28 comments/ 21843 views/ 0 favorites Iced By: rachlou This is an official entry in the 2007 Literotica Halloween Story Contest. The contest runs from Oct 1st -- 22nd. The winners of this contest are decided solely by the votes of you the readers. Please enjoy what follows and then, please, take the time to vote. Big thanks go to Brett for his editing. * * * "Let go of my arm!" Shelly hissed, her pale grey eyes flashing with anger. "Well quit flirting with all the men and I might think about it!" Liam knew he was being unreasonable, but his jealousy refused to slink away into a dark corner of his mind. Several people were staring at them curiously now, but the alcohol he'd consumed threw a blanket over his sense of embarrassment. "I wasn't flirting you asshole. I was networking! You know damn well my job depends on the contacts I make at these parties." Shelly sighed heavily and for a second Liam felt the stirrings of regret. Then he recalled the way her hand had been resting on Patrick's thigh as she regaled him with some amusing story and the familiar green-eyed monster leapt out of the closet again. His fingers tightened on her arm and he heard her wince with pain. "How about fucking them? Does that count as networking in your book?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Liam knew he had gone too far this time. Her face registered a fleeting hint of hurt and then she slapped him, hard. His cheek stung, the heat rising almost as fast as his temper. Without pausing to consider the implications of his actions, his fist flew through the air and connected sharply with her jaw. The sound reverberated through the room and for a millisecond they were both stunned into silence. Their arguments had never spilled over into actual physical violence before and they both recognised that this time a line had been crossed; it was a line they couldn't step back from. Shelly stared at him in shock, tears beginning to streak her thick black mascara. "I'm sorry..." Liam tried to say as the alcohol-fuelled rage began to diffuse. "No," Shelly whispered brokenly. "Sorry won't cut it this time. This time you've gone too far." And he knew she was right. He'd blown it big style. Oh God. His hand fell away from her arm. With a deepening sense of horror he noticed the bruise beginning to flower on her pale skin. She began to sob quietly and out of the corner of his eye he saw two burly men approaching. Now was perhaps a good time to make a swift exit. Liam left his girlfriend standing alone in a bleak shadow of bitter regrets as the music continued to play discordantly. Ignoring the looks of disgust from his fellow guests, he staggered out of the front door and into the frigid night air. Row upon row of cars glistened with frost and for a moment he scanned the assorted vehicles, searching for his run-down estate. His keys jangled comfortingly in his pocket and he ignored the faint voice in his head warning him he was too drunk to drive. Would anyone actually care if he hit a tree on the way home? "Not likely," he muttered as self pity threatened to overwhelm him. There was no way he was forking out for a cab at this time of night. As for Shelly, she could find her own way home. No doubt one of her admirers would offer her a lift; Patrick had certainly looked interested enough. Liam viciously kicked the tyre of a large, black car as he walked past. The thought of Shelly writhing under Patrick's muscular body made him want to vomit. Nobody else had the right to touch her beautiful curves. The fact Liam had brought this all upon himself failed to register at all on his consciousness. In his world, blame was something that could always be attributed to somebody else. The windscreen of the ancient Ford was covered in a thin sheet of ice when he finally climbed inside. Cursing under his breath, he turned up the heater to maximum and wished for the zillionth time he could afford a car with air-con. Shelly's car had air conditioning. Her company had provided a sleek coupe as part of the employee package. The job had been a bone of contention ever since her promotion last year. It didn't matter how many times Liam told himself he was pleased for her success, he knew that deep down inside he hated her for it. His own job as a lowly supermarket manager meant he earned peanuts compared to her. But it wasn't just the shame of that. It seemed everything was a flashpoint these days. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as he thought about all the times they'd fought recently. The last occasion had been when he'd found the expensive lingerie in her drawer. * * * "This is pretty," he stated calmly as he held up the scrap of black lace and ribbon. "Yeah, I thought so too," Shelly smiled as she applied her lipstick. "It was in the sale at La Senza." "Looks expensive to me -- I thought we were meant to be saving for the house, not frittering cash away on crap like this!" he said icily. "Actually it was meant to be a surprise -- I was going to wear it for our anniversary night out, but once again you've spoilt it." Shelly threw her lipstick into the small bag she carried her makeup in and glared at him in the mirror. "Are you sure you didn't buy it for somebody else's benefit?" Liam watched as her face flushed pink. "If you're talking about Patrick, then you're completely out of order!" she fired back in anger. "He's my boss for Christ sake. How many more times do I have to tell you -- there's NOTHING GOING ON!" Liam threw the lingerie on the bed and stared at her accusingly. Her silky dressing gown gaped open and he could just about see the swell of her firm breasts. For a moment he allowed his imagination to picture Patrick's meaty hands pawing her flesh. He wondered whether she would cry out with pleasure when Patrick fucked her. Or would she just lie there passively, as she seemed to do more often than not with him. Despite his jealousy, he was unavoidably aroused at the mental image of Shelly bending over the bed while Patrick rammed into her cunt. Reluctantly he returned his gaze to her face. "Do you really expect me to believe you're not fucking him when you work late nearly every night?" "Frankly Liam, I'm beginning not to care what you believe any more. I'm just tired of all the arguments." She turned her back on him and sat down on the chair, cradling her head in her arms. Abruptly the tension dissipated and Liam wondered what the hell he was doing. Why was he behaving like this? Nothing made sense any more. He loved Shelly so damned much, yet here he was, pushing her further and further away. Banishing thoughts of Patrick firmly from his head, Liam forced himself to concentrate on the facts. Okay, so she'd been working late rather a lot. But she DID have a new job with new responsibilities. Maybe he was being paranoid and unreasonable. He pushed his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Shelly," he said softly. "I just can't help feeling jealous that you spend more time with your boss that you do with me." Seeing the tears glistening through her lashes he felt a deep sense of shame at the way he was behaving. God he was an arsehole at times. "I can't take much more of this, Liam," she sobbed. "WE can't take much more." She was right, he thought bleakly. The cracks in their relationship were spreading dangerously close to the foundations. And it was all because of his jealousy and insecurity. "I love you, Shelly." "Then why do you treat me this way?" Her face was wan and miserable, her carefully applied make-up ruined now. "I don't know," he admitted helplessly. * * * Sitting in his car with the engine ticking over, he still didn't know why he had behaved so atrociously. It felt like his life had slowly been spiralling downhill for a long time. Shelly was the only good thing in it -- and now even she was gone. There was no way back from what he'd done tonight -- he knew Shelly would never forgive him. Miserably he pondered this as he shivered helplessly in the freezing interior of the car. His exhaled breath swirled in clouds around his face and obscured the window screen in mist. Suddenly all he wanted to do was head home and drown his sorrow in the bottle of whisky that resided in his desk. Conveniently he forgot that alcohol had been the main cause of his problems tonight. Liam fired the ignition and crunched into first gear, pulling away unsteadily from the car-park. The wheels skidded slightly by the entrance to the main road, but he managed to avoid sliding out of control. Gradually he picked up speed and before long he was cruising steadily through the deserted countryside, oblivious to the icy beauty of the November night. The lights of the country house hotel soon faded, smothered by the dense blackness of a starless sky. The car's headlights picked out eerie shapes and trees lurking in malevolent huddles of shadows beside the road as the fight with Shelly continued to intrude in his thoughts. Every now and then his concentration wandered dangerously and the car meandered off its course. When the old woman appeared in the road, seemingly from nowhere, he was upon her before he even realised what was happening. Liam tried to steer away from her, but the tyres lost traction on black ice and his senses were too dulled by alcohol to react quickly enough. It was hopeless. For a second her face was frozen in an expression of abject horror before the car cannoned into her frail body with a sickening thud. By the time he ground to a halt beside the hedge, his heart was hammering in his chest and he felt certain he was going to throw up. For a crazy moment he wondered if it was all a terrible nightmare. Maybe he'd wake up in his bed, Shelly beside him, and none of this would have been real. But when he glanced in his rear view mirror and saw the dark shape sprawled in the road, he knew it was no dream. Oh God, he'd killed someone. Adrenaline raced through his veins and he began to shake violently. It took him several attempts to open the door; his trembling hand kept slipping on the handle. Eventually he managed to stagger across the road, his body soaked with sweat despite the sub-zero temperatures. But for the fact her head was twisted at an unnatural angle, the woman could have been asleep. Long stringy grey hair was matted against her head, one patch dark with blood where the impact had broken the skin. Her body was clothed in a worn coat and one of her scuffed shoes was lying incongruously beside her. Gingerly he knelt down and touched her bony wrist with his fingertips. Her skin still felt warm, but there was no discernible pulse. A trace of scarlet dribbled out from the corner of her mouth and her dull eyes stared into the night vacantly. Liam stood up and looked at the corpse with a sense of disbelief. He kept waiting for her to sit up and yell obscenities. Surely this couldn't be happening to him. It wasn't his fault. She had come from nowhere and it was dangerously icy. There had been no way of avoiding her. The trouble was he didn't think it would look too good when the police arrived and breathalysed him. He was way over the limit and regardless of the circumstances he could easily go down for this. Oh what a fitting end to a wonderful evening, he thought bitterly. He began to giggle helplessly as hysteria bubbled up manically from within. The tears streamed down his face as he stood on the deserted stretch of road, his mirthless laughter echoing through the frosted trees. A mournful howling from somewhere in the distance soon brought him back to reality and he suddenly realised that he needed to do something, fast. He could call for an ambulance, but the fact was, it was too late. She was clearly dead. Quickly all the options flashed through his bleary brain and he discounted each and every one. It was no use. He couldn't afford to be sent to prison for such a senseless accident. It was hardly his fault the stupid cow had stepped in front of his car. Christ, she'd practically been begging for someone to run her over! Liam wiped the sweat from his face on his sleeve. Gingerly he nudged the body with his toe, just to make one last check she was really dead. Nothing happened. No noise or movement. She was most definitely deceased. He spun and practically ran back to his car. Without examining his actions closely, he revved the engine and turned the car back onto the road again. Not daring to look in his rear view mirror, he sped away fast. * * * On Monday Liam called in sick. He wasn't lying; he had felt sick all weekend. His assistant, Marie, sounded concerned when she took his call; she knew he very rarely succumbed to illness. "Have you been to the doctor?" she asked in her breathy voice. "No, I'm sure it's just a virus," said Liam with a guilty cough. He only wished it were that simple. Every time he turned round he thought he saw the old woman watching him with her dead eyes. "Well, tell Shelly to take good care of you," replied Marie. Liam almost laughed. He hadn't heard from Shelly since Friday night and under the circumstances, he knew he wasn't likely to. No doubt at some point she'd come around and collect her stuff, but she would probably do that when she thought he wasn't there. "Thanks, Marie, I will do," he said with a deep sense of irony. He knew Shelly would be more likely to stick a knife in his back than tend his imaginary sick bed. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and sank back down on the chair. Now that he had the day to himself, he didn't know what to do. If only Shelly was here... It was a dead end thought. Shelly WASN'T here and that was that. He decided to walk down to the corner shop and buy another newspaper. He couldn't help wondering if there would finally be a mention about the accident. All weekend he had scanned the local news and...nothing. There had been no reports of any hit and run victims whatsoever. He had also checked his car on Saturday morning and to his surprise there hadn't been a mark on it. Not even a scratch. Frankly it was weird -- he could clearly recall the whole incident, but as time went on, he began to doubt his memory. Maybe it was all a product of his delusional mind. The days passed slowly. Every time the phone rang or somebody buzzed the front door his heart jumped and he broke out in a sweat. He was torn between hoping it was Shelly and dreading it was the police. Gradually the fear abated and eventually he allowed himself to believe that the accident never really happened. "I was drunk," he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His reflection nodded agreeably and he rubbed his bristly chin. "God you look a fucking mess," he said in disgust. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow. Spending all week at home feeling miserable was doing nothing for his looks. It was Friday night and rather than sit at home dwelling on all the crap, he had decided to go out and find some company. Shelly hadn't been in touch and he was still far too ashamed to call her. He had hoped that maybe she would come back, but so far it wasn't happening. In his less lucid moments he imagined her with Patrick, sharing Patrick's penthouse apartment in the City. Of course that just induced him to drink even more, so he tried not to torture himself with such thoughts. By the time he had showered, shaved and dressed in the last clean clothes he owned, it was well past nine o'clock. Feeling like death warmed over he headed off down the road towards the high street with its dismal selection of bars and restaurants. He could have taken his car and gone further into town, but since that fateful night, he'd been unable to drive. Every time he sat in the driver's seat and turned the ignition on, he had a panic attack. He tried to pass this off as a stress-related symptom, but he had to admit he was becoming a little freaked out. Not driving anywhere was going to be damned difficult when he eventually returned to work. All week he'd managed to fob off his boss rather successfully. When Mr Forsythe finally rang him at home on Wednesday morning (apparently concerned by whatever Marie had said), Liam had been vague and hinted at 'personal difficulties'. This was enough to persuade the old man he needed more time to 'sort himself out'. "Just keep me in the loop, Liam," Jack Forsythe said in his best caring voice. "We wouldn't want to lose you." "I'll be okay soon, Jack," replied Liam, trying to sound as sick as he felt. * * * Out of the corner of one blurry eye, Liam saw the redhead watching him. He tried to fix on her face, but the room kept spinning alarmingly. After a while she sashayed over towards his table. "Hey," she said in a sultry voice, sliding into the booth beside him. "My name's Ruby. Wanna buy me a drink?" He scanned her body with interest. The black dress she wore left little to the imagination and it took a huge amount of effort to lift his gaze from out of her voluminous cleavage. "Hi Ruby," he said, feeling cheerful for the first time in ages. "Here," he said, pulling a crumpled twenty from his pocket. "Go buy us both a drink. Mine's a whiskey shot." "Sure thing Hun," she grinned. As he watched, mesmerised, she licked her lips suggestively. Suddenly his spirits weren't the only thing that had lifted noticeably. She wiggled her way back across the bar, black stockings evident beneath the very short hem of her dress. God, the woman was sex on legs, he thought admiringly. Shelly never dressed like that. She always wore very conservative clothes -- classy suits and tasteful dresses. He had often suggested she tried wearing short skirts and stockings, but she'd refused point blank to dress 'like a whore'. Several drinks later and Liam felt his budding relationship with Ruby was going swimmingly and Shelly had been firmly banished to the 'ex girlfriend' list. He slumped against Ruby and nuzzled her neck. "Mmm you smell good," he muttered. She giggled. "Maybe soon you can see if I taste as good," she purred suggestively. "Do you live nearby?" "Not too far," he said. He glanced at his watch but the dial swam disconcertingly before his eyes. "Perhaps we should leave now." Before I'm too drunk to stand up, he thought. Ruby had downed a huge amount of vodka and he was rather surprised she wasn't as drunk as he. "Good plan," she agreed. "Come on lover -- take me back to your place and let me show you a good time." She stood and tried to pull him up, but his legs refused to cooperate. "Ruby I—" He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat as a sudden image of Shelly jumped into his head. Suddenly he wished she were here. She wouldn't have let him get into such a state. His hip banged the table hard and a glass toppled over, shattering into shards when it hit the concrete floor. "Shit," he said, noticing the landlord glaring at them both. "Miserable fucker!" Ruby said loudly, gesturing rudely at the landlord. She yanked Liam harder and this time he managed to stand up. They staggered towards the open door together, oblivious to the amused glances from the other customers. Liam soon began to feel rather sick, but he tried not to think about it. Thinking was hazardous to his health. How he wished Shelly was here with him. In a blinding moment of clarity he realised that Ruby was only here because his money had paid for her drinks all evening. Not once had she bought any - she'd just dipped into his wallet every time. When they finally reached his front door step, he flopped down and closed his eyes. It was freezing cold and suddenly all he wanted was to go to sleep, alone. The alcohol began to wear off slightly. "Give me your key then -- I'm freezing my tits off out here!" Ruby laughed coarsely and Liam stared at her bleakly. She wasn't even that pretty; nowhere near as beautiful as Shelly. Iced I was leaving the post office, not expecting anything eventful to happen, when a high-end older model Jaguar came very close to hitting me. The car parked a few spots over from me and I was able to watch as the driver stepped out of the car. I was readying myself to give them a dirty look and if prompted comment on almost being hit. I instantly recognized the mane-like head of blonde hair from a time when I had been addicted to the local strip clubs. Her stage name had been Icy. Her real name was Sheryl. I looked right at her. It was she that gave me a dirty look. She was carrying a few envelopes and was headed inside the post office. I had never really forgotten, and still fantasized about her. I was a customer of the club she stripped at when she first started her career. She had been about 20 or so and was perfection. It was a combination of her blonde hair and her diva-like attitude that had me enthralled and had me giving her my money and attention. There were other more attractive girls. Some had larger breasts than her 36 D's, and some danced better than her, but her Icy demeanor certainly warranted her stage name. I tipped her so well that she would come and sit with me on her free time. I got to know some about her and even met her on her days off for some modeling sessions. She danced and posed for me as I took pictures. Our relationship never resulted in any sex, but being around her felt very rewarding. "Sheryl?" I said. "Do I know you?" She said, seemingly ready to dismiss me. "It's Rob, from your days at the club downtown." It took her a moment to recognize me. So many faces, so many men to remember. "Yes, Rob. Come here." She said, opening her arms to embrace me. She was wearing a blue tracksuit with white piping down the side. Her jacket was open and she had on a white blouse. She wore white gym shoes with blue stripes. The massive bosom she once displayed seemed significantly smaller. I hugged her. She smelled incredible. At 5' 10" she had been my equal in height when she wore heels. I was a little taller than her now. She embraced me longer than I expected. Her chest did not feel as imposing as it once did. Her face had a few wrinkles, but overall the skin was very healthy. She must have been in her early 30's now. I had been told she stopped stripping some time in her mid 20's. This was around the time her body must have started to betray her. "How long has it been?" She said. "A few years. You still look amazing." I said. She moved her hand through her hair and looked proud to elicit such a compliment. "You were a good customer. Always polite." She said. "Thank you, Sheryl." She seemed far removed from her Icy persona. Nonetheless she was very attractive and very enticing. "Do you still visit the clubs?" She asked. "No. I said. I don't know, it was kind of period in my life that I needed that. You will always be memorable for me." "I bet." She said, laughing. "I guess with the Internet giving you access to so much, well..." "Did you ever marry?" I asked. "No." She said. I kind of expected that answer. I remembered that she spoke of never really being capable of loving someone so much that marriage would follow. I was divorced now, and kind of understood what she described. I had not been able to start any type of meaningful relationship since my divorce 5 or so years earlier. I just lingered for a moment, trying to smell her. She gave a half smile that said she wanted to move on with her business. I wanted to see her again, even if it was only for dinner. I needed to reconnect with her. She represented a time when I believed certain things were within my grasp: love, success, and a meaningful life. She had been a youthful summer day. Now, here she stood, seemingly changed from what had captivated me, but still drawing me nonetheless. We agreed to meet a few days later for dinner. I watched her walk into the post office and thought it ironic that she was in a tracksuit. Her body may have gone soft so early from lack of exercise and good diet. She enjoyed junk food and a few glasses of wine, and had told me she lounged around too much. She still looked great. Her bottom was just a little broader and not as high. I left very excited. I headed back to my office and sat at my desk, remembering how she danced, how she gyrated. So many sultry looks had been exchanged between us. I recalled those moments when she posed for me at a motel not far from the club. I took so many pictures, and she was comfortable letting me take close-ups of her privates. Sadly, I no longer had any of the pictures. My then wife had discovered them hidden away in the attic of our home and destroyed them. I had never touched her. I was playing her slow, hoping to get all of her one day, but there was a breakup in the routine. She had taken some time off to travel to Spain and Italy with a wealthy fan and I was trying to save a marriage that deserved to end. I needed to call an old friend with the news that I had seen Icy. I called my friend Greg, to ask him if he recalled Icy. "I remember you were obsessed with some blonde. I don't remember her exactly. I was usually drunk when I went to those clubs." Greg said. "You should remember her. You always hit on blondes." I said. "Was she the one who would sit with you sometimes?" "That's her." "The really bitchy one?" "That's her." "O.K. Yeah, she was hot." Greg said. "You going to bang her this time?" "I actually just want to get to know her again." I said. _____ I spent the next few days picking out some clothes. I bought a new sports coat and had my hair cut. My barber sensed something was different about me. I usually chatted comfortably with him, but on this day my words trailed off. He asked me if everything was fine with me. I laughed and told him that I had a date with a woman I had known some time before. He asked me if I had looked her up on the Internet. I told him no. "I probably would have eventually tried to find her through the Internet." I said. "She must be special to you." He said. I had an image of her twirling on a dance pole, then pointing at me as she danced to the popular songs of the day. I smiled. My heart raced. Had I really meet up with Icy the other day? I still could not believe it. I was useless at work. Papers were piling up, and there were some phone calls that needed to be returned. My mind was on the stage that Sheryl had owned. My thoughts bounded around. We were going to meet at a restaurant a few blocks from the strip-club that had introduced us. Part of me still thought of her as the young college dropout that needed to make a few extra bucks. I still had not exchanged that persona for the woman I was so fortunate to have met at the post office. I reserved a table off to the side, but with a view of the entrance. I wanted my time with her to be without any distractions. _____ I arrived early and sat down and ordered a drink. I kept looking out the front window and waited for Sheryl to appear, seemingly out of my personal history. I was nervous. I wanted to tell her that I had a better job then when she first new me. I wanted to explain to her that my marriage falling apart was not my fault. My ex-wife was impossible to please and she never communicated her feelings. Just as I was about to order another drink, Sheryl walked in, looking statuesque and very classy. The blonde had on brown. Different shades that is. Her knee-high boots were dark brown as was her skirt and leather jacket, but her stockings and blouse were pale brown. She looked very confident and somewhat purposeful. I was so happy to see her. I rose to kiss her and was taken back to