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Shutter

By: jay hanspard



His photography business had moved from the ranks of fledgling to that of a very busy, part-time job. He had a nice office in his home and a 400 square foot building that was his studio. He often had his new clients in his office to talk of the things they wanted in a picture. Some senior pictures, some glamour shots, some boudoir photography, and even a little sexy calendar work were all on his resume'. The clients would look at the finest examples of his work that adorned his office. Several shots of models, some amateur and some pro, posing with various cars and motorcycles, some waterfall shots of a silhouetted nude, some shots of young models trying to make it big....but one photo on the wall always caught everyone's attention. It was a large sixteen by twenty photo of....well.....no one was really sure what it was. No one really had the courage to ask. Was it abstract art? Some sort of highly intellectual thing that no one really liked except other photographers? What was it? It looked to be a picture of a room taken at night. Moonlight poured through a bay window onto a large bed covered in twisted sheets. The contrast of darkness and perfect white sheets was certainly beautiful...but what was the point. He noticed people stealing glances at the picture, but never asking, just glancing with curiosity. He always smiled at this. Sometimes when the room was quiet, and the clients had all been taken care of, he would look at the picture and be covered with a calm. A feeling of total solace and peace. Because he knew the story behind the picture.....

*****

It was a year earlier. He had been in his studio working diligently on a shoot for the next day. An aspiring model was having several pictures taken for a comp card, and he has working on very large set that had been in construction for several weeks. The large four-poster bed was on loan from a friend who owned an antique shop. He had tried different fabric, different angles, but it had yet to come together. He settled on a purple window treatment and white sheets, hoping for a high contrast look. He tried to picture it in his mind...but his mind's eye was failing him this time.

He spoke of the process and difficulties at his "real job". He talked to his friends, particularly his female colleague with whom he carried on many conversations, some more personal than others. Circumstances had conspired that she have a free evening that night, and she wondered if she might come over and see his studio for the first time. He quickly accepted the offer, not just because he loved to show his studio any time, but because he had special feelings for her, and he wanted to spend more time with her. 

He went home that evening and cleaned up his studio as best he could, laughing at himself for acting like a teenager having over his first date. The thought of having her over made his heart race, so much so that he was afraid he might seem less than at ease with having her around. He sat down to calm himself. He sat in his director's chair facing the new set. His thoughts wandered to tomorrow, and what would he come up with. His thoughts consumed him, so much so that he didn't hear her drive up, or get out of her car. He startled when she opened the door at the other end of the studio. His hear raced to see her. She said she would help him set up, and true to her word she wore her sweatpants and sweatshirt with her hair pulled back, ready to work. Even dressed down she looked fantastic. Her hair pulled back left her beautiful long neck on display. The photographer in him recognized the uncommon beauty in her neck and eyes, and the obvious attraction of her long legs that was obvious to anyone. Her gray sweatsuit fit loosely, concealing the beauty underneath that she was oblivious to. They adjusted the window treatment and ruffled the sheets perfectly. The finishing touch was the arrangement of oversized pillows that added the air of luxury and arrogant beauty. She climbed all over the large bed, adjusting this and that, while he arranged the camera, taking light readings and such. He was looking through his lens when she stopped for a moment to rest, leaning over on one of the pillows and lying her head down. She was oblivious to his actions, and only the sound of the shutter on the camera got her attention.

"Oh my..tell me you did NOT take my picture!"

He laughed and adjusted the telephoto lens to frame her face. She rolled her eyes, but reluctantly gave him a wry smile. The shutter clicked again. He stood up from behind the camera. The look on his face said more than words ever could. He gave her the look she had seen from time to time in their moments alone. Moments were she wondered if they would be able to maintain their agreed upon rules of engagement. Several times they had been alone, and when he kissed her neck and pulled at her nipples, she wondered if she would be able to tell him to stop if he asked for more. He would get a look that burned from her heart to between her legs making her week. The look was serious, almost like he was trying to read her soul by staring deep enough in her eyes. This was the look he had now, only for once they were in a place it could flourish. She always tried to rebuff him and stay in control. This time she was tired from the struggle and just wanted to finally be taken. When he looked at her like that she felt beautiful. 

He said nothing. He walked to a corner of the set and turned on an array of tungsten lights. The gold light shown down on her shoulder and legs and the length of her body. He walked to the other side and turned on another set of tungsten lights, these smaller ones shining above onto her hair and shoulders. Finally, he turned on a small light at the base of the camera which filled in the light on her face. All the lights made her the center of his attention. She remembered all the times he told her she was beautiful and that she should appreciate herself more. She decided to take the leap of faith and trust him. She met his intense gaze with one of her own. Their eyes locked, a look that told him he was both trusted and appreciated. 

No one spoke. This was significant because both loved talking to the other and words flowed freely between them. They spoke to each other all day and when they weren't together they were writing stories to each other. Words were huge in their interaction...but not this time. They had spoken all they needed to, and what they both felt right now didn't need words to communicate. 

She broke the gaze with him and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, pulling it off in one movement. Tossing it to the side opposite the camera, she just as swiftly pulled the clip from her and let it fall to her shoulders. Rising to her knees she pulled her sweatpants and socks off and tossed them in the heap with the shirt. She wore matching black panties and bra. The set was lacey, and fit her tall frame perfectly. She laid back on the pillow and looked him in the eyes. She saw him struggle to swallow, relieved that he had the same cotton mouth that she did right now. He blinked his eyes hard, coming back to some senses. He looked through the camera and took another picture. She turned her head to the side, letting her hair fall over her face and kept her gaze on him. Another shutter click. She rolled on her side away from him and stretched her long leg out, giving him a delicious view of her long legs. Click. She brought a leg up to her chest and arched her back, pushing her butt out. Her panties rode up, exposing her delicious round ass to the camera. Click. She rolled over to her back again, meeting his gaze once more. Never breaking eye contact, she reached up to the front clasp of her bra and undid it with one fluid motion. The bra snapped to her sides, leaving her long nipples pointing in the air. Her right finger absent-mindedly traced the hard pebble as he clicked off several shots. She rose to her knees and turned away from him. Holding her arms above her head she stretched her long frame, letting him shoot what he pleased. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes through the camera lens. She slowly put her thumbs on the waistband of the panties and slid them down and down. He snapped shots as the panties fell to her knees. She rose up a knee alternately and fished the silky garment off and onto the floor. Again she raised her arms, letting his photograph her nude body. She eased onto her hands and arched her butt out to him. All the lighting exposed the wet shine between her legs. Click. 

She rolled onto her back, propped up by one of the large pillows. He briefly let his eyes rise over the camera to look at her. She looked at him with the same expression he had given her so many times. Pure desire and longing. She let her left hand go to her breasts and pull at her long nipples. Her right hand took a long sweep of her wetness, stopping briefly to tickle her clit. Click. She let her left hand join her right between her legs. She rubbed furiously, stopping once to pull herself open to him and expose as much as she could. One finger disappeared inside her and she rolled her eyes back in her head at the feeling of something finally inside her. Her long finger dipped in and out. She was lost in the intimate feelings, not noticing his movement. He took the remote to the camera and made his way towards the bed. The sight of her beautiful nude body was long dreamt of, and finally his for the taking. He eased up beside the bed, careful to go unnoticed while she pleasured herself with her hand. Her rhythm increased until she cried out in orgasm. As the orgasm subsided, he planted a warm kiss on her neck. Startled her eyes opened and found him not six inches from her face. She looked almost scared with him this close. He liked her at ease, so he put his warm hand to her face and kissed her deeply, but slowly. As the kiss broke, she heard the click of the shutter and only did then she notice the remote in his hand. 

He took his other hand and cupped hers, which was still pleasuring her. He took control of her hand and slowed the pace of her thrusting finger. Curling his middle finger under hers, he slipped his own digit in with hers. She moaned at the feeling of more fullness and she soon tensed up with another orgasm. As the wave inside her built to its peak, he took her hard nipple between his lips and tickled the end with his tongue. She crashed through another orgasm, not noticing the clicking of the shutter. He pulls their fingers from her, and raising them to his mouth he licks the honey off of them. 

Standing before her, he pulls his shirt off quickly while she works the belt and zipper of his pants. She slowly pulls his pants and boxers down at the same time, exposing more and more of his thick pole. As each inch is exposed she thinks of how that thick inch will translate into pleasure once it's inside her. Finally the waistband reaches the tip and his hardness springs out straight. He helps her get the rest of his clothes off, her gaze never leaving his cock. She looks up and down him, her face and mouth just an inch away from him. She finally looks up at him, and closing her eyes with pleasure she opens her mouth wide and takes his balls in her mouth. He can feel her tongue sliding around his hairless sac, rolling each full ball in her mouth. She trails saliva up him to the swollen head of his cock. Never letting their eyes unlock, she pops the hard ridge of his cock head in her lips and sucks on his most sensitive spot. He must break the gaze to allow his head to drop back and his eyes to roll into darkness. His long moans match her long strokes and she uses her hand and mouth to please him. Her lips dance on his cock head, and her fingernails trace his rising balls. 

Turning from her he walks over to a main power supply and switches it off, turning off every light in the studio at once. The bed is only lit by the window. The moon frames her perfectly. The sudden loss of lights translates to colder air quickly. She lies back on a pillow and spreads her legs far apart and puts one arm over her head while reaching out to him with the other. He walks back to the bad, taking her hand and the invitation. She pulls him on top of her, and throws the blankets over their bodies and heads. He fits right to her like a puzzle piece. His head finds her shoulder and neck, his arms circle around her back, and his hard dick finds the warm opening it desires. Holding her firmly he pushed into her, letting his cock head open her up. She kisses his forehead and tilts her pelvis up, asking for all of him. He buries himself in her like a lion, not stopping until he has nothing more to give. She cries out at the sudden impalement, she burns between her legs for a moment, but is turned on by him taking what he has wanted for so long. She is no virgin, but yet he makes her feel like one. Her heart races as though it is her first time, and her wet pussy stretches to accommodate his size. 

He doesn't pound in and out of her, not does he take slow strokes. His movement is deliberate and long. Each stroke out ends with her closing completely as his head slides out, only to be re-opened and re-stimulated as he enters her again. With each long stroke she wonders if he will run out of room, but he does not. He fits inside her perfectly, like he was built to pleasure her body. His arms hold her tighter, and his long strokes gain speed and momentum. She feels yet another orgasm beginning, but it is nothing like the first two. This orgasm does not start in her pelvis, or even between her legs. This orgasm started two years ago, the first time they flirted. It started the first time he touched her, and the first time she saw his face which showed the depth of his long for her. The orgasm had been building for months and years. She took a deep breath and let it take her. Her eyes clinched, pulse quickened, legs drawing up tighter. She felt his arms squeezing the air out of her, letting her know that so many days of desire were getting the best of him, too. She had the instinct to fight it, to delay the orgasm as long as she could, but something told her this was different. They had fought so many things out of their control for so long, that this time they would not fight anymore. She relaxed her legs and brought his face up in her hands so they could look in each other's eyes again. Their eyes fluttered. Their mouths contorted to both hold back and release the pleasure that was taking them. 

And she came. She felt the wave of pleasure start in her groin and wave out to her extremities. She couldn't tell where the pleasure was centered, only that it ruled her entire body and mind. He struggled to keep his eyes open, he wanted to continue to look into her soul, but his last thrust in was too much for his body to fight. He squeezed her so tight she thought she might not get her breath. Suddenly he moaned, and the grip around her back relaxed as his seed spurted out inside her. Though no one moved, she felt his body finishing what it wanted for so long. His thick cock, already stuffed inside, twitched as it emptied its load. She felt his warm juice mix deep inside her belly, where it belonged. 

He put his head in her shoulder. Their arms wrapped around each other, determined not to let go of what had taken so long to get. Her internal muscles slowly milked his wilting cock of the last of its content. The only sounds that were to be heard were each other's heartbeat, beating like a metronome that would take them to sleep. They beauty of the moment did not get past them. As they lay underneath a mountain of twisted blankets, a tear formed in the corner of her eye. He also did not want the moment to end, and he did the only thing he knew of to make sure that it never would, at least not completely. 

He pressed the remote and heard the shutter one last time. 

Shutter Click



Dedication: This is for entitled, cuz she's such a horny bitch. Happy "19th" Birthday to the sweetest snatch around!

Givin' a shout out to my best girl, RogueLurker, for her capable editing. (She frequently uses a cattle prod. :D) *kiss* 

I hope everyone enjoys this, my second story. Please keep in mind that I'm trying to grow as a writer, so I would love it if you'd give me some constructive feedback/PCs.

