0 comments/ 28194 views/ 0 favorites Moonlight By: E-Nymph I knew he was out there, amongst the trees. I had caught glimpses of him while Tommy fucked me on the swing. As I leaned back to enjoy the feeling of the hard cock sliding in and out of my warmth, the air chilling my hands on the chains, and faintly stinging the flesh of my ass, legs, and lower back.. I saw him. He was standing there, watching us, watching me. Worse yet, I had felt him. Felt his intent gaze upon my skin almost like fingers, as Tommy had me and yet did not have me at all. His eyes had missed nothing as I shuddered with a wild abandon I had not known I was capable of. I remember that the fog was low and clinging to the trees and ground, making things into indistinct shadows of themselves that night, but he seemed almost spot lit under the bathroom shelter lights. Even without the benefit of proximity or daylight, I knew that his green eyes were glowing. As I looked out at him, a word kept echoing in my head like a seductive growl. "Mine". I had the urge to pull free of my lover, who was not my lover, and run to him...strip out of the rest of my clothes and tear off his - to have him like some gloriously wild animal on the wet grass by moonlight. To rut and pound our bodies against the earth ground until the hunger burned down to a slow craving. I wanted to sink into that echo in my mind and know how the word felt whispered into my ear, into my sex, to have him feed the essence of me with all of the intensity of those four letters. Images of brutal love rushed through my head, almost synchronized with the motions of the lover who is not my lover, as he pounds into me. I know he thought my involuntary cries of pleasure were for him... but they belonged to someone else. Once the lover who was not my lover had sated himself, I quickly begged off to use the toilet. The combination of the beer I'd drank earlier in the evening and the frigid air made the fullness of my bladder uncomfortable. The fog blanketed me, and as I walked blindly into it, I heard the boy dressing by the swing call out, "Be careful." It was growing darker with each passing minute, but I knew with complete confidence that no one would harm me. Despite the anticipation tightening my belly, I forced myself to slow my steps. My intuition told me I would find the feral one close by and the phantom touch of the thick fog on my skin made me impatient to feel his hands on me. I was far, far from sated and the love who was not my lover had been no more than foreplay. I felt on fire and unfulfilled, my hunger fed upon the earlier encounter and the watchful glowing eyes, like ripe, dark fruit. My body became liquid in ways that put my earlier arousal to shame. It betrayed a darker, truer need, something that curled deep within my core that brooked no refusal. In his eyes I had found a new definition of desire and I knew that I couldn't walk away until I felt it beat a tattoo on my skin, in my blood, in all of my pulses. I was right by the shelter when he grasped my arm too tightly and asked me if I knew him. And I did. In that moment, I knew him better than I knew my own mirror image. He looked like a tarnished god wrapped in his battered black leather, a golden vampire from one of my night terrors. I gasped in surprise as he crushed his mouth to mine. As he pulled briefly away, he told me that he could still taste the other on me, and that it tasted good. He asked me how I knew it was his favorite flavor, and I said that it was a lucky guess. I heard the tremor in my own voice, but it was born of excitement, not fear. He too-casually asked if I was scared to be alone in the woods with him, but I shook my head, telling him with my eyes and the tentative touch of my fingers on his wrist that I felt safe. His glittering eyes narrowed sharply in response, and this time he explored my mouth more deeply, leaving no moist, secret corner unravaged, but instead of jerking away, I pressed closer He had raised the level of my hunger, and now my impulse to free both of us from our clothing was checked only by my growing need to urinate. Reluctantly, I broke away, and when I explained, promising to return, he let me go. I was had only dashed a few steps away when he gave me my orders in a velvet soft voice. He told me to just pat myself dry, so that he might still smell the lover who was not my lover on my thighs and secret folds. I did as he requested, undeniably excited by the primal undercurrents. While I did so, he spoke to me through the grating on the window, telling me how much he enjoyed the live sex show and how hard it had made him. He confessed how he had wanted to pull me away from my impostor lover, how he even would have beaten me if he hadn't let me go. He was silent for a long moment, then asked if his honesty scared me. I didn't hesitate to tell him that, in fact, it turned me on. When I was finished, he asked me to walk out ahead, into the dark, misty glade. When my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw him sitting on a nearby picnic table. Nearby, the kiddie toys and abandoned wading pool lay sleeping. He was not alone. Three others were with him. I walked straight to him, running my hands inside his open jacket, my frozen fingers savoring the blessed warmth of his skin. I kissed him, stealing his breath, my small pink tongue snaking into his mouth. His feral green stare pinned me like a butterfly as he asked for my permission to do something.. something that he promised wouldn't hurt, that he needed… that I would enjoy. I believed him. I knew that we craved the same thing, twins in our need. The one crouching on the table petulantly complained that he was forbidden to play, but said he would hold me if the game got rough or if I tried to run away. I knew the metallic taste of real fear on my tongue for the first time, and my stomach lurched. In a comforting, soothing voice, he promised again that my compliance wouldn't be forced. Shivering, I said yes. He started to turn my face away from the others, so that we would have some degree of privacy, when the other appeared in the clearing. Red with rage, he railed at me, sneering that I stank of sex, and that I was shameless to leave him to abandon him for them. Robbed of words by the need clenching in my gut, I begged him with my eyes to leave me and go, but my pleas went unheard until, unexpectedly, the one crouching on the table offered to share his liquor bottle and explain the nights events. He shot me one last hard glare and stalked over to the monkey bars with the stranger, where they settled on the hard ground to imbibe. My green eyed boy tightened his grip on my small hand, and immediately I was flooded with reassurance, grounded by the honest feel of his warm palm squeezing mine. He told me that me that I should stay the night with him, and said that he would take me in unmentionable ways, but that he'd pay for the inevitable soreness with pleasure. Regretfully, I told him that I would be expected to return home, no matter how much I wanted to be with him. