1 comments/ 13000 views/ 0 favorites The Stone By: abbeynormal What the hell was I thinking? This had to be the craziest thing I'd done in a very long time. I could stop; should stop. Yes, I should just turn around and go home and yet I kept on driving. A few minutes later I was questioning my sanity once again. Why had I agreed to this? No, be honest, why had I offered this? Pursued it even. At the time it seemed like a perfectly rational offer, though a little offbeat. Now that the moment was at hand, however, I was having second thoughts. The whole thing had just mushroomed out of proportion to the original idea. Late night movies from the 1940's where women lovingly watch their men go off to war had provided the impetus. Granted we weren't at war... yet but I knew it would happen eventually. And Tom couldn't really be called my man either. But over the months that we had chatted via the Internet and the phone, he had become such an integral part of my life, that I felt that there was a very small piece of him that did belong to me. So when he told me that his military reserve unit was being deployed on a temporary training mission, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd spent 12 year in the military and could read the signs. Yes, they might be calling this a training mission but I recognized it for what it was... a prelude to the unit being called to active duty. That fact scared me and spurred me into action. I wanted to do something to help insure that Tom stayed safe while he was gone and that he returned unharmed to his friends, family and job. After a bit of thought I came up with the idea of giving him a talisman, something small and innocuous that he could keep with him. It didn't take long to make one, just a small stone charged with all the power I could personally summon and blessed by the four guardians of the elements. Then came the interesting part. Believing that our desire to protect the ones we love comes from the heart chakra, I chose to keep the stone next to my heart until we could meet in person and I could give it to him. The only way I could accommodate that was to keep it tucked inside my bra, under my left breast. Since it was a small stone, it wasn't really uncomfortable, unless I wanted to sleep on my stomach but that was easily remedied by simply choosing not to do it. And this is what led me to the point where I was seriously questioning my sanity. For all the romance and fantasy that surrounded this, the sober truth was that I was about to meet a complete stranger for dinner and... well, there was the problem. I had no idea what would happen after the meal was consumed. I knew he had a hotel room reserved but I wasn't sure just what that meant. Did he expect me to spend the night with him? We'd developed a rather intense online flirtation, occasionally bordering on cybersex. If he did expect me to spend the night, did he think I could/would actually do all the things I'd sort of fantasized out loud about to him? Oh dear, I'd really put my foot in it this time. We were meeting for dinner at the hotel's restaurant; a rather upscale place known for it's fine cuisine and excellent service. I'd never eaten there before. I tend to go for more casual dining. But Tom had been there once and was very impressed. He said I'd like it and I was willing to give it a try. So not only was I meeting a stranger, I was doing it without my familiar 'armor' of jeans and a T-shirt. Dressing up is not a completely foreign concept to me but I always felt like I wasn't in my own skin when I did it. However, in honor of the occasion, I put on a knee length black skirt and a semi-sheer off white poets blouse. It was cut in a deep v-neckline that was trimmed with a ruffle. Underneath, I wore an ivory lace bra that actually gave me a hint of cleavage and matching lacey panties. I debated whether or not to put on pantyhose and finally decided that my legs looked good enough bare to go without them and that I could just slip on a pair of strappy sandals and thank providence that I'd had a pedicure earlier in the week. So there I was, parking my car near the entrance to the restaurant, looking for Tom. I'd seen him via his web cam so I knew what he looked like and he'd also told me what kind of car he'd be driving. Within seconds I spotted him and nearly gasped. I thought I was prepared for this moment. After all, I was no ingenue. I'd been around long enough not to be impressed by just a pretty face. This however, was something I was not prepared for. The images I'd seen via the Internet didn't do him justice. I expected to see a nice looking man but I didn't expect him to be so devastatingly handsome. Swallowing nervously, I got out of my car and walked towards him. A big grin sliced across his face and suddenly I felt much more at ease. The anxiety that had consumed me earlier simply melted away in the warmth of his smile and I felt my arms reach out to greet him with a hug. I really don't know what came over me as I rarely initiate a hug, especially strangers without their permission. Yet there I stood, locked in the warm embrace of this impossibly attractive man and it felt so good. After a few seconds we parted, said our hellos, inquired about each other's health and made a variety of small talk as we walked into the restaurant. The hostess seated us immediately and suddenly I began to feel tongue-tied. I had feared this would happen. For all my glib and flirtatious ways online, the truth is that when it comes to one-on-one encounters, I'm really very introverted. Tom, however, was prepared for my shyness and managed to introduce topics of conversation that were easy to comment on until I could regain my equilibrium. I turned my attention to the menu. Since I hadn't been here before, the selections were completely unfamiliar to me and I knew I would have to rely heavily on his guidance. My experience with French cuisine was pretty much limited to frozen Chicken Cordon Bleu and chocolate mousse and so I told him what kinds of foods I liked and disliked and let him order for me, praying that this would work... and it did. I couldn't find fault with anything he ordered. Steak Diane, herb and garlic-roasted potatoes and snap peas all delighted my palate. Though I don't normally drink a lot of wine, he chose a bottle from a local vineyard and I had to agree it was excellent. All in all a wonderful dinner with sparkling conversation. We split a dish of bananas foster for dessert, taking turns feeding each other in a fashion normally reserved for two people who are a lot more intimate with each other than we were. It was while watching him nibble a bite of torte from the fork that I felt the butterflies in my stomach take flight again. Just looking at him I could tell that he had a really talented mouth and could probably cause the most delicious sensations with it. And then I thought about the stone in my bra, the talisman that would keep him safe and reminded myself of the reason I was here. It wasn't to have hot wild sex. It was to do a favor for a friend. But when dinner ended, I was reluctant to end our evening together and it was obvious that he was too. After a brief, marginally uncomfortable silence he finally made an offer. "Look, I've got something like half a dozen movie channels on the TV in my room plus pay-per-view. Would you like to go back and watch something with me?" I thought about it for a moment. What could it hurt to spend a couple of hours watching a movie? I knew from our sometimes lengthy chats that we had very similar tastes in films so it wasn't unlikely that we'd be able to find something that suited us both. "Sure, that'd be nice." He paid the check and led me back to his room. I was surprised to find that he had a suite. In the first place, I was completely unaware that this hotel even had them, and I certainly didn't expect the military to spring for such nice accommodations. But once I got over my shock, I quickly settled in on the sofa and waited for him to join me. He grabbed the remote control and the channel guide and we began to look through the selections before finally settling on a drama that we'd both missed on the big screen despite it getting rave reviews. About 30 minutes into the movie, I began yawning broadly. It was nowhere near the time I normally go to bed and the movie was far from boring. I assumed it must be the wine that had affected me as I rarely drink the stuff and never in the quantity I'd consumed tonight. Earlier, Tom had put his arm around me and I'd snuggled close to him. Now he subtly guided me so that I was lying down on my side with my head in his lap. While a part of me appreciated being able to lie down, since that's the way I often watch TV