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Vixen

By: minevra



It's not that I don't have a sense of humor. I have a sense of humor. When she told me what she was doing, I was repulsed at first; I laughed later, an inevitable concession to the irony of the situation. It was funny—in a way. I understand why she thought so at least. 

She must have known, too, that I knew all along. She must be laughing because I walked right into it, in wide-eyed innocence and self-imposed blindness to the truth. How could I forget that ass? How could anyone forget that ass? That's why she's laughing: she knows I knew it was her all along. She knows I walked into it willingly, willfully. 

Her ass came ticking in one Sunday morning. The relentless heat that boxed out our small valley in urban smog had finally begun to pack up the hazy horizon and ship it out on the back of the Santa Ana winds; it was the fist clear, cool day of autumn. Her ass switched back and forth like the steady beat of a metronome pendulum when she walked into the cool stone-walled church. She was wearing heels. She never wore heels when I loved her, and they made her ass look great—better, though I never would have believed it possible. I watched her hips twitch from side to side as I followed her into the sanctuary. The rhythmic sway mesmerized me like a tennis match: watching the ball arc from one end of the court to another, the end of each trajectory punctuated by the echoing pop of the ball in the sweet spot of the racket. 

Perhaps the hypnotizing swing of her hips induced a momentary stupor in me—unsuspecting as I was—and my awareness of her identity slipped beneath the dark surface of my consciousness. It's surprising what a steady rhythm can trick your mind into accepting, uncritically. It was her: I guess I knew, but it didn't matter...tick tock tick tock. I would have expected the Holy Spirit to protect me at so vulnerable a moment (and so critical a moment at that). Perhaps the Spirit warned me by the unconscious nagging at my conscious, but I didn't notice...or wouldn't notice. Perhaps I willingly followed her down the path to destruction. On the other hand, perhaps she saved me from the death sentence I had imposed on myself in my promise to mortify my own flesh. I'm still not sure which it is. 

She was wearing a knee-length kelly green dress with a turned up, stiff collar, that rubbed against her jaw line when she turned her head. The dress was cut low and the swell of her breasts, firm and taut, peeked curiously around the sides of the neckline. She wore a large green stone pendant on a thin leather band that fell over her collar bones and rested between her breasts. Her calves were hard and tan, the muscles pulled tight with every forward propulsion of her step. And her ass—her snappy, tight ass—by god she knew how to carry that thing. Her hair fell to the middle of her back in thick auburn curls and lengths of yellow and green ribbon snaked through a few braids interspersed through her thick, heavy hair. She wore a little hat that looked like a shallow bowl curled about the round part of the top of her head, about the size of a yamacha. Tufts of yellow and green fabric ranging from translucent to sheer spilled from the hat in waves of color and texture down her face. The many layers of semi-transparent fabric colluded to hide her face completely from view. 

"Jayce!"

Startled, I turned to the source of the squeal. It was a girl I had grown up with in the church, Shelly. She stopped me at the back of the sanctuary opening her arms toward me in greeting, obligating me to embrace her, and simultaneously allowing me to watch the veiled figure over her shoulder as she moved deliberately toward the outer edge of the room. I think every other head in the room swiveled curiously to catch a glance as well. She could not have created more of a stir if she came in with a brown paper bag over her head, little circles cut out for eye holes. Her veil offered a challenge, an enigma. Because she advertised her desire to remain unknown, I felt an insistent desire to know her, a desire localized not in my mind, but in my nether regions, a desire to know her in the way that Abraham knew Sarah...but no, no. No. God help me, rid me of this lust. I tried to take my eyes from the alluring curve in the small of her back, but I could not.

"How are you?" Shelly asked me, her voice dropping dramatically at the end of the question, trying to sound intimate. I smiled at her warmly. "Good." 

"Good" she retorted, squeezing my arm. She opened her mouth to say something else, but I cut her off gently: "I have to get up to the drum set..."

"Yeah, of course. Um, we're all going out to lunch after the service. You should come."

"Oh, I think we have plans with my sister after church. Thanks though."

She smiled, a fleeting look of disappointment passing over her eyes. "No worries. Next week?"

I nodded at her, smiling. "Sure."

"Great I'll see you around."

I smiled at her again and began to move away.

I continued around the edge of the room, noting involuntarily that she had settled herself markedly close to the drum set. I walked past her, toward the makeshift orchestra pit at the foot of the three steps that mounted up to stage right and settled myself behind the drum set my father used to play. I play the drum set now. I've played this particular drum set every Sunday for just over a year now. He was a good man. He died too young. I wish he could have seen my children. 

She had positioned herself just behind the sweep of my peripheral vision so that I couldn't see her unless I turned a little to look over my right shoulder. But that would have been obvious, and I wasn't trying to be obvious, though she obviously was. I got the distinct impression that she was trying to make me uncomfortable and had long known exactly where to place herself in order to do so. I could feel her watching me as the Minister of Music welcomed the congregation and the first chords of the worship music sounded from the piano next to me. It's a good damn thing that every worship song has the same time signature: distraction isn't any danger to my performance to say the least. And to say even less than that: I was distracted. My face felt flushed from the heat of her gaze and I glanced over my shoulder casually to see where he gaze fell: stupid, of course, since I couldn't see her eyes, but the set of her head suggested that she was in fact looking at me. I lost the beat for a moment and had to refocus to find my place in the song. Ruddy goddamned pixie. How's a man supposed to concentrate when he has all that bloody vitality focused on him. I felt uneasy as hell. 

The worship set came to an end and I settled myself, not in my usual spot, but a couple of rows back so that I could sit behind her. I had placed myself slightly to her right and I'll be damned if she didn't turn her head to the right and dip her chin into her shoulder trying to flirt with me through her veil by the tilt of her head. As subtle as the motion was, it seemed utterly sacrilegious in the sanctuary and I felt ashamed of the heat and excitement welling up in my stomach and my throat. She turned away only a couple of seconds later and sat serenely through the remainder of the service, her chin lifted slightly as if she looked down her nose at the pastor. When the congregation rose for a closing prayer, she conceded to rise as well, but kept her head lifted haughtily throughout. 

Under the compassionate inspiration of the Holy Spirit I was compelled—purely through a holy hospitality, mind you—to go up and speak with her after the sermon. She saw me approaching down the end of her row and when I was still 15 feet off, she lowered herself into a completely archaic half curtsy, turned sharply, exited the row of chairs and wove and squeezed her way through the crowd of fellowshipping brethren. She disappeared out the back door before I even had time to decide whether the curtsy was amusing or arousing. Son of a bitch. 

"Who was that?" asked a lusty whisper over my right shoulder. It was Ryan, a small-headed, small-featured, small-minded and I can only guess—judging by the disproportionate size of his ego and list of his conquests—largely endowed twenty-something who had grown up in the church with me. 

"I don't know," I lied, almost completely unconscious of the omission. 

"Did you see her—"

"ass? Ya, I saw it," I cut him off dismissively and walked toward my mother. "You ready," I asked her quietly. 

"I wonder why that girl was wearing a veil?" she mused as we walked across the newly refurbished parking lot toward my truck, my father's truck. "What girl?" I asked with a pretty successful attempt at disinterest. "You didn't notice her? She was wearing a green dress. You followed her right in before the service. She was very pretty."

"How do you know? She was wearing a veil." She swatted my arm: "don't be smart with me. You know what I mean. She was shapely." 

"I didn't notice." I said stubbornly. "What are we doing for lunch?"

"Oh your sister invited us for a barbeque."

I started the car and we pulled out the parking lot. After lunch I hitched up my 20 ft. catamaran and made the 30 minute drive to a nearby lake. It was already about four by the time I arrived, but the days were still long and I figured I had another four hours before dark. I backed the trailer down toward the edge of the beach, set up the sails, and then backed her into the water. Within another 30 minutes I was sailing, and the hard knot of pleasure in my stomach could have been the wind and the water, good memories or something like hopeful expectation and the smell of sex. For fuck's sake. I hoped it wasn't the smell of sex. I started to feel guilty at the possibility. I thought of my father's face, and my father's life, of his death mostly, and I felt sick at the desire that pulsed through me when I thought of her. He was a good man. 

I had work to do. I had the memory of a good man to live up to, and I didn't want to gamble the honor on some crazy broad who went around buried in heaps of fabric. What kind of person does that? Maybe she is ashamed of something, embarrassed. Perhaps her face burned off or she is disfigured, painfully ugly. But she doesn't walk like she's ashamed of a damn thing. She walks like she's hiding some witchery, like she waits for the hypnotic effect of her swaying hips to take effect, so that she can overcome you and sacrifice you to the devil, I'm quite sure. Sordid sorceress. Bloody she-devil all decked out in spring colors and clean smells. She's so damned alluring I want to grab her around her ribs, just under her breasts, bend her backwards lick her chest and suck on that cool, smooth rock hanging between her lovely fucking tits. Goddamned temptress. I want to fuck her with that green skirt bunched around her waist and hear her moaning softly under the fabric hanging over her face. I want to fuck that damn veil silly and then leave her, shrouded like the dead. Goddamn it! These are so disturbingly far from clean thoughts I don't know how to begin to find my way back. God help me. Please, please deliver me from this lust. 

The sun began to sink more quickly toward the western hills behind me, so I turned back toward the beach. After I got in the truck, and no longer needed to concentrate on the task of pulling the boat out of the water, the purgative guilt began to settle into my stomach. Why do I think like that? Why do these impure thoughts force their way into my consciousness, slipping through every defense I set up against them. How do they slip past the fear of God himself. Past my ardent desire for cleanliness. Past my fear of damnation, past the fear that I felt when I watched my father loose his pale, clammy grip on life. I watched him die, and felt comfort only at the fact that his soul would survive, would pass onto a better place. And I need that comfort for myself. I need to be sure. And I feel like I have grown, like my convictions are stronger, like my morals have set more clear lines for my behavior. I'm a youth pastor now. Alumni of Bible College and an active student in a conservative Christian university. I want to go to Seminary. Are all these desires nothing more than a paper machete effigies, blown to insubstantial pieces at the sight of one well-developed well-conducted backside? Because right now I feel like I would throw away my entire future, my entire past, the honor of my family's name, perhaps eternity itself, just to have the chance to watch her head tip backwards and her mouth fall open in pleasure, to see her neck, the bottom of her chin, to hear her breath heaving, to watch the fabric flutter under her heaving breath. To lift the veil...good God, to see behind that veil. To enter into her holiest of holies. Damn it all straight to hell. Blasphemy. 

