it was sucking me in. I could feel her hips shifting on the table and I grabbed her ass, burying myself inside her in a single thrust. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she groaned loudly, but her mouth stayed open.

"You like that, Julia?" I asked. "You like having my thick cock in your pussy?"

"Yes, Lee. Fuck me. Oh, god, fuck my tight little cunt." she egged me on.

I slowly slid my cock in and out of her pussy, afraid of hurting her. She inhaled and exhaled sharply through her nose, then opened her eyes and stared directly at me. The look in her eyes was pure, unadulterated, cock-slut lust.

"No. I said FUCK ME."

With that, I pulled my cock out until the head was just barely inside her, and drove myself in to the hilt. She groaned.

"FUCK! Yes."

I slid out and then in again, faster. Then once more.

"AAH! Fuck, yeah. Bang me, bang your little slut, I'm your little fucking cock-slut, Lee." she spat, her eyes fully open, staring at me as my chest bounced against her magnificent tits.

I drove my cock into her tight little quim over and over. She was almost uncomfortably tight, but my cock didn't care. I kept pounding away at her pussy, the little red curls on her pubic mound bouncing with each thrust. Julia was pinching her nipples. 

"Fuck yeah, oh, god, fuck me, yesss... oh, god, yes, fuck my tight little hole with that big cock! Aah! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she cried, the sounds of wanton fucking filling the shop.

"Oh, god, Julia, I love fucking your pussy, I love fucking your tight little cunt, you're so hot..." I moaned. I wanted to do this forever, but deep inside I could feel my balls welling up, full of sperm, waiting for the right moment to explode inside her.

She was waiting for it too. "Fuck, Lee, I need your cum inside me." she gasped, her fingers wandering down to rub her clit. "I need your fucking load, come on, shoot it deep in my pussy. Ohh, god."

"Are you... ohh, fuck... are you on the pill, Julia?"

She leaned up and whispered in my ear. "Not a fucking chance."

Oh, shit. I have to pull out, I told myself. I have to pull out, can't get this cute little 25-year-old pregnant in her father's workshop...

but I didn't. I couldn't. Her pussy was too tight, too wet, and we were both nearing the edge. I slammed my cock into her cunt hard, driving it in and out like a jackhammer, feeling the head of my cock hitting her cervix. The table squeaked and I put my hands underneath her to keep her from falling. She squealed as her orgasm washed over her.

"FUCK! Fucking come inside me! Yes! YEEEESSSSSSS!"

Her pussy began to spasm, squeezing my cock like a vise, drawing it deep inside her. Under that pressure, I had no choice. I grabbed her hips, pulled her as far as I could onto my cock, and screamed as I exploded inside her.

"JULIA! FUCK! I'M CUMMMMMIIIINNNGGGG!"

I felt spurt after spurt of my hot seed filling her tight pussy, coating her inside walls and sliding down the shaft of my cock as she kept squeezing me, rocking back and forth on my cock, milking me for every drop in my balls.

Finally her entire body went limp, including her pussy, and I was glad I had hold of her because she would have fallen. She wrapped her arms around me and nestled her messy red head into my chest. I had never taken off my shirt and it was absolutely soaked with sweat.

"Fuck. That was amazing." she said under her breath, a satisfied smile on her face. "God, you're just... oh."

I smiled, sweat pouring off my brow, still holding her in my arms. "Julia, you're the one who's amazing."

My cock slipped out of her pussy with a *pop* sound. I looked down and saw her little dark pink lips, flushed with the pounding they had just taken, still quivering. My cum dripped out of her well-fucked pussy and puddled on the sewing table and the floor.

"Your, uh... your coat." she said, reality beginning to take hold of her senses again. "I should finish your coat."

"Shh." I said, and drew her close to me. She sighed and sunk into my chest, her eyes closed, a look of deep contentment on her face. Finally she pulled away, claiming that she had to go to the bathroom.

She came back and slipped into her panties and her pants, but not her shirt. I took that as a cue to dress myself. I stood behind her again, rubbing her shoulders as she sewed and hummed to herself. Finally she tied off the last stitch and smiled.

"'S a masterpiece." she said, holding it up between me and her luscious tits. I slipped into it. She had built just enough give into the stitches that I slipped into the jacket without a problem.

"Juila, your father should retire. I think you're a master seamstress in your own right." I said, beaming.