at home, the intimacy of the position was disconcerting. I had difficulty getting past the fact that his cock was just behind my head... even if it was behind his pants and underwear. He left his arm resting across the back of the sofa and made no effort to touch me at all so I relaxed and let the drama on the screen transport me to another time and place. I became so wrapped up in the story that I didn't notice at first that Tom had started to stroke my hair. It was the lightest of caresses, barely touching me at first and then there was more feeling behind it. Occasionally he would twirl a lock around his index finger and then let it slide off. I smiled and tried to stifle a sigh. I know I had never told him how much I love to have my hair played with and yet he was doing something that I really loved. I felt his left hand on my shoulder and didn't think much about it. The back of the sofa was rather high and it was probably uncomfortable for him to put his arm up there. And since he hadn't made any moves on me that would be considered truly inappropriate, I didn't feel like I had anything to worry about. All in all, he'd been very kind and considerate, as if he'd sensed that I was nervous about our meeting. As the closing credits to the movie closed I felt his hand begin to move. At first I wasn't concerned. And then I realized that he was reaching for my breasts, his hand aiming for the bottom of the deep V neckline of my blouse. Just as his fingertips made contact with my skin, I put my hand over his and gently stopped him. "Where ya goin', sport?" "I just thought I'd try to find that little talisman you said you were making me." I had to make a decision quickly. I knew that if I let him search for the stone, it would be just the first step down that infamous slippery slope. Did I really want to let that happen? He chose that moment to move his hand upward in a caress that graced the top of my breast, my collarbone and my neck and in that moment I made my decision. I recalled a conversation where he said he wasn't into coercion, just mutually enthusiastic fun. By taking his hand away from where it had been, I knew he was giving me a way out if I wanted it. The gesture touched me deeply and the last of my doubts melted away. "It's under my left breast, near the center of the bra," I instructed as I moved my hand so that it was at my side and out of his way. Then I rolled slightly so that I was, more or less, on my back and able to look up at him. That marvelous grin broke out over his face again and I had to respond in kind. I'd never realized it before but his smile was truly infectious, you couldn't help but smile back when you saw it. I kept my eyes fixed on his face as he lightly and tenderly stroked my right breast through the fabric of my shirt and bra, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he wasn't searching where I told him to look. "Uh, Tom, you do know your left from your right, don't you?" "Of course, I do." "Well, my left and right are the same as yours and yet you're fondling my right breast." He feigned a look of innocence. "So I am." "Not that I mind, you know, but that's not going to get you what you're looking for." He leaned forward slightly and looked directly into my face. Mischief sparkled behind those brown eyes and I suspected I knew what was coming. "Are you sure it isn't? Maybe it is and you don't even know it." The thought crossed my mind that the only thing it was going to get was me... hot, wet and wanting and that may be exactly what he really was looking for. "Well then, uh, carry on." He grinned and continued touching me with feather-light caresses across my breasts. My nipples reacted immediately, turning to tight knots of flesh. Then I felt an electric tingle race down my body and explode in my cunt causing me to get even wetter. A soft sigh that turned into a low moan escaped my lips and I squirmed in delight. My reaction only caused him to smile even more as he continued his assault on me. I couldn't believe the amount of moisture that was building up between my legs and I knew that if he didn't stop, I was going to have to do something completely uncharacteristic in order to get relief. "Oh God, Tom do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" "I sure do," he responded leering at me in a comically obscene fashion. "I told you once that I thought we could have some fun if we ever got together. Well, here we are so let's have some fun." A half growl, half groan indicated my assent and I reached up to pull him closer to me. He didn't resist but instead leaned in a planted a soft sweet kiss on me, tracing the perimeter of my mouth with his tongue. Then he sensuously sucked my lower lip into his mouth and I thought I was going to just die from the pleasure it brought me. "Aaaaaaaahhhh," I sighed, closing my eyes and releasing my inhibitions to the delicious feelings he had aroused in me. My back arched pushing my breasts higher and more firmly into his touch. He responded by pinching and pulling on my nipples and using the fabric of my bra to stimulate me even more. I couldn't stand it anymore and I sat up quickly, almost bumping him in the head. I could see the quizzical look on his face, as it appeared I was leaving his warm yet loose embrace. When I turned around and sat on his lap, straddling his legs, however, he grinned even more broadly than before. I'm sure that he must have been able to feel the heat emanating from my crotch even through the panties I was wearing. In fact, I could feel the wetness he'd created pooling in them and wondered if he could too. He kissed me again in that same delicious fashion and pulled me close to him. "Do you remember the night we chatted after you had that bad scene with your boyfriend?" he asked. "Yes," I responded hesitantly, not sure where he was going with this. "And do you remember how I told you that if you gave me that gift that I would honor and treasure it." "Yes." The light bulb went on over my head and I backed away from him until my feet were on the floor again. For a moment I stood and took a deep breath to remind myself of the gravity of the situation I was about to enter into. Then I knelt at his feet, my hands clasped behind my back and my head forward but eyes downcast. "Look at me," he commanded. I complied and looked up at him. The grin was gone but he didn't look angry, only thoughtful and contemplative. I don't know what expression was on my face but I know I was just a bit scared and hoped it didn't show. "Do you understand what I'm asking of you tonight?" I swallowed nervously even though I could feel my mouth going dry. "Tom, tonight I offer myself to you as your sexual slave. You may do with me what you like. And in the morning we part company still as friends." "I'm going to push your limits, Lindsey. You can count on that. But I won't hurt you in anyway that won't ultimately bring you pleasure. Do you believe me?" Amazingly enough, I did. After all the conversations we'd had both online and on the phone, I felt like I knew him well enough to trust him and to take him at his word. "Yes, sir, I believe you." "Then stand up and take off your clothes." My face flushed scarlet. I really don't know what I was thinking. After all, it was going to be difficult to have sex without eventually getting naked. Somehow I guess I hoped it was something that could be done with the lights out and his eyes closed. I don't have a great body and I'm not just being modest. Weird hormones (according to the doctor) and my own laziness had combined to leave me with a thick waist and a generously sized butt. Unfortunately, I didn't have the extra large breasts that plus sized women often have to balance the shape. Tom was apparently annoyed at my lack of instantaneous compliance for he swatted me hard on the hip. "Lindsey, I gave you an order. I expect it to be obeyed." I knew better than to argue. I had just offered myself to him so I had to do as he wished or else I had to leave. After having seen him on his webcam, I was too curious to see if his cock was as big as I thought it was, or if it was just the angle of the lens. So without delaying any further I stood up and pulled my blouse off over my head, then I slid my skirt down over my hips to the floor and stepped out of it. I was still wearing my sandals, bra and panties when Tom stopped me from undressing any further. "I believe you have something in here that belongs to me," he said as he grabbed my left breast and squeezed it hard. "Your stone, sir," I replied as I started to retrieve it. His hand clamped on my wrist like a vise and I cried out, as much from the shock as from any pain. "That's my stone and I will be the one to remove it " Something in his voice