The next day I made the half hour drive from my mother's house to my school. It was a Christian University that had a curriculum based on the beliefs of the Southern Baptist Evangelical Christian Church. I slid into a desk in the back of the class, next to my sometimes girlfriend Lane. The class was on Biblical interpretation. The professor was speaking in his usual tone of sugar-coated contempt. "This example," he was saying, "is another case of a dominant theme in this class. Here again we see that the seeming deviation or contradiction in the Biblical account of the creation can be completely rectified with the proper translation. This, brothers and sisters, is not an ancient collection of myths, this is a factual account of a historical occurrence, as you can clearly see when your read the text, rather than reading your own prejudiced opinion into the text, as do the opponents of the fact that the Bible is inspired of God and thus true and factual—in the most stringent sense." He seemed very earnest, as he paused after this last assertion to measure the response of the class. He must have been waiting for some expression of relief, some consensus that his inspiring words had somehow increased the strength of our conviction, because he smiled warmly at the two or three heads nodding in the slowly dawning clarity of their own rectitude. My feeling of rectitude in my beliefs was rather secure now after a lifetime in the church and two years of education at this Christian University. I had questioned the validity of my beliefs once, had struggled with some of the scriptures while I struggled with a grey, damp fear that it was all just a load of shit—all of the pretty things I had been taught to believe about relentless grace and the rewards of a life dedicated to God. But it really had just been her. She would asked me—and everyone else for that matter—all the questions for which there were no satisfactory answers. It was her curiosity that made me question, and her body that made me stumble. Because I really thought I loved her. But I hadn't loved her. I had only misinterpreted my lust. The distance, the time between now and her mouth had allowed me to realize that it wasn't love; it was sin, it was a lust of the flesh and nothing more. I only loved her in the backseat of my car. I realize that, now. Now, I know the truth she blinded me from. I had told her that on the phone one night. She had called me drunk with despair and red wine. I told her: "I never really loved you, I only thought I did." 

"Fuck you," she had whispered into the phone. "You fucking liar. I know you loved me, you dirty fucking liar, I know you did."

"No, I really didn't. I thought I loved you, but it was just lust, or pity maybe." I had retorted, almost gaily. "I'm not saying this to hurt you." I added. I was just trying to be honest.

"Fuck you." She whispered again. "Fuck you." 

I hung up on her. 

The professor voice brought me out of my reveries for a moment. "What is important in Biblical interpretation is your motivation. What do you want to read into the text? What are you trying to extract from the text? It is important to be honest with ourselves about these questions." The professor smiled as if to assure of his own pure, irreproachable intentions. "We have to be ready to find the truth, even if it is difficult or disagreeable to our tastes. The Bible will not be approached with a prejudice. It is true, complete, and divinely inspired. One will only mar and confuse the truth illuminated in the text if one attempts to find corroboration for one's own sinfully selfish, prideful opinions."

His voice irritated me 

She smoked weed. She had sex with one of my friends from high school. And those are only the rumors I heard about when she was in town on school breaks. Who knows what she was up to at what was reputably the biggest party school in California. Dirty whore. And I know that's why she turned her back on God. To luxuriate in the filthy lusts of her flesh. It was disgusting. The only explanation was that she had never really been saved at all—though she certainly convinced a number of people otherwise. She certainly had that whole wide-eyed innocence down to a damned tee. Her feigned devotion was nearly irreproachable, her gentleness, her willingness to sacrifice, her generous spirit, the way she just spilled over with the most endearing kindness--genuine, loving kindness, not sugary mess that calls itself love sometimes. And she had left me in the name of God, crying frantically, whimpering, speaking—in between her jagged, staccato like inhalations—of the sinfulness of her love for me. Mourning the fact that she loved me more than her own life, more than God, more than any promise of heaven. Sobbing that she would never want to leave this world if the joy she knew with me was impossible in the next. 

"I have to go. I have to. It's wrong how much I love you. It's blasphemy." she finally managed to choke out. "I don't want to. I don't want to leave you."

I held her hand and looked her level in the face: "I love you. I am going to do everything in my power to keep you from going back on your word." 

God, I thought she was going to die right there when I said that. She looked down. "Jayce, you have to go before I change my mind..." I shut the car door on her as I stepped out of the car and she was gone before I reached the front door of my house. 

I glanced at my watch: the lecture would run for fifteen more minutes. Why was I thinking about her now? She hadn't broken through into my conscious thoughts for years. I dreamt about her occasionally, dreamt about her face drowned in her long blonde hair, blowing and whipping around in some blue wind, and her long thin body in a flowing gown the color of spring. She wouldn't speak to me she would just look at me and then laugh at the horror in my face as she changed form and her youthful beauty wrinkled and dried into the lifeless body of an old hag, draped in black and surrounded by purple and grey clouds. The old hag would speak with her living voice: "For it is impossible for those who were once enlightened and have tasted..."and then her voice would catch in the old throat, her ugly face contorting as she swallowed to lubricate her dry throat. "...if they shall fall away, it is impossible to renew them again unto repentance." Then she would reappear, young and beautiful, dancing and singing: "If they shall fall away, if they shall fall away, they shall fall away, shall fall away, fall away." And she was dancing on the corpse of the old hag, laughing. Laughing at the blood, laughing at the approaching storm that moved at her faster than a plane flies, laughing and spreading her arms out wide to catch the lightning bolt that flashed down from heaven and found it's antipode in her chest. 

And then I would wake up, not afraid for her, because I didn't love her I suppose, but disturbed. Very disturbed and nauseous and more than a little afraid for myself. 

Just before I woke the following Sunday morning, when dreams are most lucid and reasonable, I dreamt that I was in a huge cavernous building, like a warehouse, perhaps. There were layers and layers of drapery hanging from the ceiling to the floor. Through the first layer I found a large group of people, familiar faces, faces I have known and forgotten throughout my life. Through the second layer I found a smaller group of acquaintances. Through the third, a group of my close friend, my sister, my father, my mom. The last curtain looked just like the veil she had worn into the church on Sunday. When I pulled it aside I saw her standing there in that green dress, but her head was cast in a deep shadow so I couldn't see her face. The line of demarcation between dark and light shone straight across her neck; the notch between her collarbones looked like a pool of light. Her arms were stretched out toward me, palms up, fingers outstretched. 


Vixen and PussyKat Get a Pet



Charlie Daniels stood in the hot Texas air and stared at the doorbell. He still could not believe his good fortune. He and he alone of all the site members had won the contest. He was going to be Vixen and PussyKat's pet for a day. 

Of course, the contest had promised happiness for the rest of his life. But he was sure he would only get the one day with Vixen and PussyKat. Of course, one day with those two would provide him with a lifetime of happy memories. He imagined that he might have a lifetime of happiness after all. He grinned at the prospect.

Just as he reached for the doorbell, the door swung open, and there they were before him, right next to each other. PussyKat's fabled boobs to be exact. 

She was not wearing a shirt.

She didn't appear to be nearly as shy as she claimed to be in her bio.

"Hi," she said, in a slight, recently acquired Texas drawl. "You must be Charlie. Come on in. Vixen's in the back fixing up a treat for you."

PussyKat led Charlie to a back room. The air conditioning made the house almost cold, a refreshing change from the inferno outside.

Vixen was making final repairs on a wrist strap affixed to a leather table-like bed. She was wearing a white leather bustier and looked up at Charlie with those sultry dark eyes of hers. She was even more beautiful than in her pictures.

"Here, let me take your things for you, Charlie," she said.

"My things?" asked Charlie. He wasn't exactly wearing a winter coat, giving the oven-like conditions outside.

"You know, your clothes. Pets don't normally wear clothes, Charlie."

He felt PussyKat's huge naked breasts pressing against his back as she reached around from behind him to unbuckle his belt. She definitely did not seem to be as shy as she claimed in her bio.

"And of course we shouldn't be wearing clothes, either. Should we, Charlie?" Vixen said in that deep throaty voice of hers. 

"I mean after all we are animals ourselves. PussyKat's a feline, and Vixen means a female fox. Animals don't wear clothes, do they Charlie?" Vixen asked, as she quickly stripped off her bustier and stepped out of her red lace panties. Her breasts were even bigger in real life than they appeared to be in the pictures on the site.

Charlie's own pants were around his ankles now. Things were happening much more quickly than he had ever dreamed. "What about your husband?" he asked Vixen, remembering her bio.

"Oh, he doesn't care what we do with housepets," she said. "He wouldn't get jealous of a silly pet. Hell, he's got a roomful of his own.

A roomful? Charlie thought. But he didn't ask the obvious question.

They were all naked now, and Vixen and PussyKat helped Charlie get up on the leather-covered table, where they strapped his arms and legs into an "X" position.

Vixen climbed on top of Charlie's naked chest. He could feel the warm wetness of her pussy against his skin as she slid up his chest to afford him a better view of her crotch.

"Do you like what you see, Charlie?" Vixen asked. "As a contest winner, you get to see us much closer up than on the site."

Charlie tried to express how much he like what he saw by stretching his tongue out in the direction of Vixen's crotch, hoping to catch a drop of her nectar, to taste her essence.

Vixen responded by sliding of top of Charlie's face, lodging Charlie's tongue deeply in her cunt. She began to ride Charlie, sliding up and down his face as he lapped at her frantically.

In the meantime, PussyKat had climbed aboard the leather-coated table and began lapping at Charlie's balls and prick. He could swear that her tongue felt raspy, like a cat's.