another time. She was wearing a perfume I was very familiar with. The kind of perfume she had worn years ago that only added to her mystique. I made a mental note to ask her about it later. The Ice Queen sat down and ordered a drink. Our eyes searched for an equal point to lock on. She only seemed slightly preoccupied. She was almost complete with me in our moment. "I am so... glad that we ran into each other the other day." I said, wondering if she even knew how close her car came to hitting me. "I am too." She said. "My life doesn't seem as exciting as when I was dancing. Things were definitely different then. Seeing you brought back so many memories. Not all of them good. Men can be such pigs. You were a gentleman though." I smiled when she said that. I was glad that I always treated her respectfully, even while she spread her legs for my camera. Sheryl went on to tell me that she had been thinking of giving up dancing even before she had to remove her implants, but without a large chest she didn't feel as confident. She had been at a costume party and was wearing 6-inch heels. She had been drinking and easily lost her balance, falling on her precious cleavage. She did not feel right the next morning and went to the emergency room. One of the implants had ruptured from the force of the fall. The implants were removed and her career as Icy was over. Another fan of hers offered her a job as a topless waitress. She needed a job and took it without thinking that her former source of ego and pride was now deflated. She said that even though most of the girls in the restaurant had natural breasts, they almost all had better boobs than she did. She could not handle being second rate to young girls just out of high school or older women who fell short in all other categories of attractiveness. Her chest could not compete. She then went to work as a web-cam model, but did not like being confined all day, along with having to take orders from customers. Men, and sometimes women, were naturally vulgar she said. Sheryl was now working as an office worker for an insurance company. She said the boss, who knew her from her days as a dancer, initially allowed her some flexibility, but was not favoring her as much as he had done in the past. Sheryl felt threatened by a younger co-worker who garnered a bit more off the male attention than she did. The couple other secretaries were homely looking, but the new arrival came with a very athletic frame, offset by two confident breasts. It seemed I had heard the same type of complaints about other strippers, although now it was in a different environment. I was attentive to her words. Her blue eyes mesmerized me. I felt her boot hit my leg more than a few times. Was she sending me a sign? Her cell phone rang. She seemed to forget that I was there. "I forgot." She said into her phone. "Look, we made those plans weeks ago. I have been busy at work... you know that... there are things that come up... I am out having dinner with an old friend. I don't... hardly say anything when your wife calls you away." My heart felt as though it had been pounded by one powerful hammer. I was dazed as I continued to hear her speak into her phone. Her tone got nastier and she finally admonished him about asking too much of her. She finally ended the call and looked at me with an apologetic smile. I was not interested in a casual affair with her. I was willing to take my time. The prize, for me, was her love. That is, my love for her being equaled by her own for me. Let her have her dalliances for now. The Ice Queen would melt in my arms soon. After dinner, I walked her to her car. She seemed at ease at first, then a bit surprised that I was not looking for anything more. For me, the night was over, but our new relationship had just begun. I wanted to get my hands on everything under her brown outfit, but I wanted more. "Then... that's it?" She said. "Of course not. Just over for tonight. I have a meeting in the morning. That sounds silly doesn't it? I want... to see you so much again. I understand if... that you already have a full life, but I want you to make room for me. Can you do that?" I said. She was quiet. Pensive. Sheryl was really thinking. I sensed she was calculating how or if she wanted me to be a part of her life. I had told her that I was certainly mismatched with my wife, but had realized it after we were already married and that I always felt closer to her than I did other woman I had spent time with. "Yes. I can find room for you in my life. You already know... me." She said. We embraced for the second time that night. This hug felt more promising. It seemed as though we were finding the ability to be more than just one-time acquaintances. Her eyes appeared almost tearful. She kissed me on the cheek and got into her car. I felt an electric charge course through me. Blood moved quicker through my veins. I drove home with the radio turned up and drove faster than usual. _____ We exchanged some phone calls and some text messages over the next few days. I even asked her about her perfume, but she didn't include her response in her text message to me. I was going to pick her up at her work and take her to lunch. I don't know how I was able to do my job, since I spent most of the day thinking about Sheryl. There were glimpses of the new Sheryl, commingled with flashes of the youthful diva dancing to an endless track pulsating with sexual tension. I waited in my car in front of her office. A few of her co-workers were themselves leaving for lunch. The blonde hair was unmistakable as it came through the lobby doors. She was wearing black slacks and had on a green sweater. Her high heels clicked on the ground as she walked. I got out of my car and met her. We kissed and shared a laugh. As we were pulling out, a young woman was walking in front of my car. "That's the one. The one they all act as if they would do anything for. Her name is Nicole. They call her Nico." She said. I had to be quiet and not say anything that might upset Sheryl. This young woman was stunning. She had olive skin and a rack that was airborne. Her dark hair flowed straight and ended just above her heart shaped ass. This was a beauty that had only recently evolved into womanhood. I didn't think Sheryl should have felt it necessary to compete with her. I felt the former stage sensation was greedy. She wanted the attention of all the men, not just the few that preferred her look to that of Nicole's. Sheryl seemed unhappy now. "Sweetie, don't fill your pretty head with thoughts that don't mean anything. Maybe they view her as being inexperienced, easy prey. You have seen all the bullshit guys can put out there. Take it as a compliment. You are a woman." I said. I was unsure if anything I said was going to be helpful. "Maybe you can help me find another job. I don't..." She said, acting as if she wanted to cry. I didn't know what to think. Was she using me, or did she simply just think she could rely on an old friend. "Let me check with some people. I'll see if anything is available." I said. "I new you would take my request seriously." She said. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around my arm and nestled her face into my neck. Part of me wanted to prove I was worthy of her, and of helping her, while another part wanted me to advise her on trying cope with the demands of working in an office. I decided to just drive to our lunch date. _____ I spoke with a few people, to see if they needed anyone for an office job. There was one guy, Ted, who probably would have paid just to have her around in his office, even though it was a one-man operation. Maybe have her get coffee, make a few phone calls while giving him a new source to exercise his sexual imagination. She would serve as masturbatory material. I was reluctant to ask him, because I didn't want to share her with anyone, but I figured he was older, married and would content himself with just having her around. I called him, and he was delighted at the chance. "It gets too quiet here most days. Could use someone to make some calls. Have her come by for an interview." Ted said. I called Sheryl and told her I was coming over to her apartment, with some news about a job. She paused a short while on the phone, then told me to come on over. I wasn't sure if I was surprising her by coming over so suddenly. I drove over to her apartment. She lived on the 5th floor of her apartment building. She had lived in a very expensive high-rise while she was a dancer, but now lived a bit more modestly. She opened the door for me and quickly headed back into her bedroom. I could see she was wearing black fishnet stockings and did not have on shoes. She had on a silky white robe that I could tell was opened. "I was going out tonight, but news of a job is just as important. Thanks for coming by." She said, from her bedroom. "I figured it was important to you. I wanted to deliver the news in person." I said. There was not much furniture in her apartment. The walls were bare, save for a poster of a very high-class club she once danced at. She was featured in the poster. I started to explain to her what the job entailed, when she walked out of her bedroom. She was still showing me her stockings, but was now wearing heels. She had on a black panties and a matching garter belt. She wore a black push up bra. Her stomach had a little extra, but appeared very inviting. She stood there, as if allowing me to appraise her at a new age. The Icy Queen a few degrees warmer. "You look..." I started. "Does the job... equal or more to what I am making now?'" She asked. "Try... go to the interview. Ted is a very good man. He will try to accommodate you." She walked closer to me. I was growing very animated. I was sure, a word here, a gesture there, and she and I would be embraced in a lustful coupling, but on this night Sheryl had other plans. I was instantly deflated. Secretly spurned. I remained openly a gentleman for Sheryl. "I know I look like this could be a comfortable night here... I made plans. Can you understand? I will call you after my interview. Will you leave his number so I can call him? Rob, I don't know how... I want to thank you when the time is better for us." She said. Even though Sheryl spoke of other plans, she stood there quietly, as if anticipating, or daring me to initiate something. I felt physically frozen. 'Are you all right, Rob?" She said. "I am good. I understand. I dropped by with little notice." I said. "I have to finish getting ready." I tried to look her over as best I could, without leering. She was certainly softer than I ever knew. Her stomach jiggled a little as she turned to go back to her room. "I feel so bad we couldn't go out or something." She said. Her voice trailed off as she walked to her bedroom. She was wearing a thong. I was surprised by how smooth the skin was. No longer did her bottom bubble up, but it was still an attractive point. There was just a hint of cellulite on her thighs. Her confidence was admirable. I had to leave before my brain exploded. I walked into the kitchen and wrote Ted's number on a notepad. "I left Ted's number in the kitchen." I shouted. "I better be going, Sheryl." "Thank you." She said. Her voice was barely audible. I walked out of her apartment and did not feel confident at all. I was patient, but was in no real mood to be playing the role of someone who was there only to be counted on. I wanted to take it, to take her to the next level and beyond. I didn't want any part of rushing things for the sake of sex. Although sex was on my mind, love was the prize for me. _____ Ted called me a couple of weeks after I had first spoken with him about hiring Sheryl and he told me that Sheryl was working out grandly. It had been a while since he had anyone working in his office, but it seemed to be going very naturally. He also mentioned that she was a very attractive woman. 