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me tight for a long moment, then muffled a promise against the cool skin of my throat. "Then here's something to remember me by." His nipped sharply at my neck, his hands up under my heavy sweater to roughly caress my bare breasts - his strong fingers pinching nipples already erect and sensitive in the cold. Moving lover, he dipped his wet tongue into my navel, kneeling before me like a knight of sorts. Telling me to stand still, he quickly unfastened my jeans and pulled them down along with my panties in one smooth motion. With my lower nakedness came the faint perfume of sex and sweat and with a low growl of warning, he pushed his fingers into me. With each strong flick of his tongue, insidious tentacles of pleasure unfurled inside my crotch. I was beyond caring which taste he was so greedy for - whether it was Tommy's seed, my dampness, or a blend of the two. His short fingernails left bloody half moons in my soft hide as he held me motionless for his assault. His mouth sucked and licked at me with a skill I'd never been subjected to before. His hunger for me made me dizzy, and I clutched at his jacket in an effort to stay upright. Through my silted eyes I could see figures coming closer, and begged him to stop. I couldn't have borne it if he'd been repaid with pain for the gift he'd given me. He stood before me, his chin still glistening with the evidence of my lust. As I hastily yanked up my jeans and refastened them, he surprised me with a hard, thorough kiss. I looked back at him through dazed eyes, tasting my own lust on my tongue and liking it. He told me in a husky whisper that I was in season, that I would start that same night. Running a callused finger across my lower lip, he told me what we both knew.. that if he'd had a few more seconds at me, I would have came. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Tommy grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around, asking what the hell we were doing. My dark god replied, " Talking." And moved back into the shadows of the trees. He murmured that we'd talk again, soon, but Tommy was already pulling me away toward the car. Moonlight The room is lit only by a slowly flickering candle on the night table and a small ray of moonlight streaming through the window above the ornately carved hardwood headboard. The curtains, thin as gauze, do little to obscure the celestial light. She lies upon the bed with her eyes closed and yet she is aware of the silhouette in the bedroom doorway. The shadow moves closer as she begins to caress her left calf with the toes of her right foot slowly and gracefully. She turns her head toward the doorway and opens her eyes, acknowledging his presence for the first time. The bed is unmade - the down comforter and top sheet thrown carelessly to the floor at the foot of the bed and the stark white bottom sheet glows a pale blue in the moonlight. It is difficult to tell where the sheet ends and her white lingerie begins in the half light of midnight. She rolls from her side onto her back with her one knee bent so that the crotchless panties she is wearing separate slightly for him and motions him forward with a subtle wave of her finger. She invites him to join her on the bed with a long look ending with a quick glance down at the space beside her - an invitation he accepts without hesitation. He sits down on the edge of the bed with his back to her and she leans forward, puts her arms around him, and begins unbuttoning his shirt from behind. As she unfastens the last button, she slowly pulls the shirt off of his shoulders and out of his pants and drops it on the floor in front of the bed. He turns and faces her - their eyes meeting and understanding. He bends to kiss her neck softly. Once. Twice. A third time. His breath echoes warmly in her ear and then he moves down toward her shoulder. With the tip of his tongue, he gently traces the line of her collar bone from the edge of her shoulder to the hollow of her throat where he softly kisses her again. She tilts her head back to expose the length of her graceful neck. But only for a moment. She straightens and leans forward to fumble with his belt buckle and pants while he follows her collar bone to the other shoulder with his tongue. He withdraws and their eyes meet again. He breaks the stare by leaning in and kissing her gently on the lips - softly grasping each in turn between his own. Barely perceptibly, his tongue caresses the bottom edge of her upper lip. She responds in kind; their tongues meeting and probing quietly. He withdraws again, but not far. He traces a line from just below her jaw to the hollow of her throat with his tongue and moves out toward her left shoulder again. He gently clenches the strap of her bra between his teeth and pulls it over her shoulder and halfway down her arm and slowly returns to the hollow of her throat - leaving a trail of warm and gentle kisses along the way. Before he can do the same on the other side, she finishes unbuttoning his pants and they both smile. This time, she initiates the kiss - more energetic this time but no less gentle. After a minute, he withdraws a third time and leans back to look at her in the moonlight; she looks stunning in the frosted half-light. She leans back on her elbows and smiles slightly. He turns and quickly removes his shoes and socks and pulls himself over to lie along side her in the middle of the bed. She rolls over to face him and softly caresses his leg with her left foot. He gently pushes her onto her back and begins kissing her neck again. With his tongue, he slowly follows his way down. He can feel her heart beat faster as his tongue slowly glides between her breasts and over the edge of her ribcage onto her stomach. He kisses her navel several times before he continues further. In the moonlight, the thin glistening trail left by his tongue could be seen from her neck to the waist of the white crotchless panties where it disappears into the soft material. Repositioning himself, he slowly and deliberately separates the slit in the panties with his tongue - tracing the entire gap in the material. Once. Twice. And a third time - until he is satisfied that he has found what he seeks. He hears a slight moan as she reclines fully now - the first sound she has made. He probes more deliberately with his tongue and pushes gently inside. She moans again and he can feel the muscles in her thighs tighten. He pushes deeper into the warmth - curling his tongue as he withdraws slightly. He feels her fingers through his hair as he pushes deeper still. And again. And again. And then he begins to lunge rhythmically inside her with his tongue, quickening his pace with each thrust. And then he slows again and begins to caress and nuzzle and kiss. And then he stops all together. He slowly runs his tongue along the underside of her right thigh until he stops just behind her knee. And then he returns and does the same along her left thigh. Once more, he returns to the gap in her crotchless panties and finds the way inside warm, smooth and very moist. Again, he begins to massage her with his tongue. He slowly withdrew from between her legs and once again began to kiss his way up her impassioned body. As he raised himself onto his elbows and his knees, she slowly pushed herself up with her right arm and with her left she pulled his face toward hers. Her kiss was hard and deep, her tongue electric, and her breath short. She smiled from behind the kiss and gently guided him around and beneath her. She now sat atop his thighs with her own on either side of his waist. In the moonlight she could see just the slightest of smiles on the corner of his mouth. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She slowly and deliberately pulled her arms free and dropped it on the bed beside him; his smile grew. She raised herself up on her knees and moved to his left and began removing his pants, an inch or two at a time. Anticipation filled the room as his breathing grew heavier. She casually tossed the rest of his clothes onto the floor next to the bed and saw that he too was ready. She straddled his waist, pleased by the warmth she felt beneath her now. She leaned forward and kissed his neck - softly at first and then harder. Using her entire body, she gracefully slipped over his like the soft touch of a long feather. She caressed his chest with her tongue - drawing small wet circles around his nipples. She moved down the entire length of his body with her tongue until she reached his waist. As she went, she could feel could feel the long, hard warmth of him caress her own body; sliding from between her legs - along her stomach and then between her breasts. Then she stopped. She took him in both of her hands and began to stroke him slowly. He groaned as his breathing became heavier still. With her fingers caressing him softly, she drew her tongue from the side of his left knee - down the inside of his left thigh - across to his right thigh and down to his right knee. With one hand cupped beneath him and the fingers of the other holding him, she slid her tongue slowly from the base all the way to the tip and felt him grow harder as she went. She circled the tip twice before she took him in her mouth and she could feel the shudder run through him as she did. With her lips around him, she massaged his entire length with her tongue. Slowly up, slowly down, and then around. He moaned quietly. Up. Down. And around. He groaned louder as she moved faster. Up. Down. Again. Up. Down. Again. His breath was coming in short gasps now. Up. Down. Again. She could feel it building inside of him now. Up. Down. Up; she felt him grow harder still and then all of his muscles tensed wildly. Down. The wave of passion crashed over him like surf on the beach and then he grew still and relaxed with a groan of satisfaction. They lay quietly in each other’s arms. Kissing. Kissing softly. Kissing passionately. His hands caressed her breasts; his fingers teased her nipples in the moonlight. He sat up and turned and she sat up with him. Again they kissed. He bent his head and kissed her breast lightly - flicking her nipple with the end of his tongue softly for a moment. He gently pushed her back down onto the bed and laid down on his side in the other direction. She turned onto her side as well and placed her top leg behind his head. She found his size starting to return almost as soon as she felt his tongue within her. She guided him into her mouth again and in a matter of moments he was completely grown and as ready as she. They separated and he moved around in front of her - gently massaging her with his finger. She opened her legs wider and slowly guided him within her. He entered her slowly and steadily until she had enveloped his entire length, and then he withdrew. Yet not completely. He again pushed into her slowly and deeply - and again he pulled back. He did this a third time also before he found the motion he sought. He thrust, slowly at first - tentatively exploring the depths into which he was descending. Then more quickly as her muscles grasped him and pulled him along. Their breathing quickened until they were moaning rhythmically and in unison. After several long moments, he slowed and withdrew. With his hands, he gently coaxed her over onto her knees and then entered her from behind. He plunged into her dark, warm depths with renewed passion. With one arm around her waist and the other groping for one of her breasts, he kissed her between her shoulders and on her neck with the hot breath of desire - all the while thrusting firmly and deeply within her. As the moment approached, he withdrew again - the time had not yet come. She turned to look at him and he indicated that she should sit facing him. She laid her legs over his and gently lifted herself onto him. She gasped as she felt his penetration deeper than she had before. They sat facing each other, rocking gently back and forth, up and down, side to side - kissing, fondling, caressing, and loving. And then she gently pushed him back so that he was laying down. She pulled her legs back so that her knees were beneath her. She arched her back and moaned as she raised herself up and then lowered herself down his entire length. Up and then down. Up and down - with him accentuating her movements from beneath her. Up and then down again. Faster. Up and down. And faster still. And then the warmth began to build within them both. Up. Down. All each could feel was the other within or around them. Up. Down. And then came the surge of warmth that filled them both, together - at once. She collapsed on top of him and he put his arms around her. The candle on the night table had long since burned out and the moon had passed beyond reach of the window some time before. The two kissed softly and passionately in the warm, still darkness of the bedroom until - still locked in each other’s arms - they drifted into a satisfied slumber. ©2002 Ilyrian Moonlight When I saw her she was dancing on the sand in the moonlight. All day long I had been restless. The hot sun beating on the bleached sands, normally a source of delight, had made me seek shelter. The salty water had been too warm. Somehow I felt as though daylight was holding me prisoner. Even the roar of the surf seemed to be too loud, troubling a mood that I could not put into words. Evening came. As the sun sank below the horizon I felt freer, but the lights of the hotel completely hemmed me in. Something out in the still night seemed to be calling me. Finally I went to bed. I slept fitfully for several hours. Then, wide-awake, I stared at the glowing numbers on the clock. At 2 AM I could stand it no longer. I slipped from the bed, away from the bulk of my sleeping husband. Normally his body was exactly what held me and comforted me and lulled me to slumber. But tonight his deep breathing seemed to intrude on the silence that was surrounding me. I pulled on a pair of shorts. I had been sleeping in nothing but a t-shirt. I disdained underwear. Pausing only to catch up my room card, I tiptoed to the door that connected to the adjoining room. My vision, already night sharp, confirmed the sleeping forms of my children were safe in their beds. Barefoot, I left the room, silently closing the door behind me. A soft breeze was rustling through the trees. Without conscious thought, I took the path leading back down to the beach. At this hour no one was around. I came out onto the sands and the gust of an ocean breeze took my breath away. The beach was white again under the gleaming rays of the full moon. Instead of burning the land as had the sun, the light seemed as gentle as the touch of the moist sand on my feet. The tide was slowly ebbing, leaving the sand firm and packed. The seventh wave washed up and swept over my ankles. Now the water was cool and I gasped at its caress. Moved by an impulse, I held my arms up to the moon as though I was offering it devotion. I turned and my heart leaped up into my throat. For that was when I saw her. Even now my mind falters when I try to describe her. I only know she seemed a slender shape that the moonlight covered as though it was her lover. She twirled and spun, now up on her toes, now running lightly back and forth across the smooth sand. I