Also, this is a work of erotica, yadda, yadda. If your not 18, yadda yadda. The whole thing is fiction, any resemblance to real...yadda, yadda, yadda...Read on, ya'll.

*

In San Francisco, '77 was a great time to be alive if you were batting for the home team. People felt that they could do, say, or be anything they wanted. Every belief that had been held dear by the multitudes had been challenged in the previous decade and the world had collectively rocked back on its heels, trying desperately to catch its balance. Now it had and what's more, had begun to run forward. Stephan loved every minute of it.

At the moment, he was trolling a bar. This was the third place he and Phineus had tried that night and they had been looking for two weeks. Stephan's friend, who had little patience with this hunt, was already becoming discouraged and his fidgeting was becoming a distraction.

"Hey, Phin," The blond head turned and thickly lashed, azure eyes regarded him. "Why don't you go see if you can find someone to play with after we're done here, man? If I find what I'm looking for, I'll come get you."

"Stellar." Phineus replied with a grin and disappeared into the crowd. 

Stephan paid little heed to the come-ons and mild groping as he slowly progressed through the club, looking the men over critically as he pushed his way through the sea of humanity. Now that his friend didn't encumber him, he could devote his full attention to his project, but he didn't hold out much hope of finding what he needed here.

Moving around the edge of the dance floor, Stephan came to a less congested area. Chairs had been drawn up to coaster-like tables set up for those who needed a respite from dancing. He was forced to shift his position slightly to keep from being blinded by a blue spotlight aimed at the dancers on this side of the room. Blinking to clear his vision, he scanned the men sitting in scattered, chatting clumps. Stephan was about to move on when a burly fellow shifted forward in his seat, apparently needing to stress some point or other to his companions and he spotted a man at a table beyond him. Here was a man who showed some potential. His prospect watched the dancers avidly.

Stephan assessed him with an artist's eye. His medium brown hair was silvering at the temples but from Stephan's vantage his face seemed fairly unlined. A finely sculpted nose lead down to a mouth that still held most of the plumpness from his youth; the firm chin and strong jaw gave his face character. Wire-rimmed spectacles framed intelligent eyes that, at the moment, were looking back at him with surprise and interest. 

Stephan began making his way over to the gentleman's table, smiling. That's what he looked like, a gentleman; sitting there, neatly groomed in his grey suit, his white shirt being nicely offset by a burgundy tie. He looked to be in good physical shape, but it was hard to be certain. A suit could hide a multitude of sins and the man was sitting with a table between them.

Having come to the bar with little expectation of making a connection, Edgar was surprised, when he noticed a beautiful, young man looking him over from the edge of the crowd. Tonight was mostly about burning images of the writhing, young bodies on the dance floor into his mind for later use. Now, Ed found himself to be the subject of the younger man's obvious attention and he allowed his eyes to travel appreciatively over his potential suitor. 

The Romanian cast to the dark haired stranger's chiseled features was enhanced by an old, black biker's jacket. His black T-shirt, advertising a disreputable looking group of men calling themselves the Ramones, had been tucked into snug, well-worn jeans with large, raged holes where their knees should have been.

Their eyes locked and Ed stopped breathing. The living fantasy's full, edible lips, curved into an enigmatic smile. Ed's heart started jack hammering in his chest. He hadn't realized how aroused he had become until he felt the muscles in his stomach and groin clench.

I'm dead. Some piece of lighting or something has fallen from the ceiling and crushed me, Edgar thought to himself as a hand was extended to him from across the table. 

"Stephan. Tell me your name and I'll buy you a drink." Ed noticed black lacquered nails as he shook the young man's hand. Stephan dropped, uninvited, into a chair.

"It's nice to meet you Stephan, I'm Edward." Stephen caught a waiter by the hips, as he tried to slip past their table, ordering Ed another Scotch and Soda and a Salty Dog for himself. 

"I tend to be a rather straight forward guy," Stephan began as he flipped his wavy dark hair back behind his shoulders in a practiced manner. Ed couldn't be sure, but it seemed to have a purplish cast, that shown like highlights, overlaying the black. "so I hope you don't mind if I jump right in and ask a favor of you." 

Ed raised his eyebrows in amusement as the waiter returned with their drinks. 

"Would you mind standing up for me, for just a few minutes?" Stephan asked.

"Stand up?" The dark eyes smiled at Ed. "I...suppose not." He finished as he pushed the chair back so he could stand.

The older man didn't know what to make of it when the younger one stood and came around the table. Taking him by the shoulders, Stephan turned him around and slid his hands up under the suit jacket. He heard Ed 's breath catch when his hands touched the small of his back. Examining the gent's back with his palms, he noted that it felt firm, but not overly muscled and he had good, solid shoulders. 

When he felt hands exploring his ass with firm squeezes, Ed had to grab the back of his chair to keep his feet. Stephan knelt and ran his hands over both of the older man's nicely toned legs, staying away from his groin. Standing again, he turned him back around so he could find out how good his chest and stomach might be.

"Very nice. Do you work out?" He inquired of the older man as he flipped off some guy who was hollering for them to get a room. Another was calling for them to hurry up and get busy.

"Wha...yeah, once a week or so. I use the facilities at the school I teach at." Past Stephan's shoulder he could see a cute as hell blond making a beeline for them through the tables.

"Stef, is he the one?" The newcomer asked.

"I hope so." Stephan said, reseating himself. "Sit down, Phin."

"The one what?" Ed asked, looking between the two.

"You ain't even asked him yet? Jeeze, Stef!" The blond huffed.

"I haven't had the chance so just chill out. Fuckin' drama queens." Stef shook his head in disgust. 

Turning to Ed, the dark haired man introduced his friend, telling him to ignore Phineus. Stephan explained that he was a painter, producing primarily nudes. He and Phineus were searching for a man with a certain look, a look that Ed filled admirably. What the painter wanted was an older man who had a refined air to polarize the blonde's coarse youth. 

Ed admitted that it was a very flattering offer, but he really didn't have the time, with all the papers he had to grade during midterms. Stephan assured him that it wouldn't take more than a couple of hours, explaining that he would take a few rolls of film with them in any pose he could possibly want and then paint from those. He could even come over now and have a look at his work to help him decide. If he agreed to the pictures, they would be able to take them the next day, since this was Friday.

Thinking that, at worst, he was wasting his time and, at best, he might be able to get a little action, Ed agreed to have a look at Stephan's work. Admiring the way the blonde's red, Adidas shorts displayed his ass as they made their way to the front door, he decided he rather liked the idea of being pressed up against his lithe, young body for a few hours. Even if nothing came of it, it would be great fodder for fantasy later on. As the three made their way to the door, Phineus announced that he wanted to stay awhile longer and told the painter to call him in the morning to let him know what Ed had decided, they pecked each other's cheek in parting. 

When Ed pulled out his keys and started sifting through them, Stephan said that he had come with Phineus. Indicating the direction he was parked in, he asked where the studio was. He was surprised when it turned out to be a rather wealthy part of town. 

"Aww, man!" Stephan exclaimed, racing past him and stopping in front of a red, '57 Chevy. "Would you look at this beauty?" He was caressing the hood like a lover. 

"Would you believe I lost my virginity on the hood of a car exactly like this one?" The young man inquired, as he turned and slid his tight little ass up onto it. 

"Same color and everything. Tim Martin, man, he was great! We were up here at the windshield, like this..." Demonstrating what he meant, he crawled up and balanced himself face up, with his shoulders just above the glass and his feet set wide on the hood, his hips thrust up putting his pelvis in line with his knees. A spot on his jeans, where his package rested, was worn nearly white and had begun to fray. Ed's erection, which had mostly subsided during the conversation at the table, sprang painfully back to life.

"...and he was kneeling right there." Stephan indicated the spot between his knees. Ed couldn't take his eyes off of this dark Adonis. His cock had become twisted in his shorts so he reached down to adjust himself. Stephen noticed.

"It would be so tasty to relive it, man. Since I gave you that wood, why don't you climb on up here with me?" He lowered himself until his thighs were braced against his calves and his back lay across the windshield. With his knees spread wide, the brunette ran his hands up and down the inside of his legs in invitation. Ed had to clear his throat before he could speak.

"I'd love to. You have no idea how much I'd love to, in fact, but why don't we wait until we get to your place?" He stepped around the front of the car and opened the driver's door.

"This is your car? That's the joint!" He slid off the far side of the hood and climbed in the other side as Ed tried to make himself comfortable behind the wheel.

"Here, let me take care of that for you." Stephan said, pulling Ed's closer leg up onto the broad bench seat. Sliding over, the painter started working to undo the older man's belt. 

"Right here?"

"Don't worry, no one will even notice and if they do, they wont care. Not in this part of town."

Once he got Ed's fly open, he reached into his shorts and wrapped his cool hand around the teacher's hot erection. The older man jumped and groaned at the sensation the temperature difference caused. Stephan stroked it lightly a couple of times, watching Ed bite his lip, before gently pulling the burning shaft out of the confining cloth. Holding it just beneath the top, he smoothed the pad of his thumb over the mushroom head several times, smearing the precum around. Ed started panting and gripped the dash with one hand, and the seatback with the other. 

Leaning down, he swirled his tongue around the glans, paying special attention to the underside before slipping it into his mouth. He swallowed him as deeply as he could in their awkward position, stroking his tongue back and forth as he slowly bobbed his up and down the thick shaft. He knew it wouldn't be long when Ed started pumping his hips, pushing his cock deeper into Stephan's mouth. 

"Ooh, God...Stef...I'm gonna come. You better pull off if you don't wauuuh..." The remainder of the sentence trailed off into a full body groan, while his cock pulsed out the evidence of his pleasure into Stephan's waiting mouth. The first shot was lost down his throat, but the rest ricocheted off his pallet to land on his tongue. It was salty-sweet and altogether lovely.

Straightening, the younger man tucked Ed's shrinking cock away and started to adjust his clothing. Stephan was surprised when the teacher caught his face in his hands to draw him in for a kiss. Their lips barely touching one another, Ed thanked him by stroking his tongue along the painter's lush, lower lip before deepening the kiss. Sensual massaging of lips, a languid dance of tongues fencing with each other, Stephan groaned as he lost himself in sensation. When the younger man started tugging Ed's best work shirt, in an attempt to pull it out of his waistband, Ed pushed him away enough to speak.

"We'd better go now, before we get too carried away. I need more privacy than we have here." Stephen growled and tried to recapture his mouth. Ed tsked as he held him off. "Patience is a virtue and virtue is it's own reward, beautiful." Ed had to chuckle when the young man sat back and pretended to pout.

"Fine, then you'll be driving with one hand the whole way." As he said this, Stephen fit the teacher's palm against his straining bulge and his fingers down under his balls. Crossing his legs tightly, to keep the digits in place, he started slowly swinging his uppermost leg. Ed could feel the thinning spot in the denim under his fingers as they moved, almost imperceptibly, against the heated cloth.

"I hope you know how to shift." Ed laughed.

Along the drive to the artist's home, Ed would randomly wriggle his fingers or scratch at the cloth beneath them with his nails. Shivers raced through the young body to his right, groans and hitching breaths escaped his sweet mouth. By the time they pulled into the drive and around to the back of the house, Stephen was softly biting Ed's shoulder through his suit coat, whimpering and playing with the hair on his now exposed chest. The older man was hard as a rock again.

Pulling himself and the artist out of the driver's door, he pressed him against the front finder and kissed him long and deep. Massaging Stephen's firm ass, he reveled in the feel of yielding flesh beneath the soft fabric. Breaking the kiss and stepping back, he jerked the snap on the pants hard enough to make the zipper open. Pulling them down as he knelt, He confirmed his suspicion. The young man wasn't wearing underwear. This close, the smell of his arousal was strong.

Stephen thrust his hips forward a fraction in invitation and Ed took him up on it. Catching hold of the base of the artist's rampant cock he noted that a pleasant amount extended beyond his fist. Collecting the drool of precum from the underside of the head with the flat of his tongue, he dragged his tongue upward to delve into the piss slit, searching for more. Feeling Stephen's cock twitch in his hand, he pulled away, not wanting him to come yet. 

"You're an evil, evil tease, Eddie!" The impatient, young man groaned in frustration.

"That's news?" As he stood, he let his hands slid up the back of the painter's trembling thighs. Catching hold of Stef's backside, he lifted him up onto the finder, causing him to gasp in surprise. Ed pulled off Stef's loafers; the jeans were discarded as well. Pulling off his clothes, the teacher reached back into the front seat to dig in the glove box. Stef saw the easily recognized jar of Vaseline when he came back around the car door.