hit that spot in my spine that instantly turns me to mush. Usually he had a soft and very seductive voice. I'd never heard him speak so forcefully before and it excited and aroused me. "As you wish," and I instantly moved to take my hand away. Tom, however, had other ideas and didn't release my wrist. Instead he turned me and pinned my arm behind my back. He didn't hold it up so high that it hurt but it reinforced who was in charge. Then he pushed me forward and steered me into the bedroom. With a rough shove he pushed me, face first, onto the king-size bed. I managed to catch myself so that I didn't injure anything but I knew better than to move from this position. His hands grabbed at the back of my bra and for a moment I was afraid he might be about to tear it off me. I felt him unfasten the hooks and then he grabbed my shoulder to pull me over onto my back. He leaned in closely then leered at me in an almost obscene fashion and I began to seriously worry about what I had agreed to. He said he liked to take a dominant role but during all our conversations there was never even a hint that he could be cruel. His evil grin moved lower and he bit my right breast and then my left; not so hard that it would cause damage but it definitely got my attention. Then I felt him lift the bra with his teeth and when his face appeared in front of mine again, he held the stone with his lips. The image was comical enough that I nearly burst out laughing, but something told me that my sense of whimsy would not be appreciated and I remained silent. "Is this what you brought to offer me?" he asked after taking it from his mouth. Somehow I sensed this was a trick question and considered my answer carefully. "This is what I brought to keep you safe. It has been blessed by the four guardians, the overseers of the elements of fire, water, air and land to keep you safe from harm that would be transmitted in any of those ways. It's also charged with all the positive energy I possess and it is given to you willingly and without reservation as I now give myself to you willingly and without reservation." He leaned forward and planted a long, deep, wet passionate kiss on my mouth. His lips and tongue were quite skilled and electrified me more than any kiss ever had before and soon I was squirming on the bed. The Stone We are walking. Down a driveway. An ordinary, heavily traveled, gravel driveway. maybe not a home. A work place. But not too urban. A long driveway of a university building perhaps. We are speaking of something else, vague. Work related. Perhaps we don't know each other well- - - perhaps we do. You stop in the center of the driveway and look at me closely. I wait. Meet your eyes and then drop my eyes. Temperature shift. You breathe in slightly . . . having a thought, making a realization. I wait. You say: Pick up a pebble from the ground. I do. It is hard in my hand. You say: Put it in your mouth. I . . . hesitate. It is filthy. Small. I . . . You say: Put it in your mouth. Now. I . . . do. I taste salt first. I gag. Hold it with my teeth. You say: You keep that in your mouth until I see you tonight. Then you walk to a car, get in and drive away. First hour: Filth. Could be anything, oil, piss, dirt, yuck. Salt for the snow. Tastes awful. I spit while not letting it leave my mouth. My jaws ache as i drive my car. I want to rebel, to spit it out. Second hour: I feel how hard it is. I become willing to swallow some of the taste, the dirt soil, rock taste. Will I choke on it? My mouth waters. I swallow more and more of the taste. Third hour: The taste is better now. More familiar. Now I feel how hard it is. Fourth hour: It is slightly pointed, slightly rounded. I wonder what color it is. I think of the song from Godspell about the pebble in my shoe . . . being willing to walk. Fifth hour: I try it in different places. My soft cheeks. My teeth. Between my lip and my gum. Will you make me keep it all night? It starts to bruise the inside of my mouth. I talk to people at this point in the day. I find a place to tuck it that lets me talk. Sixth hour: The secret starts to turn me on. I am hot. You are with me, hard in my mouth every second, no matter where I am or who I am talking to. I miss the taste. why didn't I love it, pay more attention to it when it was so fresh and sharp? I mourn. I roll it on my tongue. Seventh hour: I think about saints and martyrdoms. The complicated icon stories of torment and faith and patience. This is not torture but it is a kind of bondage. A strange, lyrical martyrdom. What color is the pebble? I can't imagine being without it. Does it miss the driveway? Am I losing my mind? Eighth hour: I am tired of it. Will you free me? It seems huge like a giant stone. I am frustrated, a fish on a line. Ninth hour: I am desperate to see you. To show you. I realize I could have looked in a mirror and seen the color at any time . . . but I do not. I want badly to swallow it, all of a sudden. I feel out of control. Tenth hour: I drive to meet you. My heart pounds. The stone is the center of my body. It feels like it has gotten smoother over the course of the day, as though it were rubbed by time. Or a river. I think about how I have described my clit as a stone sometimes. A hard, wet stone in folds of smooth flesh. I wait. Outside. I sit on a bench. I am early. I am afraid I'll just spit it out, that I won't be able to control myself, now it is so close. My mouth goes dry and it hurts more. I look down and wait. I realize you might take it away. I'll miss it terribly. I say goodbye with the tip of my tongue. At last, you sit beside me. I keep my eyes down. You hold out your hand, palm up, in front of my mouth. I wait. You wait. I taste a little of the filthy driveway again. I dry it and suck it clean and spit it gently into your palm. You take it warmly and quickly and put it in a shirt pocket. I exhale. A great, peaceful, silent exhale. Perhaps this is the feeling I am after. Always chasing. The exhale after. Later-much later-time passes-3 weeks. You give it back to me, when my eyes are closed. You've had it set in silver. On a long chain. It is greybrown. The chain is long enough for you to wrap it around your hand and pull my throat close to you when you like. And when I am alone, I sneak the pebble into my mouth and the chain dangles from my lips. I wear it always. The Stone Goddess Not every second-hand bookshop has its 'gods and goddesses' section located in a dungeon with live, 24/7, Sub-Dom/S&M entertainment. And, not every second-hand bookshop requires you to strip to your underwear to enter one of its sections through a concealed door disguised as a bookshelf. Factotum Rarities & Antiquities intrigued me from the moment I first read about its extensive collection of rare 'gods and goddesses' books in Hustler. A man in a Calcutta bar once showed me a picture of the Stone Goddess. He told me that from the moment he first laid eyes upon her, he knew he could never love another woman in the way that he loved her. His story intrigued me. The fact that his shirt kept catching on fire due to the heat in his chest made me believe his story. And there was no denying the beauty of the Stone Goddess from her picture. At the time, however, I was searching for the geographical location of Eden in the Bay of Bengal, and could not afford the time to investigate further. Plus, the man eventually burst into flames and disintegrated right before my face. And, I had to pay for the drink he offered to buy me, plus his, because his wallet combusted. But the image of the Stone Goddess's beauty stayed with me (it was seared into my memory), and I promised myself that if I ever did discover where the preternatural garden of paradise was, my next project would be to seek out this Stone Goddess. Having discovered Adam and Eve's Bones, God's footprints, The Tree of Life (of the knowledge of Good & Evil) with its singed leaves, the flaming sword, Cherubim wing-feathers, the famous fig tree, Eve's virginity, and other associated artefacts, (And having a damn good feed of apples), I was not only the world's most famous archaeologist with more knowledge of good and evil than anyone on the planet, I also had wealth beyond my wildest dreams. (A special thanks must go to 60 Minutes for devoting their entire year's programming schedule to me, and to Time Magazine for doing likewise with not just their covers but the contents). Being the philanthropist that I am, I did loan Bill Gates a bit of money, and wonder if he will ever pay it back. As soon as the media frenzy died down (which took about two years; but there is still a yearly memorial*), I resolved to keep my promise to myself, to seek out the Stone Goddess. So, there I was sitting in my underpants