"Thank you." she said.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"Consider this one... on the house." she said. I kissed her, deeply. Her hand ran gently down my chest.

"Did you not say you were in a hurry?" she asked.

I looked at my watch. I had to be downtown for a meeting in thirty minutes.

"Oh, shit," I said. "I have a meeting, you're right."

"You should go." she said, wistfully. "Traffic's hell this time of day."

"Can I, uh... can I come see you after work?"

Her face lit up. "Come see me tomorrow afternoon if you can. Father will be out doing deliveries."

I kissed her again and gathered my things, darting out the door. I saw her face pressed up against the window as I walked briskly back down the street to go get my rental car.

The next afternoon, just as agreed, I went back to the shop. I buzzed at the door, and just as it had the day before, it clicked open.

"Hello? Julia?" I asked.

An old man walked out of the back hallway, from the same room where Julia and I had madly fucked not twenty-four hours before. He was maybe sixty years old, with crinkled grey hair and a thick beard.

"Are you Marcus?" I asked.

"I am." the old man responded, in the same kind of accent Julia had seduced me with the day prior. "Can I help ya?"

"I came to see Julia." I said. "She helped me with a mend yesterday and I came by to thank her before I left."

"Julia?" the old man said, obviously confused. " 'S no Julia here."

I looked out at the sign hanging above the old brownstone. 415 South Fifth. "Are you sure?" I asked. "She was a young red-headed woman, about twenty-five, a little over one and a half meters tall? She said she was your daughter."

The old man's face turned from one of confusion to one of sadness. "Sir, I don't know what you're on about. I did have a daughter Julia, a beautiful redhead as you say...

but she died two years ago."

He turned to look down the hallway. "She was a wonderful girl. Very kind, very caring... Green eyes the color of jade. Smart as a whip. Learned everything her pa taught her. I told her some day she'd take over the shop."

I did my best to pick up my jaw off the floor.

"Sometimes when I'm lonely, I can still feel her beside me at the table. Handing me thread, working the pedals." he continued. He looked at my suit coat. "She specialized in Italian work. Like your suit. Whoever did that bit o' stitching, you were lucky their hands touched it."

A cool breeze blew through the shop. I turned to look at the door.

It was closed.



Tailored to Needs



The story I am about to narrate is about an incident in my life which occurs rarely. I have a readymade outlet at prominent location in the capital. One fine day this girl walked into the showroom and was searching for a jeans and a top. She was able to select a perfect fitting top for herself. The top was a pink one without sleeves and it fitted perfectly well for her 36 D bosoms. In fact it had that capacity of showing just about more than what one can dream for. But the jeans she found were either too short for her 5.9 height or loose enough to be called pajamas.

Here begins the crucial part of the episode. She selected jeans trousers as per her long and slender legs and decided to get them altered. She walked up to the counter and asked for alteration as per her waist. She was a perfect fig at the bottom too. It so happened that the workman had gone for a break due to some work and I had to request her to wait. She did wait for some time and then requested if I could get the measurement taken so that she could collect the dress later.

I had no option but to pick up the tape myself. I started to measure and lo-be-hold; se had perfect 24 at the waist and another 36 at the hips. She requested the trousers to be skin tight. She asked me to be very careful to insure that. I just thought of a little mischief and asked her exactly how tight. She just pulled her own trousers tight and said this much. I could see her black panties through her white lower. I said if u could hold it like this I will measure. I put the tape across her thighs and by chance rubbed my hands on her pubic area. She gave a slight moan and looked at me. I continued as if nothing had happened. She said measure that again. I said measure 'this' and put my hand right under her pussy which I could feel through the thin fabric. 

She said yes and gave a naughty smile. I said that to be sure about the exact measurement I may have to be a bit thorough. To this she said that I could go ahead. I pushed my hand slightly upwards to the pussy and asked if this tight was OK, she said a bit more and my fingers were actually pushing inside her pussy. I said that to measure the inner sides of her thighs it will be better to see them and I started to unbutton her trousers. She did not object. I pulled them down and I could see the loveliest round smooth thighs. I went close and inhaled the aroma of that body. I could feel that she was enjoying too and I could spot a tiny wet spot on the panties. I moved closer and in an attempt to read the tape put my head between those thighs. I could feel her tightening her legs. I just put my mouth at the V spot and inhaled the intoxicating aroma. She closed her eyes and I could just do nothing but pull the fabric down. 