cannot even remember if she was dressed. At one moment I thought she was wearing a white garment that fell from her neck to her knees. At the next moment I thought that her silver hair and the sea breeze and the tang of the ocean air were her only garments. She spoke not when she saw me, nor did her dancing stop. She only smiled and held out one hand to me. Desire swept over me, not only desire for her, but a desire to cast away the stuffiness and humdrum of my life and join her in whatever magical land she had come from. She danced away, backwards down the beach, now holding both hands out to me. As faint as if in a dream, I heard silvery, tinkling laughter. And I danced after her. Down the beach we went. Now our hands touched and now they separated. Her fingertips would linger for a moment on my arms as I strove to keep up with her. My body moved to the music that I could not hear but only felt as my eyes burned over her form. Where we went, I do not know. Tonight there were no lights on the strand. No boats cut through the water, no noise came over the dunes from the numberless resorts that were there. We were somehow in a world where only the two of us existed. Our dancing feet left no mark upon the sand. Suddenly she stopped. I froze, unsure what was happening and unwilling to take any chance of breaking the spell that seemed to have me in its grip. She slowly turned completely around once, twice, three times and then held out her arms to me in an invitation that was unmistakable. I could not have resisted that call if I had wanted to, nor did I want to. My arms encircled her body and I felt her hands close around me. Her eyes sparkled brightly and her lips were parted. My mouth captured hers in one swift motion that became a kiss so deep and passionate that my remaining senses reeled. Her slim woman's body was as cool as the water that foamed around our legs. Her breasts touched mine, her nipples like two points of the wind that surrounded us. Her body clung to mine, my lips frantically tasting hers. My hands fell to grasp her bottom, as taunt and as firm as the sand packed beneath us. When she stripped me I recall not. But I was nude and her body was crushed to mine. Her hands roamed over my fuller curves, brushing over my own hard nipples as though they were made of the night air. Her dancer's legs parted mine and I felt her thigh contact my pussy, already wet from the overwhelming desire I had for her. I pushed my thigh into the shadowy vee between her legs. We rode against each other, slipping up and down, her coolness matched by my growing heat. I wanted to possess her, to cover her completely with me and at the same time drown myself in her. Our kisses continued, wildly as I tried to devour her mouth. Her thumb and forefinger closed around my aching nipple and she pinched and pulled on it. Somehow she balanced on one foot and wrapped her leg around me. She rubbed my leg with hers, than in a sudden burst of strength, she pulled me to the sand. We rolled through the foaming surf, somehow not scratched by the sands nor soaked by the water. My legs parted and she thrust herself against me. I was pinned under her. My wrists were captured in her hands and I surrendered myself to the power that she displayed. My legs waved in the air and then went around her, pulling her tighter to me. She bit my neck and my shoulders but she left no marks there. Her nails raked down my sides and over my full bottom but I knew no scratches were left. Harder and harder she pounded against me, fucking me as only one woman can fuck another. Her tightly firm body ground madly against me. Her pubic bone opened my slit to her and her clit jammed into me. Up and down her hips blurred, moving with a speed and force that was more than human. I opened my mouth to scream the arrival of my orgasm only to have her cover my mouth with hers. My body arched and I exploded. As though she was only waiting for me I felt her body tense against mine and then spasm with her own release. For uncounted minutes we laid there. Then I shivered. Now I was cold. In a motion so swift I barely saw it she was up and had helped me to my feet. I looked down. It was no surprise to see that the beach where we had lain was undisturbed. Her eyes held mine, and I read acceptance in them as I wrapped my arms around myself. Slowly she moved down the beach. The moonlight cloaked her again as I scrambled back into my clothing. I remained where I was, watching her. She turned one time and made a gesture that urged me to follow her, to dance down the beach again, dancing in the moonlight with her forever. A single step I took towards her and then stopped. One part of me yearned to follow her into whatever world she was beckoning me to. But I couldn't. I knew that the moonlight was a place for me to only visit. I knew the opportunity would not be repeated and the regret that washed over me was more than balanced by the knowledge that what I was letting slip away was much less than I would be keeping. She nodded her understanding. A smile broke over her face and her feet began to move again. I watched as she faded slowly into the mist that was creeping up around us. I turned away and started down the beach. Back to my real life. Back to my husband and my children. Dawn was breaking as I came up the steps. (The End) Moonlight Every human feeling and emotion has an expression in nature. Like the world outside us, each of us has our own internal landscape: our own particular geology, flora and fauna, weather and seasons. At the same time, the world inside us looks outwards to nature, expecting to see our feelings reflected there.. When the Magician said, "As above, so below," that's what he meant. ~ ~ ~ ~ The first time I ever really saw moonlight was when I was in college, down behind the stadium with Jessica one night in early autumn. I'd seen it before, of course, but I'd never been in a place where the moon was the only illumination there was, where everything you saw was lit only by moonlight. It was eerie. It was just like they said in the songs: magical. I was young and thought I knew it all. I saw at once that I didn't. There was more to the night than just darkness. The light was buttery silver and the shadows were warm and brownish-blue as we walked across the field, me with the old blanket over my shoulder. The light from the moon is different than any other light. It's stained by the night and holds a strangeness, and it made us strange too. When we looked at each other, our faces were not the same, which thrilled and frightened us. When I kissed her, she kissed me back passionately, as if she didn't know who she was anymore, and just like in the songs, it was the moon that made her do it. As she broke the kiss, she looked into my eyes to see who I was, and I saw her excitement at being someone new in a place she didn't know. I pulled her along out of that silvery light and into the forbidding shadow of the empty stadium. I threw the blanket down on the grass but we didn't lie down at first, just stood there kissing in the moonlight. I opened her white cotton blouse (I remember how it glowed) and pulled her bra down, then pushed her breasts out to where I could get to them. In the moonlight, her skin was almost the same color as her blouse. There's an affinity between women and the moon. Everyone knows that, but it's most pronounced when it comes to her breasts. That's something I wouldn't learn for sure