in Factotum's dungeon with a raging fat, tying to read about the Stone Goddess while some Dominatrix was whipping this metrosexual pansy to blood through his Armani suit while he was screaming out, 'My mobile phone is ringing. Can't you hear the cool ring-tone? Let me answer it. Do you know how important I am?' And she was saying, 'You faggots make me sick. You're not men. You're not even boys. Now shut up you sooky-la-la.' CRACK! K-CHSSSSSSSH! CRACK! How I was supposed to concentrate on reading while this was going on, I'll never know. Especially when I wished I was the Dom. Bloody Nancy boys. Fortunately the book I was reading, 'The Stone Goddess,' soon made me forget everything that was going on around me (but not what was going on in my underpants, for it had pictures). I soon realised why these rare books were in a dungeon, and why I had to wear my underpants. It was not a security issue after all (as I had initially suspected), it was so I could whack off to my heart's delight. I must have masturbated over every picture in that book at least ten times. I was there for days. I was whacked in more ways than ten, as I began to read the text, 'The Stone Goddess'. And what I discovered was simply Amazing ... Briefly (well, I'll try) ... the story of the Stone Goddess is this: High in the Punjab mountain regions near the border of India and Pakistan, in the 'land of five rivers', there still exists to this day, an ancient tribe / civilization called the Amag. Until I visited the Amag myself, only one white man (outsider) had ever entered the Amag's territory, and he combusted before he could pay for my drink. * The Amag have always been, and still are a tribe of fearless warriors (both the men and the women). All have royal blood lines dating back 5000 years. The Amag all possess heroic spirits. Fear is not in their vocabulary (and not just because it is an English word, either, okay? The word 'fear' cannot be translated into Amag because they have no word like that. They are fearless and fear-free. They neither know the word, nor want to know anything about such a word existing). More about the Amag language later. The Amag are an advanced tribe, not a backward one, even linguistically speaking (well how else can you speak? Braille?). The Amag speak a simple language full of depth, clarity, meaning and subtext. To hear the voice of an Amag? A Christian would swear it was either the voice of an Angel of the voice of God Almighty Himself. The manner in which Amag's speak? There is so much variety to the tones and inflections, David Attenborough's wife would think she was in an aviary listening to David mimic 1000 different bird calls all at the same time, and probably die of bliss (if she was still alive that is).* The Amag are a tribe of kings and queens and princes and princesses. There are no classes. They are all equal. All uniquely equal, if that makes sense. It does to me so bad luck if it doesn't to you? ... * The Amag carry themselves with an air of dignity, gravity, nobility and grace. To see an Amag move? It is as if the most divine music and the most divine poetry imaginable had blended into one and assumed tangible human form. If you could touch music, and cradle it (and even make love to it)? ... If you could insert your favourite words or music into you physically (females) or insert yourself into your favourite music or words (male) ... This would be called Amag. And, in fact it is, but only in Amag. Not in English. The OED is yet to insert Amag under A. Ignorant pricks! * Yet for all of their dignity and grace? The Amag possess the most exquisite sense of humour, and appreciation of wit. And not just an appreciation of wit. They indulge in, and engage in, and exchange witticisms like modern Westerner TV Zombies channel surf from Foxtel to Free-To-Air. You will never see an Amag downcast or with a sour expression on their face. Dignified yes. But morose? Never. It's one more word that is not in the Amag vocabulary. There is often a smile on their lips, laughter in their bellies, mirth on their minds, and fire in their hearts (always). The Amag? Passionate. The Amag does not know how to live non-passionately. That is a modern Western disease or moral disorder, okay? The Amag lives with such an intensity from moment-to-moment, each successive moment of their existence, that they live the equivalent of the typical modern Westerner's three-score-and-ten years in one week. Modern Westerners? They do not live life at all. They exist and take up space that could be utilised more effectively. Global Warming? It is all the hot air that Modern Westerners eject into the atmosphere when they talk the rubbish and bullshit and piffle and dribble and banality and inanity that they go on with day in and day out of their meaningless and purposeless and rudderless existences. Again. Modern Westerners do not live. They exist. Passion? The word? It is in the Modern Westerner's dictionaries but should be struck out. * The Amag are essentially a child-like tribe of true adults. Their aspect is more akin to the innocence of (innocent) children, unless of course they are fucking and then their appearance is simply orgasmic. To see an Amag orgasm? It makes a grown man with no premature ejaculation problems (no interest in Penis-Enlargement SPAM and no interest in Viagra) blow in his pants (if he's wearing any, that is). An Amag? At first sight? One may be led to use the word haughty to describe the expression on an Amag's face, yet this is not the case at all. It is more their own contentment with and knowledge of their own intellectual and bodily superiority. It is simply a Divine expression. Simply Divine. Or to put it even more simply? Divine. The most simple way to write simply divine? Divine. Get rid of the adverbial prefix simply, for that only complicates what is essentially a very simple process? ... Modern Westerners? Consumeristic Fuckwits. Simply? Fuckwits. No need to add consumeristic? Why? It's not a word. * Modern Westerners? They complicate everything that is simple and do their utmost to destroy simplicity itself. Itself? After simplicity? Superfluous. Simplicity. It's like people who say, I myself, me, personally think. (They're lying. They don't think at all. If they did. They would just state what it is they think, not qualify it, with four different pronounical (another non-word, okay?) versions of ego, just to mention themselves and hear the sound of their own pronounical name a bit more in life, okay?) ... The beauty of an Amag far surpasses all the natural beauty and wonder of the natural world, even if you could capture it all and bottle the lot of it in one go. (colloquial, conversational tone employed there for a bit, okay?). Each Amag, is a universe of incomparable delights both exteriorly and interiorly. The exterior of Amags is but an exterior expression of the beauty of their interiors. The Amag are a deeply spiritual tribe whose focus is love of the divine kind, of the gods and goddesses kind; a love which embraces all of mankind (although they do have their moments when dealing with fuckwits* They love them, but don't particularly like them).* According to oral tradition, it was members of the Amag tribe who were instrumental in driving Alexander (the not so Great as he thought he was?) from the region when he attempted to invade it in 326BC. But the Amag are a humble tribe. Arrogantly humble. (Again, this is a question of their superiority). The Amag have never taken any credit for their part in this victory. They prefer to live in privacy, and keep themselves to themselves and to the earth. Nothing like a bit of mud sex during monsoonal season, hey? ... * Apart from spending the majority of their time fucking like rabbits, or dogs on heat, or a bull during mating season, or a horny Lion humping a lioness? (Think Foxtel Animal Channel or whatever it's called. Is it National Geographic Channel?). Amags till and work the earth, growing grains mainly (but also fruit and vegetables, and cotton). This region is known as 'The Granary of India' and 'The Bread Basket of India'. And the Amag? They're a bun-in-the-oven type of tribe. Sex? Love-Making? It is high on the agenda. And the Amag are into prioritising in life. Love first. Everything else? From Second to Infinity (plus 1), add some, times it by 2, square it, then add a bit more, okay?) ... Love making is so highly-esteemed and participated in so often by the Amags, that eating food often goes by the wayside, but they never neglect their earthy tillage duties due to their fleshy tillage obligations. What do they wear? They are dressed in the natural cloths of the area; their own skin and pubic hair and head hair and arm hair and inner thigh hair (okay, so I've made my point. Oops missed bum-fluff). * The Amag do, on occasion, however like to dress up. Their annual Orgasmic Love Festival is a sight to behold. They are arrayed in the most exquisite costumes imaginable ... fashioned all from natural material like birds' feathers ... and animal skins and foliage and leaves and petals, Petal ... No Designer Brand makeup that requires makeup remover here. It all just comes off during the ritualistic orgasmic final ceremony ... Amag women are more sumptuous, more scrumptious, and more exquisitely beautiful than any of those skeletal models in any of the world's pathetic fashion parades. The Amag women actually have flesh on their bones. They do not look like human wire coathangers. There is no anorexia or bulimia in Amag. The women are curvy, fleshy, breasty, stomachy, arsy, pubic, yet still extremely delicately feminine women, and the men are men. Virile. Manly. Penisy, cheeky, chesty, biceppy, etc. Men. Women. Men. Man. Woman. Amag. The actual language of Amag? It is so simple it only contains one word: Amag. Yet that one word encompasses every other word. Pure and utter simplicity with depth. Elegant simplicity and simplistic elegancy. Simple. Amag again. It is as if, you were to utter the word Amag to an Amag? You would say everything that had ever been uttered and ever will be uttered, and yet it would be fully comprehended in the context it was meant. (As opposed to the word Rhubarb, or calling everyone Bruce). * Amags? They speak in body language mainly. Erotic, sensual, sexual body language. They often dispense with the word Amag altogether and express themselves with little more than primordial moans and sigh and groans. Passionately. Bland? Mediocre? The words? Again. Not Amag words. Western words. Amag = Love. Amag = Passion. Amag = everything. And the Amag are hunters. Yes, they hunt. Yes, they kill animals, and eat meat. Without scruple. They are not pretentious, fucked-in-the-head modern Westernised Vegans who make MacDonalds put salad sandwiches on the menu to satisfy their minority voice, or cause Subways (the place would-be-corporates and business class wankers eat when they can't afford to fly?) to spring up all over the place. The Amag are a self-sufficient tribe (and not in the way wanky, modern, Americanised Westerners understand self-sufficiency either. To the Amag, self-sufficiency does not mean if they sell their soul to consumerism, and fucked-up Dale-Carnegie/Henry Ford type, erroneous, modern, American wank philosophies, then use such principles as their dominant philosophy in life to make shitloads of money, and become financially independent, so they can then tell everyone including their family, relations and friends to fuck off because they no longer need them, okay? And spend the rest of their lives as corporate slaves who need to watch Foxtel to unwind from a hard day typing or wearing scratchy stockings or a new suit *). The Amag are a tribe who value family almost as much as love and life itself. They would never abandon their parents nor grandparents to live in some tree-hut style, aged-care facility in the next forest, so that they were out of sight and out of mind, and they could indulge their selfishness and self-absorption with their own talentless existences. Amags care for every member of their extended family until their dying day. It is a question of justice, comprehension, understanding and love. Four of the many things modern Westerners neither comprehend nor understand about life. Amags unwind by indulging in sexual acts that many Westerners consider either perverse, sexually sicko, or taboo. I may go into these later, but suffice to say, nothing is taboo when it comes to sexuality and sensuality. As I stated earlier, this is god and goddess love, not mortal love with peripheries and boundaries and taboos and no-no's. Why do westerner's call dog man's best friend, then marry a woman? [Just threw that in as a bit of a wobbly, okay?] ... Just came to me then. Some of Amag women can't cook. * This is not a deficiency. It is to do with how attractive they are sexually. Amag men get so turned on by Amag women, they cook the meals rapidly so they can get more fucking time in, basically. * Since antiquity, the Amag have always worshipped and adored the Stone Goddess. The beauty and value of rare books? They contain maps. The rare, antiquated copy of 'The Stone Goddess'? X marks the spot, basically. After reading the text, and not whacking off for quite a long period of time (It must have been minutes. Sorry, forgot to tell you I'm a speed-reader), I reached the last page. And there it was. Inside the back cover: A fold-out map of where the Amag were situated geographically (not that they could be situated any other way than geographically, though. It's not like a tribe is situated hermetically or aromatically. Or are they?). It was a map from the last Millennium ... So, that makes it at least 8 years old? * It was a centuries-old map, okay? And, Punjab has been divided up since then, but as an archaeologist, and purveyor of all things cartographic (make that a connoisseur), I knew exactly where the Amag were located. I was looking forward to getting there, and had already decided to go via Tibet. Why? I hadn't climbed Mt Everest in my thongs, stubbies and singlet for a while? And wanted an afternoon off? So all that remained was to get there ... As I couldn't take the book with me, I stayed for a few extra days just whacking off over the pictures of the Stone Goddess again. I was eventually asked to leave because the Dominatrix couldn't concentrate on her job. She was getting off on me whacking off too much. (I'm not describing how I do it because too many female readers will stop reading). * The Dominatrix killed the Nancy ponce she was torturing, by sticking a spiked, stiletto-heel through his forehead. She then removed his brains by yanking his penis off. * While I was masturbating, she was watching me, using her whip to masturbate, and shoving it so far up herself, she was speaking in leather-tasselled tongues. Demonic. Possessed. Oobeldy-goobedly type of language. As I wrote; demonic. One sick bitch, that woman. If it wasn't for the Stone Goddess, I might have done her a favour, and slipped her a length. * Oh, before I get onto details of my journey to Amag, here is the history of the Stone Goddess. Or, the true myth of the Stone Goddess: In the Amag religion, the entire universe was once just a huge body of water for the goddess Mermaid to swim in. For there is only one real god in Amag, and she is the goddess Mermaid. The goddess Mermaid is nothing but pure love. And so, this body of water was nothing more than a sea of love which wrapped itself around her and encompassed her, encircled her, cocooned her in love, wherever she swam. The Goddess Mermaid had decided in her own mind to create a planet and populate it with humans so they could feel some of her love; experience what love is. Eventually, she did, and that is how we came to exist. But long before doing this, she created a Merman; a being who was an inverted mirror image of herself (as in, he had a penis to slot into her wee-wee *), so that she could share her love with one creature alone, first. And so, for millions of years, the Goddess Mermaid and the god Merman made love in the primordial waters. And the primal sounds of their moans and groans were not sound frequencies as we know them today; they were liquid love-ripples. Savage and Raw. And, at times? This body of water would burn with such an intense heat, it would make diving into an erupting volcano's spitting, spewing, molten lava seem like a refreshing, invigorating bath beneath a Niagara waterfall. And the sound of the molten love ripples? Hot. And it was from this furious and ferocious love-making that we have the sun. When it rains? Work it out. * Due, however, to the depth and ferocity of her love, the goddess Mermaid eventually ate the Merman. For she is capable of consuming anything or anyone with her love. Why did she eat the Merman? For his own good. For he was dying of excessive love, anyway. He couldn't handle it. And, she purposely made him like this, for she had other designs for herself, which will become apparent later in this story or tale (tail). Eventually, the Goddess Mermaid created the world, and made it a beautiful place, and populated it with beautiful people. And put a bit of land on it. Okay, a lot of land. Butterflies? Work it out. Animals? Same. Seafood, like Oysters, mussels and hairy-clams? ... * The Stone Goddess But by far, her favourite people were the Amags, and it was to them she entrusted her divine secrets. She left the rest of the ignorant pricks to themselves, for she knew