I had a beautiful pussy just about wet in front of me. I put my tongue on it and started kissing and licking it. She stared moaning and closed her eyes. She suddenly woke up and said stop. I looked up. She had a smile on her face and said since u are so thorough can u take the measurement for a top also and with this she removed her top also. I just got up picked her in my arms and put her on the sofa. She had her mouth on mine and we were engaged in a deeeeep kiss. She was pulling my clothes apart. I was busy sucking her boobs and exploring her body.

She was getting mad with ecstasy and pulling and sucking at my cock as if enjoying a lollypop. Suddenly she was shuddering probably having an orgasm may be due to unexpected but peculiar situation. Now she said please don't wait any more u need to finish the measurement and u gott'a start from inside. She just pulled me on top and was throwing her thighs at my cock. Just enter here and fuck me nice and hard. I put my cock and gave a slight push and it slowly went inside her dripping wet cunt. A sigh escaped both our mouths. OOOOh OOOOOOhhhh fuck me hard now harder pleaeaesssseee. I increased my tempo. 

After about ten minutes of real hard fuck I was about to cum and I said I am Cumming, She was in a world of dreams having cum twice before and said please cum inside me I want u in me. I just blasted off and filled lovely hole with loads of cum. We kept lying like that for a minute or two then I said sorry lady I forgot to note down the measurements. She put her lips on mine and not to worry u can do it again and forget again if u want. 

We made love thrice that time. Then she got up, got dressed and came out of the try room. I also reached the counter. She asked When could she get the trousers ready? I said by tomorrow. She said OK I will come again tomorrow and may be u will have to check that the trousers are as per the measurement. I said that they sure will be. But she said that if they are not then may be u will measure them again after I have tried them on this followed a naughty wink. And I said ya for sure I will love to measure them as many times as u want. When she was about to leave. I said "...and lovely lady I don't mind providing home delivery of the trousers for a beautiful client like you." She just turned back gave me her card and said I will give you a call tomorrow.

If any beautiful girl or lady wants to get measured. Please do let me know. I still remember that client as I often visit her and another of her friends. Well this is a damn good job isn't it? 



Tails of A Headhunter



***Do not post this story at any other site without the authors permission.***

She stood in the room, nude from the waist up. Her dark brown hair falling softly over her shoulders, touching the top of the tattoos only she could tell you the meanings for. She knew, now that he was here, she could have her way; her fantasy…

With her back to him, she waited patiently, knowing he would hesitate. He did, but not for long. She soon felt his breath on her neck and his hands on her shoulders, caressing her. He pushed her hair to one side, smelling Poison on her neck. He knew she was "Poison", but he couldn't stop.

Softly kissing her neck, he knew he could make her melt. His tongue slid from the base of her neck to her ear as his hands found their way to her breasts. He tweaked her nipples between his fingers, causing them to harden. She stepped back into him, laying her head against his chest, reaching back to run her hands through his hair. She turned her head slightly, seeking his soft lips. Her tongue probing his, she pulled him closer, waiting to devour him.

His hands dropped to her stomach where he undid the button and then the zipper of her jeans. She let them fall from her body and stood completely nude before him. His hands dropped to the soft triangular mat, caressing her. Soft moans escaped her as he parted her lips and slipped his finger in to caress her clit. God! She wanted him, but she would not give into him yet…

She turned to him and undid his jeans, letting them drop from his sexy, compact body. She began nudging him toward the bed. "Do you trust me?" she asked, her voice husky with passion. "You know I'd never hurt you."

"Yes," he told her, quietly.

She pushed him toward the bed. This was her fantasy…

She took two silk scarves and tied both of his hands securely to the bedposts. Then she did the same with his feet. She now had him spread-eagle in her bed. Next she took another scarf and blindfolded him. She wanted him to feel what it was like to not see what was coming. In the past couple of months, that was the way he had done her. He would tell her "no," then change his mind.

She lay on the bed next to him, her body touching his. Her tongue flicked against his left ear, her breath warm against his neck. Her hand caressed his chest as her tongue slipped warmly along his neck. As her hand moved steadily down, so did her tongue.