until years later, but there behind the stadium, it was something we both instinctively knew without even talking about it. We both looked at her tits in the moonlight, and we smiled like idiots because it was all so obvious. I bent my head and worshipped her breasts with my mouth, my tongue circling her nipples as Jessica stood and caressed my head, looking down at me, her blouse hanging loose around her arms. I still remember the little whimpering, gasping sounds she made, the way she hunched her shoulders and hissed with excitement when I touched her just so. I might as well have been worshipping the moon, the way I worshipped her tits. I was still a poet then, and I'd been struggling to explain those vague longings I felt when looking at the moon, or at snow falling in a river, or the gathering clouds of a thunderstorm, or any of these other images that stuck in my mind and stirred something inside me. It's taken me years to realize that those longings are the same ones I feel with a woman: a sexual ache that goes beyond the need to just get laid and get off. Beauty can be carnal as much as it can be abstract, and it was beauty I was responding to. Something inside me that was bigger than me; as big as the world, maybe bigger. Jessica wasn't a poet, thank God, and she finally lost patience with me and pulled me down onto the blanket. Those were different days, and girls were different than they are now. Those were still the days of what they called the sexual revolution, and sex was always possible, but it wasn't inevitable. Girls especially were confused as to how they should behave and what they should expect, so of course men were confused too. So when Jessica reached for my cock—actually reached out and grabbed it through my pants—I forgot all about poetry. We were lying on the blanket and I put my arm around her and she began to unbutton my shirt. She was almost feverish, and I'd never seen her like this. She tried to pull me over on top of her. I went to kiss her but she was already busy, kissing my chest and playing with my nipples. It was one of Jessica's specialties, her fascination with men's nipples. Different days, so there was nothing remarkable about her wearing a denim skirt, a fact I took advantage of as I slid my hand up under it and along her cool thigh. She instinctively clamped her legs together, but that didn't stop me. Her blouse was already around her back like a stole, only the sleeves still buttoned, and her bra was forcing her tits up and out like an offering on a tray. I knew what I wanted, and I knew that for once a girl was dying to give it to me. When I touched her between her legs, she wrapped her arm around my neck and pulled me down to her feverish mouth, her little tongue darting between my lips. She pressed herself up against me and hid behind her kiss as my fingers explored that hot mystery between her legs. I worked my finger inside her panties and touched her, and her arms tightened around me, her kiss deepened, but when I worked my finger up into her wetness, that was too much for her. She fell on her back as if she'd been shot: a victim of her own lust. She spread her legs for me, as far as the skirt would allow. We were in shadow, but the field around us was painted in the spectral stillness of moonlight, and what does the moon say except that there are secrets? There are secrets in our hearts and there are secrets in a girl's body, and the secret she was telling me now was that for the first time in my life I was with a woman who wanted me to fuck her. All the other times it had been a matter of forcing and cajoling, begging and pleading, doing it quickly before she changed her mind. But now Jessica was lying on her back on the blanket, her blouse open and breasts exposed, her hips lifting as I slid my finger inside her, and she wanted me. It was like a miracle, a gift of the moon. I got to my knees and pushed her skirt up. I found the waistband of her panties and she lifted her bottom so I could tug them down her legs. When they got below her knees she impatiently pulled one foot out and just left them dangling around her other ankle. I got up on my knees and got my pants and shorts down. and the whole time she didn't look at me. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted. I could feel her need. I don't know what came over me then, but I wanted to see, so instead of lying on top of her, I got down on my side and entered her that way, with her knees over my hip. I could see her face, see her little grimace as I entered her, and see her pulse beating in her throat. I don't know if I groaned. I do know I can still remember the delicious hot grip of her sheath upon me as I pressed into her, and the way her brows furrowed as the initial pain turned into pleasure. I also know that the sense of vague longing I described, that feeling I got when I looked at the moon: this seemed to be the answer. This seemed to be the answer to a lot of things. "What— What are you doing?" she asked me. I was pushing her leg back towards her chest, resting on my elbow, so I could see. "Hold your leg up," I said. "I want to see what it looks like." She giggled. "You're crazy!" but she did it, hooking her arm behind her knee. When she laughed her pussy squeezed me like an elastic band. It was almost more than I could handle. I wonder if it felt as good to her as it did to me. I know that at the time, I doubted it. If it had, it seemed to me that girls would be fucking every minute of every day. I know that if I had the capacity to make someone feel as incredibly good as Jessica was making me feel just by letting me use a part of her body, I'd throw myself open to all comers, just as a humanitarian gesture. With her leg out of the way I could see my cock sunk into her tight little cunt and the way she was stretched around me, and it made me groan out loud in sheer salacious excitement. The thought that a piece of my body was inside her, hidden away in her darkness and yet making her feel it, just struck me with terrible erotic force. It was both beautiful and dreadfully obscene, and I felt like bells and whistles were going off all across my body. I reached down and touched the incredibly tender folds at the top of her pussy. "Oooh! Oh! Oh my God!" she said, frantically covering my hand with hers, unsure whether to push me away or hold me there. I knew what and where a woman's clit was, theoretically at least, but back then I was still finding my way around women, treating them as some sort of exotic alien life form, and so the idea of intentionally touching her clit during sex never occurred to me, and I'm not sure that it occurred to me then either. I only knew that I liked her reaction and that it was terribly sexy to keep my fingers there where I could feel her pussy pucker in and out as I fucked her and feel my shaft emerging covered in her juice, so I kept my hand there and kept playing with her. "Oh! Oh! Oh Godddd!" she wailed through clenched teeth. She lifted her head to see what I was doing to her, dug her nails into my thigh and started pumping me against her, rolling me back and forth like a log and wiggling her ass in hungry desperation. I'd never seen this kind of passion in a woman. I didn't even know it existed outside of dirty books, and it just drove me wild. You've got to understand, in those days fucking was done quickly and more or less silently and efficiently. Of course we knew that women enjoyed it, but