"Purr," purred PussyKat, as she took Charlie's left ball in her mouth. "I can see that Dr. Greib was not exaggerating this time," she added approvingly, stroking Charlie's wand.

Greib was the guy Charlie had to see in order to get measured for the contest. Charlie remembered that Greib had certified him as coming in at exactly nine inches when fully aroused. Greib's score was one of the things that had helped him win PussyKat and Vixen's contest.

Vixen was rocking back and forth on his nose now and screaming with delight as his tongue continued to lap up her juices.

PussyKat finished running her feline tongue up Charlie's shaft and then swung her firm leg over him and mounted him, impaling herself on Charlie's nine inches.

PussyKat bounced up and down on Charlie's tool as if riding a bucking bronco, as Vixen finally released, pouring her fluids all over Charlie's face.

PussyKat climbed off him before he could spend himself in her tight pussy. She started undoing the straps that bound him to the table.

"I think Vixen is about ready for you now, Charlie, and you certainly feel ready for her. I think I've got you well warmed up," she said, as she helped him rise from the table.

Vixen had assumed the position, her pendulous boobs hanging beneath her as she got down on all fours, and PussyKat grabbed Charlie's still throbbing tool and led him to a position behind Vixen's delightful rump. 

"Remember, Charlie, how Vixen likes it doggie style? You did read the site, didn't you?" PussyKat asked him.

Charlie nodded in response.

"It would help Vixen a lot if you made barking noises while you're doing this, Charlie, and hold her flanks by your forepaws."

She pushed Charlie into Vixen's still dripping cunt with a gentle shove to his buttocks. It felt like heaven inside Vixen; Charlie didn't think that he would ever want to leave this sweet place for the rest of his life.

"I will be behind you to help you, Charlie" said PussyKat, as she began swirling her tongue around Charlie's balls and licking the crack of his ass as he pummeled Vixen with his fully engorged member.

He grabbed Vixen's sides with his forepaws and howled at the moon as he thrust into her and PussyKat licked his balls. Finally Vixen screamed and he screamed and all three of them collapsed on the floor panting.

Vixen had a big smile on her face as she reached around to stroke his hair.

"I'm pretty horny, and I think Charlie is spent now, Vix," PussyKat said. "I think we may need to give Charlie a rest and go get another one of the pets."

"OK, Puss," Vixen said. Then she reached into a drawer and pulled out a leather dog collar with a name tag hanging from it. A leash was attached to the collar. "Here, Charlie, you are going to have to wear this," she said, as she strapped the collar around his neck.

Charlie read the tag. It had his name on it together with Vixen and PussyKat's address and phone number. "What's this for?" he asked.

"Sometimes, we give our pets such a workout they get delirious and wander the streets. When someone calls the police that a naked man is wandering around their neighborhood, the police bring him back to us. The police like us, Charlie. They like us a lot," Vixen said, giving Charlie a little wink as she fastened a leash to his collar."

"No, I'm afraid there is no getting away from us, Charlie. You are going to be our pet for life. We promised you a lifetime of happiness, didn't we?" PussyKat said, as she and Vixen began to lead him to the basement.

Charlie meekly let them take him where they would. He felt defeated. If the police were in on it and he couldn't get his clothes back, he would be trapped here forever. They were probably going to lock him in the room they were taking him to, maybe even chain him to the wall or to a bed. At least they would feed him. They looked as though they would be kind to their pets. After all, they had been very kind to Charlie so far. Very kind indeed.

Charlie began to panic. What about the TechoCon report? If he did not get on that flight back to St. Louis, the report would never be finished in time for the Board meeting. Suddenly, Charlie felt trapped and hopeless.

They opened the door to the chamber, and Charlie saw six other men, all naked and all chained by their leashes to the wall. PussyKat quickly began to unchain the biggest of them.

Charlie looked at their faces.

They were all smiling the biggest smiles Charlie had ever seen in his life.

Charlie thought about things very carefully.

Suddenly, Charlie began to grin too.



Vixen and Queen Alice



No-one in the whole blessed kingdom knows I writes. They think me simple, just because I don't talk. Don't make me dumb though. My Lady, my best friend, she taught me her learnings as we grew up, though God knows it's against the law. Teaching your handmaid anything other than how to set a curl or drape a gown.

My Lady named me. Vixen. On account of my russet pelt and wily ways. Though most think it's a joke. My mistress is Lady Alice. Queen Alice since the king came by and took our village. Took a fancy to my golden Lady and all. Pointed. Nodded. She was his. Just like that.

Since we moved here, to the palace no less, I thought it prudent to keep a note on what I see and hear. Which is a lot. No-one holds their tongue around a pretty simpleton. God knows it might come to use.

I sing and all. Words don't come out but give me a tune and I'll sing tears to your eyes. Mistress begs me sing when I bathe her. Both of us in the tub is how she likes it, girls together. Which is what I was doing when the goodly knight came through the window, finger to his mouth as if to hold me to a secret.

Oh dear, what a day. Alice didn't see him, he was behind her, so she stands out the water in this great gold bath, all clean and done, brassy as you like. No idea the gentleman bruiser is wolfing up her cheeky rear.

Now you might wonder why we weren't screaming like peacocks at this intrusion, and I'll keep you wondering for a bit because what happened next was a lot more exciting. I go to stand up with m'Lady, wrap her in a gown, but she puts her hands lightly on my shoulders, keeping me kneeling at her feet. Ever so slightly, she leans her hips toward me.

I don't want you making any rash judgements. My Lady and I, we are very, very good friends and it is my duty to serve. We been playing these naughty games since we were, I dunno, old enough for games to get naughty.

I know what the signal means. She is all nervous and smirky because sometimes I ain't in the mood and she don't like to force it on me or nothing. Truth is, most times I love it. Her sweet flower. And today I thought, sod it.

Our guest could like it or... umm... lump it.

So, I dipped to my duty and did the best of my worst with the tippety-tip of my wicked tongue. The geezer behind leant against the window frame, biting his fist and smiling fit to burst. Lucky sod got quite a show - I can tell you - and Queen Alice weren't in no hurry, stroking my hair and cooing at me like a favoured pet. She even put a foot up on the edge of the bath, all indecent-like. Then suddenly she barks over her shoulder. "Oh come and help. Buffoon."

She knew he was there, too! Cheeky cow. The knight bolted over - he must obey his queen –dropping to his knee beside the bath, but still behind her. Next thing I knew, my tongue had competition between my Lady's legs! One front, one back. What a day.

I will leave that picture in your head for a bit, and colour in the background. You see, we are in quite a fix, mistress and me. We all have our roles, and my sweet Lady's duty is to produce an heir. Her only job. Other than silencing crowds with her beauty and giving something for the knights to fight over. And the king, well he's an old bull – bless him – more interested in fighting than fucking. Twice her age and all. More, probly. Queen Alice is his fifth wife. You can guess what happened to the others. When they turned out to be 'barren'.

So that is our pickle. We got to get the Queen up the duff, somehow, secret like, or it don't bear thinking about.

My lovely Lady cannot be seen to be involved in any plot or contrivance that pops a man between her thighs. However, way I see it: If her virtue is plundered, by some stout heart. Plucked. Well, then it's the plucker's risk, innit? Also, sweet Lady Alice, she's a romantic. She dreams of being relentlessly plucked by someone who cannot stop himself, no matter what the risk. Well don't we all.

But cuckolding the king is a dangerous game and not one that many want to play. Rising to this challenge calls for balls the size of melons and the brain of a walnut. Enter the King's noble warriors, his stable of prize stallions. His knights.

And it was jousting season.

I hatched a plan. Well stitched one. A plan of the castle – and a secret route through it - sewed onto the Queen's favour, a sash of crimson silk. At the joust today, my Lady took her pick, planted the favour on this good specimen's lance like a kiss. To my surprise, he was bright enough to understand it, and here we all are.

My Lady was having the time of her life with two wriggly eels at her bits, and she soon cackled into one of her frothy little climaxes. Now she was good and buttered up, my job at the front was done. I slipped out of the bath and frantically unbuckled everything I could find on the good knight's ceremonial armour, dripping (umm) while he continued to eat my Lady. Normally she's not keen on too much down there after cumming but today she was bent double, and offering her split peach like a desperate harlot. Looking back on it, this did not bode well.

I cursed at the blessed metal plate all over this bloke - I mean what manner of ceremony requires one's nethers to be sheathed in steel – then; with a final clank I had him all undone, and took my leave.

I didn't stray far; my Lady likes to know I'm close. Usually with a keen blade in my knickers, should I need to neuter some brute. I ducked behind a screen, shaking myself dry (...), and kept watch. For the King too, should he surprise us.

This knight was a fine looking man, handsome and none too scarred. And a giant. My Lady turned round and he stood up and she still had to lift her head to kiss him even though she was raised in the bath. He smelt good too! The pocket of gold I had given the castle whores this afternoon, to scrub him down, was money nicely spent, I'd say.

I glowed in pride at my own cleverness as I watched my Lady playing with the only hard thing left on this shelled man. His great club, stuck up all excited between them. Oh and his metal boots by the look of it, but that didn't matter I supposed.

Jumping onto him like a cat into a tree my Lady giggled her head off and the knight caught her as if she weighed nothing at all. She squirmed down over his length and, I won't lie to you, I squirmed too, watching how much fun she was having. His big, scarred hands gripped her bum and he impaled his queen - deeply, over and over - on his thick meat. The muscles on him quivered and – oh dear – she started getting very noisy. Deep breaths at first, then little words, then full on moans and groans.

The silly cow. There is encouraging noise, then there is this wild joy that won't do anyone any good if you ask me. She only had to get him to release in her, anything else was just... not duteous. But before two dozen strokes she goes all stiff, digs her fingernails in him and cries out another fruity climax! Properly howling with it too, having a literal fit on this big cock. She was enjoying it far too much. Then I realised. My Lady was young and healthy and it had been months since her wedding night. Months without a man. I could rub her hungry tummy, but at the end of the day, she needed feeding.