Ed finished stripping as he stood in front of the hood. He carefully set his glasses to the side and climbed up, once stable, he moved toward the dark shape awaiting him up at the windshield. Stef was already positioned the way he wanted to be, all he had to do was lift his hips. He did so when Ed settled himself in place.

Opening the jar, Ed coated his aching hard-on. Collecting another dollop from the jar, he smoothed it into the crevice of Stef's ass. The older man wasn't surprised when the artist started opening for him immediately. He easily inserted his index finger, each subsequent finger took a little more effort, but Ed knew it would be worth it. When he could twist three fingers in and out and Stef was pleading for more, Ed positioned himself. Holding onto his smooth hips to keep them steady, he pressed forward. Feeling the head slip past the opening with little resistance, he continued gliding in.

Stephan, trembling with the need for release, cried out when he felt Edward's shaft slide against his prostate and jammed himself down onto its full length. Fireworks went off behind his eyes, mirroring his explosive orgasm. Seeing the evidence of Stef's pleasure coat his smooth, hairless chest and stomach, and feeling the painter's body begin milking him while his young hips ground against him, nearly broke Ed's control. 

When the spasms finally passed, the teacher held the limp, gasping man. Having held onto his composure by the skin of his teeth, he waited until Stef had regained his senses before moving. Tilting the artist's pelvis, the older man began slowly thrusting upward. The angle allowed him to slid across Stef's hot spot with every thrust, causing the artist's flagging member to jump back to attention. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt with both hands, Ed pulled in opposite directions, ripping it in a ragged line up the middle. 

"God, that was hot!" Stef moaned, clutching Ed's triceps. 

Ed began thrusting against Stef's sweet spot again, as he leaned forward to lave his nipples. The painter started whining and digging his fingers into his shoulders when Ed lightly sucking on the raised peaks, flicking his tongue. Stephan cried out as his second orgasm ripped through him. 

Edgar gave his prostate little taps until the flow of come subsided. Finding that he could no longer hold back, the older man began giving full thrusts into the quivering passage that held him. Groaning as he buried his face in Stef's neck, Ed sucked and licked the tender skin behind his ear. 

Running his fingers through the older man's thick hair, the painter rocked his hips in counterpoint to the teacher's. The sensation of fingers skimming through his hair, caressing his sensitive scalp, pushed Ed over the edge of the abyss. He roared his release into Stef's silky neck. Ed's body spasmed, his back arching with each orgasmic rush. 

Stephan felt the older man's cock swell and begin twitching. The sensation of Ed blasting against his hypersensitive prostate set him off again, catching him completely off guard. A wave of ecstasy slammed through him, this one so powerful he couldn't even vocalize. They lay there, curled into each other until their breathing had returned to normal.

"Holy shit. That was slammin'!" Stef murmured into Ed's hair. 

"Well put, my young friend." They rested for a while longer so they wouldn't have to climb the back stairs on wobbly legs.

"This is an awfully...mmmm...comfortable home. I thought artists were supposed to starve." Ed commented, as they passed through the kitchen, gathering beverages as they went.

"I get a very good price for each piece and I sell a lot of them." The painter said, smiling over his shoulder, as they climbed to the second floor.

The entire second floor had been gutted to form one, large room with small pillars serving as structural support. Framed posters of various musical plays and movies adorned the walls. A huge, brass bed dominated the southern facing wall, which consisted primarily of windows. Floor lamps were scattered around, casting pools of light. To the right, a large cast iron claw-foot tub sat out in the open, as did the toilet, with a curtain that could be drawn for privacy. A heavy drop cloth separated a corner of the room that was used as a darkroom. 




Shutter Click



Leaning against the walls and pillars were paintings, stacked three and four deep. Ed moved about the room with a graceful economy of motion, looking at the paintings. Stef flopped onto the bed and watched as the teacher flipped through the stacks, commenting from time to time on what he was viewing. At times, his gestures became wild with his enthusiasm. 

The paintings were beyond the stereotypical nudes portraying naked people in stylized, provocative poses. These were images of people caught in the midst of making love. The paintings concentrated on the passion and emotion rather than the explicitness of the participants' bodies. In most of the work, no more than a hint of their faces were shown; the suggestion of movement in the bodies was enough to establish that they were in the throes of passion.

The only portrait showing the subject's face was hung opposite the tub. The framed picture was an overhead view of Phineus lying back on a plum colored silk comforter, his spiral curls creating a golden halo. His left hand rested lightly on the corresponding hip, the other lay limp beside him. His legs sprawled a bit, seeming to invite. A pool of cum, just above his still rigid cock, glistened in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. His face wore a dreamy expression of repletion. 

"I'm never selling that one, man. That's the best one I've ever done."

"I can't say that I blame you. It's beautiful. If I weren't an underpaid public school teacher, I'd buy one of these from you. They're all very good."

"I don't normally let them out of my hands, but I could give you a copy of the photo that that painting was made from." Stef offered. "As a thank you for posing for me?" He said hopefully.

"You don't have to bribe me, Stephan. I'm honored you want to feature me in some of your work, especially considering it'll be opposite that beautiful man." He said, as he sat next to the young man on the bed. "I would love to have that photograph though."

"Consider it done." The artist hopped up from the bed and went over to a bookcase that held between thirty and forty large photo albums. Riffling through he selected one labeled Phineus/Solo and brought it back to the bed.

"I set up one of these albums for each shoot that I do. Each one has a particular theme and set of models. That way I can keep it all organized and find whatever I need for a painting I'm going to do. Four of them feature Phineus. Oh, you have to see this picture, it's great." 

Putting the book down, he returned to the shelves and selected another volume of photos titled Phineus/Melonee. Stephen flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted to show Ed.

"This is it. Isn't it hot?"

In the picture a man and woman were apparently in the throes of orgasm. Although the long, curls of the man fell across the woman's chest, they parted just enough to show a nipple captured in his mouth. Her heels dug into his backside, pulling him further into her. His arms extended to hold him above her, his back arching and his buttocks flexing as he thrust forward. The arm of the woman visible to the camera clutched his back, fingers dimpling the flesh just above the swell of his ass. His hair obscured her chin and her face was turned mostly away, but you could see enough to discern that her mouth was open, as if she was crying out and her eyes were squeezed shut.

"They're not faking that. They're actually coming." Stef informed him, with a wide grin.

"Damn, it never occurred to me that Phineus flew both ways. He seemed too effeminate to be interested in woman."

"He's not. That's what's increadable about this picture." This came out in an excited rush.

Ed couldn't keep from grinning. His youthful enthusiasm was a sweet balm to Edgar's aging cynicism. Stef turned to the first album he had collected. Riffling through to the page he was looking for he pulled out the picture of Phineus and offered it to his companion.

"Thank you, Stephan. It's very generous of you to let me have this."

"That's sweet of you to say, Eddie, but it's no biggie, man." Stef was smiling broadly as he said this. "Hey, man, why don't you stay here? You're going to need to be here first thing in the morning anyway."

"OK." They continued to talk about Stef's art for a while, before Stef started moving drowsily around the room turning off the lamps.

An unfamiliar alarm pulled Ed from his dreams. He felt the body that was pressed against his roll away and heard Stef slapping at the clock. His wristwatch said it was nine o'clock. As he lay there, trying to get his wits about him, his companion crawled out of the bed and went to take a leak. The sound of the stream hitting the water forced Ed to get up. Stef moved over a bit and they stood next to each other in companionable silence. After the artist shook off he walked behind him, giving one of Ed's cheeks a little squeeze. Ed's stomach and groin muscles quivered, turning his steady stream into a series of bursts. Stef laughed.

After showering, Ed finished toweling off and headed downstairs. Stef sat at the kitchen table eating cereal, he gestured for Ed to join him. They had finished eating and were talking while they sipped their coffee when the back door opened, admitting Phineus.

"Oh, my God. His hair is a wet mess and he's eating breakfast naked. I knew you were cruising him last night!" The blond exclaimed when he saw the tableau. "Oh, by the way, I found this in the driveway" he said as he stepped over to the table, dropping the remains of a T-shirt on it, "and these on the hood of that divine Chevy out there." Phin finished, offering Ed's glasses to him. Stephan grinned at the pile of cloth. 

In a stage whisper he said to Ed, "Oh, and you also left the Vaseline sitting on the hood? Open? You might want to put that away." He wore a droll expression on his face. "Oooo, you're positively ravishing when you blush, Eddie!" He grinned wickedly as he turned to head up to the studio.

Back up stairs, Ed combed his hair while Phin undressed and Stef readied the camera equipment. Ed turned from the mirror to see the blond lie on his side on the bed and inform Mr. DeMille that he was ready for his close-up. The artist explained to Ed, as he got them into their first pose, that the key to creating the illusion of motion in his pictures came from actual movement during the shoot, keeping the action extremely slow to prevent the pictures from blurring.

Phin was sitting sideways on Ed's lap at the edge of the bed, his hands resting on the teacher's shoulders. Leaning down, he kissed the older man lingeringly. Standing at the foot of the bed so that the blonde's back faced him, Stef started taking the occasional picture. This was the way it went for the next hour. Holding each pose, the two men would touch and kiss slowly, the leisurely pace becoming almost unbearable as Stephan captured their passion on film. All but the first two poses were designed to imply penetration; consequently Ed spent a lot of time with his stiff cock pressing into Phineus' ass and stomach. 

Eventually, they were both on their knees, with Phin leaning against Ed's hairy chest. They dry humped in slow motion with the blonde's head laid back on his shoulder, his spiraling curls cascading down Ed's back. Ed was stroking his tight stomach just behind his rampant cock so it would look like he was fisting the young man, both of them were breathing heavily. When his hand inadvertently brushed the head of Phin's cock he grunted and jerked.

"I can't take it anymore, Stephan. I need to come, man, please!" Phineus cried.

"OK, just let me get one more. Sit on the side of the bed, Phin."

Phin sat there panting and desperately wanting to take his painfully swollen member in hand, somehow he managed to control himself. Stephan quickly set up a tripod and mounted the camera on it while his models watched.

"Lay back with your ass right at the edge of the mattress." He told Phin while he got the camera focused for the shot that he wanted to get. 

Crooking his finger at Ed, he told him that all he had to do was press the button with brief pauses between. The teacher nodded in understanding. Stephan knelt between the blonde's milky thighs and lifted his long, slender cock from his stomach. He slid his mouth down the shaft until his nose was pressed into Phin's pubic hair. His own long hair screened most of his face. Phin clutched his dark hair in his fists, groaning. Positioning his hands flat on either side of the blonde's smooth stomach, he gave Ed a thumbs-up to let him know he was set.

Shutter click; Ed counted to two. Shutter click; another pause. Shutter click; he was dying to go over to them. Stephan lifted his face back off of the model's beautiful erection, holding it by the base; shutter click. A thin, iridescent thread of precum stretched between cock's tip and bottom lip, shining in the sunlight; shutter click. The artist's tongue swirled around the head of the blonde's angry, red cock; shutter click. Ed abandoned the camera to join the duo at the bed.

He knelt behind Stef and opened the drawer of the nightstand. Finding what he was looking for, he opened the jar and daubed his fingertips in the jelly. Quickly, he began working it into Stef's tight pucker. When the artist started moaning around Phin's cock and hunching back onto three of his fingers, Ed moved forward to take possession of him. He slid in, pausing every few seconds to allow Stef to grow accustomed to the invasion. Seeing what Ed was doing, Phin sat up, pushing his friend off of him and stuck his fingers into the jar sitting on the nightstand. Pulling out a big blob, he worked it into his own ass. 

Having readied himself, he slithered off the mattress to straddle Stephan. Stef positioned himself at the blonde's entrance, pushing in just as Ed was pulling back. Ed's cock popped out and slapped his stomach. Ed told the painter to hold still and he and Phin would do all the moving. Ed slid in and Phin slid down, Stef groaned and shuddered at the double sensation. When they began moving in complementary rhythms the artist moaned louder, clutching the bedding and burying his face in Phin warm neck.  

The younger men's vocalizations were becoming louder and more frequent. Stephan was shuddering and uncontrollably twitching his hips; shutter click. Phineus' movements had become erratic, he couldn't keep a rhythm; shutter click. Ed's balls started to tingle and draw up a little. Reaching around Stef with both hands, he pressed the pads of his thumbs into Phin's nipples and massaged them in opposite directions; shutter click. The blond threw his head back, crying out as he was pushed into a mind searing orgasm; shutter click. Stephen had been teetering on the edge of ecstasy, when Phin's ass started convulsing he lost it and fell hard into an abyss where the only thing that existed was exquisite pleasure; shutter click. Edgar became aware of the sound of the camera at the same instant that the artist started milking his cock, tipping him over into a raging, orgasmic flow. He clutched Stef's hips, driving into him over and over, as he cried out his pleasure; shutter click.