we also understood that there was some sort of taboo against showing that enjoyment while the deed was going on. To let someone else see your raw pleasure and need is close to showing your naked self. It's close to surrender. It's like running up the white flag and saying, "I give up! Just don't stop, I need you!". It's the closest another person can ever come to giving themselves to you. Showing your passion is the same as baring your sexual soul. It's giving yourself to someone. I really wanted Jessica. I don't just mean that I wanted to fuck her. I mean I wanted her. I wanted her like I wanted the moon when I looked at it, or my snow on the river and all those other things you can't really have. I wanted her inside me, where I could keep her with me and never let her go. I wanted her to belong to me in some way that I still feel about things and still don't understand. But I wanted her, and I didn't know how much until I saw that look on her face, heard the desperation in her voice and felt those sharp nails digging into my thigh. I could see the way her wet, pink pussy winked and crinkled as my cock slithered in and out of her and it drove me wild. I had to have her. I had to make her mine. But it was no good like this. Though she had her nails dug into my leg, the force of my thrusts was pushing her awkwardly up the blanket, pushing her out of the shadow of the stadium and into the moonlight, so I gave up on this position, disentangled myself and got between her legs missionary style. I leaned over her on my hands, and slid right into her: no fumbling, no searching around, just like nature intended, as if we were designed for each other. No more clit-rubbing this way, but the face-to-face intimacy more than made up for it, and with my shirt open I got to feel those hard little nipples poking into my chest. She raised her knees, passed her hands up under the back of my shirt and pulled me down to meet her open mouth, claws out, as ferocious as any jungle cat. The ground was soft but unyielding, and I fucked her so hard that she gave a little grunt with each bruising thrust. I felt the give of her body and her bones, the fleshy padding of her buttocks cushioning my blows, her hips the only thing between me and the earth, that hot sucking pussy the only thing that kept me from burying my dick in the cold ground. And how sweet she was! How hot and soft and deliciously womanly. Her clothes were a total mess, her panties dangling around her ankle, her blouse tangled under her back, her hair in her face, but she was magical in the moonlight, swollen with femininity just like the moon: the roundness of her breasts and ass, the softness of her cheeks and lips, clinging to me like shadow, biting my lips and begging me to do it harder, harder. It was then that I learned something about love, any kind of love, even this raw, physical, purely sexual kind of love. I realized that at that point Jessica was no longer in it just for herself. Her pleasure had become my pleasure, and she was getting off on my enjoyment of her body, just as I was getting off on making her moan and gasp with the way I fucked her. My excitement fueled her own, and the harder I fucked her, the harder she wanted it; the wilder she got, the wilder it made me. We were locked together in this feedback loop, engaged in something that was bigger than both of us. But I wasn't really thinking about that at the time. I was fucking her hard, crushing her breasts in my hands, smothering her face with my kisses and sucking the cries from her mouth as my ass rose and fell like a trip hammer, spearing my bloated cock into her, overcome with love and lust. "Oh my God! Jessica! Oh fuck! Yes, baby! Yes, Jessica!" Well, to be honest, I don't think I called her "baby". It would be years before I would call a woman "baby" without feeling self-conscious about it. But I've always been vocal, and so I must have been saying something, and as you can see, I wasn't much of a poet when I was making love. "God yes! Yes!" might be more like it. I rose up to get more leverage and was over her on my knees and forearms, resting on my elbows. Jessica's hands went from my face to my back to gripping my arms. I was fucking her hard, racing for that finish, when she suddenly said, "Wait! Stop! Stop!" I reared up on my arms and looked around, thinking she'd seen someone. I saw nothing but moonlight. She put her hands on my face and I looked down at her, and she was looking around too, her eyes glowing. She looked back at me and smiled this wicked, delighted smile, and asked, "Isn't it beautiful?" I don't know anything else she might have said that would have set me off the way those three words did. I was levered up over her, my cock sunk in the throbbing wetness of her cunt, her knees up against my ribs, surrounded by the quiet of the moonlit night, the stars above and the crickets in the bushes. My heart was full to bursting, and she looked me in the eye and asked me that. I just went insane for her at that point. My passion just exploded inside me like a bomb and I fell on top of her, sobbing into her mouth, overwhelmed with feeling. I fucked her even harder, wanting to actually hurt her, to fuck her so hard that she'd stay fucked for the rest of her life, wherever she might go, always feeling my prick moving inside her. Yes, it's beautiful, I wanted to say. Yes it's gorgeous: the night, the moon, you, your cunt, everything I feel. It's so fucking beautiful I could die! But of course I didn't say that. Not a word. I let it go, because at that point I was just too desperate to lose myself inside her, to let myself explode, let my oceans flow and flood her moonlit fields. I must have told her I was close. As I say, I've always been vocal, so I would have said something. I imagine she was clinging to me and telling me to give it to her, to let her have it, every drop, because Jessica turned vocal that night too, and she was such a deliciously greedy lover. I really don't remember the details though. I'd like to say that I pulled out of her at the last moment, and that we both watched breathlessly as my stomach clenched and my semen arced from my cock in the moonlight, landing on her milk-white skin, living and pearlescent. Semen is also sacred to the moon and it would have been appropriate, like an offering. But it didn't really happen that way. Jessica was on the pill, and I kept myself jammed to the hilt inside her as I crushed her to me and spurted out my shuddering release into her darkness. I can still feel the primal waves of incandescent pleasure when I think of it, though, and still feel her sweaty hands going limp against my back as she felt me unloading and knew instinctively that she'd done her job. I don't want to sound sexist, but I do believe that women feel a deep visceral satisfaction when they make their man come, whether they get off or not. In any case, I remember the way her grip on me relaxed even as I was being seized with those whole-body spasms of ejaculatory release. More than relax: her hands took on a soothing, conciliatory tone, as if comforting me in my orgasmic frenzy, calming me and telling me that everything was all right. She was satisfied, and for her, this particular chapter was over. The moon was creeping across the sky, and our little patch of shadow had retreated under the dark arches of the stadium. I held her in my arms. There was something terribly strange about lying out doors and having