The knight looked uneasy, but still plunged "yeses" out of my Lady as he carried her across the chambers to the bed. He slipped her off him and laid her out, still shivering and slinky with her crisis. I have to say, she looked done. Blushed down to the tits, she was, and mouth stuck in a dopey smile. But bless her, she rolled over onto her front and tipped up her bottom. She had remembered her duty after all. Or something. "Don't stop now," she said.

The knight sheathed his cock in her - to the hilt - and they both gasped. I hoped this would pass quickly now, from my experience men burst easy like this. I prayed my Lady would keep her voice down too. All it would take was some mischievous courtier to pass the window, earwig an abandoned howl of ecstasy, and drop a hint to the king. We would all be done up like kippers.

Oh dear. The knight pummelled her rear with a plumpy slap-slap-slap that my Lady soon smothered with long puffs. Then whimpers, then little yelps. He pushed her down flat, closed her knees and straddled her, ploughing the furrow beneath her bottom, galloping hard and fast.

She stifled her cries with the mattress but couldn't control herself, arching and pushing back at him and heartily grunting into yet another, selfish, dangerous, climax. Something about this fella really hit the spot it seemed. Honest, she was screaming. I jumped in, deciding I had to quiet her down, shove something in her gob.

Then the king barged past me. 

There was no innocent explanation for the position he found them in. "We fell over" wasn't going to cut it.

"Sir MICHAEL!" he roared.

I rushed and put myself between them, but the king knocked me aside and slapped the knight hard. On the arse.

"Good Lad!" He bellowed, "Look at that flank Alice! Hard as a horse! A fine heir indeed. Now please do hurry up, we have a war counsel waiting."

With that, he spun on his heal, grabbing my arm on the way out.

"Little Vixen," He rumbled. "It is not my Lady's voice we need to hear, do you understand?" I nodded, he patted my cheek, hands like great bear's paws. "Do whatever you have to do. But keep it quiet. Embittered courtiers have keen ears and razor tongues and must see justice served. I do not want more pretty heads on spikes."

He left, and we all stared at each other. Then at Sir Michael's withdrawn, and fear flagging member.

Do what you have to do. I stepped forward, stooped and took the knight's wet bulb in my mouth. It was Queen Alice's turn to peer at the show as I squeezed his plums and sucked him back to rigidness. I made to withdraw but my Lady had other plans and kept me in place, while she too pressed her mouth to the lucky knight.

A wise move. The man finally started to gasp and shudder as we nuzzled at him. I won't lie there was something heavenly about working this thing with my lovely Lady, our tongues and lips colliding sliperilly at some hard part of him every now and then. But when we squeezed a drop of juice out of the tip and watched it roll down his head, we knew what would soon follow. We were done.

"Now." Alice muttered and the knight shook his head out of its dream and went back to his job, pushing her back and taking her soft little feet. He spread her legs like bird's wings and rammed her, good and proper, quickly. As if his life depended on it.

Me, I was left stuck like a one plum pudding, listening to their sloppy slurp and urging noises, naked and all dribbly down my thighs. So I did what a Lady-in-waiting does best. I waited. And waited. Curse the whores who bathed our knight. I reckoned they performed well beyond their duties because the big bugger would not cum!

And worse. No, no no. It was my Lady huffing up to another climax. The knight looked over at me like "help!" She was getting rowdy again. I panicked. I forgot all propriety and figured to kill two birds here. I jumped onto the bed and plomped my soggy bits on m'Lady's puffing gob. She made a startled – if muffled – squeak but then attacked them with her tongue and – thank god – cried her climax into me like a bawled secret.

I had no idea I was so close, I tell you, and if it weren't for my lack of voice, her cries would have been coming out of me. I shivered and shook and whimpered in my own crisis, on all fours, splayed to her face, bottom raised toward the groaning, humping knight. I love my Lady's long and vigorous tongue, you see. You might say I'm addicted to it. God knows I don't get no other kind of payment for all my hard work. As I hoped – from his reaction to our lickety-split earlier – the sight of this set the fella off, mercifully, and he stifled a good and hearty roar, pumping his seed into my Lady's belly.

I watched him over my shoulder, twitching at our queen as I trembled on her. We grinned, rolling our eyes in relief at having completed our task at last. Quite forgetting about m'Lady, all stuffed and smothered beneath us like a goose fit the oven. He slapped my arse in glee and I frowned at him, but knew he meant well.

We have no way of knowing if an heir has been sired by this sir knight. But – with the kings implicit approval of surrogacy – I reckon to concoct a few more discrete trysts for good measure anyway. Just to make sure. A few more secret plans, pinned to the victor's lance.

I might be a simpleton, but the tournaments will be hotly fought this year, methinks.



Vixen Gets Her Kicks



Asleep, comfortable at night, you lay snoring soundly. Your wife in deep slumber beside you, you feel something tug at your arm. A soft seductive voice calls your name. You stir gently, the voice beckoning, purring your name. You feel a hand searching under the blankets finding your leg she drags her nails up your thigh. You awaken fully to the realization that it is not your wife searching for you, but Vix. You open your eyes fully to find a dark figure kneeling beside the bed.

Vixen wants to play.

You pull yourself gently from the bed, facing the dark beauty before you. She pulls your arm and escorts you down the stairs. "Let's go for a ride," Vix says. You quickly dress with clothes you find in the laundry room., place shoes on your feet, and slip the keys from the hook by the door, not even making a sound.

Vix waits out by the car standing in the pale moonlight. You are surprised to see her attire. Though she's usually dressed in some classy black dress, here she stands in a very short knit black skirt and a tube top. Her breasts seem to spill over the top. You look to see her in some sexy knee-high boots. It seems a little strange to find her looking this slutty, her hair a mess, her eyes deeply lined in black and her lips traced with the brightest of red lipsticks.

You hurry into the car, watching her slide into the seat next to you. You start the car and pull out of the driveway.

"Where would you like me to take you?" you ask curiously.

"I want to see where you work," she says sliding her legs apart. Wanting to please her you nod yes and drive.

Vix takes your right hand from the steering wheel and slips two of your fingers into her eager pussy. You can almost feel her excitement through your fingers. She moves your hand slowly in and out, your fingers gliding into her. She moves your hand away and shoves your wet fingers into your mouth. You suck them until you can no longer taste her.

She puts your hand back on the steering wheel, and then slides her hand down your chest to your pants. She unzips them slowly and slides her hand into your boxers to find your cock aroused and waiting for her. 

"Keep your eyes on the road," she says mockingly as she unbuckles her seat belt and then leans her body over toward you.

You look up to the street before you, not a single car on the road. You feel Vix slide her mouth over your cock, her mouth wet, her tongue flicking at your head. She settles one hand at the base and one on your balls and tugs them roughly. She takes the whole thing into her mouth sucking hard. You take in a sharp breath as she bites at your cock, not enough to cause pain but just enough to let you know she wants you to feel something more than pleasure. She slowly slides her mouth up and down, biting the head of your dick occasionally. You moan softly.

"Watch the road," she says pulling at your balls hard.

She begins sliding her mouth up and down faster and harder, hungrily taking in your cock. She moans loudly and the vibration sets you on the edge. You can feel the orgasm building within you. She stops suddenly and tickles your head again with her tongue and at the same time you pull the car into the company parking lot. "We're here," you offer, but not wanting her to stop. She sits up and you see that her lipstick is smeared. She looks even more disheveled and slutty.

"Let's go look around," she says opening her door and exiting the car before you can even protest. If someone notices you here with this slutty Vixen at your side, your marriage would be over, perhaps even your job. You zip up your pants reluctantly, crack open the car door, and climb out.

Vix walks quickly up to the door finding it unlocked and strolls in as though she owns the place. You know it's unlikely anyone is here and you decide that even mentioning the unlocked door could just cause you problems. You pull the door open and find Vix waiting for you.

"Take me to the room where you work," she says demandingly.

"Ok," you say, "but know that I can get in some deep shit being here."

She doesn't even acknowledge you, turning quickly on her heels and stepping forward. You quickly head her off to lead the way down the hall. She pops you on the ass playfully.

You follow the hallway along, passing the other offices until you come to the cages. You slip your keys out of your pocket and open the caged door. Vix reaches around you and unzips your pants, pulling your now soft cock out. You open the door and stand next to her as she walks in. You glance over your shoulders and lock the door behind you.

Vixen walks to the back of the room into a doorway that leads to your tiny office. "Is this it," she asks seemingly disappointed.

"Yes, ma'am," you say.

Vix surveys the room and walks to your desk. She picks up your name plate and smacks it against the palm of her hand. "Take your pants off. No, no, leave that door open," she demands as you attempt to shut it. You tilt your head but immediately obey. Your pants fall to the floor and you pull your shoes and your pants off and set them beside the desk. Vix walks behind you and stops. She places her hands on your ass and digs her nails in. "Bend your ass over," she commands.

You lean far over the desk. She loosens her grip on your ass and leans over to your ear, " You know what I want." You simply nod. You spread your legs out a little bracing yourself against the desk. She spanks your ass with one hand lightly at first with small little taps. She watches your ass and says, "Mmmmm...".

She switches the name plate into her dominant hand and pops you hard on the ass with it.

"Are you gonna give me what I want?" she asks.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, my little fuck boy. Stroke your cock now."

You reach down taking your hardened cock and slide your hand along the shaft. She pops you on the ass again a little harder with the name plate. "Stroke it faster, bitch."

You increase the speed as she walks around you, to the other side of the desk. She watches you closely and sits in your chair. She separates her legs showing you her hairless smooth pussy.

"See my pussy?"

You nod a yes.

"You can have this after you cum on your desk."

You stroke a little faster with this new incentive as you stare at her inviting pussy waiting there for you to touch it. She flips down her tube top.

"See my tits?" she asks pulling at her hard nipples, stretching them out some.

"Yes ma'am," you mutter feeling so eager to suck on her nipples.

"Good," she says.

Vix slides your name plate between her legs and props it there hiding her wet hole away from sight.