'A real looker' he said. Ted said she had been with him for over a week. In that time she had not called to thank me. I wasn't looking for all that much, but a bit of gratitude would have been nice. I decided that I was not going to call her. It seemed easy at first, but actually took some will power. Iced I tried to busy myself at work after hanging up with Ted. I went to a bar near my house to fill in any free time after work. I was afraid the urge to call Sheryl would be too strong. Her call to thank me had never come. I sat on a stool, looking into the vacuous eyes of what I was sure would have proved to be a grotesque woman if the lighting had been better. I looked away. When a younger woman sat down next to me and smiled, I looked away again. I needed to know if things with Sheryl had ceased growing. After my second drink, I decided I was going to stop by Ted's office the next day, just to see how his new hire was working out. ___ As I showered that morning, I was already trying to talk myself out of going to see Sheryl. I was hurt that she did not call to thank me. On my way to work, I drove by Ted's office, but saw that the parking lot was empty. I decided, that if I was going to stop in at all, it was going to be around lunchtime. I went into the bathroom 5 or so times, looking at my hair, checking to see if my shave had been close enough. I had some cologne in my desk that I used to spray myself with. Part of me did not want to be dismissed by Sheryl as just someone who had been there to make things easier for her. I left a few minutes early and drove the couple of blocks to Ted's office. Both their cars were in the parking lot. I tried to walk in casually, as though I did it often. The front door was open. I knocked before entering. It was a small office, and it did not seem they were expecting anyone. Sheryl was wearing a set of yellow bra and panties and was sitting on Ted's lap. She was acting as though she was taking notes. She suddenly looked over to me and did not change her visage. She held the smile that just earlier was warming Ted. It froze me. Ice Queen makes comeback. Ted looked a little embarrassed and scooted her off his lap gently. "I am... This is my fault. I should have called." I said. I turned and walked out. Ted followed me out the door and caught me at my car. He was a little winded. "One of the perks of having your own business, I guess." He said, laughing. He had no idea what she meant to me. I had no one to blame but myself. I knew he was lonely and her whole persona would create just this scenario. "Believe me. I can well imagine." I said, trying not to look embarrassed or fazed. "I should have called. I just wanted to see how your new hire was making out. Looks like the two of you are doing fine." "Well, I don't know how much I really needed a secretary, but a warm body, a body like hers is always useful." He said. I said goodbye, and left feeling miserable. Before I got back to work, Sheryl called me. She wanted to meet me later that day. I agreed and told her we could meet inside the lobby of the art museum downtown. It was a little too chilly for meeting outdoors, and I did not feel like buying dinner for her. I was in the lobby a few minutes before she walked in. She was wearing an all black ensemble, except for the golden points on her shoes and her gold colored sweater. She looked very serious as we had a formal greeting. She took of her dark sunglasses and sort of smiled. "Hello." I said. "Rob." She said. She took off her coat and sat down on the bench. I listened to the noise her legs made as she crossed them. The pantyhose she wore seductively drew attention to her legs. "I don't know what you made of walking in on me and Ted. It was innocent by all the way around." She said. "I don't think I am... said or was thinking anything." I said. "Stop it with being so fucking noble." She said. I was surprised she said that, and figured she was going to chastise me. I listened. "You have always been kind, always reserved with me. Don't you think, that even back then, in those days when you saw me baring everything to you, it would have been fine if you had made a move on me? Did you stop in wonder that maybe I wanted you to cross the line with me. And the other night, a couple of weeks ago, I was in front of you in my underwear, and you did nothing. You... all you had to do." She stopped for a moment and drew in some air. "Working for Ted, I know does not seem like a real job, but he is entrusting me with a little more each day. I may play a bigger role there. He could slow down some and come in part-time. That would be a good thing for everyone. Sitting on his lap is not going to lead to anything. He is devoted to his wife. Putting a smile on his face puts a smile inside of me. Women, most women anyway, like feeling adored, feeling attractive. Ted... it is nothing and I don't... that doesn't happen everyday." "I am sorry I didn't fulfill more with you then or now. Sex was not first on my mind. I have always... I won't let anything with Ted affect our friendship. I will be there for you." I said. I stood up as if to conclude our meeting. "Love doesn't, has never been easy for me." She said. "I know. I remember you said that before." "Just make it easy for... Anyway, let me thank you for helping me with the job. I know I never thanked you. I was wrong for not calling you. I felt you rejected me that night. I was upset with you. Thank you. Thank you." "Glad to help." I said. "Maybe next time I will be... really there for you." "Maybe." She said. I walked out of the Museum feeling a little better, knowing my own restrictions played a role in there being a lack of anything romantic, sexual or passionate happening. As usual, I was looking for the future with her. I vowed to let this rest. I had been living an uneventful life before I reunited with her, and that was going to have to be continued. I still held firm that I did not want a casual affair with her, but that I wanted something to last between. I wanted to feel that moment when she was truly mine. _____ Fall was moving by quickly. Winter and all the entrapments of Holidays and family were getting nearer. Since I had no kids and lived in a different state than any family, I usually spent the holidays alone, counting the minutes until they were over. Work was steady, albeit uninspiring. I had a few urges to contact Sheryl, wanting to believe that there was a reason that we had met up at the post office that day, but I let the urge pass. Ted called me a few times, and he wanted to rave about Sheryl, I did my best to sound interested, yet always tried to change the subject. "What a great gal." He had said. "I find myself wondering, well wanting her in my life more and more." "She is a great one, that is sure enough. How is business these days? I know you usually have a slowdown this time of year. Do you still do any hunting? I remember those trophy deer you used to catch." I said, while thinking, 'now you have a trophy secretary'. "Oh yeah. Got too wild for me. There is a new crop of hunters that shoot without looking. Had a few whiz by me. Never really liked bow hunting, so just gave it up." _____ It was mid-January when she called me. The holidays had come and gone and now it was just cold. Not much snow. She called me up and told me that she was overwhelmed and needed to talk to me. I told her sure and she told me she would be right over. I was surprised at the suddenness. I cleaned up a little in the living room and found a bottle of wine, in case she was staying for a long visit. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I felt a bit stiff in my clothes so I changed into a looser fitting outfit. This was going to be her first time coming to my home. I heard her car drive up and then heard the door open and close. She must have been moving quickly, because the doorbell rang immediately. I opened the front door, and there she was, in a silver outfit, looking like a space girl at a stripper's convention. She was barefoot and carrying a pair silver boots. Her mascara had been running. It appeared she had been crying. "Rob!" She said as she dropped her boots into the living room and came inside to hug me. She was very cold. "Sheryl?" I said. "Why are you barefoot?" "I can't drive with these 6 inch heels on. Too bulky." She came inside and sat down on the sofa. I sat down next her. She put her feet on my lap. It was as if she to prompting me to warm them up. Her feet were very cold. She seemed nervous and a little hyper. Part of me was glad she came to me like this. I wanted to be strength for her. She started to sob and started to tell me that things were not going well for her. Ted had become ill and his wife decided to close the business and made the decision to retire her husband. Ted was going to be all right, but had to take things easy and not get excited. Ted was very sad that he had to leave Sheryl without a job. She told me about a married man that she was seeing that had made her believe he was going to leave his wife for her. The man did leave his wife, but for someone younger than Sheryl. "I just needed someone to talk to. You have always been that for me." She said. "I just want to do what I can." I said. Her feet were warming up. "That makes me feel a whole lot better. You have never put any pressure on me." "Why are you wearing this outfit anyway? It looks familiar." I asked. "It's an updated version of one of my Icy costumes. I was going to go to a costume party with him. He broke up with me and told me he was marrying someone else." I changed positions, and was now sitting right beside her and had my arm around her, trying to comfort her. I could hear her sobs. This was the most intimate moment we had ever shared. Seeing her dance naked and pose naked for me was a totally different emotion. It seemed this was a form of surrender to me. I used all the patience I had. She was finally going to deliver herself to me of her own will. We remained in that position a good while. She suddenly moved to get up. "Do you mind if I go into the bathroom and clean up a bit?" She asked. "Whatever you need." She got up, picked up her boots and purse that were by the entryway and went into the bathroom. Her face was hideously smudged at this point. She closed the bathroom door. I stayed on the sofa, and tried to relax my breathing. I was starting to get anxious with what seemed possible. I decided to open the wine and get two glasses. "Would you like me to open some wine?" I called to her from just outside the bathroom. "Sure. Could you also put on some music? Find some dance music." She said. I opened the wine and poured some into two glasses. I turned the television on and found a satellite station playing the dance music from her days as a stripper. I continued to take deep breaths. It had been a long while for me since I had shared anything special in the way of sex with a woman. The door to the bathroom opened. Her hair was higher than it had been earlier. Her face had been cleaned up, and in her 6-inch heels she looked imposing. She towered over me as she came to take a glass of wine. She took a few sips and started to laugh. She was perfectly balanced in her high boots as she walked over to the television and turned up the volume. I sat back down onto the couch and let this all play out. "I think Icy has owed you this for a very long time." She said as she set down her glass of wine. My heart was beating very heavily. The music was of her era. An erotic dance beat with fresh sounding voices. She started to gyrate, to whip her hair around. She extended her legs and arms. Her ass looked youthful in the outfit. She stuck her chest out and came closer to me. She started to unzip her top then backed off. Sheryl shook her rear end and instantly she was 20 years old again. My mouth was agape, and there was no way I was capable of speech. Sheryl unzipped her top all the way, and underneath it she wore a silver bra. She now started to take off her pants. I feared she would have trouble getting them off because of the boots, but they must have been buttoned on, because they came off easily. She wore a silver thong. There she was, still wearing her boots, looking spectacular. The Ice Queen strutted over to me and gently grabbed me by my hair and led me down onto my knees. I let myself go down to the ground and was on all fours as she danced above me. She was straddling over the top of my head with her legs going in all directions. I looked up to see her crotch. She was neatly trimmed from what I could see. Her legs were smooth against my cheeks. She applied a little pressure, letting me know that she was in control. The music was making me feel even more under her control. She placed her bra on my face. The cups smelled of sweet perfume. Tat aroma from long ago. The smell was triggering images of her youth, of her fantastic ability. I finally was going to see what she looked like topless. This was the new Icy. She got on her haunches and cradled my face. I was nearly at eye level with them. They were pink and proud, although not as youthful as I had envisioned. The skin had been stretched too much by those implants that it never recovered, never returned to form. They were much smaller than in her days of bouncing cleavage all over the place, but desirable nonetheless. They were still what I wanted. I nudge in and started to smell them. Her body was yielding to me. She was so soft, but still cold. I needed to warm her up some more. This moment was so long awaited. I started to lick a nipple but she suddenly rose up again. I felt a boot on top of my head and she forced me flat to the ground. I still had the bra wrapped around my head and now I was given a silver thong to munch on, as she put it in my mouth. I mumbled something, not sure if the thought originated with me or with the music. It hurt to have an erection and be laying flat on the ground. I moved my hips into a position that helped it. She turned me over and came right into my face. A thin blonde strip was all I saw before she mounted my face. Music, perfume, juices. Sheryl was on top of me and was using my face to pleasure herself. I could only oblige my Ice Queen that was so innately sexual. My arms and legs were unaccounted for, but my tongue was where it had to be. I gave a flick here, a slurp there. Clitty came out and looked around. "You... do... that... so well!" She shouted over the music. The moment seemed predestined. I had always been meant to join with her. Those feelings from years gone by were now being rewarded. My hands now held her ass. Soft and very mature. I slid my fingers into her crease and pushed her forward onto me. She started to thrust harder, and tried to find her rhythm. A slow cadence with a fantastic memory for what worked. This was an experienced machine that was clued into her needs. I could barely make out her moans. They must have been loud, but were muffled by the music. I could tell that she was bucking a little. Her thighs squeezed the sides of my head. She was close. Then the ride on my face stopped and she started to stand up. I was left with my mouth open, wanting more of that goodness that was Sheryl's pussy. I was dazed, but willing to let her proceed. The music stopped. I was still on the ground, looking up in amazement. "Go sit down on the sofa." She leaned down and whispered into my ear. "Take everything off." I did as I was told, quickly taking off my