in her Divine mind that many people would turn away from love and pursue hatred, regardless of how much capacity for love she put in their beings ... But, at least the Amags were faithful to her. And she would often swim in the River Indus and utter divine oracles in the twilight hours. And all the Amags would come down to the river to watch her and listen to her. Then return to the village fired up with love's urgent longings. And, the way they made love after seeing and hearing the Goddess Mermaid? The whole district would be illuminated as if the village itself was on fire because of the intensity and passion with which they made love, and the heat it generated. When the Amags make love? The night sky above their village lights up like a spitting spermatozoa and come-juice fireworks-display; the likes of which you have never seen, regardless of how many opening and closing Olympic ceremonies you have attended, or of how beautiful you think the Sydney Harbour Bridge is when a few flimsy firecrackers are strapped to it, and pyrotechnically go off! * One day, the goddess Mermaid was observing the love of the Amags for one another, and she began to miss Merman. She was not sad, for that is not an emotion she can feel. Neither can she suffer, but in human terms, she was sad and suffering. And, as she created the human race, she knew their capacity for love, and knew that a human could satisfy her cravings for love. It was in her plan from day Amag. There is no day one in a goddess's mind. She always was, always is, and always will be. (You might have to think about that one. *). In Christian terms, she lives in the eternal now. Everything past, present and future is now to her. The eternal now. But , the Goddess Mermaid did not just want any human. She wanted someone special. And so she devised a test, and kept the secret of this test to herself. One twilight, she announced to the Amags that she would be leaving them; denying them of her physical, living, breathing presence, but she would leave them a reminder of her presence in the form of a stone statue. And they could pray to her, and ask her anything, for she would be watching them, and would hear their prayers and grant their wishes. And so it came to be. The Goddess Mermaid disappeared, and reappeared in the village in the form of a stone statue; sexual, sensual and erotic. With breasts and pubes. Perfect breasts and a perfect snatch. * The Amags were so distraught (not by the statue, though. That just made them hornier than they already were; by her absence, okay?). They were so distraught, they mourned for a full year. And then, they got over it, and got on with their life. Up where the earth kisses the sky in a pure way ... I finally arrived at the Amag village ... (it was not all that different to Eden itself, as in a paradise of preternatural delight, albeit that the remote mountain regions of Kashmir are at a much higher altitude than the Bay of Bengal) ... It was morning, for I had trekked all night to get there ... I was dressed up in a Phantom suit so that none of the Indian women (or the encroaching Pakistani, or Chinese ones in that region) would recognise me and rape me. (For, when the Phantom walks the streets as an ordinary man? He walks them as Mr Walker, with his Wolf, Devil. When I walk the streets as an ordinary Walker? I dress up as the phantom, and disguise my devilish Wolf nature. * Before entering the Amag village, I took off my Phantom suit, and dressed in my ordinary clothes. My Mr Walker look. (Yes, it pays to be a member of the Phantom club). * And I was greeted by King Flow. He was walking backwards at the time and just bumped into me. We had quite a long conversation. After he turned around that is, and moved forward. Briefly it went like this. King Flow: (embracing me) Amag. Me: Amag. King Flow: Amag? Me: (nodding) Amag. (pause) Amag? King Flow: Amag Me: (nodding again) Amag. Both of Us (at the same time) AMAG! etc ... * This went on for quite a while. It's a delightful Uni-Lingual language once you conquer the linguistics. * I was not only welcomed, I was treated like royalty itself. And treated to a sumptuous Royal banquet, and music and dancing from every other Amag, besides King Flow and Queen Fowl, that is. I was impatient to gaze upon the Stone Goddess, but as the original saying goes (the one the Romans stole), 'When in Amag do as the Amags do.' So I waited as patiently as I could, for King Flow informed me a couple had just been married and a thanksgiving ceremony was to be performed before the Stone Goddess that very day ... I couldn't wait, yet I could, because I had to.* And finally the time arrived; the moment when I first laid eyes upon, and beheld the Stone Goddess. And I was mesmerised by her beauty. Only one word can describe her incomparable beauty: Amag. I have to admit I did feel a bit left out of the thanksgiving ceremony, for it was an all-in love-making session. But the way the Amags make love? Again. Amag. It did, however, afford me the opportunity to gaze upon (stare at) the Stone Goddess, and for that I was more than grateful ... I had only been gazing upon her beauty for a few moments when I had what is called an epiphany (or enlightenment, or a revelation) and intuitively I knew what her Divine Secret was, and what her Test was. And immediately I wondered why the Amags themselves did not realise what it was ... But then, again, as if the Stone Goddess herself was imparting her own wisdom to me, I knew the answer to that question also. They were created to love each other physically, and her spiritually ... I also knew intuitively that I could not do anything about putting the 'Test' to the test, so to speak until the thanksgiving love-fest ceremony was over ... So I spent the following eight hours just gazing at the Stone Goddess. Into her eyes mainly (when I wasn't staring at her breasts, stomach, thighs and pubic hair, and every other delightful region of her body, that is) ... I held off from masturbating out of respect for the Amag (and, I would have to say, it was the hardest sacrifice I ever made in my life. It made some of my earlier expeditions such as climbing Mt Everest naked and barefooted (using my penis as a claw) or swimming in Krakatoa as it erupted, seem like child's play. Boy, when the Amags make love? They make love. Eight hours later, the ceremony finally ended, and they went to bed? ... And it was twilight. And again, another moment I had anticipated for so long arrived. The moment when I would physically touch the Stone Goddess ... I had to make sure no-one was watching, for what I was about to do, could so easily have been misinterpreted as disrespect or sacrilege ... There was one particular spot on her body that I had to kiss first. (I cannot tell you what this spot is, however, for it is a private matter between the Stone Goddess and I, and it is a noble thing to keep the secrets of a Queen ... Suffice to say, it was the first thing I noticed about her when I saw her photograph. After I had kissed this particular spot, and a spot adjacent to this spot, and a few other spots, and a couple of others, I spent the following few hours using my fingertips to trace the outline of her form, and get a feel for her ... and commit her to memory ... And then I did the same thing with my lips; I kissed her on every part of her stony body ... and left not one square-inch of her body untouched by either my fingertips or my lips ... And the kisses were gentle; soft ... And then, the actual moment I had really been waiting for arrived. The prior two moments (of first, beholding the Stone Goddess with my eyes, and secondly, of physically handling her) had come and gone, and it was time for the third moment, which was by far my most anticipated moment of my lifetime ... I knew intuitively what the consequences and ramifications of what I was about to do entailed ... If I was to proceed with what I was about to do, I had to give up everything, or sacrifice everything I owned, including intangible things such as my fame and my reputation. Everything. And if I proceeded? There would be no turning back. My fortune? Men only dream of the wealth I had acquired over the years. My fame? Again, men only dream of such renown. I did not even have to think about it. In an instant, I let go of it all, and counted it as mere dung. For, what I was about to receive is what is referred to in Christian terms as the hidden treasure, or the pearl of great price, that a man sells (or gives away) everything he owns to possess. To gain all? One has to lose all. Amag. And so, having mentally let go of everything I owned, I gently laid the erect Stone Goddess on her back ... And then? Since all I had brought with me were the clothes