"God damn! That was the hottest thing I have ever seen!" The newcomer exclaimed. Setting the camera on the bed, he sat and crossed his legs.

All three of them turned their heads in unison. This was the first time the younger men knew the stranger was in the room. He looked to be about thirty and was wearing an airline steward's uniform. Across the room, near the stairwell, lay a duffle bag. 

"Hey, man." Phineus smiled, "How ya doin'?"

"Hey, baby! I missed you." Stephan beamed at him, "Gimme a kiss."

"Oh, yeah. I can see exactly how much you missed me, Stef." The mellow voice fairly dripped with sarcasm as he leaned over and gave the painter a deep, loving kiss. 

"Mmmm...you taste good." The newcomer commented when he had pulled back. Stephan, leaning up for the kiss, had pulled Ed's cock free, it popped out limply. Ed's knees were starting to hurt, so he sat down tailor fashion. 

"It's Phineus." Stef said, smiling.

"Too bad. I was hoping it was your new guy; he looks dee-lish. When do I get to fuck him?" His voice had taken on a seductive tone as. It washed across Ed's body like warm silk, it surprised him when his cock gave a twitch and plumped a little.

"Oh, Eddie, this is Eliot, we live here together. Eliot, this is Edgar, he's a teacher." He and Phin extracted themselves from each other as he made the introductions.

"Pleasure to meet you, Eliot." He said, rising to shake his hand.

"The pleasure will be mutual, I'm sure." Eliot replied, with a Cheshire grin, wriggling his brows suggestively. 

Stephan knew that there was no way they would get any more work done today.



Shutterbug



I must've stared at that mirror for a good ten minutes before someone began knocking on the door, wondering what was taking so long. I just couldn't shake the feeling that something was very off. I left the bathroom, ignoring the guy who was glaring at me as he rushed past, desperate to use the bathroom now that he'd waited so long. I sat back down at my table in the restaurant, my brother, Micah, downing another beer. I had something of a weak stomach, and I couldn't handle alcohol well at all. Currently, my cup of tea was only lukewarm, but I drank it anyway. I'd laced it with milk and honey, and it soothed my easily irritable stomach. 

"What the hell took so long?" Micah grumbled.

"Number two," I lied.

"I ordered already," he told me, a note of disdain in his voice, "I got you clam chowder, or is that too strong for you?"

I didn't much care for clam chowder, but, rather than complain, I just shrugged, "No problem."

"When are you gonna get a new job?" he asked, draining yet another bottle of beer before setting it close to the edge of the table so that the waitress would know he needed a refresh. 

I shook my head, "I haven't quit my old job. Why would I want to?"

"You're a photographer," he said as if this was news to me, "And you don't even work for a real company. You don't have real health benefits, or a normal schedule."

"I do good business," I informed him, "I have more than a few clients, and I come highly recommended. I can afford my own health insurance. What's wrong with that?"

Micah seemed only angrier at my defensive reaction, "Gary, you work out of an apartment, the same apartment you live in. That's not a job, that's a hobby. You need to get a real job, one with more security."

I knew better than to argue with him. I'd always been smaller than him, even as kids. I'd gotten into photography fairly young, using my dad's Nikon until Mom got me my own camera when I was ten. Meanwhile, Micah had played football in school, running back, working out every day, and, even now, years later, anyone could tell which one of us was the jock of the family. I'd learned at a young age to just keep my head down and avoid confrontations whenever possible

So, even knowing better, I surprised myself by responding, "It may not be a steady, 9 to 5, cube farm job like you've got, but at least I like what I do."

I could tell by the way that his brows knit, his face seeming to darken into a scowl, that my response had pissed him off. After so many years of being cowed by him, my response was far from what he expected of me. 

"You better watch your fucking mouth, shutterbug!" he slammed a meaty hand down on the table, causing the empty beer bottle to rattle and fall over the side, "Or I'll watch it for you with the back of my hand!"

The booming quality that was Micah's voice caused others to wince and stare, other conversations ceasing. The bottle shattered on the floor, and the waitress, who had already opened a fresh bottle and was on her way to bring it to Micah, halted and changed her mind. The bartender, a middle aged man who was no slouch, himself, plucked it from the waitress' hand and started on his way over. 

"Sir, whatever your problem is, I won't have you disturbing my other customers," he warned, setting down the bottle on an empty table near ours, "So keep it down, or you will be asked to leave."

I kept my eyes down on the table, but I could almost feel the anger radiating from my brother.

"How about you mind your own goddam business?" Micah replied hotly, his voice still raised.

The bartender didn't back down, probably used to dealing with rowdy customers.

"This establishment is my business," he shot back, "And I'm not gonna ask you again to keep it down."

Micah reached in his pocket, pulled out a couple of twenties, and slammed it down on the table, "Forty bucks says you'll be sweeping up your own teeth in less than a minute."

The entire restaurant area of the bar and grill was frozen, watching with fear and a morbid fascination. I watched, too, but with only fear. I'd seen Micah in fights before, and his self-control, bad in a normal situation, was almost nonexistent in a fight. Usually it took more than just one person to peel him off an opponent, and the opponent usually ended up in the hospital. I saw the waitress, her brown eyes wide, move within arm's reach of the bartender, but I didn't see what she pressed into his hand, which was behind his back, and, more importantly, neither did Micah. But we both found out quickly when Micah stood up and began to charge him. Micah froze suddenly, went completely rigid, and then toppled over. He twitched and groaned on the floor, and then I saw the Taser in the bartender's hand, which is what the waitress had handed him.

I was shocked, no pun intended, to see my brother, bested, twitching on the ground. The waitress retreated, presumably to call the cops, and the bartender remained where he was, his finger on the trigger and ready to deliver more electricity if necessary. He glanced at me, noticing my pale, nonthreatening demeanor, and he quickly and correctly inferred that I would be no trouble. I made no move to stop him as he scooped up the forty dollars in his free hand and stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans. 

"You'll be asked to give a statement," he informed me in an almost conversational tone, "So I would suggest you stay right where you are. Do you know this guy?"

"He's..." I croaked, "He's my brother."

"Are we gonna have any problems out of you over this?"

I shook my head, and even then, everything just seemed really off. I could hardly recall why Micah had wanted to meet me here. I couldn't remember much since about three o'clock, coming back to develop the photos I'd taken for a client's son's Bar Mitzvah. 

The police showed up, arrested my brother, and began taking statements. As several people heard my brother's threat, and because the bartender was fully qualified with the Taser, not to mention well within his right to use it, it was pretty simple. Micah was led away in handcuffs, and I found myself explaining to an officer everything that had happened. Even then, I couldn't help but feel like this was just... off. It was difficult to explain how this could be, just that it was. The officer left, and the bartender offered me a beer, but I declined, in my normal, non-confrontational way. Everything in the restaurant area returned to normal, at least for the other patrons. The waitress brought me the bowl of clam chowder that Micah had ordered for me, looking me over closely as she did so. She was cute, but I was me, so I thanked her, but refrained from making any small talk, giving her no reason to stick around. As she walked off, I ate my chowder.

For some reason, the bartender offered to cover my chowder and two cups of tea, but I quietly insisted, leaving a twenty on the table, weighed down with the fork I didn't use, and I left. Outside, the wind bit deep, and I zipped up my jacket. For almost ten minutes I stood there in front of the bar and grill, peering out around me, wondering why it seemed so dark. It was only five-forty in the afternoon, and the sun was still up, though not for much longer, but it seemed much too dark for the time. I walked to my car, which was small, unassuming, just like me, got in, and called my mother to let her know that Micah was in jail again.

"Mom, hi," I greeted, "It's me, Gary."

"I know it's you," she replied, amused, "Who else calls me Mom but you?"

"Yeah, sorry," I buckled my seatbelt, "I just wanted to call you to let you know what happened."

"What happened? Are you okay?" Mom's amused voice became worried. 

"Me? No, I'm fine," I assured her, though I didn't feel fine, not really, "It's about Micah. Mom, he got arrested again."

She was quiet as I explained everything that had happened, and, even once I was done, she remained quiet for another moment or two.

"Mom?" I asked, "Are you still there?"

"Hmm?" I heard her answer, "Oh, yes, Gary, I'm here. Why don't you stop by? I haven't seen you in almost a month, since your father's birthday."

I sighed, recalling that incident, which was next to disastrous. My father agrees with my career choice even less than Micah, and, after his fifth screwdriver, he never fails to mention his distaste of photography, and of photographers in general. 

"I don't know, Mom," I said, "We both know how he gets, especially lately."

"Oh, don't worry about him," she assured me, "He's snoozing in his chair in the den. Please, could you come by? Don't make your old mum beg."

"You're not old, Mom," I said dutifully, "Okay, I'll be by in about half an hour or so."

I drove, only half paying attention to traffic, distracted by how the sky, which should be and was sunny, wasn't half as bright as it should be, how the shadows themselves seemed darker than usual, and almost alive... alive? I wasn't sure, but the shadows almost seemed to waver before my eyes. Something definitely wasn't right. I somehow made it to my mother and father's house, the same one they've lived in since I was a kid, without getting myself or anyone else killed. My mother was waiting outside, rocking in a wooden rocking chair my father had built years ago. I parked, got out of my car, and walked up to the front steps leading to the front porch. I ascended the steps as Mom reached the edge of the porch and we hugged for a few seconds. 

"Gary," Mom patted my hair down, or tried to, anyway, "Come and sit on the porch with me."

I nodded and took a chair next to her rocking chair.

"Gary, how have you been lately?" she asked, the concern as transparent as the window behind her.

I shrugged, "Okay, I guess. I did a Bar Mitzvah today, and the client is paying about three hundred dollars for it, and I'm supposed to be doing another client's wedding and reception next Friday. You should see where they're doing the wedding at, it's amazing-"

"I meant, how are you doing?" she elaborated, "How are things going with you?"

I was confused. What real reason did she have to be worried about me?

"I'm doing okay, Mom. No real complaints."

She shook her head, "When you called, you sounded quite distracted."

"Well, you know how things are between Micah and me. And it was pretty bad at that bar and grill. Should we go and bail him out, or what? He's only gonna be that much worse if we leave him to stew in a cell all night."

"Gary," she sighed, "That's why I wanted you to come over, so we could talk about Micah."

"Yeah, and that's fine, that's why I called."

"Gary, there is no Micah. You're an only child, always have been."

I paused, frowning, getting more confused. What was this, some kind of joke? I'd never known my mother to play pranks before. 

"Mom, you're kidding right? It's Micah we're talking about. You know, your oldest son, my brother, big guy, played football in high school. Micah."

"Gary, you don't have a brother."

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out the point of this joke, because it had to be a joke. I'd just spoken to Micah less than an hour ago."

"Mom, this isn't something I'd just make up. Are you telling me that the bartender Tased thin air? That makes absolutely no sense!"

My mother winced, shrinking back a little in her rocking chair, and I struggled to remain calm.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. This has got to be some kind of joke, though. I remember Micah, growing up with him, which wasn't the greatest. He's always been bigger than me, better at sports, better with the girls, and kind of a jerk to me. It's not like I just made him up or something."

"Son, that's exactly it," she persisted, "You did make him up. You never had a brother, let alone one named Micah. You had few friends, being so shy and reserved, so you must've made him up."

I stood up and began pacing, agitated and a little angry that my own mother would play this mean prank on me, "That's just not possible. I mean, if I'd made him up, don't you think I'd make up a nicer brother, someone who would never pick on me or call me a runt? I don't understand why you're doing this, Mom."

My mother shook her head, nervous, "Gary, I love you, and I would never do any such thing. I'm telling you the truth."

I ran my hand through my hair, getting upset, and I abruptly turned and descended the porch steps and hurried to my car, "I've gotta go, Mom. I don't know what this is, but I just don't think I can deal with this right now."

"Gary, please," my mother called after me, "I'm trying to help you!"

I got in my car and drove home, perhaps a little fast, but not exactly reckless. I pulled into my spot, hurried to my door, and let myself in. I was trembling, enough so to drop my key twice before I could unlock my door. I sat down in my recliner and tried to calm down. Whatever the reason for the darkness, it didn't extend into my apartment, thankfully, and I was able to relax a little. Something was happening out there, but I was safe in there, at least. Still, between my mother, and whatever was going on out there, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Nobody else seemed to notice it, whatever it was, which meant that either I was special in some way, or I was crazy. I didn't feel crazy. In my apartment, everything seemed solid, real. The shadows cast by the lights I'd turned on were as they should be, the light level normal. I walked to the front door, opened it, and was immediately aware of the lack of light in the hallway. The lights were on, same as always; Durst, the building superintendent, was good about replacing blown bulbs. But, for some reason, the light they emitted was dimmer than normal. 