clothes. I sat down. My penis was sticking straight up and bobbing to and fro, looking for a home, seeking out the source of all the commotion. Sheryl was in front of me, still dancing, probably to some tune in her head. She sang a few lines from some song. I couldn't think. She was slowly working her way towards me. All she had on were her boots and she was now taking those off. She slowly unzipped the sides and kicked them off. She looked very fit as she suddenly charged at me, jumped onto me, grabbing my shoulders for support, stopping inches away from my anticipating member. She reached for my face as she slid down onto me. I felt so proud that I was able to raise such a stalwart ally that she now struggled a bit to accommodate me. My thickness took her a moment to get used to. Queen was happy now, deliciously moaning into my ear. We were finally joined after years of dancing around each other. "I didn't expect this... you to be so..." She said. "You are all I expected. My beautiful Icy.' I said. I helped her to find a suitable position. I helped us find the exact speed that we needed. Her moans were getting louder. My level of comfort had exceeded anything I had ever known. I declared so much for her in my head. It took all my self-control not to tell her that I loved her just yet. Her skin was so soft I held on tight. She forged ahead. My member was strong and prepared for catharsis. She smiled at me as she rode me deeper. I exploded inside of her. I could feel my fluids lace together with her juices. She sensed the tension leave me but continued to ride me. She was there herself. She let out a tiny gasp, almost child like. Her head collapsed on my shoulder. "It's called Iced." She said. "What?" I said. I had no idea what she was talking about. "The perfume you asked me about. The perfume I am wearing now." "I knew it had to have a name that fit you. Fit what you just did to me." I said. "I love you." She said. I smiled at her, feeling something grand had just been accomplished. Icing on the cake. "I have loved you for so long." I said. She didn't get off of me. I sensed she was waiting for more. "Will you spend the night? I want you to spend the night." I said. "I'm already here." She said. Iced All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without explicit written permission from the author. * From the moment the ice hit her oblivious ass, Kristi launched upright, executed a clumsy pirouette and glared at the man standing behind her. His jaw slack and a horrified expression on his face, Mark gesticulated wildly in a poor attempt to mime the tragedy. The deafening music left little room for an auditory explanation. This unique circumstance led to an unexpected resolution. "Lunachicks" were touring, promoting their "Babysitter on Acid" CD. As a Deejay for a campus/community radio station, Mark picked up free tickets for the show. New to the city he went alone. The all-girl-band was electrifying. There was a multitude of bodies jostling and pressing against each other; crammed to the rafters, it was a cyclone of dancing and moshing. Barmaids never made it to the darkened recesses of the bar. The going was laborious and not without danger. Slipping on a beer soaked floor would not be amusing. The volume was deafening and Mark stuffed a small tear of toilet paper in his ears; it filtered out the distortion. Useful if you wanted to maintain an auditory capacity late into life. Mark sat on the edge of the stage staring up at the lead guitarist grinding out chords dressed in an outrageous array of colours and fibers. Laughing and grinning, Mark enjoyed himself, the views of the crowd and the band couldn't be better. The sweaty girls dancing front stage, with tight fitting tops and luscious smiles were delicious eye candy. Hopefully one of these girls is coming home with me tonight, he thought. Half way through the show Mark elbowed and pushed his way to the bar for more water, he didn't drink alcohol. There was no defining line-up to the counter; no differentiation between the sweaty people wanting thirst quenching drinks and the crowd socializing or dancing. Waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he finally got his prized glass of ice water. After tipping generously Mark struggled through the masses to find a different vantage point from which to observe the revelers and the band. Catching himself as he was about to topple over a row of partiers sitting on, what seemed like the dance floor, Mark wobbled and regained his balance. There were two steps on this side that lead to the main dancing area. People were hunkered down all along the stairs catching a moments repose, getting ready to re-enter the mob with hips gyrating and arms flailing. From the slightly raised vantage-point, he could observe the sea of heads moving in a chaotic thrashing of bodies, attempting to synchronize to the beat of the music. Elevated highballs and beer bottles refracted the light from the lasers and mirror ball; cheers spontaneously erupted every few seconds. Hoots and hollers greeted the ending of every song, maddeningly propelling the crowd to lurch as one towards the stage like a school of fish. The Lunachicks, fully in their element, screamed back, laughing and provoking them, elevating the energy to outrageous levels. Standing on the top tier, careful to not step on anyone's hands or fingers, Mark stomped and cheered with the rest of them, lost in the pounding rhythm of the music. His hand wrapped around the slippery glass of ice cold water as it seeped and sweat condensation. As he tossed his head to the beat, the glass slid from his hand. And as he snatched and clawed at empty space, the ice and what little water was left, tumbled down to splash on the floor. Miraculously, the glass was prevented from bouncing off unsuspecting heads. However, a few choice cubes of ice lodged themselves in the crack of the girl's jeans sitting directly below. Rising in one swift explosion of movement and turning to look behind her, was a tall, athletic woman. Standing below him yet looking down into his face, she gave Mark a withering stare. Drawing his head up to meet her eyes, his jaw opened and closed. Sputtering and heaving her chest in his face, she grimaced and screamed at the top of her lungs, "What the fuck was that?" Mark quickly found his voice again and instantly spurted out "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I'm such a fucking clutz!" "Well my ass is wet! And Goddamn that was cold! What the fuck was that? What were you drinking?" As she reached behind and dislodged a fragment of ice. "Aaggh, I can't believe this is happening," Mark lamely cried out. "It was ice. Just water -- the glass just slipped out of my hand! I swear it was an accident! I didn't do it on purpose!" Unable to contain a smirk, Mark had to look away. "Ya, well fuck that was cold!" Cringing Mark said, "I know, I know, I'm just really sorry ok? Let me buy you a drink -- what kind of beer is that?" She had a partially finished beer in her hand and simply turned the label towards Mark. He yelled, "I'll be right back. I'm really sorry." As he turned around she nudged him in the ribs and screaming in his face said, "It's not that bad! I'm not that wet. It was just such a fucking shock to feel ice cold -something - go down the crack of my ass!" Laughing, she winked as Mark made his way to the bar. A few minutes later, they sat together on the step and clinked drinks as they whooped and danced. As the Lunachicks said their adieu's and the crowd started thinning out, Mark asked, "What's your name?" "I'm Kristi," she said, now that they could actually hear what the other was saying, voices dry and raspy. "Nice to meet you despite the circumstances!" They both laughed, Mark looking down, kicking at the floor. They headed towards the exit agreeing that the Lunachicks had put on a fantastic show and the crowd, though rowdy had been great. Once outside Kristi met up with her two sisters. They had gone their separate ways once inside and were now getting in her car. Mark grinned as Kristi headed towards them and said, "So where's the party?" His voice sounded hushed in the cold night air. Kristi looked at her sisters and paused, "What do you think? Should we bring him home? Seems harmless enough." With raised eyebrows they glanced at each other and iterated firmly, "Ya well, we're going to bed when we get home so if you two are going to party, take it downstairs! We work in the morning!" Turning, Kristi extended her index finger, signaling to him, "come here." The interior of the car filled with laughter and teasing as Kristi explained how they met. In a cacophony of screeches and hysteria, they interrupted each other in their haste to needle him. Mark sheepishly grinning, did his best to defend himself. They were bent on getting a rise out of him and were succeeding, he was blushing like a teenager. Once home, the sisters said their sincere goodnights, nice meeting you, platitudes and left. Kristi went to the fridge and asked, "You want something to drink? Without ice?" Turning to look at him mischievously. Accepting a Perrier, Mark cast about the darkened house and noted a glassed in room. Recognizing it for a solarium, he suggested that perhaps they could check it out. Agreeing she stated, "It's my favorite spot to sit and contemplate." Kristi sat by a window, Mark came to a stop at her side. His foot resting on the corner of the chair, arm across his knee and looking down, his eyes softened. Kristi smiled back, neither of them uncomfortable with the lapse in conversation. Reaching over he gently squeezed her shoulder. Leaning into his hand Kristi invited further contact; as he slowly bent to her lips, they locked eyes. Kissing is the ultimate ice-breaker. Kissing opens something in you, a doorway to passion. The intimacy of mouth to mouth exploration sends a signal to your knees, causing them to weaken and wobble. Kissing incites your heart to palpitate and your thoughts to dissipate, floating off into the ether where they wait patiently, no longer necessary to the moment. A kiss of passion is unrestrained yet, a synchronized dance, lip to lip, angling to fit together like solving Rubik's cube. Meshed and dovetailed, accentuating the sensuality of the kiss, both participants are guided by the reflection of the other. Kissing is breathing in a person's essence. All nerve endings, poised along the supple and expressive swath of skin above and below the opening to your mouth, lose all fear of what may escape and seek instead to feel their counterpart, to fuse. Kissing sends a cascade of neurons to the epicenter of the brain carrying a simple message: shut down all thought. Kissing softens the heart and the ego's axiom to succeed. It encourages flexibility on an emotional level, inviting vulnerability. Kissing is experiencing the "other" as we would kiss ourselves. Inevitably when the spell is broken, from the ether your thoughts sinuously return. Your heart clutches a fraction, sensing the inevitable change, giving you pause to consider the moment you're letting go of. Once your immersion into that space surfaces to become conscious of drawing a breath, the intimacy and magic of kissing surrenders to something else. Kneeling in front of her, Mark gently pried her knees apart and smoothing her jeans ran his hands up the outside of her thighs to wrap around curvaceous hips. Scuttling closer he looked up at her, inviting more immediate contact. Inclining her head she kissed him deeply. His hands move up the hips to her waist and around to the small of her back. Coming up for air, Kristi breathed, "Let's go downstairs to my room," her eyes big and round, pupils dilated, her honeyed breath still lingering on Mark's tongue. Standing, she took him by the hand and lead him through the unknown. Guiding him to her lair following the unfamiliar contours of a home he's never entered, Mark willingly pattered along. Entering first, she switched on a bedside lamp. Grabbing her waist, he spun and flopped down on the mattress, their bodies bouncing. Kristi twisted onto her side and seizing his hands thrusts them above his head. In one deft motion she straddled his abdomen pinning his arms above his head. Looking him in the eye she said, "Ok, don't think just because we've come this far means we're going to fuck. You seem like a really nice guy but I've just met you." "Fine by me. I'm just really happy to be here with you and kissing you. You seem like a really nice girl too. Even though the circumstances of our introduction were, well, unusual." He laughed, drawing his lips into an "O" eyebrows arching comically. "'Ya, that was quite the pick-up line! You getting me all wet!" Pausing she continued, "Hmmm, was that planned mister? You better come clean you know. I'll have to ask around, see if you've used this move before!" she snickered. And dropping her head, covered his mouth with hers. Drinking deeply of each others tastes and smells, they kissed and squirmed on her bedspread creating pleats and creases, pulling it askew. Mark, his hands freed, wrapped his arms around her waist, alternating squeezing her and curving back to look at her, as their bodies gently rocked to and fro. Becoming aware that his cock was painfully bound in a less than ideal position he groped his crotch, attempting to pull his penis upwards so that it could, in relative terms, comfortably extend. Thrusting her hips at his zippered jeans she whispered in his ear, "Something wrong?" and nibbled on his earlobe. Grinning, he granted that, "Ya, something. Had to um, reposition a, um, a pole that's stuck in my pants." Mark continued upwards with his hands, they floated