"Spit on your dick," she commands you.

Your mouth dry, you lean up some and muster to spit on yourself. You look down to see white spittle dripping from the head of your cock. Vix laughs. "Keep stroking it!" she yells.

The lubrication makes it easier for your hand to glide. You feel close to cumming again. Her eyes meet yours and she seems to read the feeling swelling in you.

"Cum you fucking whore," she says angrily. Her tits jiggle as she strains forward in almost a yell.

You watch them bounce slightly, the image caught in your mind. You cum hard on the desk. Your semen spills across the width and a small drop lands on Vixen's thigh.

She looks down to the sticky wet spot on her leg and shakes her head in disappointment. "Come lick it up," she says.

You walk around the desk, drop to your knees between her legs and lick slowly at her thighs, making sure to clean her well. She pulls at your hair and shoves your face close to the name plate placed in front of her pussy.

"Do you want to taste it?" she asks teasingly.

"Yes ma'am, please."

"You need to beg me."

"Please Ms. Vix, I need your pussy. I need to taste it. Please let me taste it. Can I have it please?" you say begging and meaning it. She moves the name plate, places it on the desk and shoves your face into her.

"Lick my pussy clean, fuck boy."

You waste no time, smothering your face into her . You suck fiercely at her lips. She holds your head steady and props her legs up on the arm rests of the desk chair. You see the hood of her clit and explore it with your tongue. You suck on it, placing it between your teeth, tugging softly.

Vix guides one of your hands up and slides one of your fingers into her ass and the other deep inside her pussy. You flick your tongue repeatedly at her clit and slide your fingers in and out of her smoothly. She grips your hair tightly and shoves your face harder into her.

"Finger me harder. Use more fingers," she says purring at you.

You fix your hand into a better position shoving two fingers into her ass and two into her pussy. You slide them in harder. Her pussy and ass tighten around your fingers and face. Her legs begin to quiver. You lick furiously at her clit, slamming your fingers into her, hoping that you are pleasing Ms. Vix. You know you are doing well as she begins moaning louder and shoving your face harder into her pussy. She throws her head back and moans a huge sigh as she cums. She pulls your hair, jerking your head back suddenly.

"Good boy, clean your face," she says.

You stand up, grab a paper towel and wipe at your face reluctantly, her scent engulfing you. Vix pops up out of the chair and walks over to a shelf. She grabs some 550 cord that she has spotted and a gerber. She pulls you to the chair, pushes you into the seat and binds your feet to the chair. Vix kneels down at the desk and crawls beneath it.

Your dick is spent from cumming just a few moments ago so she slaps it hard. "Wake up," she demands. Without an immediate response, she shoves your cock into her mouth anyway. She flicks her tongue on the head, then licks it up and down while looking up at you. You stare down at her and deep into her eyes. You both have the feeling of enjoyment and excitement and you read it in each other's eyes.

"I'm going to suck you off, fuck boy. I'm going to make you cum again. I'm going to fuck you so hard. I'm gonna spank your ass until it's red. You're going to have to cum for me again and again tonight. You're going to beg me to fucking stop. You're going to cum so many times your cock is going to hurt. I am going to fuck you like the little bitch-ass whore that you are."

Your cock hardens quickly at her speaking to you this way. You love the idea of her fucking you. She's the only one who can turn you on with the things she does to you. Sometimes there is so much pain involved but it feels absolutely so good. You look down at the desk, her eyes on you, you see her tits moving with her as she slides your cock in and out of her mouth. You think of her suddenly as the hot slut who can't get her fill.

You look at the paperwork scattered across your desk, figures from the day all waiting your attention for later. You suddenly notice a shadow in the doorway. Your heart pounds and just about jumps out of your chest. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" your supervisor asks sternly.

"Finishing some paperwork ,sir," you offer quickly. Vix sucks hard at your cock, shoving it deep into her mouth. She pulls at it with her hands roughly. She pulls at your balls. She bears down on your cock, sliding her teeth along its shaft, making you almost wince.

"Oh, ok," he begins, "So you just decide to come in at two in the morning?"

"Yes, sir. I couldn't sleep knowing that I needed to get this done and to you as soon as possible," you say.

Vix's brutality with your cock doesn't slack, if anything she gets rougher. You fight hard to keep a straight face.

"Did you hear the shit that Bill was saying this afternoon?" he asks trying to make conversation.

You try to think back but you are distracted by the pulling, tugging, and sucking of Vix at your cock.

"No, what did he say?" you ask wishing he would just go away.

Your supervisor goes into detail about some sordid affair that Bill is having with a young prostitute. Vix sucks eagerly and hard and his voice seems lost in the air about you. You try to listen nodding your head and try not to cum while he's standing in the doorway of your office.

"That's fucked up," you say interjecting.

"Yeah, but he says the pussy is so good. He talked about fucking her all over his house, about treating her like a submissive little whore. Man, that mother-fucker went into detail. He had us all blushing. I can't believe he's doing this shit to his wife, but I guess when the pussy calls, you've got to have it.", he says with a big belly laugh.

"Ha, ha," you say snickering. "Yeah, I guess you can't beat good pussy."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna run. Have that shit on my desk in the morning. Let me know when you decide to come in here at night." He walks out abruptly leaving you there with a hot pussy sucking your cock beneath the desk.

That was a close call; almost being caught at work with your domme sucking you off could have spelled absolute disaster. Relieved that he is gone you sigh loudly and find that you can no longer contain yourself. Your cock feels as though it's on fire. Vix still angrily sucking doesn't loosen her grip as you explode into her mouth. She sucks hard as though she is trying to remove every last drop of cum from you. You look down at her as she swallows the hot sticky cum down hard. She stands up, her tube top still flipped down, her nipples showing her excitement, her skirt still awkwardly pulled up to her waist showing her shaved pussy before you.

You absent mindedly touch your aching cock, red from Vix's abuse.

"Don't touch that cock," she says angrily. She unties your ankles from the chair. "Here's a list," she says pulling from her purse, "find these things and shut and lock that fucking door."

You obey her finding paperclips, more 550 cord, a small thin piece of pvc pipe, a long wide piece of pvc pipe, and a bungee cord. All of these things were strewn conveniently about your office and you have no trouble finding them. You place everything on the desk in the order of the list making sure it looks neat. 

Vix watches, still not bothering to straighten her clothing. When you finish she pushes you against the desk and removes your shirt. You watch as she expertly creates a spreader bar by slipping the 550 cord through the long pvc pipe and binds your ankles to it. She pulls your hands behind your back and ties them together. She takes the loose ends around your waist and ties them tightly together. She takes another length of the cord ties it around your balls. 

She moves toward the paper clips, small pvc pipe and bungee cord. She slides all but the bungee cord close to you on the desk. She picks up the bungee cord and removes the wire hook from one end and carefully unbraids it to the middle. She then ties the braids in the middle to prevent it from unraveling the rest of the way. Vix lays her new flogger on the desk then helps you get turned around.

"Lean over the desk," she demands.

She picks up the flogger and slaps her own thigh with it. It makes a faint slap. She swings it over again and slaps her pussy with it. You see her shiver.

"Open your mouth," she says and she slides the small pvc pipe in. "Suck on it," she says giggling.

You suck on the pipe obediently, Vix's little fuck boy.

She picks up the paper clips and straightens them, then begins encircling your cock with them. She pokes at your thighs with one. Your skin dimples in from the pressure. She pokes you again with the paperclip then pops you softly across your thighs with the flogger. She alternates randomly between the paperclip and the flogger each time a little harder with both. She stops and slides the pipe in and out of your mouth.

"You like to suck on my pipe don't you?" You nod. She crawls up onto your desk and spreads her legs before you.

"Fuck me with it," she says grinning.

You nod a yes and slide the pipe into her pussy. The pipe slides out of your teeth some as it enters her.

"Bite down on it bitch. I'm gonna want you to shove it in me hard."

You clench your jaw down on the pipe as hard as you can and slide it into her. She moans and picks up the flogger again. She pops you on the back with a smack. "That's a good fuck boy," she says.

You shove the pipe in and out of her pussy until she stops you and removes the pipe from your mouth. Your jaw aches from not daring to disappoint her or drop it. She gets her purse and climbs off the desk. She pulls something out and after a moment or two she sticks one hand on our ass and the other wet with something against your asshole.

"It's my turn to do the fucking."

She slides a dildo strapped to her hips into your ass carefully, the buzzing tells you that she has one with a clit vibrator and that she will enjoy this. She slides the dildo out and reaches for the cord left dangling from your balls. She tugs it some and slides the dildo in slowly. You sigh as it slides deep into your asshole. She tugs the cord and your balls are stretched backwards. She moans lightly and pulls the dildo out. Lubing it again she slides it deeper still, pulling the cord around your balls. Each time she pushes it into your asshole she moans as her clit gets pressed and vibrated.

Enjoying herself, Vix gets more excited and picks up the pace.

"You like me fucking you," she says suddenly slapping your ass with her hand.

"Yes, ma'am," you say.

"I'm gonna fuck you harder."

She rams the dildo into your ass harder now. You take a deep sharp breath from the pain. She pulls it out and slams it into you again. She slaps your back. She pulls the cord as she shoves the dildo in again.

"Say you want it harder," she almost screams in your ear.

"Please fuck me harder Ms. Vix," you yell back. "Fuck my ass hard. Give it to me. Fuck me. Fuck me please," you plead desperately despite the almost agonizing pain of your balls and asshole hurting.

Excited by your screams she rams the dildo faster into your ass.

"Fuck me, Pussy Queen. Fuck me like a bitch. Shove your cock into my asshole."

Vix begins moaning loudly. Your moans begin to match hers. She pulls the cord around your balls. 

"Fuck me Ms. Vix. Beat me Ms. Vix," you say over and over again.

She shoves the dildo deep into you over and over again. She smacks your back with the flogger and then with her hand. 

"Treat me like a bitch, my Pussy Queen," you beg her. She fucks you until finally she collapses from an orgasm and lays over your back. Slowly she gets up from your back and grabs something from her purse again. 