I was dressed in (apart from my Phantom costume, which I respectfully folded up neatly and placed on a tree), I undressed, and let go of everything tangible or physical that I owned (independent of my penis, that is): my possessions. (For, prior to making this trek to the Amag village? I had philanthropised with non-gay abandon, and distributed my vast fortune (every last cent of it to various charities, but not before building 1000 room, down-and-out shelters with 5* accommodation, in every major city in the world, and advertising them as First-Come, Best-Dressed). Intuition is not normally associated with males, but I intuitively knew what was going to happen when I met the Stone Goddess. I knew I would no longer need the material goods of this world, for I would be living on love alone. Amo sola in Latin. Amag in Amag. So, I undressed, and positioned myself over her, resting my bodyweight above her with the strength of my arms, as my palms pushed into the ground just above her hips ... alongside her perfectly-proportioned breasts and stony, erect nipples. And, as I was poised over her ... I looked into her eyes ... And, lowered my head enough to whisper in her ear ... Amag (in a velvet whisper) ... And, then I kissed her on the lips ... with a kiss of the mouth ... And, as soon as our lips touched? ... Her body was no longer stone, but she assumed her Divine, golden flesh again ... And when I write, 'Her Golden Flesh'? Believe me, the most exquisite gold ingot of this world? It's lustre pales in comparison to the beauty of the colour and radiance of her flesh. Her flesh is solid, yet molten in appearance, and makes a real man melt just beholding it, let alone laying upon it, in a flesh-to-flesh, skin-to-skin, groin-to-groin, and pubis-to-pubis clash of ferocious delicacy and delicate ferocity. Mingling. Molten Mingling. Gold, purified in the fiery furnace of Love itself. And, she looked into my eyes knowingly ... And, she imparted all of the Divine Wisdom that is stored in her mind to me ... and my mind was flooded with knowledge of everything worthy of knowing about ... All of the sciences: astronomy, astrology, cosmology, anatomy, medicine, (gynaecology?) etc. All knowledge. My mind instantly knew everything about them as she understood them, and grasped and perceived them. For she has the mind of a goddess. And she also imparted to me the most necessary knowledge: the knowledge of what love is. And I, now knowing, knew what it was she wanted me to do ... And so, I lowered myself onto and into her ... And, the precise moment when our bodies met down below? When the tip of my penis first touched her labia? Indescribable. Amag. And, I entered her ... wetness ... For she was wet with the wetness of real love. Hot, wet and womanly. Divine. Again, indescribable. Amag. And as we made love? Soft, slow, sensual, erotic love? Yet still passionate? And she finally spoke? Her voice? Almost indescribable. The tones and inflections of her Honey Whispers. Amag. And while we were making love? I was transformed into a new being ... I shed my former self ... And, I was absorbed into her ... and we became one ... It was a union of the bodies and a union of the minds. A meeting of bodies and a meeting of minds. It was perfect union. Union. This was god and goddess love. Amag. AMMAG!!! AAAMMMAAAGGG!!! (And hence, Westerners have the expression during their pathetic attempt at love-making which they style 'sex' of Ah ma Gad. *). And after we had come and come and come again? ... The following morning finally came ... Dawn arrived ... (not Dawn Fraser, okay? The morning) ... * This is elite love-making, not Asian flag-stealing tirades, hissy-fits, tantrums, and repetitive early-morning laps. Every lap with a goddess is new. A goddess makes ever session new. No boredom. Again, boredom is another word not in the Amag language. The sky came in orgasmic shades and hues and saturations ... And, she looked even more glorious than she did at twilight ... (albeit her hair was a bit ruffled. But to me? That added a certain lustre to her glorious beauty ... Her hair is like a diadem of the most exquisite black diamonds; or precious stones that do not belong to this world but are from another ... and when the light catches her hair? And splays through it like light passing through a black diamond? It is as though she had her black mane tinted with the midday sky in all its cobalt glory, for it shines with hues of blues and blacks and saturations never before seen by mortal eyes ... Superman's hair? Black & Blue. Where does he come from? Not earth. Krypton. Another planet. (Best analogy I can come up with, okay?) ... And her eyes? They are as deep and dark and black and mysterious and delicious as the universe itself ... Look up into the night sky from a remote location on a clear night, and just soak up the universe's depth and the twinkling of the stars and you get some idea of what it is to look into her eyes from close range ... And I will not describe the rest of her body, for I have already done so in a body of work known as 'The Twilight Hours' (the proceeds of which are already committed to charity; a charity of my own choosing; the relocation of the unemployed in remote areas to cities of their own choosing).* And, she eventually took me by the hand down to the river ... And we made love in the water ... For do not forget she is still the Goddess Mermaid. And for all intents and purposes? I became the new god Merman. Replacing the old god Merman. And yet, I knew she would never consume me, and that I could absorb and soak up all of her love. Why? Because she made me that way. We are unique equals. Amag. And, the Amags finally rose from their post-coital slumber ... Only to find that their beloved Stone Goddess had gone .... And they were distraught ... and they ran to the river looking for her ... in a trail of infinitely delightful come odours ... (Let us run after the odour of their ointments ... And, they found her there ... in all her glory ... And, the Amag all bowed down and adored and worshipped her on the banks and shores of the River Indus ... And they all wondered what had brought this all about ... for they could not see me ... She had made me invisible to them ... And I now live making perpetual love to her ... 24/7. And to this day, even the Amag are unaware of why her smile is so Divine Or why here eyes are in orgasmic-mode all of the time ... And thus ends the story of the Stone Goddess (who is now the Flesh Goddess) ... The Goddess Mermaid. A goddess of the body and a goddess of the mind. Amag. The Stone "Bend over, slut!" The sound of his voice, rough and commanding, shook me from my musings but I complied instantly and nearly lay out on the desk while keeping my feet on the floor. "You're a kinky little slut and I've been far too lenient with you." My heart began to pound as I listened to his words. Had I deluded myself? Were his true colors about to show? "Admit it," he demanded, giving me a hard slap on my ass. "You're a dirty little cunt and you deserve to be treated like one." I didn't know what to say and kept silent. "Admit it!" Another slap landed on my ass, right on the place where the last one had already reddened and sensitized the skin. "Yes sir," I gasped. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir, I'm a kinky slut and deserve to be treated like one." "Well, since you insist... " Roughly he shoved four fingers into my pussy and I gasped hard. While earlier he'd had three fingers in me and it had been pleasant, this was stretching me beyond belief despite the fact that I was still very wet. I nearly cried out but bit my lip, somehow knowing that any protest would be punished. "Yeah, you little cunt. You like that. You like being treated like a slut. Well, you're my slut now and I don't want you to ever forget that," he said as he continued to rape my poor cunt with his hand. As if he instinctively knew I'd reached my limit, he stopped and leaned forward. I started to look back at him but was instantly corrected. "Eyes forward!" A part of my brain found humor in the fact that while he was in the Air Reserves as an ophthalmologist, he sounded more like a drill Sargent at that moment. I listened intently and could tell he was picking something up off the desk but had no idea what it was until I felt his hand on my pussy lips again. This time the sensation was different and I realized he'd put on a latex exam glove. He used his fingertips to spread lubricant on me once again, which I thought was an unnecessary gesture until I realized that he wasn't just applying it to my pussy. He was bringing it back farther and farther until his fingers were at my anus. My ass cheeks began to clench up at the mere