over her breasts and caressed them through the heavy fabric of her checkered shirt. It was flannel and felt nice and soft as he tenderly squeezed her boobs. It wasn't long before his hand was at her waist crawling up beneath the shirt to find her bra. He could feel her hardened nipples straining against the thin foamy pad. Her tits weren't large, but that was fine by Mark, he was known for saying more than a handful is a waste. She softly sighed and taking Mark's t-shirt by the hem, helped him to sit up and pulled it over his head. He took hers by the collar and started unfastening the buttons. She watched his hands as they performed this ritual, steady yet she could feel his excitement. Looking up from his sinuous arms, she kissed him again, lightly running her hands up from his bare shoulders to caress his chin and neck. He whispered, "Mmmm. You have nice soft hands. I like the way you're touching me." Fiddling with her bra behind her back, Mark embarrassingly admitted his lack of practice, "It's been a while since I've made out with a woman." Unsticking her face from his, she watched his eyes as she removed her bra. Mark could sense a little apprehension as she displayed herself. As a man with a great love for women and a deep respect for their needs and desires as well as their limits, he lovingly took her right tit in one hand. He returned her gaze and murmured, "Hmm, so good. Thanks for sharing this with me." He went on to say, "Nice boobs," stuck his face on one and opening his mouth engulfed it whole. She gasped loudly and her hands jerked to his head intertwining her fingers in his hair. Rolling her over back on the bed he continued to feast on her breast while his other hand massaged and tweaked her free nipple. She moaned and arched her tits into his face. Pulling his head back by the hair she heard the release of suction from his mouth and drawing it to her face, pressed her lips to his wet red tongue. Kristi's nipple, remodeled by Mark's left hand, rose angrily like a small blunt spire and bled a dark hue of pink. A tingling sensation that snaked like an electric current through her twin peaks straight to her clit, instantly flooded her cunt with hot creamy sex juices. Catching her breath, mouth open and hot humid exhalations misting Mark's face, she reached down and found his belt. Lowering himself into her boobs he resumed his relentless assailment of her nipples; they responded admirably. Kristi tugged at his pants and sitting up unzipped her own jeans. The cue could not have been more timely, Marks' cock was noodling it's head above his waistband and was doing it's best to see over a fence an inch too tall. He helped Kristi out of her pants admiring the wet splash of cunt nectar staining her panties. Licking his lips he felt a deep thirst for the essence oozing from her slit. He longed to feel her body buck and twist against his face teasing her clit and opening, from hole to hole. Mark marveled at the fine womanly body of the really nice girl he just met by icing her ass. There she lay naked except for a tiny little patch of tissue covering her vulva and anus. The gloating simpering expression on her face reflected the sunburst floating in Kristi's chest cavity, and jubilantly she said, "I know I said I wasn't going to fuck you but, this is so, um, good and, ah, well, um, let's just go with it." Shaking her head at her own disregard for a prudent approach and overwhelmed by a piercing ache deep in her cunt, she spread her legs. Obligingly Mark accepted the task set before him. Running his hands up her inner thighs and pulling them up into a "V" her bent knees resting into his shoulders, Mark gently pried her legs further apart. Nothing was hindering his view of her wet spotted panties, they were stuck to the folds of her cunt lips like nipples at a wet t-shirt contest. "Yyuuummmy!" he said to her grinning, his lips spread wide like an accordion, his chiclets sparkling white. She nodded in agreement and said a little nervously, "I've only had sex once before and the guy was a jerk. But I'm feeling comfortable with you. I think I can trust you. And, well, let's get those panties off." Snuggling down between her legs Mark suspected that she'd never been eaten out. He thought, if she's only ever had "sex" once before and the guy was an idiot, I bet he just shoved it in her, came and then went home to momma. Blowing hotly on her wet splayed peach, her juices oozing from her cunt, Mark lightly licked her panties, pausing to flutter gently on her clit. He heard the air being sucked between her teeth as she grabbed his head and drawing him up a little, (she didn't really want him getting very far from her aching slutty hole), she said, "I've never had anyone go down on me. This is good for you too right?" Mark made every effort to assuage her anxiety by stating, "You know, this is my main desire, to see you completely enjoy yourself. I get off watching you, want me!" He looked in her eyes and with the utmost kindness and empathy he could muster, said, "All you have to do is lie back, relax and enjoy. That's it." She let go of his head, convinced that he was doing something he really loved and flopped back on the bed. Mark removed her soggy panties. Her legs going limp, she let them fall far apart. It didn't take long for her to understand that the more access he had to her cunt the better he was going to be able to service her. Submerging her own thoughts in the murky waters of her subconscious, she allowed her mind to empty and focus on what was happening down there. As Mark teased and ruffled her labia, nudging her open, he realized that part of his task was to encourage her to completely surrender. By giving Kristi the time to peel back the false layers of modesty ingrained in her, Mark lovingly burrowed and explored her pussy, thoroughly kissing every millimeter. By listening to every murmur coming through the pores of her body, he pushed her to continue to open and flower, to experience the joy of being meticulously washed by his tongue. Gently closing his mouth around the entire length of her slit, he exhaled hot moist breath against her. Drawing away after a few moments, he let his two front teeth lightly scrape down her vulva, coming into contact with her clit. She jerked and clutched at his head again. Wonderful feelings like fingers of lightening, expanded throughout her body, birthed from the center of her pussy, through to her undulating hips. They crashed of their own volition into Mark's face, and realizing what she had just done, yanked them back down on the bed. Mark, a glossy lubricant coating his face, was laughing, growling, "Let it go baby, let it go. Open yourself to being munched!" Between gasps and gulping for air, she muttered, "Ok, yup. Ok." Her panties dangling from an ankle, Mark flung them off and repositioned her legs far apart. Examining her wet, pulsing cunt he felt his mouth water uncontrollably and poetically mused, she tastes as sweet as they come, what a most delicate peach, her nectar is so abundant. Curling his tongue around her clit he made small circling motions followed by nibbling all along the outside of her slippery, dripping pussy. After repeating several times, he nudged her lips apart and burrowed into the inner folds and directed the steady flow of her secretions along his tongue and down his throat. Lapping gently the length of her slit, he delved deeply, tasting her essence. Mark conformed his thick meaty tongue to all the swells and troughs of her pussy. Carefully peeling back her lips, exposing her pulsing pink lushness, he simply marveled at the beauty of her cunt. Finally, edging into position, he started drilling his tongue into her orifice. Gradually extending it fully into her cunt, rivulets of excess nectar dripping from either side of his mouth, he drank to his fill. Kristi had stopped breathing. She pinched herself to make sure this wasn't yet another fantasy she was masturbating to. No, she could feel the soft brown hair of Mark's head like a bowling ball lodged between her legs, heavy and thudding back and forth against her thighs. She was being cleaned out. There was nowhere to hide. He had her most private and unexplored cunt in his mouth, licking and sucking and generally giving her an unrelenting cleaning. Iced Jerking her hips to meet his lips she reveled in the ecstasy of being tongue fucked. He was fucking her cunt with his face. Every part of his chin, nose and eyebrows were buried in her pulsing and throbbing slit. "What was that?" She exclaimed. Shocking her system was yet another level of ascending euphoria. Was that a finger probing my vaginal opening? she thought. Oh my, Oh God, I'm going to faint! Please God. Oh fuck. This feels so fucking good! Oh God, he's fucking me with a finger and licking my clit. Out loud she mumbled, "Oh. Oh, God. That's good," her breathing completely altered, erratic and raspy. Her body bucked and strained against the little tentacle playing in her pussy hole like a finger puppet. A searing hot moist tongue was lapping at her soft, blood engorged flesh, each stroke sending her further into orbit, spinning on the axis of his lavish attention and encouragement. So careful was he in bringing her to orgasm, that it nearly threatened to sneak up and annihilate her. Convulsions of ecstasy were ripping through her cunt, wave after wave. The inevitability of the moment had arrived: cumming again and again she soaked his face in a flood of pussy juice! "Sweet fucking Jesus. Oh my God. Oh fuck. Jeeeezzz, aaagghhh oh, oh, oh. I'm cu-cu-cumming." Taking a breath she continued, "I've never cum like this! Oh God!" Exquisitely satiated, pulse slowing, she finally caught her breath. She lied there stunned. After a few minutes, she pulled Mark up from between her thighs hugging him to her chest. "How did you do that? That was fucking killing me in the sweetest death I can imagine. You just killed me with your mouth and tongue!" she exclaimed, her body still echoing minor aftershocks. Mark looked into her eyes and said, "That was awesome. Holy shit, I don't know if I've ever had a woman cum on my face like that! You are amazing!! And you taste as sweet as they come. You think you might be able to feed me some more sometime?" "Ha" she responded, "If you think I'm going to let you go feed somewhere else, you got another thing coming -- specifically me cumming!" "I never said anything about feeding elsewhere! Huh?" His eyebrow arching, looking at her with a silly grin pasted on his face. She pushed him over and straddled him. Looking down at his cock, she said, "Hmm. What should we do about this guy?" "Well" Mark replied, "What do you want to do with him?" Climbing on top of Mark, Kristi felt her legs start to shake and wobble urgently. She realized that she had never had her thighs parted for that long. Her muscles were cramping and she toppled off saying, "You know, I'm shaking all over. I'm so exhausted and feel really weak all of a sudden. Maybe we can have a little rest and then I'll take care of your "guy"? I know this sounds really lame but I can't believe how wasted I feel. All because of what you just did to me!" she laughed crookedly, slapping his chest. Mark sat up on one elbow and looking into her eyes, kissed her gently on the lips. Their mouths slowly spread apart and they gently shared their tongues letting them mingle like two glasses of champagne toasting to a quiet evening alone. "I'm totally fine if we just go to sleep" he said. "There's no reason for anything else to happen. I totally get that you're finished -- and proud I am of what I just did," as he gently poked her ribs and smiling into her lips, kissed her again. "I'm tired too and it'd be really cool to fall asleep here with you. Tomorrow is tomorrow and we'll see what happens. I'm in no rush. Are you?" "Dude, that's too cool. Thanks Mark. Thanks, I really mean it. This was the most incredible sexual experience of my young life," she said, a note of emotion clenching at her throat. Not trusting her voice to say anything more, Kristi swallowed the lump in her chest and buried her head in the hollow of his neck. Turning to lie on her side she took Mark's arms and folded them in front of her, spooning him to her backside, ensuring that every contour of his body was in contact with her skin. As their night of love drew to a close, they both asked themselves in the quiet of their dissolving thoughts, giving way to the nocturnal world of soft dreams and silent slumber, Maybe this is the beginning of something? Iced Flip Side If I didn't get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We'd come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we'd attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we'd been at Skate Canada a couple of weeks ago. I'd hunted all over the skating rink yesterday and today, but none of my usual fuck buddies were here, and I had no idea where to cruise for a quickie in Paris. I sent Tonya off the ice before our practice time was up, telling her I was just off this evening and there was no use taking a chance on her getting hurt during a botched throw. I told her I'd continue practicing jumps on my own, trying to get rid of the jitters so I'd be straightened out before our short program competition tomorrow night. That's what I needed to be, straightened out and then drained of cum before tomorrow night. But I couldn't tell Tonya that. She knew I swung that way, of course, but she didn't know how much I depended on sex to keep my strength and timing up. So, Tonya skated off to the locker rooms, and I continued practicing all alone in the gloomy practice rink. I had no idea who had the practice time