She shoves an anal plug into you and smacks your ass. "Wear this until you get home tonight," she says.

Vix rounds the desk and takes off the strap on she was wearing. She unties you and removes the paperclips from around your cock. Finally free from your restraints you bow your head down. 

"Get your clothes on fuck boy."

Back at the car, you are relieved that you did not encounter your supervisor or anyone else for that matter. Vix immediately begins sucking your cock again. This time she is soft and sweet about it.

"One more fuck," she says and springs into your lap. You lay the seat back as she straddles you and begins wildly fucking you hard. She slaps you across the face as your cock raises up to meet her wet pussy. She permits you to suck on her tits and you absolutely revel in it. Once you have both cum again, she climbs back into her seat. "Take me back to your house," she says.

You drive back in silence sliding your hand onto her thigh. She shoves your fingers into her pussy.

"Thank you Ms. Vix," you say having truly enjoyed the fucking she gave you.

She nods, "You're a good fuck boy."

You smile, pleased that you did well. You pull your car into the drive way. She steps out of the car. "Come on, I'll walk you in," she says. You both enter the still house and go up the stairs. She tiptoes behind you. 




Vixen Gets Her Kicks



"Lean over the bed and I'll take the plug out," she says just before you enter the door of your room where your wife lays sleeping. You lean over and she pulls the plug out. You sit down on the bed and Vix kneels in front of you. You undress before her, trying carefully not to wake your wife. Vix licks at your cock and then encloses her mouth around it.

Your wife suddenly stirs. "Did you go somewhere?" your wife asks sleepily.

"Yeah, had to go into work and finish some paperwork," you say looking down at Vix. Your wife places a soft hand on your back.

"Ok baby, go to sleep," she says. Vix sucks hard at your cock.

"I will baby," you say. Vix pulls away and lays close to the floor. You fall asleep knowing she'll leave quietly and you will see her soon.



Vixen On Top



"Damn that clock," Marty thought as she reached out to turn it off. "Sounds like a Mack truck backing up." The electronic alarm silenced when the switch was pushed.

Marty lay nude under a single sheet. The heat in the early afternoon was nearly unbearable but that was the only time she had to sleep. Today had been her last day at school and graduation would be within the week.

"At last. No more classes," Marty spoke aloud.

She stretched to remove the kinks from sleep. The sheet slipped away and she stroked her naked body a few times before she got up. The cheap carpet of the trailer floor scratched at her feet when she stood up. The rough floor covering reminded her how much she hated the dump she'd had to live in but she was contented with knowing that soon she would be moving to a newer and better house or apartment.

With her new education and her experience in the work place, she had been accepted into a new job.

Marty looked at herself in the mirror, fluffed her hair and told herself she had to hurry. She had one last shift to put in on her old job.

Marty stopped by the bathroom and turned on the shower to let the water heat up. The next stop was the kitchen. She plugged in the coffee pot and went back to shower.

The shower's hot water steamed up the bathroom, fogging the mirror but Marty could still see her reflection. Thirty years old and her nipples still rose up and remained erect when she thought of Bob and the times they'd shared. When she thought back about her former husband she almost always got hot. Her thoughts were of Bob as she stood there in the bathroom.

She felt the tautness of her boobs and couldn't resist caressing them. She cupped her hands and using delicate touches, brushed her tits. Chills swept through her body. Marty knew she had to stop or risk being late for work.

"Damn," she muttered.

The thoughts of Bob wouldn't leave her. She remembered when he'd left her. High and dry, she was left with nothing but memories of the last eight years of her life.

"How could he have done this to me?" she grumbled out loud. "He took everything we had and just left."

Their divorce had been final for two years but still Marty felt the anger that came from Bob's leaving. She told herself, "Kid, at least you're young enough to start over."

And, start over she did. She enrolled in college to get her bachelor's degree and she worked her butt off to support herself. She blushed from the pride she felt.

The shower's water was very hot and she had to turn on the cold tap to adjust the temperature. She opened the curtain and stepped under the spray. Tiny beads of mist bounced off her firm, trim body. Marty adjusted the shower head to the massage position and let the water pummel her skin. The pulsing streams of hot water were invigorating. Slowly, Marty turned to get the full effect. Again, she started feeling the urge to touch herself.

The bar of soap she picked up was hard and slick. A smile crossed her lips and again she thought of Bob. She was horny and she thought of how Bob could have settled her down in just a few minutes.

She lathered her supple body and began to massage her tits again. This time the caresses were more insistent, more urgent. She arched against her, own hands and let her mind travel to a different time in her life. Her hands slithered down, lower, to the red, curly pubic hair. Her breath quickened when she touched the wetness not caused by the water. Small, circling motions with a single finger tip on her clit caused more juice to flow. The muscles in her pussy started to contract and, surprisingly, she was cumming almost immediately. The shock of the sudden onset of the orgasm shook her all the way from her head down to her toes. Marty almost collapsed from the intensity of the sudden release. Leaning against the wall she took time to regain herself. Though the orgasm had lasted only a moment, it seemed like a long, gut-wrenching time to her. She knew that she would still be to work on time.

Marty felt tingly and good. She thought for a minute about what she'd done to herself in the shower that made her feel so good. Though finger fucking herself took away the edge it wasn't what she needed or wanted. She needed a hot, hard cock stuffed up in her snatch. It had been so long but she was determined to forget the morality that hovered around her all the time. She meant to get laid and laid good.

The soap swirled down the drain and as she watched it disappear she said, "That's how my troubles are doing lately. Down the drain." She rinsed her body completely and said, "Hell, I don't have any troubles. They are all gone and I'm starting all fresh and new tomorrow."

A smile crossed her face as she stepped from the shower. The fluffy towel absorbed the water from her body while she patted herself dry. Dried and heading into the kitchen Marty thought how good it would be to have put in the last graveyard shift and then be free of her oppressive occupation.

The last time, too, that she would have to drive through the night while normal people were home in bed, sleeping or fucking or doing whatever came natural to them.

Marty finished toweling off in the bedroom. Feeling sexy she reached into the dresser for a black camisole that she saved for special occasions. Tonight would be special, she knew, so she slipped it on and pulled the uniform from the closet. Damned, ugly, brown uniform. How she hated it. It was required for her work though so she wore it and bore it bravely. She guessed they wanted her to look more like a man than a women so as not to excite the men too much.

Bras and panties were regulation also but not for Marty's last night. She put on the shirt and stepped into the pants, then the Wellington boots. She checked herself out in the mirror again and adjusted the uniform. "Prison guard extra-ordinary," she smiled. "I'm going to burn this damned thin when I get home in the morning."

Marty rushed into the kitchen and poured a large mug of coffee. She liked it lack and strong. A glance at the clock showed she stir had a few minutes to drive to work, she put two slices of bread in the toaster and leaned against the counter to wait for it to toast. When it popped up Marty took the slices of bread, some butter and jelly, and the coffee cup and left the trailer.

Her old Chevy ran well. It looked like hell but it got her around with no mechanical problems. Marty knew that the car would be the second thing to go after she started her new job. First the trailer, then the car.

The drive to work was uneventful. She parked under the bright lights and headed in through the heavy, barred gates. Through the metal detector and past the main desk.

"Evening Marty," the sergeant spoke to her.

"Hi Bill," she greeted him with a smile. Few knew that this was to be her last night and she wanted to keep it that way. If everyone knew they'd insist on throwing a going away party. She'd been to one once before and was not impressed. It had turned into a drunken orgy and that was not her style.

Little was mentioned at briefing and nothing was said about it being her last day. She went to her assignment; Building Two. It was the same that she'd had for the past two years.

"Hello Lonnie. Anything going on in the cellblock tonight?"

"Hi Marty." Lonnie smiled at the sexy lady when he looked up from the log book he was writing in. "Same shit. Just a different day." He signed his name in the book and handed it to her. "There. It's all yours for the next eight hours."

Marty took the book scanned the pages and signed in, accepting responsibility for the watch tour. "I've got it Lonnie."

"Bye," he said. "Have a good one."

"Bye."

Her first walk through the cellblock was the one she disliked most. It was the time when most of the men in the cells were settling in for the night. They could be seen in sorts of positions, jacking off in their solitude.

She'd seen all shapes, sizes and colors of cocks in the time she'd worked for the state's department of corrections and she thought she'd only seen a few that appealed to her. After all a cock was attached to a man, and it was the man attached to it that counted. At least that's what she thought at the present moment. She couldn't see herself going cock crazy.

Usually, the men would try to cover themselves when they saw her at the peep-window but some ignored her presence and continued playing with themselves as if nothing was happening. One of the requirements was that she scan for movement to determine that one man was in each cell and she certainly had no trouble meeting the criteria. She saw plenty of both.

At one time or another she'd caught everyone but one guy. Marty made a personal game of trying to catch him too but she just couldn't seem to be there when he whipped it out and started flogging himself. It made her wonder. She realized the cells were home to the men confined there and she knew they all got horny but the one man she wanted to see jacking off never presented her with the spectacle.

Because it was her last night, she was determined to catch him with his cock in his hand. She had to see the men in room number twelve stroking his meat.

When she passed on the first walk of the night she saw her subject watching television. She continued the walk, finishing the first pod, then returned to number twelve.

The man was lying under the covers and the television was still on. Marty tapped lightly on the window. He smiled and waved to her. She motioned for him to come to the door.

His answering gesture was for her to move away so he could get out of bed. "Good evening, Officer. What's up?" he asked.

"Hi Kit. Just thought I'd say hello. And goodby."

"You're leavin'?" he asked.

"Yes. Tonight is my last night. I start a new, job Monday."

"Its about time. What took you so long?" Kit looked Marty up and down. "I always thought you were smarter than the others. I figured you'd leave soon. Is the new one a good job?"

"Sure is. I'm starting as a floor manager for a department store in town. It includes some security so my time sent here wasn't all wasted. I got the job cause of my experience!"

Kit asked, "Better money too I bet?"