I backed up until I was standing just inside the threshold of my front door, and I could see where the light from my apartment terminated right there at the threshold, not spilling over into the hallway. I stuck my arm out until my wrist and hand were in the hallway, and made note of how the light in my apartment stopped right there at my wrist. Something was wrong with the world outside my apartment. I closed the front door and went to my bedroom window. I opened it up and took the screen out. I stuck my arm out the window, and got the same results. I put the screen back in and closed my window. I felt like I wanted to tell somebody, I wanted someone to see what I'd found, but I couldn't think of a single person I could talk to. I didn't have any real friends, same as when I was a kid, no one to confide in. And, even if I did, what if nobody else saw what was wrong but me? If they couldn't see it, then that meant they were part of it in some way. What if someone else walked into my apartment? Would they see how much brighter, more normal it was there? 

Needing something to do, I went to develop any pictures I hadn't got around to taking care of, but there were none. I'd developed the Bar Mitzvah pictures before going to meet (the imaginary) Micah, my (nonexistent) brother at the bar and grill, where he was (or wasn't, if you believed my mother) Tased and arrested. That was it. If Micah did exist, there would be an arrest record for him at the police station. I turned off my lights, marveling at how, even darkened, my apartment seemed more normal than outside, and locked the door behind me. I got in my car and drove down to the police station where Micah had been taken. I walked in and went to the front desk. 

"Help you?" the officer looked up from his magazine.

"Yes, my brother was arrested earlier, and I'd like to see what's going on with him."

The officer looked at his computer, "What's his name?"

"Micah Barnes. He was arrested at Vallenci's Bar and Grill earlier."

The officer typed in the name, peered at his screen, and shook his head, "There's no one by that name here."

"Are you sure? It was only about an hour or so ago. The bartender Tased him when he got too out of hand, and he was arrested."

The officer stared at me for about ten seconds or so, not saying anything, and then got up, "Wait here a minute, I'll ask around."

I waited almost ten minutes before the officer returned, looking a little irritated, "Sir, none of my officers is even aware of any disturbance at Vallenci's. Either you're mistaken, or you're intentionally wasting my time. Would you like to guess which option I'm leaning toward?"

I felt chills racing up and down my spine as I tried to make some sense of this, "Would he have been taken to another precinct?"

The officer stared hard at me for a moment, and then answered, "No. Vallenci's is within our jurisdiction, so any disorderly would be brought back here."

I blinked, my mouth getting dry, "Oh... maybe I'm mistaken... sorry to have wasted your time."

"Maybe you should get checked out or something, by a doctor or psychiatrist," the officer suggested, "I think you've got some problems."

I thanked the officer and left, getting back into my car. I sat there for a bit, feeling disoriented. I knew I had a brother, I could remember him distinctly. I remember growing up with him, for Christ's sake! And now it was like he'd never existed. Then an idea occurred to me: maybe, whatever it was that was going on, the darkness, maybe it had something to do with the fact that nobody remembered Micah anymore. Maybe, somehow, it had just swallowed him up, not just physically, but completely, erasing his existence from everyone's minds. But then, why not mine? How was it that I still remembered him? 

There had to be someone else who might remember him, I decided. I couldn't be the only one! I returned to the Vallenci's and went to the same table I had been at before with Micah, but both the bartender and the waitress were gone for the evening, replaced by another, shorter bartender and a slightly prettier waitress. I ordered a cup of tea when she came by, and she didn't linger as the previous waitress had seemed to do, and I had a nice, piping-hot cup of Earl Grey, with two small cups of half-n-half and four packets of honey in a few minutes. I laced my tea, took a few sips, and surveyed the restaurant side. There were about twenty five or twenty six tables, not including bar stools, and there were eight other parties in the restaurant side. Other than the four people up at the bar, I was the only single party here, but I was used to it. As I looked around, I saw bartender from earlier enter the bar. He went into the back for a moment, and I caught him just after he came out.

"Excuse me," I caught his attention, "Do you remember me from earlier?"

He studied my face for a moment, and then answered, "Tea guy, right?"

I nodded, "Yeah, that's me. How about my brother? He was at the table with me. You two had a bit of an altercation."

He shook his head, "I don't usually have altercations on weekdays, just every so often on weekends. No, you were at the table by yourself, quiet, just a cup of tea and some... some soup or chowder or something, right?"

"Are you sure? You don't remember earlier, the big guy that threatened you? You Tased him and had him arrested."

The bartender frowned, suddenly wary of me, "I think you're mistaken, pal. I haven't had to use my Taser since I was certified on it, and I haven't had anyone arrested today, either. Are you okay? You look really nervous all of a sudden."

"This just doesn't make any sense," I mumbled, "He had to have been here. I remember everything that happened. We were arguing because he doesn't see my being a photographer as a real job. He got loud, and you came over, and then the waitress gave you the Taser, and when he came at you, you put him down while the waitress called the cops."

"I'll tell you what," the bartender nodded, "Follow me."

I followed him into the back, and into his office, where there were six monitors on one wall. The bartender brought up the surveillance video from a few hours ago. 




Shutterbug Starlets



Disclaimer: The following story contains sex scenes and rude words. It's fairly tame, and I'm pretty broad-minded, but the decency laws in most states would require it not be read by persons under 18. Also, if you're offended by adult themes, you should probably leave now. More importantly, this tale features women presented as sexual objects. There is nothing wrong with this as they are only fictional characters. I urge readers, especially young males, to not regard real women in this way.

This work is © 2002 the author. Permission is granted to freely distribute, provided it is not altered in any way.

There is no Nicola. All characters are fictitious. The situations are made-up. This is only a fantasy, so any similarity to real persons, events & institutions is pure coincidence.

* * * * *

As Nicola pulled up outside Jennifer's place, all she could think was: Damn, she looks good in a bikini.

Nicola's friend Jennifer was dressed in a very brief black bikini. She waved at her friend, setting her boobs bouncing inside the tight confines of her top. "Knickers!"

Nicola- Knickers to her friends- was dressed much the same as Jennifer, in a hot pink bikini that did more to showcase her fabulous body than actually hide it. The stunning starlet's 38-inch cleavage strained her bikini straps to near breaking point. The very brief thong meant that Nicola's bare bottom was pressed against the hot leather of her car seat. As a professional actress and model Nicola knew well the benefits of marketing her best assets, and a revealing bathing suit was part of her everyday wardrobe.

"Jennifer!" called Nicola in reply. "Nice bathers."

"Thanks, babe." They kissed hello, a passionate kiss on the lips that suggested they were more than just mates.

It was a beautiful sunny day in LA, and the two girls had agreed to spend it at the beach. But for Nicola, it would be a working day off.

"It's like this: I'm supposed to spent the rest of the day at the beach, yknow, just having fun. But my agent has tipped off a photographer that I'll be there, so it's really a publicity thing for my career."

"Sooo..." asked Jennifer, "what sort of pictures will this photographer be taking?"

"Dunno. The usual sort of candid pictures of starlets you see in magazines. I won't even see him. Or her."

After quite a long drive, the girls arrived at a secluded beach. Nicola parked her car and the two made their way down to the seashore. They had the small stretch of sandy white paradise all to themselves.

Nicola draped her towel on the sand, bending low so that her thong rode up between her ass cheeks. The Aussie starlet deliberately lingered in this position, her ass in the air. Somewhere in the hills that surrounded the beach Nicola had an audience of one, their telephoto lens following her every move, quietly snapping off shots of the starlet caught unawares.

Except, of course, Nicola wasn't unaware. She knew perfectly well that the 'casual' poses she struck in the next couple of hours could have a major effect on her career. Who knows how many extra people would rent "Bikini Bandits" or her upcoming film "Bikini Stewardesses 2" after seeing her ass in a magazine?

"So what now?" Jennifer asked. Nicola adjusted her bikini top, making sure she was showing off a considerable amount of her tasty tits. "We just hang out, have fun." 

"I wonder where he is?" Jennifer scanned the surrounding terrain. "Don't do that!" Nicola hissed. "I don't want him to know I know he's up there."

Jennifer shrugged. She laid herself face down on her own towel. "Hon, you wanna oil me up?" the minx asked with a suggestive wiggle of her bottom.

Nicola knelt down beside her friend. She squeezed a glob of suntan lotion onto Jennifer's bare back. She gave a squeak.

"Oooh, that's cold!" she giggled. Nicola continued to cover her friend with a slick of oil, massaging it in. She lingered on Jennifer's ass, her fingers slithering across flesh till her friend's backside glistened in the sun.

"Now do me," Nicola insisted. Jennifer rolled over and repaid the favor. Nicola closed her eyes, enjoying the erotic sensation of her best friend smothering her in slippery lotion.

They lay out under the sun for a while, chatting. Nicola was on her back, her magnificent boobs pointing toward the cloudless California sky, lolling awkwardly in the confines of her bikini top. She couldn't stop her mind drifting to her unseen voyeur, somewhere up there. Nicola breathed deeply, her breasts heaving up and down. A good telephoto lens could allow a photographer take a close-up shot of her tits from far away yet look like he had been snuggled between her boobs.

"Let's go for a swim," Jennifer suggested. Nicola jumped up and the pair ran laughing into the sea. They splashed around in the water for some time, an adorable pair of bathing beauties.

"Of course, you know what he really wants to see?" said Jennifer with a wink. Nicola laughed, and cupped her boobs. "You don't mean these puppies by any chance?"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Jennifer asked. Nicola glanced around, as if looking to see if anyone else was watching. Her hands tentatively reached for the tie that held her wisp-like bikini top in place.

It was the performance of her career. Nicola had increasingly become an exhibitionist since arriving in Hollywood from her native Melbourne only a couple of months ago. If a job required her to be naked, then rest assured the gorgeous Aussie starlet would strip herself naked for the director's perusal before she was even asked. Nicola's body was evenly tanned from many a nude sunbathing session in her own backyard (much to the delight of her neighbors!). Her lithe, 38-25- 35 body was taut and trim, a legacy of her modeling career back in Australia. But for this particular camera, Nicola acted shy. 

She tugged as her bikini top, letting it slowly fall away. Nicola imagined that camera up there somewhere clicking away and shivered with excitement. The pink material fell away, revealing Nicola's puckered nipples. She draped an arm across her boobs, demurely covering herself as she tossed the top aside.

"Woo-hooh!" shouted Jennifer, sounding like a stripclub patron. "That's the stuff baby!"

Nicola smirked. "Shut-up!" she said, nudging her friend. They lay side by side on the sand, Nicola's bare breasts glistening with seawater. Her nipples had hardened to little brown nubs. 

"Do you think it would help your career if I took my top off too?" Jennifer asked. "You just want an excuse to show your tits off!" Nicola came back with. "I can see the headline now," said Jennifer as she slipped off one shoulder strap of her bikini top, "'Aussie starlet cavorts topless with gal-pal.'"

Nicola was staring intently at Jennifer as she slipped the second shoulder strap down. "'Intimate gal-pal.'" She corrected with a lick of her lips. Jennifer reached behind her for the clasp that held her top on. If Nicola played shy, Jennifer was eager to get her tits out. And it was definitely Nicola she was playing to and not their photographer.

Jennifer tossed her bikini top to Nicola, baring her own impressive chest. "What do you think?" Jennifer asked, posing with hands on hips. Nicola's hungry eyes devoured her friend's luscious body. "Nice rack," she answered with total honesty. Although Jennifer was not a professional starlet, she had stripped off to star in "Bikini Stewardesses 1", and had agreed to reprise her role for "Bikini Stewardesses 2". She definitely had the bod to carry off screen nudity.

The two topless starlets lounged around the beach some more, the sun beating down on their svelte, bronzed bodies. Nicola could only imagine the effect their glistening boobs were having on their photographer/voyeur. She'd posed nude for a couple of magazines back in her native Australia before coming to Hollywood, but this was different.

"You know," said Jennifer, interrupting Nicola's chain of thought, "we should really try and send your career skyrocketing." She looked at her friend with a thoroughly naughty glint in her eyes.