following mine, but I could have shouted for joy when I saw the French silver medal holder, Andre Larreau, skate out onto the ice and start his warm-ups. A sweet little piece of blond ass, Andre had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, which now made him free game. My fuck buddies and I had even speculated on who was going to get the first crack at him, and now here he was, gliding his tight little butt cheeks around on the ice in this deserted practice ice rink and batting his long eyelashes at me in invitation, and me in a bad way for sex, the very definition of the lighted match meeting the can of petrol. Wasting no time, I stripped off my practice T and skated back into the center of the ice. I was in great shape and my skin-tight practice leotard basket showed off not only my great length and thickness but also my immediate need, so I knew if Andre was at all serious underneath that teasing that had driven several of us crazy for the two years he'd been skating professionally, he'd take the bait. And take the bait he did. We started out pretending at least to be into our individual practice regimes, but our eyes were glued to each other in an undeniable mating dance. Andre skated over to the boards and stripped off his practice T, feigning that the heat was getting to him, but we both knew that I and my magnificent body and obvious need were getting to him. When he glided back onto the ice, our routines came into synch and drew together into ever tighter circles, until, in a cloud of ice shavings, we both stopped dead, facing each other, very close. Both of our chests were heaving from the intensity of the syncopated ice dance. I leaned my head down to the much shorter, more compact solo skater, and he tilted his head up, meeting my lips with his. Our tongues entwined, and I found he had a knob-headed stud in his tongue. I thrilled in anticipation of how I would make use of the stud and laughed to myself at the similar surprise the French youngster was in for. With one hand on his butt and the other on the small of his back, I arched Andre's torso back and attacked his pert little erect nipples with my lips and teeth, leaving him in no doubt about my need and my intention to ravish his body. He was giving little yips of pleasure and pain and buried his fingers in my hair, giving at least token indication of trying to pull me off him. But his fingers slipped away, as I lifted him off the ice and slid his body up mine while moving my lips and teeth down to his belly and navel, which was pierced with a gold ring that got a workout from my tongue, teeth, and lips. I let him slide down my body onto the ice and pulled his face into my crotch. "Suck me," I said, "And then I'm going to fuck you." I had no idea whether or not he understood the English I'd used, knowing for certain he wouldn't understand Russian, but he must have gotten my drift, because he pulled my leotard down to below my pelvis and gasped when he saw my surprise. I had a silver ring with a round knob on it pierced into the helmet of my dick. I felt him shudder as he began to work on my cock, mesmerized not only by the opportunities the cock piercing offered but also by the quickly engorging length and thickness of me. I didn't give him much time to think about what was happening, though, because my main goal was to get my rocks off and win a medal at the Paris Grand Prix. As it was, I let him work my cock in his mouth longer than I had intended, because that stud on his tongue running along the underside of my cock was sending chills up and down my spine. However, in short order, I had pulled Andre back up to where I could lock my mouth onto his. He wrapped his legs around me above my hips, and I skated over to where the boards broke to accommodate a judges' table. Flipping Andre around, I laid him on the table chest down, pulled his leotard down to his knees, and went for his asshole with my tongue. With one hand on the small of Andre's back, I held him down on the table. The other hand explored his cock and balls and gave them some appreciated attention. Quickly, though, I had Andre's ass wetted with my tongue and widened with my roaming fingers, and I crouched up and over him and got the helmet of my cock into his ass opening. Andre whimpered and complained under me as I worked to gain entry, and the whimpers increased to gasps of pain and objection as I pushed into him a few inches. I stopped, giving his ass canal a chance to adjust to the size of my cock, and then, punctuated by his exclamations in French, I pushed on in to the hilt. The objections turned to moans and sighs and more accommodating French phrases, as his tight little ass opened to me and I began to slowly pump him. I dug my hands into his pecs and pulled him up to me. He turned his head, and we kissed. He looked at me in a dreamy expression and spoke for the first time in a thick English. "The cock stud," he said. "The feeling." "You like?" I asked. "Yes, I like very much," he said. "Please. Can you fuck harder?" "Sure," I said, although I didn't respond immediately. I twisted his torso so that I could get my teeth at one of his nipples, and he gasped and moaned at the attention I gave him there. After a few minutes, I let his torso descend back onto the table top. I wanted to twist him around and fuck him from the front. In my urgency and realizing that I wouldn't be able to strip off Andre's practice leotard over his skates, I lifted my own skate-clad foot and neatly and carefully sliced through the crotch of his pants, freeing his legs. I slowly spun him around on the table top then on my buried cock, turn him on his back and lifting his legs in the air with my hands. His hands fluttered up my torso, and I began to deep fuck him. He was letting out little yelps of pleasure and whispering sweet nothings to me in French. He began jerking himself off, which was just as well, because this was all about sexual release for me to bring my performance on the ice to its peak, not about any need he had. When I was about to cum, I pulled out of him and shot off across his belly and up into his pecs. I buried a fist into his long blond hair, lifted his head to mine, and gave him what I had intended to be one last, deep, brutal kiss. But, while we kissed, Andre's hands went to my cock and pulled me back into him. His hands went to my butt cheeks, holding me inside him, and he writhed under me and his lips flew over my chest and into my pits. He was nipping me and rolling that tongue stud over my flesh. He wrapped his strong legs around me, below my buttocks, and I felt my cock coming to life again. I had the brief fear of his skate edges slicing into my tender butt cheeks, but Andre carefully held them away from my body. I had thought I was finished, but Andre thought that I had more to give, and Andre proved to be right. This time, he wrapped the strong fingers of a hand around my balls and rolled and pulled them and held me to his pelvis until, many long minutes later, with Andre fucking himself on my cock with the rhythm of his strong leg muscles, I had cum again deep inside him. I took this as Andre's statement that I hadn't done anything to him that he didn't want done. But this time when I pulled out and away from him, I left him laying there, spread-eagled on the judges' table and skated back out to the center of the ice, where I performed a perfect triple salchow jump. After showing the French youngster what else I could do well, I skated over to the boards, snatched up my athlete T, and skated back to the exit to the locker rooms, not looking back to the blond French skater at all. I knew now that I'd be in prime condition for the double's short program tomorrow evening. The Frenchee's ass canal was so tight and I was so big and long, however, that I wondered if he would be able to unbow his legs and fight through the ass pain for his own men's short program the following evening. But I didn't care one way or the other. He wasn't competing in the doubles. Regardless of the damage I might already have done to him, I reminded myself that I'd have to check the practice session schedules running up to the long programs to see if Andre would be available for another private workout session before the long programs. None of my regular fuck buddies had come to this competition. * * * I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands loose across his face, only seeming to hide his piercing eyes and sensual mouth, making them all the more desirable. The public was able to see the loop ring through one ear, but only those of us who saw him in practice and in the showers knew of the ring through a nipple and the other, maddenly intriguing one down below, in the helmet of his cock. All season long, I had agonized over the thought of that cock ring running up and down my ass canal, but Aleksey had hardly spoken to me at all, let alone given me a tumble. The lack of attention and interminable waiting only made me love and want him more. I knew he fucked men. I was well aware of his ritual of having a good fuck the day before competitions, but he'd always had his own friends around him to accommodate him for that—at least until now. None of his usual male friends were in this competition, and he was so on edge that I could tell he hadn't emptied his ball sack since Skate Canada, two weeks previously. I'd watched him just now in practice, and he was so unsettled that his timing was off. I was afraid he was going to drop Tonya to the ice during one of their lifts. He must have been afraid of this as well, as I saw him send her off the ice and start to furiously skim the ice on his own, practicing his moves, trying to get them under control. I wanted Aleksey to love me, and in order for that to happen, I had to maneuver him into making love to me. No time seemed to be better than the present, so I glided out onto the ice and started some practice warm-ups for my singles routine, hoping to attract his attention. My timing had been right. I could see instantly that he was watching me. And I could see the desire building in his eyes and his groin coming to life. You can't hide much in an ice skater's practice leotard, and Aleksey was so mammoth down there to start with that any building of sexual energy there was impossible to keep a secret. For performances, he wore a cup that kept his manhood reasonably within bounds, without disguising it to a point of disappointing the women spectators—and a good many of the men spectators as well. But in practice, he didn't bother with a cup, and I could see him lengthen and thicken as I skimmed across the ice. He skated over to the boards and pulled off his practice T-shirt and came back out to center ice and did some magnificent spins that were not part of his current pairs routine. He was doing them for me. My heart began to pound. I skated over to the boards and removed my T as well. My smooth, lithe blondness complimented his dark, hairy muscle pack perfectly. I was a youthful yang to his older, experienced yin; I was compliant, soft, seeking bottom to his urgently needy, hard top. We started to skate in relationship to each other, our glides and spins and jumps coming into a shared rhythm and into a complimentary pattern. We also skated in ever-tighter circles, in toward each other until, in a cloud of ice shavings, we both stopped dead, facing each other, very close. Both of our chests were heaving from the intensity of the syncopated ice dance. He leaned his head down to me as I tilted my head up, meeting his lips with mine. Our tongues entwined, and I felt a flash of recognition and pleasure zip through his body as he discovered I had a knob-headed stud in my tongue. I could feel the wheels turning in his head concerning the pleasure I could give his cock with that stud, just as I was melting in anticipation of what his cock ring could do in my ass. With one hand on my butt and the other on the small of my back, Aleksey arched my torso back and attacked erect nipples with his lips and teeth, leaving me in no doubt about his need and his intention to ravish my body. I rewarded the hot attention he was giving my body with little yips of pleasure and pain and buried my fingers first in the curls of his chest and then in the hair on his head, giving at least token indication of trying to pull him off me, but only effecting my real goal of releasing his long black hair from the pony tail to flutter across my face, shoulders, and chest, giving me more points of pleasure. My fingers slipped away from his hair and fell limply at my side, as he lifted me off the ice and slid my body up his while moving his lips and teeth down to my belly and navel, which was pierced with a gold ring that got a workout from his tongue, teeth, and lips. He then let me slide down his body onto my knees on the ice and pushed my face into his crotch. "Suck me," he said, "And then I'm going to fuck you." I thrilled at hearing those words, which I had longed to hear for months. Without hesitation, I pulled his leotard down to below his pelvis and began working his cock with my mouth. He gasped at what I was able to do with that stud in my tongue. I had barely gotten him hardened up, however, when he pulled me back up to where he could lock his mouth onto mine. I wrapped my legs around him above his hips, and he skated over to where the boards broke to accommodate a judges' table. The urgency of his need was apparent. He seemed like a wild animal in heat now, focused only on his own sex urge. I had envisioned romance and a lover, and I was getting raped by a fucking machine. Flipping me around, Aleksey laid me on the table chest down, pulled my leotard