"Ha. About three times what I make here," Marty told him. "Well, I've got to finish my walk. See you later." She took a step and then asked, "Oh, Kit. Are you going to be up later?"

"Yeah. Probably. There's a movie coming on at one-thirty and tomorrow is Saturday so I can sleep in."

"Good. I'll talk to you later."

Marty waved and walked away. On the way back to the office she thought about Kit. He'd been the first inmate she met when she started to work in the correctional facility. He had always been polite and courteous. And, he'd given her some good advise. He warned her of backstabbing political guards and told her they would walk over her to get their promotions.

"Well, no back-biting, jealous male counterparts to worry about," Marty told herself.

The walk was completed. She sat at the desk and made her entry into the log. The shift commander stopped by and talked for a while. He checked the log and left. It was time for another walk through the building.

Marty wanted to talk frankly with Kit and she knew it would be three to four hours before her supervisor returned. She peaked in his window and tapped on the glass. Kit turned to see who was there but, before he could get up Marty slipped her master key into the lock and opened the door.

She knew she would be fired on the spot if the commander found that she had entered a room at night without a second officer present. The lock turned quietly and she walked in. "I told you I'd be back."

"Yeah, you did. I'm glad you made it," Kit said. "Is there anything special you wanted to talk about?"

She didn't quite know how to put what she wanted to say. Was she going cock crazy, or was it the man it was attached to that interested her so much.

"Well, uh, not really," Marty answered. "It's just that, uh, I've seen all the other guys masturbating at least a dozen times since I started working here. Everybody but you, that is. How come?"

Kit smiled and answered, "I don't know how embarrassing it is for you, or if you enjoy seem a man jack off. I'm just funny about it. If I do it to myself I like to enjoy the solitude or I like to do it with a cooperative lady. The door in between us seems too much of a barrier. Some guys like to show off, and I can get into that too, I just prefer to be close."

A grin came on Marty's face. The funny feeling was starting to return to her groin, "Were you planning on, well, you know, taking care of things this evening?"

In the dim light of the television Marty could see the blush rise in Kit's cheeks. He looked her squarely in the face and said, "A few minutes more and you might have caught me, finally."

"Maybe tonight you don't have to fuck our hand," Marty said. She blushed, too, because of her bluntness. She sat on the edge of Kit's bunk and stroked her thighs. Kit was shocked and surprised. He lay back on the bed and Marty slipped her hand under the sheet. His skin was warm and smooth. She ran her hand slowly from his belly down to his cock. Though Kit was not big, his dick was well above average. It was thick, too, and hot.

Marty was surprised at her own brashness. She didn't want to stop once she felt Kit's cock. It had been too long since she'd had a man. Her hand encircled the shaft and she stroked it slowly. It grew hard quickly and a drop of clear juice moistened the tip. Marty knew that continuing as she was Kit might not last a long time because he'd been deprived for a long time too. She wanted his cock up inside of her cunt so she let go to avoid an early orgasm.

Marty stood up, dropped her pants, removed her shirt and started to join Kit on the bed again but at the last minute she said, "Fuck it," and stripped completely.

Naked, she stood beside the bed and looked down at Kit. "Will I do? Would you rather have me than your hand tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll make you love it too," he sighed.

Kit threw back the sheet and revealed that he had his underpants down around his knees; the preparation for the solo sex he was about to indulge in when Marty came along.

He got up, pulled the sheet loose and threw it on the floor. "The bed makes too much noise," he explained.

Marty laid on the sheet, on her back, and spread her legs. She reached down and fingered herself while Kit watched. Without a word, he knelt between her knees and leaned forward to position the head of his cock against her hot, wet cunt. He didn't move at first, just took a deep breath and spoke, "You do want it?"

"Yes, and hurry," Marty answered.

Marty's pussy sucked him into her. It was good. She hadn't been fucked for such a long time that the presence of a cock now fit better than she remembered. She knew, for certain, that it felt better than her finger which she regularly depended on.

Marty knew that it was worth the risk she was taking. They started to move together, slowly at first, enjoying the wonderful, hot, wet silky feeling on each other.

Kit experienced an actual suction on his cock by Marty's cock starved pussy. With each thrust into her he felt the back pressure of her womb rubbing the sensitive head of his cock. And, when he pulley out, there was a powerful tog from he cunt to try to hold him deep in her.

Little slurpy sounds started as the both produced a lot of pre-climactic juices. Moaning filled the room. For the couple who had done without sex with partner for such a long time they simply fucked. They did not concentrate on making love to one another, they were each working to satisfying a deep itch that could come only by being coupled cock to cunt as they were at that moment.

They were in perfect rhythm. The shaft of Kit's cock rubbed against her clit and she bucked, wildly, to meet his thrust. She gasped for air and pounded his back with her heels.

When Marty's orgasm came it was violent, wonderful, deep release. She had to hold her hands over her own mouth to stifle the cries that she almost let escape. She wanted to feel Kit cumming in her and she had tried to hold back but her body functioned on it's own.

When Kit arrived, Marty was just pulling out of the first orgasm and when she felt his cock swell and jerk inside of her she began the second orgasm without a break in between.

Together, they came. She could feel what seemed like a gallon of cum shooting into her pussy. Her cunt was hot, puffed up and tingling. Kit's cock was like a steel rod stoking the fire. Both of them stiffened as she milked cum from his balls with her fingers. She wanted all he had.

Kit let his body down on top of Marty, he opened his mouth and kissed her on the mouth, his tongue probing and exploring in her mouth.

They lay still for a long time, savoring the closeness and touch of the other's body. And, occasionally, Kit's cock would dive an involuntary jerk which sent little jolts of pleasure through Marty.

"Thank you," she managed to say in between kisses. "I needed that more than you can imagine. I needed it and it was terrific."

"Lady, if you think you needed that, consider this. I haven't had a lay in seven years." Kit kissed her once more and then raised his butt to begin pulling his cock out of Marty.

As he moved off, his cock, still hard, made a sucking sound and then he was free. Both of them giggled at the funny sound.

Marty knew that Kit would never relate this experience to anyone else. He was a very private person and even though he was an inmate and she a guard she trusted him.

Kit handed her a towel and she wiped their cum from her crotch. She re-dressed herself, reluctantly because she would have liked to stay in the saddle with Kit.

When Marty stood up to pull her pants on Kit spoke, "Show me your tits once more before you get them all covered up."

He licked each nipple and then kissed her chest at the point where her cleavage bean.

"Again, thank you. I needed that," he said.

She dressed rapidly and left without a word, just a wink. No words were needed.

"Whew," Marty said to herself. "What a way to finish a shift." And, she knew, her shift was almost up and she was about to start on her new life.

The shift commander stopped by the desk, unexpectedly, and announced, "It's party time Marty, your honor. See you at the King's Ransom Hotel.



Vixen



"Did you say something?"

She shook her head.

"Can you speak?"

She shook her head again.

"But you can moan."

She did nothing, and my hand moved toward her veil. She swatted it away viciously. 

"Bitch."

I reached up again, and again she hit my hand away.

"Don't," she said, her voice low and shaking with anger or fear. 

"You lying cunt."

She laughed. I was startled by her laughter. It stirred something in me, some memory that I pushed beneath the surface of my consciousness as she moved toward me and began to unbutton my pants. Her cool hands slid around my dick and I forgot my surprise and my anger and began to feel around the sides and the back of her dress for the zipper. I found it down the middle of her back and pulled it down as she stroked my cock slowly. I pulled her dress down over her shoulders to reveal her breasts. They were large, more than a good handful each, with small pink nipples standing erect. I filled up my hands and rubbed her nipples in small circles with my thumbs. She sighed deeply and tilted her head backwards. The muscles under her neck stretched taut and I felt compelled to fuck her immediately. I pushed her against the nearest wall and lifted her up, my hands under her ass. I entered her easily, and she gasped, the fabric on her veil sucked backwards and then blown forward as she released her breath into the sensation of my dick filling her tight, wet snatch. Her muscles clamped down around me and for a moment I thought my dick was going to explode from the pressure. I waited for her to release me and then began to press into her more deeply, pulling back just a bit, only to press further with the next stroke. Her hands feel limply to her sides and I drew one up over her head and pressed it against the wall and watched in awe as the fabric of her veil blew back and forth beneath her ragged breathing. 

She came once, and as she did I spoke to her, my voice low.

"That veil makes me want to fuck you and then leave you, shrouded like the dead." Her moans escalated into desperate cries as her orgasm continued to roll through her body heading for some exquisite crescendo, and I continued to watch her quivering veil, holding off my own orgasm with my fascination. I pulled out of her and released her legs. Her back slid down the wall until she found her feet, my hands on her waist to steady her. When she was standing again, I pulled the dress down around her waist leaving her naked—all except the veil. It might have looked absurd, but I was too transfixed with the beauty of her body to notice. Her round breasts stood proudly over her slender waist, just a hint of muscles showing through her abdominal skin. Her wide hips opened over a bush of curly auburn hair and her long muscular legs ended in thin, arched feet. 

I stared at her for a moment, drinking in the buzzing pleasure of her beauty and she leaned back against the wall to let me look, her arms folded behind her back, her hands resting in the space between her lower back and the wall. I moved toward her compulsively, needing to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin and her firm flesh. I felt awkward when I reached her, however, having nothing to do with my mouth, as she kept hers covered, obstinately under that infuriating veil. I lowered my mouth to her neck and she began to unbutton my shirt, slowly tracing her finger down the opening in the front of my shirt until it hooked over the next button and then slowly working it through the eyehole. Her hands felt cool on my skin when she pushed my shirt off my shoulders as I pulled my mouth away from her neck to look down at her. She hooked her fingers in either side of my pants at my hips and pushed them away toward the floor. I stepped out of them, staring at her pleadingly. "Please take of your veil."

"No."

"Why?"

She didn't answer. I moved toward her. "What are you hiding under there?"

She laughed again. "Something extremely ugly." She spoke softly, her voice deep and somewhat raspy as if she had just awoke. "I assure you that you are not yet ready to see it."