a girl's naked thigh draped across my naked thigh, but there was something that felt vaguely familiar about it too, as if we'd both done this eons ago but had forgotten. I think I'd wanted to make a joke about doing it inside the stadium next time, on the fifty-yard line, but I didn't. Both of us were strangely moved, and joking seemed out of place. Something sacred had happened, I know that now. We were still drunk on moonlight when we got back to the car, and we were reluctant to leave. The field still shimmered under that magical buttery light, which now seemed so familiar that we both felt we could come back to it whenever we wanted, that it would always be there for us. The truth is, though, that it took me years and years to understand what had happened there and to start looking for that kind of magic in sex again. The moon is a changeable mistress, though. She never looks down on the same scene twice. You can see it in her face, how surprised she always is when she pulls herself up full over the horizon, startled at what she sees. That's when it's easiest to tell that the moon is all about secrets. Moonlight I can see it when I close my eyes... You're lying in bed, asleep. The only light in the room is the moon, filtered through curtains. I can barely see your silhouette, peacefully composed; barely hear your breathing, quiet and rhythmic. I touch your hair, lightly stroking it, twisting the ends between my fingers ever so gently. Sharp, sweet longing pierces through me, and I lie quietly, just drinking in your presence, my hand resting on the bed, not quite touching you. I lie there, still and silent, for what seems an eternity before reaching out, stroking your spine with one finger, right between your shoulder blades, without even moving my hand. You sleep still, unaware of how much your resting body has captivated me, and I repeat the motion a few more times, caressing you, channelling all the wonder, all the joy in me, into that one small simple motion. My other hand moves as if of it's own accord, touching your shoulder, cupping it, squeezing softly. Your only response is a quiet murmur as you shift imperceptibly closer. I lean over and leave a lingering kiss on the back of your neck, then lay back, withdraw my second hand, and watch you sleep. I don't want to wake you, just savor the moment of lying here, next to you. Eventually I can hold back no longer, and I kiss you again, lightly, then find myself doing so yet again. One hand is playing with your hair, the other stroking your side in long slowly sweeping motions as I cover your back with kisses: taking my time with each one, letting each little motion express not only the desire that is smoldering inside me, but the tenderness that threatens to overwhelm me. I run my hand over your shoulder, and down your arm, nuzzling the side of your neck, kissing your ear, forcing myself to move slowly, to keep my touches light. I want you, and yet this moment, lying in bed next to you, is too precious to interrupt. I stop frequently, leaning back, watching you sleep, waiting out the insistent waves of physical longing, letting them fade a bit, then returning to you, fondling you affectionately. At some point as I brush my thumb against the back of your hand, I feel you squeeze mine lightly. I try to withdraw, hoping simultaneously that you're awake and that you're still asleep. As I pull my hand back, you turn, rolling over, still holding it, until you're facing me. I stammer quietly, shyly, and try to pull away from you, but you raise my hand to your lips and kiss it soothingly. I can see a hint of moonlight in your eyes - just enough to know that you're looking at me. I feel myself blushing, and you chuckle softly, move my hand to my side without letting go of it, lean over, and kiss me on the lips, lightly at first, and then harder, letting go of my hand to hold me. My arms circle around and I hold you close, one hand stroking your back, returning your kisses hungrily. You toss the blanket aside with one hand, and push me gently to my back. I open my mouth to tell you - something - what, I have no idea. It doesn't matter. You cover my mouth with yours, drowning out the mere thought of words with the intensity of your kiss. And then you lie next to me, head propped up on one hand, the other hand resting lightly on my stomach. I reach out to you, caressing your cheek with the back of my hand, running a finger over your lips. I can feel you smiling and suddenly notice I'm doing the same. Suddenly shy, I withdraw my hand and look away, perfectly aware of the heat rising in my cheeks. You lightly stroke my hair, waiting patiently until I turn back to you, hunger in my eyes. I reach up and take your hand in mine, kissing the back of your palm, and suck slowly on each of your fingers, nibbling at the tips. You lean over and bite my ear, making it hard to concentrate. I focus, trying to show you I'm worthy of your attentions, and you kiss my cheek and lay your head next to mine, blowing softly along my ear. You cradle me in one arm, holding me close, and trace small complex patterns along my shoulders and down my chest I bite your neck, growling under my breath, and for the first time I hear your voice, asking what I want. I pull you to me, squeezing your butt with both hands, and whisper fiercely in your ear one single word, "You." You smile, capture both my hands in yours and hold them over my head, balancing above me. Is that a trick of shadow or a smirk on your face? Very slowly, you lower yourself, till the tip of your very erect member touches my clit. I gasp involuntarily and shift, lifting myself, trying to get you inside, gazing into what I can see of your eyes, wondering if you can see both the reckless abandon and adoration in my eyes. You move back up, away from me, and chuckle, obviously amused. I grunt a bit unhappily, but settle down, waiting. Still, you hover above me expectantly. Slowly, I lower my eyes and bow my head, wordlessly acknowledging your control. You give my wrists a gentle squeeze, still holding them firmly, and again lower yourself, rubbing the very tip of your penis against my clit. I sigh deeply, moving with you, revelling in the feeling but letting you set the pace. You let go of my wrists to play with my already hard nipples, rubbing them, rolling them between your fingers, tracing circles around them. Always gentle, slowly stimulating them until they're hard enough to hurt even without a touch. All the time you're teasing my clit, working me to fever pitch. Always waiting for the signs my body gives away, obvious even in the dark. It doesn't take long before I cry out, ready to climax, hands clenched but still in the position you left them in. You immediately pull back, denying me release. You kneel between my legs, your hands on my hips, holding me still. I bite my lip and whimper angrily, reaching down to move your hands away, unthinking, lost in a fog of desire. Your voice cuts through, centering me. A single word: "Pet, " just a warning. Your voice is filled with the promise that you WILL make me obey. I move my hands above my head again, but cant stop myself from pouting. You wait a few moments, letting my breathing get back to normal, and then you start stroking my inner thighs, asking me if I truly think I should be allowed release, after waking you up. I smile a bit at the amusement I can hear in your voice, even though you've tried to cover it. You move your