down to my knees, and went for my asshole with his tongue. With one hand on the small of my back, Aleksey held me down on the table. The other hand explored my cock and balls and gave them attention that drove me wild in anticipation. Quickly, though, he had my ass wetted with his tongue and widened with his roaming fingers, and he crouched up and over me and got the helmet of his cock into my ass opening. I could feel the coldness of the ring. I whimpered and complained under him as he worked to gain entry. I wanted love; I wanted him to make slow, sensual love to me, not just to ravish me. His cock was huge, and my whimpers increased to gasps of pain and objection as he pushed insistently into me a few inches. He stopped the assault, giving my ass canal a chance to adjust to the size of his cock, and then, punctuated by my exclamations in French, obviously not caring about how he was using me, he thrust into me to the hilt. The cock ring caused my ass walls to ripple and tremble as it drove up my canal. But this was what I wanted. And as my ass accommodated his billy club, the pain subsided and the pleasure flowed in. My objections turned to moans and sighs and more accommodating French phrases, as my tight little ass opened to him. He began to slowly pump me. He dug his hands into my pecs and pulled me up to his hairy chest. The silkiness of his hair on my smooth back was sensual. Acknowledging my sighs, He turned my head to his, and we kissed. I looked at him with a dreamy expression and searched for the English that would express what I was experiencing; I certainly couldn't express myself in Russian. "The cock stud," I said. "The feeling." "You like?" he asked. "Yes, I like very much," I said. "Please. Can you fuck harder?" "Sure," he said, although he didn't respond immediately. He twisted my torso so that he could get his teeth at one of my nipples, and I gasped and moaned at the attention he gave me there. After a few minutes, he let my torso descend back onto the table top. But then he was trying to turn me onto my back on the table. In his urgency and realizing that he wouldn't be able to strip off my practice leotard over my skates, he lifted his own skate-clad foot and sliced through the crotch of my pants, freeing my legs. Then he slowly spun me around on the table top on the spit of his still-buried cock, turned me on my back, and lifting my legs in the air with his hands. My hands fluttered up his torso, following the silk trail of the hair, and he began to deep fuck me. I was letting out little yelps of pleasure and whispering sweet nothings to him in French. He seemed not to be listening to me, to only be tuning in on his own cock. I then began jerking myself off, pushed by the need, but disappointed that he was only thinking of himself and his own needs. I was beginning to cry. This wasn't the romance I had expected from my long-anticipated lover. When he was about to cum, he pulled out of me and shot off across my belly and up into my pecs. He buried a fist in my long blond hair, lifted his head to mine, and gave me what he obviously intended to be one last, deep, brutal, good-bye kiss. But, while we kissed, I took his cock in my hands and pulled his still-hard dick back into me. I was desperately trying to get him to focus on me; to give me some love, not just a fuck that would relieve his own pressure, enhance his own performance on the ice. I grabbed his butt cheeks, holding him inside me, and writhed under him, my lips flying through his curly chest hairs and into his pits. I was doing everything I could to arouse him again, to make him want me. I nipped his nipples and rolled my tongue stud over the flesh of his torso. I wrapped my strong legs around him, below his buttocks, and I felt his cock coming to life again. He had thought we were finished, but I thought he had more to give, more to give me, and I proved to be right. This time, I wrapped the strong fingers of a hand around his balls and rolled and pulled them and held him to my pelvis until, many long minutes later, with me fucking myself on Aleksey's cock with the rhythm of my strong leg muscles, Aleksey had cum deep inside me once more. I just knew I had him now, that now he would become my tender lover, just the way I had envisioned. But I was wrong. All he had wanted was sexual release so that he could perform well in tomorrow's competition. Without further endearments, he just pulled out and away from me and left me laying there, spread-eagled on the judges' table. He skated back out to the center of the ice, performing a perfect triple salchow jump to show me that I had only been part of his routine. Then he skated over to the boards at the other side of the rink, snatched up his athlete T, and skated back to the exit to the locker rooms, not looking back to me at all. Iced-Hot Lightening My skin has been crawling, and a chill running up my spine like a streak of iced-hot lightening. My baby boy, Jeff, is coming to visit me tomorrow, and there are just so many things I want to do with him... if I could keep him here for a week with me, I would not have time to accomplish everything!! I am afraid that when I catch my first view of him, coming toward my door, I am gonna pounce on him like a wild tiger in heat! Because that is what I feel like today... a sexually aroused female animal, just waiting for her favorite son to come home to the pack. I even catch whiffs of my own sex-scent in the air -- it is somewhat musky, somewhat sweet, somewhat tart as well -- and my fingers and hands reek, and taste like pussy, from masturbating myself so much at the very thought of him. This is my plan... When he gets inside my front door, I am gonna grasp his hand in one of mine, and with my other hand, I am gonna reach down and grab his cock right thru his pants. I know he is going to be hard as nails when he gets here, for he lusts after me, too, in the same instinctual way that any son would lust after his mother in the animal kingdom. First, I will kiss his lips lightly, not use my tongue -- don't want to give him too much of a hint what he is in for, he may be slightly intimidated if I attack him right at the start. I will save that mode for a little later on, when my body is fully, physically seeking his to cum into mine. So, ever so gently and softly, like the loving mother that I am to him, I will guide him into my bedroom, where the clean, crisp, white linen sheets will already be pulled back in anticipation of our arrival, the giant mattress surrounded at its edges with many pillows, like a leopard's lair. Laying him down on his back on my bed, I will begin undressing him, from top to bottom, gently but firmly, slow but fast, I will remove every stitch of his clothing. Then I will leave him to lie there on his own for a moment, while I strip myself naked before his wide-opened eyes. He cannot take them off of me, those big brown eyes of his -- I can see them moving up and down my body with a glaring intensity -- while he waits anxiously for me to slip myself over him, just barely touching our skin-to-skin, just brushing against his tattooed torso, as I spread my legs wide, on my knees, one against each of his ears, placing my feet gently against his neck and shoulders, and lowering my sweet pussy mound just above his face, just above his nose, just above his mouth -- not touching him there at all... yet. I can feel a slight roughness of skin against me, as his right hand passes under my rear end. I can tell he is grasping his rock-hard rod, as I feel the sticky wetness of pre-cum on the head of it, probing my crack, and pressing hard against my asshole. "Oh, you bad, bad baby boy," I am admonishing him, playfully, as I take my fingers, and broadly part the lips of my glistening, silky wet snatch. My already swollen clit has grown from a baby-pink pinhead, to the size and color of a cranberry! "Look at what you are making your slutty Mommy do now! Go on, baby, open your mouth and take your Mommy in now!" His eyes are eager, his moaning is deep, as he parts his lips, and opens up wide his mouth -- exposing inside of its center, a pebble-sized, sparkling silver-steel round ball, which has been pierced right thru his TONGUE!! OOOOOOooooooohhhhhhh MMMMMMMmmmmmyyyyyyyy GGGGGGGGGgggggggooooooooodddddddd!! Then, with an almost magnetic-like, right-on-target precision, that silver ball -- in one, quick glide -- heads straight to my pulsing bud, like an arrow streaming thru the air, and landing exactly on the bulls-eye. "OOOhhhhh, JEFFREY, BABY, I AM ALREADY CUMMING!!" I squeal out loudly, as my bud feels a burst, and my love-hole spurts forth a large gush of sticky-sweet-crystal-clear cum, forcing itself all the way into the back of his throat, making his now loud groaning sound like a gurgling brook. My juices are flooding his throat, dribbling drops of my luscious cum over the corners of his mouth, and onto the smoothness of his lips. My hips sink down low now, over his stomach, and come to lay lightly right on his groin. As I bend my head down to kiss him on his lips, longing to lick my own creamy drops there, I can feel the firmness of his smooth, stiff stick pressing harder now into me. With one smooth thrust, he pushes his hardness further, deeper into my rear. I feel an intense pressure up my ass, but it is not hurting me at all -- it is full of nothing but sheer pleasure and delight! I know his whole length is inside of me now, and he lets out a roar, like a young, lusty lion, "Oh, my god, Mommy, I am cumming now too!" He erupts inside me, and I feel his wet load shooting into my behind, much like a streak of iced-hot lightening... um, pardon me, but isn't this where we began? Iced in, Snow Storm Iced In God, it had been cold for a week. It was colder than it normally gets here. Then the slow rain started, and just sort of froze on everything. I remember the telephone line being fatter than my thumb. Then the power went off, completely. It was OK, my mother, Julie, my brother, Brett, and I (Ashley) had water and food, and Brett had a camping stove and lots of fuel. He liked to go backpacking, but this stove was more for car camping. He also had his tiny Primus stove for cooking as well. At least the water was still working, if not the water heater. The first day was not so bad, but the house got sort of cold. Daddy was stranded in another city due to the foul weather. We were on our own. I like to bathe, and without hot water I felt sort of uncomfortable. Brett brought his Primus stove to my room and lit it, and heated almost a quart of water. "Sorry, Sis, but that is all that she can do. We have to use the Coleman for food. Is that OK?" I fell into his arms, stinky and all, and thanked him! At least I had enough hot water to sort of kind of clean myself and shave my legs. I put some cold water into the bath tub and mixed it with the hot water, and sort of sponged off, and shaved. I felt better, but without proper lights I was not sure if I had gotten everything. We had emergency supplies, but just one candle did not allow me to see very much. I ran my hands up and down my legs, and did not feel any stubble, so I guessed that they were OK. Usually I like to look at myself in the mirror, but with just one candle there was not much looking. Did I feel "him" when I fell into his arms, stinky and all? I drifted to sleep in a very cold bed, and got up when the late winter sun hit my windows. Brett and my mum were in the kitchen, warming their hands around the Coleman stove, and cooking stuff that would ruin in the next day since the refrigerator was out of power. I had a thought. "Hey, why don't we put all of this food in a box and set it outside? My room has a balcony, and as cold as it is, it should keep pretty well out there!" They were dumbfounded that such a little girl had such a good idea. We ate breakfast, and then Brett and my mum started to bring food from the kitchen to my balcony. We found a big cooler, and put it all in there. At least we could eat, and Brett said that he had enough fuel for the stove for at least a couple of days. The electricity went out exactly one day ago, as I saw from my clock. The house was getting cold. The battery operated thermometer indicated that is was 10 degrees F outside, and only 42 degrees inside. We were getting chilled. All outside, huge tree limbs were starting to crash with the weight of the ice on them, and I was scared. I was cold, too. So were Brett and my mum. My parents had given me a water bed for my 14th birthday some time ago, and it was still sort of warm. We decided to crowd onto it, and put heaping helpings of covers on top of us, to keep warm. Brett fired up the little Primus and my mum and I used the hot water to sort of clean up a bit. With so little hot water, all that we could do was wash a bit, so I forgot about shaving my legs. After we got done, Brett also cleaned up a little. We all three put on warm clothes and sort of huddled in the fading warmth of my water bed. We were fine for the time being. We got up and made coffee. Yes, sounds strange, but Brett, the camper, had a coffee pot that worked well over the Coleman stove. By the way, he is only two years older than I am. We drank the hot coffee, and he fixed us biscuits from out of his camping box. Everyone was happy, but still cold. Mum went to the closet and found some afghans that she had crocheted for gifts. On the couch, we all three were happy to get under them. Now it got a bit odd. It was still cold! I went back under the afgans to warm up a bit. Soon, Brett and my mum joined me. We were sort of balled up to fight off the cold. The thermometer indicated 43 degrees F in the house. That is COLD!