She moved toward me and pressed her finger into the notch below my throat then traced her fingers across my collarbones and circled them lightly around my shoulder, moving behind me. She placed her hand in the middle of the small of my back and brushed it up my spine, at the top, I felt the fabric of her veil against my neck and then her lips and tongue pressed into the skin over the top of my spine. She moved around my other side and wrapped her fingers around two of mine, pulling me behind her toward the couch. She placed her hands on either side of my chest pressed me down to sitting and sat next to me. She leaned over to put her mouth next to my ear, her veil tickling my cheek, her tits rubbing up against my arm: "Early will I seek thee," she whispered, her voice humming low in her throat.

"My soul thirsteth for thee," she paused to slide her tongue around the outer edge of my earlobe, and then pulled it into her mouth and sucked on it softly for a moment before she released it again. "My flesh," she whispered, her lips brushing the rim of my ear as she spoke, "longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land where no water is." She pushed her torso up and swung her leg around to straddle me, and hovering a few inches above my lap. "To see thy power and they glory as I have seen thee in the sanctuary," She continued to whisper warmly as her glance turned down toward my lap and she took my dick into her cool, thin hands. "Because," she whispered slowly, her head tilting up to look at me again as her hand stroked me gently, "thy lovingkindness," she purred with a particularly suggestive tug "is better than life." She slid backwards of my lap to kneel on the floor in front of me. "My lips," she lowered her face toward my erection, "shall praise thee." She circled her tongue slowly around the edge of my head, and took me into her mouth, her tongue sliding up and down slowly. She pulled away slightly, and seemingly addressing my dick she continued to whisper, "my soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips." She took me into her mouth again and continued to slide my entire erection into and out of her small mouth, till I could feel it hit the back of her throat. I moaned forgetting almost as soon as she stopped speaking that she had certainly just recited a Psalm to me, easily forgetting the horrible sacrilege that poured from the very mouth that now gave me the most delicious and illicit pleasure I had experienced in some time. The irony nauseated me, but my stomach churned with something more than sickness as my head grew quiet and I approached orgasm. She pulled away just before I came and straddled me again, rubbing her lovely wet snatch slowly over the length of my cock, lubricating it by rolling her hips back and forth, her hands resting on my chest. She spoke again, in a conversational tone: "when I remember thee upon my bed, I meditate upon thee in the night watches." She took my hand and moved it toward her clit guiding my fingers in circles for a while and then bringing her hand back up to rest on my chest. "My soul followeth hard after thee," she gasped. Her head tilted backward and I could imagine her beautiful eyes sliding shut as I continued to massage her. "Thy right hand," she began again, her breath bated, "upholdeth me." 

I moved my hand to my dick and began to guide it into her dripping snatch. She settled onto me with a luxurious sigh. Her hips remained still for a moment as she pulled me in deeply with her inner muscles and released me shortly only to pull me in deeper still. Then she began to roll her hips back and forth slightly. I watched her move, almost feeling now like she couldn't see me, as if I had a veil on and could now watch her in this intimacy without exposing myself to her at all. Her head tilted back, she seemed completely oblivious to my presence, and I watched her heart beat flutter in the notch below her throat. Her sacred distance, her separation from me, her unassailable, impregnable beauty behind that impenetrable veil, the intrigue of her disguise, the slow, sultry rise and fall of her hips, the pressure of her hands on my chest and my shoulder, the flutter of fabric over her heavy breathing: for one moment, like a beautiful but devastating flash of lightning, it occurred to me that there are things in life that are worth burning for. This moment, this sensation, her beauty, her mystery: worth burning for. I came like the burst of a long over due realization, my seed filling her like a great idea fills the mind in an explosion of insight. She gasped sharply and I felt her insides spasm around me as her hands gripped my shoulders tightly and she moaned, almost sobbed a little, and then her head dropped forward. She breathed deeply for a moment and then her voice came up to me from beneath her hanging head: "but those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth. They shall fall by the sword."

Guilt rose up in my stomach like nausea, my hand fell still, and I pulled back from her slightly, dizzy from the blow she struck. She was quoting Psalms to me while she lead me skipping and singing down the path to destruction. "Why...what are you doing?" I stuttered at her. 

"I'm trying to hurt you." She said laughing. 

"Why."

"Because it gives me pleasure. Because it's so easy for me. Because you have set yourself up for failure by choosing to deny your will to live and attempting to mortify your desire to do so. Because you will never be completely pure until you are dead, either physically or spiritually. Because you can't ever say no to something you really truly need, but you, with a kind of Herculean heroism, have chosen to say no to everything you really truly desire, without realizing that your desires are far more powerful than your delusions. Because you think that you are invincible with the god of creation on your side, and I can reduce you to self-revulsion by providing you with something you need: my body. I know the secret to your strength: you believe that you have chosen righteousness, that you should be living a life of purity, that your god demands it of you. And you feel justified in your decision because you have built up a fortress around yourself to block out every other reality but your own delusions. But a fortress of ideas cannot stand against the reality of your body, the breath in your lungs, and the blood pulsing through your extremities, especially this one," she said, squeezing herself pointedly around my now soft dick. 

She pulled herself off of me and moved over to her dress. She pulled it up over her waist, facing me. I watched her, feeling sick, feeling stupid for thinking just seconds ago that I might spit in the face of god for the sake of this horrible woman. She tossed my pants at me and I pulled them on quickly, feeling enormously awkward and embarrassed. I moved to where she was standing and bent down to pick up my shirt as she was pulling on her shoes. I felt a slight prick in my cock again at the sight of her long, strong legs, but shook my head as if to dislodge the recognition of her beauty. 

"You said that you were giving me something that I need, but I know that's not true." I said to her softly, driven by some compulsion I do not understand, some need to set things straight. "That was just a snare of the devil: I know because for a moment I was thinking to myself that there might be things in life that are worth burning for. I know that is the devil trying to trip me up and lead me astray. And maybe you think that have really hurt me by telling me that you did that just to hurt me, but it snapped me out of my delusion. Because I can see how painful this sort of shit can be, how it is ultimately worthless, how it makes you suffer so much, how silly it is to trade eternity for just a few seconds of joy. I'll pay so much more for this than it was worth."

"I think you can only say this because you don't know how to put a price on joy," she said as she moved her hands up to the back of her head under her veil, working at some sort of clasp or tie. "You think that you have access to some sort of eternal joy, not because you have any good reason to believe that might be possible, but because it makes it easier for you to deal with the fact that you don't have the strength or will to purchase pleasure in this life. Because pleasure comes at a high price: it is never cheap, it is never easy, it is certainly never free. Because you choose not to accept the great responsibility that pleasure entails, you would rather follow rules that disallow you any kind of "worldly pleasures" and that allow you to believe that God will compensate you for your weakness and lack of courage by showering you with an eternity of the joy and emotional heights that you haven't the stomach for here on earth." She pulled her veil off, and by this time I wasn't even really surprised to find the face I had loved for those many years, the face that had become hateful to me, the expression of the mind that had walked away from the belief system that I myself could not escape. I reached out absently to touch her face, thinking vaguely that she might be some sort of illusion. Her eyes slid shut at my touch and my stomach lurched with something very different than lust, something that felt like remorse, like longing, something like love. 

"Jayce," she said to me, her eyes opening, her expression earnest and sincere, "life is hard. Every height of joy has a corresponding depth of pain that lasts longer and takes more from us than the joy could ever replace. And most people need someplace to run from that knowledge: they need drugs, or drinks, or sex, or, in your case, religion. But I swear that your spirit becomes stronger as you choose to deal with your pain rather than run from it. I know that you are better than this life that you have chosen. I know you have the capacity to bear so much pain and thus, the capacity to experience such great pleasure. Your religion teaches that Jesus will bear all your burdens for you: I'm telling you that you don't need him to. You are strong enough to go at it alone and you are worthy to have authority over your own soul. Life is hard, and disappointing so often, but it is beautiful for all its indifference and it makes me sorry to think that you might miss it all by sacrificing your self to a delusion."

I dropped my eyes so she would not see the tears that filled them. I felt like puking, I didn't want to hear what she was saying, because I had heard it all before from the little voice in my head that I had worked so hard to silence. I sat down on the couch, my elbows on my knees, my hands in my hair, my head hanging. She knelt before me. 

"Jayce," she murmured, "I love you." She pressed her mouth into the top of my head. "Not in such a way that I don't ever want to see you hurting, or in such a way that I will support all your delusions. I don't love you because I'm supposed to, because you are a fellow human, or because of our past. I love you because I see strength in you that I haven't found in many other people. I used to see a pride in you that most people do not possess, and it makes me ache to think that you are squandering all of your vitality on trying to suppress the very pride and sense of self-worth that might give you the strength to enjoy and to suffer life on a grand scale."

I looked up at her, and she took my face in her hands and kissed me deeply, her tongue pressing into my mouth eagerly, her fingers raking through my hair. She tasted so good, and I thought I might forget the tightness and the burning in my stomach if I could just keep the soothing taste of her in my mouth. She pulled away from me slightly and whispered into my lips, "I love the feeling of your hands on my body, and the way you smell. I miss that."

And she pushed herself to standing and walked out of the room. I heard the front door shut behind her softly. I wanted to chase her. To hold her courageous body in between myself and the wave of fear and panic that threatened to wash me out into the infinite sea, unsupported and alone. But she could not save me, I knew, she could not love me if she saved me. She herself was adrift on the same vast ocean. I lay back into the couch and closed my eyes, imagining her naked body floating supine on the wide, blue sea, daring the dangers beneath and drinking in the light of the sun from above. 

Men as a gender have an opinion of women as a gender that depends entirely on their opinion of themselves. If they believe they are set toward some higher purpose than that of living and procreating then they will view women as a trap, as a distraction, as a detour—and often a harmful at that. If their aspirations are more earth-bound (and I am sorry to have to sound contemptuous when I use that phrase), then their view of woman will differ.