thought of him penetrating me there. Though we'd talked about it and I admitted that I was sensitive there, I never thought he'd follow through. Again I was spanked roughly and told to relax. Easy for him to say. He wasn't stretched out over a desk with someone poking him in the butt. I took a couple of deep breaths and released the tension from my ass, knowing full well that if he decided to go all the way with this that it would be far easier on me if I didn't resist. Then I felt him ease his cock into my cunt and I let out a sigh of relief. He was fucking me slowly and smoothly and I began to settle into the rhythm he established. While he'd regained his erection, this time I could tell there was no urgency to cum as there had been before. He was simply taking his time and enjoying the sensations as much as I was. Just as I was getting used to this, he startled me again. I felt the lube dripping down from my tailbone and over my puckered rosebud. I closed my eyes and commanded myself to remain relaxed. I'd had fair warning that my limits would be stretched and this was just another way he was going to do it. So far he hadn't done anything that I hadn't ultimately enjoyed and I had to trust that he would take equal care with this as well. "Breathe, Lindsey," I heard him say softly, as his fingertips circled their target. "Take a deep breath in then let it out slowly." I did as he instructed and as I was exhaling, I felt a finger slide in. It didn't go far but I knew it was there. He told me to breathe again and on this exhale the gloved finger went in farther, the combination of latex and lube making it a smooth journey. And while he slowly fucked my pussy with his cock, he also slid his finger in and out of my ass. It was a divine feeling; one that I could never have guess would be so pleasurable. His long, hard cock would slide out as his finger slid in and then he reversed the process. I was moaning in ecstasy, savoring the sensations and trying to make sure it was imprinted on my brain so I could recall it whenever I wanted to. "Take another deep breath," he instructed me and when I exhaled again, he timed his stroking so that his finger was going in. But this time it was two fingers instead of one and my head was nearly spinning with the pleasure. "Oh God, Tom, this is amazing," I said once I finally pulled myself together enough to verbalize. "You think so?" "I know so." "Okay, then take another one." "Three?!?" He could hear the panic in my voice, even though I tried to keep it under control. "You can do this, Lindsey, if you let yourself. If it's too much, however, I want you to say 'kermit'. Do you understand?" "I understand." Again I took a deep breath and tried not to tense up. I had seen enough of his hands that evening to know that his fingers were long but not particularly slender. The fact that he had two inside me and I wasn't screaming in pain was a wonder but would I be able to take three? Slowly, so slowly I felt my asshole being stretched wide. There was a pressure but no pain at first. And then I felt it. I tried to ignore it but there was no mistaking that feeling. "Kermit." He pulled out just a bit and I sighed in relief but he didn't pull out all the way. "That was good. You took that a lot further than I thought you'd be able to." "Thanks?" I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. "Now just relax and let me pleasure you." He leaned over me and kissed my neck, nibbled on my earlobes and planted loud wet smooches on my shoulders. I giggled at the sensations and worked my way back to matching his rhythm. He never removed his fingers but kept them where they were and wiggled them as his cock slid in and out of my pussy. I felt him reach around in front of me and I sighed as he parted my pussy lips and felt around for my clit. Unfortunately our body position just wasn't going to allow for him to do what he wanted and so, without asking permission, I moved my hands between my legs. "Mmmmmmmm, good girl." Expertly I stroked my clit while he continued fucking my pussy and my ass. I could feel the tension mounting. That delicious tingle was getting stronger and I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I began to push back harder at him, forcing his hard cock deeper and deeper into my pussy. He knew what I was doing and I'm sure he could feel my pussy twitch as my orgasm built. He sped up his thrusts and began moaning in my ear, which made me suspect that he was close to cumming soon. Finally I couldn't take it any longer and I pinched my clit hard, bringing the sensations to a rapid conclusion. My orgasm over took me quickly and released myself to it. Again my body shook with the convulsions that it brought and I nearly howled in pleasure. Only my desire to not disturb the people in the room next door kept me from crying out at decibel levels normally reserved for police sirens. I was only vaguely aware that Tom was cumming too as he rammed his cock deep into my pussy and then tried to shove in further. His cries of passion filled my ears with a joyful sound. Minutes later we were completely spent and nearly crawled back to the bedroom. Neither of us said a word as we got under the covers, but he draped an arm across me and gave me a weak hug. I squeezed the arm and tried to say something but couldn't coordinate the effort before falling into an exhausted sleep. When I woke up again, I wasn't disoriented as I had been before. I smiled at the memory of what had happened over the past several hours and then took stock of my condition. My pussy and ass were slightly irritated but not really sore. My legs were a bit stiff, probably from leaning over the desk for so long. But but my heart was joyful and that overrode any physical discomfort. Then Tom walked out of the bathroom dressed in his fatigues and I remembered just why I had come here and my heart fell into my stomach. I looked for his grin to bolster me but it wasn't there. "I'm not very good at goodbye," he admitted. "Me either." He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall behind me. "How soon do you need to leave?" I asked. He checked his watch and then looked at the wall again. "About 45 minutes." "Have you had breakfast yet?" I asked, having no idea how long he'd been up. "No, I thought I'd get something at the airport." I nodded my head, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing with. "I need a shower. It won't take long. Would you please stay until I get finished?" "Sure." That had to be the fastest shower I'd ever taken. I raced through it not wanting to waste any of the last few precious moments I had with this incredible man and thanked my hairdresser for cutting my hair in what was truly a 'wash & go' style. I felt a little weird putting on the clothes I'd worn the night before, especially since he was now in uniform but didn't really have a choice. Fortunately, I did have a compact and lipstick in my purse so I didn't have to go out completely bare faced. Silently I watched him gather his things and then followed him out of the room. I waited by the door to the hotel as he checked out and then let him take the lead to his car. Once he had his suitcase in the trunk I took a deep breath and steeled myself what I knew I still had to do. "Where is your talisman?" I asked. "In my pocket." "Take it out please and hold it in your hands." I waited until he did as I asked, then wrapped both my hands around his and clasped them to my heart. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to center myself before looking directly into his eyes and continuing. "There is one power, the power of complete safely. And you are a perfect manifestation of that power. Therefore complete safety is yours, here and now. For the good of all. And according to free will. So must it be." I released his hands and then gathered him into a strong embrace. "Brightest blessings, sir. Return to your friends, your family and your work in the same condition you left." He hugged me tightly too and it was hard to let go but I did and walked to my truck and go inside. I buckled my seat belt and started the engine, put it into reverse and looked behind me to make sure the way was clear. Once I backed out and put the transmission into drive, I looked forward and saw him still standing there. He waved goodbye and I gave him a smart salute as I drove off. It was hard to leave him. I knew, however, that I'd done everything in my power to keep him safe and I took comfort in that fact. A piece of me was going along; no matter where the Air Force sent him and that was fine by me. THE END This fic is dedicated to Lt. Col. Tom T. and all the men and women of our armed forces who are serving their country both at home and overseas.