"Yeeeessss?" Nicola replied with trepidation. Jennifer was eyeing her up, smirking. Suddenly, Jennifer leapt forward and seized the string of Nicola's bikini bottoms, lying temptingly against her smooth thigh. Nicola gave a squeal of surprise as Jennifer tugged violently, and in the blink of an eye Nicola was stark naked.

Jennifer danced away, laughing gaily, waving Nicola's bikini bottoms over her head. "Hey, come back!" yelped Nicola. This resulted in a brief chase, bare breasts bouncing delightfully with each step. The two starlets were laughing hysterically. Finally, they came to a halt, partly to get their breaths back, but mainly so that Nicola's photographer could snap off some good shots of her completely nude.

Suddenly, Nicola leapt forward. It was Jennifer's turn to squeal in surprise. Nicola wrestled her gorgeous friend to the sand, their naked bodies squirmed against each other as the starlets collapsed into a giggling heap.

Jennifer's lips found Nicola's and they kissed. Play-fighting dissolved into foreplay. The American's hot tongue slipped inside the Australian's willing mouth, and they rolled around on the sand, necking passionately. Their hands roamed across each other's firm bodies, squeezing boobs and tweaking nipples. All thoughts of publicity fled from Nicola's mind, and all she could think of now was the warmth emanating from Jennifer's pussy.

"Let's take this somewhere more private," Jennifer murmured. Nicola nodded, submissive to the older girl's sexual power. Jennifer took her naked friend and Sapphic convert gently by the hand and led her into the relative seclusion of a grove of palm trees growing beside the beach.

Jennifer smiled, and lay back on a bed of fronds. Nicola licked her lips and tugged off her friend's thong, baring her moist treasure to the warm Californian sunshine. "Go ahead, sweetheart," Jennifer whispered, running her fingers through Nicola's chestnut-colored hair. The nubile Aussie needed no other invitation and lowered her mouth to Jennifer's pussy.

Their lovemaking may've been unobserved, but their moans of pleasure carried across the beach.

Later the couple cuddled in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of sex, Nicola relaxing with the tender sensations of Jennifer stroking her skin. "We should get a move on," said Jennifer.

They emerged from the trees and made their way back to where they'd left their stuff. However, Nicola was in for a surprise.

"Where's my bikini?" she asked. Jennifer, who was wearing her thong when they went to fuck and was tying on her bikini top now, shrugged. "You put your top down there. I left your bottoms sitting next to your towel."

Not only had Nicola's bathing suit vanished but so had their towels! Had they blown away? Unlikely, as no breath of wind disturbed the beach. And why would Nicola's bathing suit blow away and not Jennifer's top? Had she been robbed? No, a quick check of her bag revealed Nicola's car keys and cell phone were still there. Anyway, who would steal just their towels and Nicola's bikini, but leave her bag and Jennifer's top?

Who indeed?

Jennifer burst out laughing. "Looks like your photographer didn't think he got enough pictures of you."

Nicola fumed. "Now what'll I do? I don't have anything else to wear home."

Jennifer pinched her bottom. "I guess you'll have to grin and bare it."

Nicola sighed. Once again, she was left naked in public. They made their way back up the path to the car, Jennifer wearing a broad smirk, Nicola wearing nothing at all. If she was embarrassed there was no way she could blush through the golden bronzing her skin had acquired that afternoon.

The starlet gave a defiant toss of her hair. Head held high, her proud breasts bobbing as she strode along, Nicola was determined to put on a good show. Even though there was no-one around, Nicola knew she had an audience. Somewhere out there, her personal paparazzo was enjoying a magnificent view of her body. And his photos would doubtlessly be enjoyed by thousands more voyeurs when they were published.

Nicola climbed into her car, the hot leather burning her bare ass cheeks. Trying to ignore the fact that she was about to drive naked through the streets of LA, Nicola turned on the ignition.

* * * * *

Epilog:

From 'Celebrity Flash' Magazine

"Here's How We Do It Down-under!"

Our celebrity spy was lucky enough to catch these sneaky peaks of upcoming starlet Nicola Baron. It seems the adorable Aussie didn't much care for sunbathing California style in a bikini, so she stripped off to show us how they soak up the rays down-under! 

After removing her bikini top, Nicola proceeded to bob, bounce and boob her way along a very private Malibu beach, accompanied by gal-pal Jennifer Dempster. After Jennifer proved she was no slouch in the top-tits department and went topless too, Nicola went one better and removed her bikini bottoms too. Good on ya!

After a day of fun in the sun, it's time to head home. But, uh-oh! Nicola's mislaid her bikini. There's nothing else to do but hit the freeway au naturale! For this boobdacious babe, it's all in a day's work.

Fans hungry to see "more" of Nicola can check her out in her first movie, "Bikini Bandits", or if you can't wait that long, her next nudie flick "Bikini Stewardesses 2" starts shooting soon.



Shutterbug



"Here," he pointed, "Here's where you came in. You sit down at the table, and Shelly takes your order."

I watched in confusion and a growing fear as I watch myself on the screen. Shelly brings me the tea, I lace it, drink it, and then I get up and go to the restroom, where I'll no doubt be gone for ten minutes or so. 

"Okay," the bartender nodded, "You come back to your table here. Then Shelly brings you your chowder."

He fast forwarded the video, hitting play when I stand up.

"And then you just leave a twenty under your fork, get up, and leave. See, no brother, no altercation, no Taser, and no cops."

I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but there it was, plain as day. I had come in alone, drank my tea, eaten, and left, and none of what I remember happening actually happened. 

I thanked the bartender, apologizing for my confusion, and he shrugged, "Hey, don't mention it. I can't even begin to understand why you think anything happened, but I hope you get things sorted out."

I sighed, "Yeah, me too."

I returned to my table, drank my cooling tea, left a five on the table, and left the bar and grill. As I walked outside, I felt as if I might pass out. I made it to my car without collapsing, and just sat there, trying to make sense of what I'd seen compared with what I'd witnessed earlier. Could it be as my mother had said, that Micah didn't exist? If so, that meant that everything I remember about him from my childhood was a lie, something I'd made up in my mind. Even then, after what I'd seen, I wasn't ready to believe that I could've imagined something as elaborate as a brother, through childhood all the way into the present. This whole issue, by itself was monumental, but, combined with the wrongness of the world everywhere but inside my apartment, it just seemed overwhelming, much too much to deal with. 

Finally, defeated, I returned to my apartment. I called my mother again to let her know I was... not really okay, but still here.

"Gary!" she exclaimed, surprised, "Where are you?"

"I'm at home right now, but I feel pretty shaken," I admitted, "I'm still trying to figure out how I could've... I don't know, how could I remember having a brother so clearly, all through childhood, all the way up until today, if he doesn't exist. Have I mentioned a brother before?"

"You mentioned him a few times, but never until today that you thought he was your brother. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist. I'm sure they'd help you figure things out."

"Maybe," I felt hesitant about seeing a doctor who might think I'm crazy and have me committed or something, "I'll consider it. I think I'm gonna take a nap or something. Maybe I'll feel better after some rest."

"Okay, just give me a call later if you want," she suggested.

"I'll do that," I promised.

After hanging up, I went into my bedroom to lie down, kicking my shoes off on the way, and collapsed into bed. One thing I could always count on was the ability to fall asleep within a few minutes of putting my head on the pillow, and even the events of today had no ill effects on this ability. Of course, I was never before able to remember dreams; I wasn't sure I'd ever even dreamed before, I just assume I did. But this time I dreamed a vivid dream. In it, I was running, terrified, and, on my heels, was the darkness, but not like I'd been seeing today. Instead, it was complete darkness, swallowing the world inches behind me, and I knew that if I slowed, it would swallow me up with it, and I would cease to exist. The thought of that horrified me, all my memories, everything that made me who I was just blinking out of existence, nobody even remembering I was ever there to begin with. 

It was three in the morning when I woke up, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily as if I'd been running. I got up, and fell back down onto my bed again. My legs refused to bear my weight. I had to crawl into the bathroom, but I got there and started the shower. I stripped there on the floor, shedding sweat-sodden clothes and getting in the tub. I let the cool water sluice the sweat from me until I was able to stand, and then I washed off thoroughly. After that, I just stood there under the showerhead, letting the water beat on my back for a bit. Ten minutes later, I turned the shower off and dried myself, gathering my clothes and putting them in the hamper once I'd checked the pockets of my pants. I felt even more tired than I had been when I'd gone to sleep. I put on some fresh clothes, went to my living room, and sat down in my recliner. 

I wondered how much longer the world outside my apartment would remain wrong. Of course, at three forty in the morning, it was still dark out, but what about when the sun came up? What if the world, at least, for me, never returned to the bright, normal state it used to be in? What if it remained this way for the rest of my life? And the real question, the one that had been lurking in the back of my mind for hours, the question that had shaken my faith in reality, was I insane? I wanted to say that I wasn't, that, whatever was going on, there was a valid external reason for it, and that the problem lay not in my head. Of course, what insane person would want otherwise? 

I waited until sunrise to call my mother. It sounded as if she was making breakfast, and I could almost smell the bacon sizzling, the eggs frying, and the bread toasting. 

"Gary, I thought you were going to call me," she said with a note of disapproval.

"Sorry, Mom, it turned out to be much more than just a little nap. Is it okay if I come over?"

"You know that it is," Mom answered sternly, "If you hurry, breakfast will still be warm when you get here."

I put my shoes on, grabbed my keys, and was out the door in less than a minute. As I drove, careful not to speed, though my foot seemed to feel the need for speed, requiring me to check the speedometer often. I reached my parents' house in about ten minutes, about five or six minutes faster than usual, and parked my car at the curb. As I got out, I felt a wave of vertigo settle over me, and I had to hold onto the side of the car to keep from falling over. Once it passed, I looked up at the house with a sense of astonishment and unreality. This could not be the house I grew up in, that my parents inhabited; this house was abandoned, and seemingly for a very long time.

I stared at it, the faded, peeling paint, the siding broken and dented, the boarded over windows, the boards sprayed with graffiti, the rocking chair gone, it was as if nobody had lived there for years. I walked on legs that felt wooden, up to the porch steps and onto the porch, which yielded slightly under my weight, the wood rotting away. The door was covered in more plywood, and the words CONDEMNED stenciled onto it with red paint. I was hesitant to touch the plywood, as if I feared it would not be real if I refused to acknowledge it as such. I went around to the side of the house, to the door to the basement. If there had been more plywood on this door, it had been removed. I could see the nail holes along the doorframe where it might have been. The door was locked, but it was a simple latch, easily solved with a card from my wallet. I slipped into the basement, assaulted by the smell of mold and must in the air. Some kids apparently used the basement as a hangout, same as I had as a kid, gaining access to an old abandoned house in the woods behind the house to get away from Micah and other kids who picked on me. 

There were beer cans, a few empty bottles of lower-shelf whiskey and vodka, some blankets that I wouldn't so much as touch for fear of disease or insects, and spray paint all over the walls. The basement had been finished long ago, when I was a kid, with drywall and carpet. The carpet was all stained now with whatever fluids had been spilled on it, and the drywall had several holes in it. I headed up the stairs to the kitchen, which had fared similarly. The linoleum was faded, cracked, and peeling up, the cabinets missing their doors. Something unidentifiable was in the sink, which had been filled up to the brim. The appliances were all gone, no stove with bacon sizzling or eggs frying. I took out my phone, remembering my conversation with my mother, her promise of breakfast waiting for me. I checked my sent and received calls, and saw my outgoing call to my parents' phone number. The total time of the call was about four minutes. I redialed the number, and was promptly informed that the number I was trying to reach was no longer in service. I hung up my phone and put it back in my pocket.

I felt a splitting headache coming on from trying to make sense of all of this. If what I was seeing was real, and it certainly seemed like it, then not only had I made up a brother, but I had made up my mother and father, all in startlingly real detail. But how could this be even remotely possible? I walked into the living room, which was empty of furniture, but not more beer cans, a few empty, discarded condom wrappers, and a torn pair of pantyhose, up the stairs, one of which had rotted through, and to the room that had once been mine. It now bore no signs of me ever inhabiting it. My posters of rock bands that I liked, Primus, Nirvana, Foo Fighters, and several others were gone. My bed, dresser, and full length mirror were also gone, not even indents in the carpet remaining from when they had been there. I sat on the floor in the center of the room, my pulse racing with fear, wondering how much of my life here had even occurred, and how much had all been in my head. 