When she reached his nipples, she bit him playfully, then sucked for just a second. Her hand moving steadily down, tracing circles as she went lower. Her hand bypassed his already hardening cock and went to the inside of his thigh. She raked her nails up the inside of his thigh, just enough to let him know she was there. She then slid her hand up to cup his balls. He moaned softly, knowing what she was going to do next. Her tongue had stopped just under his belly button. He felt her shift on the bed.

He wanted to hold her so bad, or at least grip her hair between his fingers, but he couldn't because of the bonds. She knew this and she smiled. Now, he knew what it felt like to be this close to someone and not be able to touch or hold them.

She lowered her head and touched her lips to the head of his cock, her tongue flicking across the head. Then, her lips were around him.

Oh, Jesus! It felt so good. He didn't want her to stop. Up and down; each time moving closer to the base of his cock, until finally she had all of him in her mouth. Suddenly, she stopped. He felt the bed shift and he heard her leaving the room.

"No! She couldn't do this to him! She had to finish it! Please! Don't do this!" his mind screamed, but he didn't say anything, because he knew this was her fantasy…

She returned in about ten minutes. He felt the bed give as she lay down next to him again. She began the whole process again. Would she finish this time? God, he hoped so! He could barely stand it now. Once again, she stopped.

"Please!" he begged her now. "Either fuck me or free me!"

She removed the blindfold from his eyes, running her hands through his beard, letting her hands drift softly over his face. She touched him lightly, tracing the lines of his face. She ran her hands over his chest and started down. Once she got to his stomach, she stopped and gazed at his face. She wanted him for a long time, and now she finally had him. Raw and sexual.

She reached behind her and untied the bonds that held his ankles. She would allow him to move that much. She kept his hands tied.

Straddling him, she grasped his cock and began stroking him again, lightly running her thumb over the top of it until he became fully erect. Next she took her hand and separated the lips of her pussy. Taking the head of his cock, she placed it against her clit and began rubbing it back and forth. Soon, she was wet enough for him to enter her.

She picked up the foil packet lying on the nightstand and unwrapped the condom. She gently rolled it down over his cock, then guided him into her. She moaned slightly as he entered her. He groaned aloud as she slid down the length of his shaft. She worked slowly at first, clenching him with the muscles hidden deep inside her.

She picked up the pace, riding him as gently as she could for a few minutes. He soon began meeting her thrust for thrust. The momentum kept up awhile, then, he felt her arch and hot juices flowed over his cock. He finally let himself go, moaning his own pleasure.

She dropped down on him and lay still for a few minutes, bathed in the pleasure of what had just happened. Slowly she rose off of him and began to untie the scarves that held his hands.

They lay quietly in each other's arms for awhile, petting and caressing each other. Soon, the arousal began again. This time was for him. His fantasy…She obliged him…

He turned her over on her stomach, running his hands down her body. He wanted to make her pay for what she just did. Yes, he enjoyed it immensely, but he wanted his time now.

He pulled her ass to him and raised up on his knees. He laid his cock up on her ass and she reached back to touch him, feeling him harden again under her touch. She reached between her legs to cradle his balls, waiting as he unwrapped another condom. He placed his cock between her legs, wetting her again. Pushing gently, he entered the warm, wet pussy from behind. She groaned, low and guttural, as he teased her with just the head of his cock, not pushing in. Just giving her enough to want more.

"Fuck me or free me!" she moaned to him.

He reached up and grabbed her shoulders at the same time as he thrust deep into mer. She cried out and he pulled back, but not out. Again, just the head barely in her. He thrust again, going deeper, trying to pierce her. Willing her to cry out.

She bit her lip. It was a game now. He would not hear her cry out again. She would take what he gave her.

He thrust again, harder, almost pushing her to the bed, then pulled out again. He wanted to hear her scream in pain/pleasure. She didn't.

With the final thrust, he hit her cervix wall, his balls slamming against the wet, dark patch of her snatch. Her arms buckled and she went down, crying out in pleasure as he continued to ride her. She let him ride, knowing that in order for him to fulfill his fantasy, he had to finish. She lay in a puddle they had created. She knew this would be the last time with him. It had to be, in order for both of them to go on with their own separate lives. She needed him to fulfill her sexually. That was all.

To him, she was a forbidden fantasy, he had to have, if only once.

Now, they could part as friends…

Please feel free to email me at the link below.  

October 6, 1998