hands up, tracing along the outer lips, asking if perhaps I should be punished instead. And then, you flick your thumbnail against my clit, hard, when all I do is whimper and squirm, torn between the instant gratification my body is screaming for and the more intense pleasure I know you are offering. You cup your hand around me, pressing your palm against my entrance, and demand an answer, grinding it against me. I close my eyes, closer to climax than I think you know, and respond, my voice shaky. "Yes, Sir. I deserve punishment." Then, pressing against you, unable to stop my body from trying to take what it needs, I let you hear the passion in my voice as I ad a rather demanding, "Please," dropping the demure act long enough to confirm what you suspect - that I am in the mood for this and not just doing as you ask. You withdraw your hand, and I think I catch a brief smile of acknowledgement in the faint moonlight. All thoughts are driven from my mind as, without warning, you slide three fingers in me, moving them in and out, brining me back to the edge, while telling me sternly not to come. I clench my teeth, moaning and grunting with the effort of controlling my reactions. You touch each of my nipples in turn with your free hand, confirming by the twin winces that they are still painfully hard, and then move to my clit. You rub it roughly, pinching it, all without missing a beat with your other hand. I hold on, crying with the effort, and you change your angle, driving deeper, pausing to move your fingers against that too-sensitive spot inside me, and then continuing. I am begging - both for you to let me climax and for you to stop before I can't control it, but you pay no heed, continuing until my muscles contract around you, then abruptly remove all contact. I shudder several times, coming down, catching my breath. I feel so empty, and want that orgasm so much more after being denied a second time. I wonder idly how many times you will do this to me, both anticipating and dreading the answer. Before I fully recover, you ask for my hands. I hold them out to you, a little surprised at the request. I have a moment of true terror, wondering what on earth you will do to THEM as punishment, before you pull me to a sitting position and then move next to me. You arrange the pillows and lean back, lounging comfortably and begin giving instructions. I turn on the lights at your command, find the vibrator, and bring it to you. Now it is my turn to kneel between YOUR legs, ankles together, knees spread. You smile at the view I can't possibly hide, and note the liquid trailing down my leg. You tease me about enjoying my punishment and I flush scarlet. At your command, I turn on the vibrator and slip it in, nodding confirmation that I understand I was, again, NOT to orgasm. Then, with a grin, as I kneel there, struggling to retain my composure, you take my hands in yours, tell me no such rules apply to you, and then guide my hands to your ready and willing cock. I run my fingertips slowly along the sides of the shaft, caress your balls, then hold them in one hand while running my thumbnail along the bottom ever so gently. I press my palm against the tip of the head and stroke between your balls with a single finger. I draw a finger around the head, circling inward, and flutter two fingers quickly against the tip. I form a circle with my hand and run it quickly up and down the shaft while squeezing your balls carefully. You grunt, your breathing turning rapid, as I pick up the pace. I move both hands along the side of the shaft, one moving up, the other down, back and forth, pausing at each end to stroke the tip and squeeze your balls. I keep it up, changing speed and tempo, moaning throatily and squirming myself, grateful for the focus you are providing, distracting me from the incessant buzzing inside of me. As I lean down to lick a drop of pre-cum from you, still stroking, you push my head down onto you, holding it there with a hand, and come inside my mouth. I obediently swallow it all, then lick you clean before sitting back up. You lay there, temporarily spent, watching me struggle to stay kneeling without the focus you had provided. You wait, catching your breath, while I both try to keep the vibrator in AND keep it from affecting me. Again, you wait until the very second I lose the battle, then reach down, pull it out, and switch it off. I teeter for a moment, then look you in the eyes. "Please, Sir. Haven't I been punished enough?" You grin at me, and respond with one word: "No." You send me to go clean the toy, and I do so, putting it back where it belongs and returning to you, handing you the ropes and clamps you request. I start to kneel on the floor, but you motion me to the bed and push me back, tying my wrists together, then binding them to the headboard. Each of my ankles you tie to one of the foot posts, and then you sit next to me and blindfold me. You fondle my breasts, listening to me breathe, and stroke the nipples until they hurt again. Then you pinch them both, hard, brining tears to my eyes before pulling them away from my body, until I cry out. You do this over and over, till I am panting with the pain, on the edge of utterly sobbing. You pick one, lick it, bite it gently, and grind your back teeth against it before attaching a clamp. Then you repeat the entire process on the other. You stroke my hair, brushing your fingertips along my ear, until I become accustomed to the hurt and calm down. You kiss me deeply and move your hand down me, making sure to tap each clamp on the way, until your hand rests between my legs. You slap me lightly, directly over my pussy, cupping your hand to strike the most flesh. I jump, straining against the bonds in surprise, and you smack me again before I can recover. I buck again, then flinch from the expected blow that never lands. You wait until I relax, and then pick up your leather belt and bring it down against the inside of one leg, then the other. You alternate, back and forth, working upwards. You keep the strikes slow, giving me time to feel each one. Then, several, in quick succession, impacting directly at my entry. I cry out at each, and start begging you to take me, to fuck me, to please please please be inside me. You continue, alternating now between my pussy and my clit, listening to me beg. I am moaning, tugging and my bonds. My skin is raw, my breath ragged, my need for you growing, my pleas becoming more insistent. When I feel surely I can take no more without my own passion splitting me in two, the rain of blows stops, and the blindfold is removed. You remove the ropes from my ankles, rubbing them a bit, and then perch above me. I look into your eyes, quaking all over, and you lower yourself onto me, into me. I close my eyes in relief and joy, as you hold still, just letting me feel you. You remove the bonds on my wrists, and I move my hands to your shoulders, stroking them. You move out of me, then back in, very slowly, and I rise to meet you. You smile, and follow my rhythm this time, letting me take what I need. Each stroke rubs against the inflamed skin, and as you thrust into me I cry out, climaxing quickly. You continue, not even pausing, guiding me through wave of orgasm after orgasm - some mine, some yours; some together, some apart, until we are both utterly spent. You move off of me, I reach over flip the light off, and you hold me in your arms as we both drift contentedly back to sleep.