No answers came to me, and I wasn't likely to gain much in the way of new perspective by staying in what felt more and more like a sarcophagus, a death chamber, a crypt, and the tomb of my childhood. So I got up, went back downstairs, careful not to step in the hole of the missing stair, and went out the way I had come in, locking the door behind me purely by habit. I got back in my car, vaguely aware of the fact that the sun was at the apex of its ascent in the sky. I had been there for more than six hours, though it had only seemed like twenty minutes or so. Of course, with everything else that had happened since yesterday, this was only one more little glitch. I started my car, put it in gear, and returned home. As I let myself into my apartment, feeling a little cleaner once I stepped across the threshold and out of the dim, I went over to my computer and logged in. I did a search for my mother and father, Vivian and Jacob Barnes, and clicked on the first of the results, but it had nothing to do with them. The second and third results also shed no light. But the fourth, the Trenton Gazette, turned up something on them in their archives, which they must've transferred onto their website. According to this article, both of my parents were dead, and had been since I was eight.

Vivian, 36, and Jacob, 42, were found dead in their home in 1989, which would've made me ten at the time, of carbon monoxide poisoning. As I, Gary Barnes, had been sleeping with my window open, I had survived. It mentioned that I had been made a ward of the state, as I had no other living relatives, and that was about it. Their funeral service, which was held at the Plentiful Oaks Funeral Home, was held a few days later, and their bodies were buried at the Shaded Glens Cemetery. As far as I was concerned, I had no memory of this ever happening. Instead, what I had were memories of growing up with my parents, birthdays, sitting around and watching movies, high school, where I joined the photography club and was awarded second place in a statewide photography contest, graduation, my mom and dad so proud of me as I walked across that stage in the auditorium and received my Diploma, dinner at the Foxtail, a pretty expensive restaurant, to celebrate, and every memory I had was clear and lucid, as any memories should be. How could all of these memories be false, a product of my mind?

I sat back in my desk chair, feeling lost and isolated as ever. I now had absolutely nobody to turn to, nobody to confide in or call on for help in what had become severely troubled times for me. But perhaps... if I could find the orphanage in which I'd been placed, perhaps there might be a few answers for me there. The article hadn't said, but the internet could tell me. I looked up orphanages in Trenton, and there were two of them. I called the first one, but the receptionist told me that their records in the computer didn't go back that far. She said she would have someone check the files in their storage, and I gave her my phone number to contact me. The second one was in the process of transferring all their old files into their computer. The woman asked me my name, date of birth, and social security number, and then she put me on hold for a few minutes.

"Mr. Barnes," she said when she came back, "Yes, we're into the F's right now, so you're already in our computer. Barnes, Gary H., born November 2, 1979. You came here in 1989 after your parents' deaths, and you were here until you reached 18."

"Is there any other information about me in there?" I asked.

"Umm, yes," she responded, "There are a few checkup results in here, four or five notes of... altercations with other boys, and a psychiatric report that was done shortly after you arrived here. It says here that you showed signs of denial of your parents' deaths, you tended to disassociate yourself from reality, and that you were obsessed with photography. You came here with a camera, and you took pictures of just about everything you could. Any attempts to take your camera were met with hysterics. The psychiatrist believes that you didn't see reality as the truth, that this reality was the lie, and, in what you believed to be reality, you still lived with your parents and an older brother. You were withdrawn, unwilling to participate or play with others, and, except for your photography, you isolated yourself as much as possible."

After the receptionist there had finished reading all the contents of my file, I thanked her and hung up. For a while, all I could do is sit there and think. If what I had been told was the truth, then everything I had experienced with my parents and Micah were false, created by my young, troubled mind to deal with the tragedy of my parents' death, some kind of coping mechanism. Disassociation from a harsh reality, a fantasy of happiness to help me block out the pain, this fantasy was much more preferable to having to live, parentless, in an orphanage for eight years, and then another eight years after that. And then, I guessed, this fantasy life of mine could no longer be sustained. What had happened, I wondered, that had caused the true reality of my life to invade my fantasy and shatter it before my eyes? Perhaps it was someone I knew from the orphanage, or at least recognized, or some other such evidence that I could no longer incorporate into my fantasy. I didn't know what it had been, but I wished fervently that I had never come across it, so then my parents and nonexistent brother would still be alive and well. This true reality, I decided, looked bleak. 

I gradually came to realize why everything around me, everything outside of this apartment had been dim. In my apartment, it was easier to maintain my own version of reality, my fantasy life. Out there, reality was persistent, insistent, and my mind was doing its best to block it out, and, as a result, my mind was attempting to resist letting me see the world as it truly was. But, unfortunately, I could no longer pretend. I knew the truth, the horrible, heart-wrenching truth. The fantasy was over.

Article in the Trenton Gazette:

Photographer, Gary Barnes, was pronounced dead this morning from what appears to be a suicide. Police, responding to a 911 call made by a neighbor, arrived to find that Gary Barnes had rigged a garden hose from the exhaust pipe of his car to the driver's side window. The engine of his car was still running when police officers arrived.

"He was pretty quiet," a neighbor who asked not to be identified told our reporter, "We never really spoke except to say hello. But I never thought he might be suicidal."

Gary Barnes has no living relatives, his parents both deceased. 

"It's always a shame," said Sergeant Matthews, one of the responding police officers, "Any time someone decides that suicide is preferable to living, it's just a shame."



Shutting Me Up



Nothing's biting, nothing's hurting, so that's all good.

"You know, I wish I could say that this was the first time a date had ended up like this." You look up from your bag and raise your eyebrows.

"You've been tied to a chair before after a date? Really?"

"Oh yeah, really," I glance down at myself, "I wasn't naked that time though. And it was kind of a joke. Wasn't a second date either." You find what you were looking for, and drop something on the table, then step towards me.

"First date?"

"I never let myself be tied naked to a chair on a first date," I come back, "Just... a personal rule of mine."

"Well, this is gonna be fun, y'know. And I think you have a hard time taking anything seriously, so it'll probably be a joke to you anyway."

"I'm taking it pretty seriously right now." I look down again at my dark bush of pubic hair and my flaccid little cock slouching down between my thighs. Aesthetically, I think we can all agree that there is almost nothing to commend about limp dicks. When they're rampant and raging with blood - I can understand the attraction. But when they're all shy and shaking with stage fright... not so much.

This is me saying that I'm pretty bloody embarrassed to be handcuffed naked to a chair in front of you with a soft cock by the way. You, on the other hand, cute as fuck in that semi-cowgirl get-up, have nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, possibly you had a few too many buttons of your plaid shirt undone while we were out at that Mexican place earlier - the waiter certainly noticed, peering down at the alluring view you were presenting him with. But that's probably necessary, since you seem to be wearing a very small men's shirt that is clearly not designed to contain what you're... uh, packing. Your tits I mean. You probably don't have a choice to be exposing so much of your... gorgeous... anyway.

The jeans are a nice touch too, in that they're just... unfeasibly tight. Seriously, I'm sitting here trying to admire the mouth-watering curve of your ass and all I can think about is how the fuck you got into those things. And the way they follow your cheeks, curving in a little and clearly stretching over that little crack... Oh wow.

Well, shit! And I'm still not getting hard! This is a little embarrassing here. I'm sure you're expecting some kind of 'reaction'. Certainly by past form I'm pretty sure I should be responding. Situations like this are generally like catnip to me, and it's not like your apartment is cold. Maybe it's that astonishing attitude of yours, playful and attentive, but simultaneously utterly unimpressed by anything that's going on around you. Trying to please you looks like a pretty tricky proposition.

Oh, and if you're trying to intrigue me by coming off all cynical and aloof... then I have to say your plan is succeeding magnificently. You seem to have cowed my libido a little though.

"I bet you have a copy of that "Why Men Love Bitches" book don't you?" I joke, lamely, but you just ignore me and head to the kitchen. "Well, feeling a little self-conscious right now," I blurt, trying to make my voice light and carefree. Fat chance of that.

"Well, you're naked, cuffed to a chair and at my mercy," your deadpan voice comes out of the kitchen at me. "I think self-conscious is a pretty mild response."

"Thanks for that," I retort, allowing myself the same dry intonation.

"I think," you appear in the kitchen archway sipping from what looks to be a cup of coffee, "that you talk too much to be a good sub."

"Is that coffee?"

"Yes it is." Your face is utterly impassive as you answer.

"Can I have some? Just a sip?" I can't help the eagerness in my voice. You wait a long time before answering.

"No."

"Oh right, I'm the sub here, right?"

"Well, I thought you were," you raise your eyebrows again as you come towards me. God but you're pretty. "But possibly you're just some naked boy who talks too much."

"Boy? I'm all man, lady!"

"Aw," you touch my cheek and pout affectionately, "that's adorable." I manage to bite my tongue for once instead of answering back. "So," you step back, "what's going on down there then?" I feel completely exposed as you squat down to examine me, still fully fucking clothed and sipping your coffee so very casually. "Is this... restraint? Will power? Because I saw the problem you were having when we got up from the booth after dinner."

"Well..." I start, but you cut me off.

"You know - the massive erection you had." You look up from my still damnably uncooperative cock, and fix me with a divinely condescending smirk.

"I know about the..."

"The one that was... kinda trying to force its way out of the front of your jeans. It was cool how you just acted as if it wasn't there."

"Well y'know, acting like I'm trying to hide something generally makes it more obvious that..."

"Didn't work though, did it?" God, you won't let me finish a sentence! "I noticed, and so did the girl at the register. She gave me a little thumbs up as we left."

"I..." wait, a thumbs up? "Really?" One look at your wicked smile and I know that you're just teasing. I imagine there will be a lot of teasing.

"Look at you, all happy about girls checking out your 'package'. Of course not. She did notice though, and she did make a little face to me."

"What did you..."

"I rolled my eyes and let you drag me out to the car. Anyway, back to your willpower in not allowing yourself to get hard now."

"It's not really will..."

"Shhhh," you press a finger to my lips, it's smells gloriously, maddeningly of rich coffee beans... maybe you'll let me just... suck your finger to get a little of the taste? Oh, and leaning forward so that the aroma of that... what is it dark roast? Oh wow, it smells vicious! "I'm going to test your willpower..."

I think there are four pairs of cuffs. The first pair secured my hands behind my back (and behind the chair back) after I had, bashfully, got naked. There I was, sat on this... strangely sturdy large wooden chair that you have in your lounge, and next you snapped those metal bracelets around my ankles and the chair legs. The cool wood on my bare ass - that was something that really reinforced my position here. And then finally the first pair of cuffs was cuffed to... well I can't see, it's behind me, but I'm guessing you attached the final link to the bar that goes between the rear legs. So my arms stretched back, my legs not going anywhere, and my shy little penis seemingly daunted by everything.

"Test...?" I frown weakly, "What do you mean?"

"Well," you stand up, placing that longed-for coffee carefully on the table behind you, "I'm going to do some things, and if you can keep yourself from getting hard with that iron will of yours, then you'll be rewarded. If you can't control yourself though, and that big, fat, thing comes back again..." I hold my breath, "then probably I'll have to punish you." You shrug and make a face as if those are the rules and you have no choice but to follow them.

"You'll 'probably' have to punish me? You're not that tough a dom are you?" I risk teasing you a little, but you just shrug.

"Well you're a fucking awful sub, so we must be perfect for each other."

I smile, but inside someone's stepping on the accelerator in my chest. Now that I've been told to stay soft I'm pretty sure that I'll have a storming boner in minutes. I hold my breath and feel for my heartbeat - not that I need to, my pulse is pounding in my ears now. I can feel the blood rushing to my crotch in preparation. Great, thanks a lot body. Way to help me out.

Oh, who am I kidding? The punishment will probably be just as fun as the reward.

"Ok, here we go," your voice has a flippant singsong quality to it as you stretch your arms up above your head, lifting your shirt and giving me a fantastic view of your flat stomach. I bite my lip and think of political speeches that have bored me, and the shoddy comb-overs of those who have given them. I'm not just going to give in to this - where's the fun in just letting you win? You grin at my impassive expression and step, step, step - slowly and deliberately until you're standing over my knees, looking down at me past that sensational decolletage. Oh God, politics is for suckers...

No! No, I won't allow myself to just give in like this! I bring my head down, escaping from those hypnotic grey eyes, and start number crunching. How much money I spent on alcohol last week, my taxes, the starting numbers of the great sportsmen of our time... The pressure inside me abates and I get control again. My prick, traitor that it is, is sensitive and ready, but it's still lying dormant at the moment. I can do this, maybe I can even beat you. Then your slender fingers come down in front of my eyes and pop the button of your jeans open with one scornful motion.

Oh fuck, you're standing there, your flat belly right in front of my face, and I can't bring myself to look away as you pop one... two... three... more buttons on the fly of your jeans open (really? You have a button fly on jeans that tight? How is that even possible?). Oh God. Pink. Pink cotton panties it looks like, as you tug the gap in the denim open and give me a peek of what you're wearing underneath.

Something stirs.

You step away and, cocking your hip, you hook your thumbs into the belt loops of those skin-tight pants and start to work them off your hips. And you really do have to work them, they're so tight that you have to wriggle your hips and really push to start them sliding down. But eventually they're moving and you turn, bringing your legs together and bending at the waist so that your pert, perfect ass is pointing right at me as the denim descends.

The sight of the succulent cheeks of your backside coming into view as the jeans slip off - I have no defense against that, and I feel the first actual movement, as my cock responds helplessly. I try more mind control tricks, digging my nails into my palms and trying to remember the James Bonds in chronological order. But I'm only at George Lazenby when I realise that I can see the fucking thong you're wearing, and there's just a thin, pink line dividing those heavenly cheeks.

"I don't usually wear thongs," you say, as if reading my mind, "but every now and then... I think I'll get a chance to put one to good use." You hum a cheeky little tune as you bend further (wow, so limber too!) and push your jeans clean off your rear now. The view from where I'm sitting is astonishing. Your ass just looks so good, and bending down like that frames the tiny pink-cotton-wrapped bulge of your pussy so temptingly between your thighs. And on top of that, the way your calves and thighs are tensed as you continue to work the tight, tight denim down is jaw-dropping.

My jaw drops. My cock rises.

Barefooted you kick the jeans away and turn to face me again. My eyes are locked on those pretty pink panties, eating up every detail. They cover a lot of you at the front, and it's only around the back that they swoop down into your ass in such a dirty, slutty way. The other thing I love about them (you know, if I could only choose two things) is that they look so.., girly. It's an odd mismatch with your cocky, tomboyish attitude the rest of the time.

"To be honest," I try to crack wise to break the hold you're developing over me, "I'm not really all that into thongs myself. But, I guess you pull that one off pretty well."

"Oh, thank you," your voice is prickling with sarcasm, and as you stand there in your panties and tight shirt you point casually to my cock. It points back at you. "You lose, by the way. One-zero to me - I'll keep score."

"I feel like the odds are against me," I sigh, looking down at my twitching prick. Now, I guess I would normally be proud of a showing like this, but who knows where today is leading. "Hey, glad you could put in an appearance."

"Jesus, are you talking to your dick?" You pick up whatever it was that you left on the table and hide it behind your back. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"I'm being pretty damn restrained tonight," I try to shrug, but can't move my shoulders enough, "Is it annoying you?"

"In a good way," you blast me with a smile full of genuine warmth and now I really am speechless. "So, you're not a thong man?" I shake my head. "Do you like... shorts? Like, tight, sexy shorts that would stretch over my ass and really hug these little cheeks?" My dick bobs and I nod in time with it. "Well, I've kinda got something..." you start and bring your hands from behind your back.

The baby blue shorts that you're holding look tiny and very, very soft. In fact, they look like some kind of fluffy, fleecy, downy synthetic material. "I picked these up today - I didn't know that I'd get a chance to use them so soon though!" You sound genuinely excited, but I'm more than a little confused.

"Use them to do what?"

"I read about them in a magazine," you continue, and I'm not sure if you're answering me or ignoring me. "This material is meant to be, like - the officially, scientifically, most comfortable thing to have next to your skin."

"Ok..." it's like you're just having a conversation with me, like there's no sex involved at all.

"Look, feel," you say and bring them up to rub against my cheek. Oh God, you're rubbing your shorts against my face - this erection may never go away again, "See? Feels good, right?" I may have to live with it forever.

"Uh huh," my voice is a little shaky, "feels good."

"So I thought - I bet it'll feel good on a boy's cock!" I look up as you step back again.

"You want me to wear them?"

"No, idiot." The way you say 'idiot' is so spiteful, so how come I can still tell that you're playing? How come the curl of your lip turns me on even more? "I'm going to wear them, and then I'm going to rub my cute little butt against your... ooooh, fat, throbbing prick, and round two is that if you come on my new shorts... more punishments later."

"Oh God," I sigh. I wouldn't bet on me.

You step into the shorts and start to pull them up - putting them on over your panties. "Oh man," you mutter, "they're really tight. They're probably going to stretch a lot and really... cling. Is that ok?" When you glance up there's nothing but mischief in your eyes.

"Whatever..." I gasp, weakly.

"Look, look!" You turn and bend over, arching your back so that your cute little ass just sits up beautifully. And so that I get a completely unrestricted view of that hi-tech material as you pull it, ever so slowly, up and over the pert cheeks of your ass. "Oh..." you groan as if the shorts came with a free orgasm, "that does feel good." You reach back and cup and squeeze your cheeks with no little relish. My body suddenly shudders with some wave of arousal and I rattle my handcuffs awkwardly. "Easy, you can feel too. Just remember to control yourself." Your finger wags at me like I'm a naughty schoolboy.

"I am in control, nothing can sway my mind," I murmur like a mantra.

"That's right," you purr and step right over to me. You turn around, put your hands on your knees, bend a little and bring that tight, soft butt to press firmly against my shaft. Oh wow, that is soft! "Say please..."

"P-please..." I gasp, my head thrown back as my desperate prick gets its first bit of physical contact. The material is lovely, but it feels like the lack of friction will be maddening - like trying to scratch an itch with a ball of cotton wool.

"Not good enough," you giggle, the first time I've heard your laugh get so high and light. You must be really enjoying yourself. "Say: 'Please ass-wank my stupid cock with your space-age wonder shorts.'"

"What?" I squawk, thrown.

"'Please ass-wank my worthless cock with your space-age wonder shorts,'" you repeat patiently.

"Please ass-wank my worthless prick..." I gasp, staring up at the ceiling, taking long, deep, broken breaths, "with your space-magic wonder shorts."

"Ah... almost. Good enough," you shrug, and lean back into me, dragging that so-soft material, wrapped around your firm ass, all the way up my rigid shaft.

"Oooh man," I groan. I was absolutely right - the feeling is maddening. It's soft enough to be exquisite, but there's nowhere near enough friction for me to get off. If you're trying to make me shoot then this could take hours. I wonder if I would still be sane when I finally came... or if it will be possible for me to hold out and actually win this round?

"How is it? Futuristic?" as your butt slides down again, my cock pressed tight into the groove of your crack, it pulls (even with the lack of friction) my foreskin back and I see the first traces of my seed gleaming. When your ass glides back up it leaves a dirty streak on the fancy fabric. I hope you won't mind.

"Yes," I gasp as you start to find a rhythm, your pert, perfect, super-cloth-wrapped ass grinding into me harder and harder, "I think that in the future all sex will be done with, through, or against shorts." I look down, and immediately regret it. The sight of your hips writhing as you work my helpless prick - just humping yourself against it - notches my pleasure up another half dozen steps. Maybe I was being a little too optimistic when I said I might win.

"Still got that mouth, don't you?" you chuckle, "I may have to do something about that." You move back a little further, straddling my lap properly now and putting your hands on my knees to really press my dick back - trapping it between my body and your soft, sexy behind.

"Gah!" I can't comeback with anything this time, as you start to shake your hips and just jiggle that pert little ass fast and hard against me. I feel my sensitive cock-skin being dragged up and down by tiny amounts as your super-soft shorts slip and slide over me.

You pause for a second and sit on my lap, leaning back and twisting your head, pressing your back against my chest and keeping your butt tight on my dick. Without thinking I turn to kiss you, but your hand comes up and pushes my mouth away, then I feel a long wet lick from your tongue scrape up my unshaven jaw and onto my cheek. My dick bucks against you.

"Ooooh," you giggle, "do that again, I felt it!" I struggle to contain myself, but of course I oblige, tensing my muscles and pushing my cock against your pert ass. "Gonna come?"

"I am..." I'm sweating, I feel it trickling down my brow, and my heart is pounding so hard and so fast... "a master of self control."

"These help your self control?" I look down and you're pulling the neck of that tight shirt open again. But at this angle, with you pressed against me, looking up at me, I can see everything: the stunning swell of your breasts, the way they're barely contained by the tiny cups of your (matching?) pink bra, the inviting valley between them.

"Argh!" I cry, snapping my head upwards to break the spell, "I am a master of self control." Fuck, but even with the lack of friction from those soft shorts (I'd much rather have your hot, sweaty flesh against me) you're getting to me, and as you lift yourself back up and lean forwards again, bringing your ass back to my weak-willed but physically willing manhood, I realise that I need to do something drastic.

Your ass starts to jerk me, as good as any hand, and I fill my head with depression, anxiety and news about genocide. I fight the waves of buzzing pleasure that try to dominate my mind with some story about a dog-fighting ring that I half read last week. Who would do that to dogs? What kind of monster...?

This time it works and I feel myself stepping back from the edge. My prick is still rock solid and what you're doing still feels incredible, but I've bought myself a few minutes - I'm not going to spurt my seed up onto your beautiful back straight away.

After another couple of minutes of this soft torture you suddenly start to slow. Still moving on me, you twist and turn slightly, peering down at my prick. You pout, "Aw, I thought you were going to go then! I thought that was two-nothing to me!"




Shutting Me Up



"I am..." my voice is trembling, breaking, pathetic, "a master of self control." I look down as you step away and see that my cock-head is gleaming with my juices. I've left a series of streaks in the crack of your ass, where your shorts were clinging so tight, but then I'm sure you won't mind. You hook your thumbs into the elastic waist again and start dragging them down, just like the jeans.

"It was kinda annoying right?" you ask, as if checking on the results of some scientific test, "The material was too soft for you to get off." My exasperated, raised eyebrow answers your question - what do you fucking think? "Well then it was worth it in a way - if it pissed you off."

"Lovely sentiment," I grunt, and try to relax my shoulders. "One-one though, right?" You concede with a smile, but I find my eyes drawn to your hands as they tug nervously at the bottom of your shirt. Nervously? You can't be nervous, this has got to be the start of the next game.

"Y'know..." you start, your voice getting light and girly again - fuck it's incredible how you're switching personas to work my mind as forcefully as your ass was working my prick. "Y'know... your cock felt... really good against my ass." You're breathing heavily I notice now, and your hand is flat on your belly then slipping down. "I think you made me... a little..." Oh wow, the very tips of your fingers are under the waistband of those cute pink panties (pink with lighter pink trim I should say) and I can see them moving down, pushing the triangle of cotton out as they get closer and closer... Is that it? Did you get there? I'm breathless with anticipation. "Oh yeah," you giggle, and I could almost swear that you blush ever so slightly, "Very wet in fact."

"I'm sorry," I swallow, but my throat has gone dry without me realising it, "could you say that again?" You bite your lip and hit me with the cutest, sexiest smile.

"My pussy got all wet," out comes your hand and your first two fingers are glistening in the light. Jesus, how do you do this? Switching between the sex-kitten thing and the cynical hipster thing at will? Suddenly you're close, and your voice is working that innocent vibe for all it's worth. "My fingers got all dirty in my pussy..." oh my God, "can you lick them clean?"

"I'd..." I can't think of anything to say, so I just nod, far too enthusiastically. I don't need to say anything anyway, you just hold your fingers up in front of me and let me crane my neck until I can close my lips around them. But as I'm almost there my senses are assailed by the most divine scent - your pussy mixed with the coffee that you had brewed earlier. I feel dizzy, I think I start salivating like a dog, and I hungrily suck your fingers into my mouth. My tongue explores them; cleaning them and savouring your clean, sweet taste. Oh, I should've known your pussy would taste good. And that faintest hint of coffee... God...

"Thanks baby," you say, pulling your fingers out and inspecting them to make sure they're clean. "Do you like how I taste?"

"God, you taste so good."

"I'm glad you think so," I realise in a flash that while I was wrapped up in the taste on your fingers, your other digits were busy rubbing away at your panties - stimulating the needy pussy underneath. "Because look how wet I'm getting!" You pull the fabric of the thong front up and forwards so I can see how the pink cotton is stained and dark right where it lies against your wet little opening.

"Oh sweet fuck..." I gasp, and you grin, resetting the crotch of your thong and rubbing it again, your fingers making quick circular movements between your thighs. God, I want to see it, I want to... I want to be off this chair and to be able to play with you as much as you're playing with me.

"It's getting... unh... wetter," you mumble, your head and your hair hanging down as you start to lose yourself in the feeling. "I can feel my lips... are... mm, opening and all this... my juices are coming out... They're making my panties so wet!"

A noise comes from my throat, halfway between a growl and a whine. I don't even realise that I made it at first. I thought there was a dog in the room.

"Oh wow, this is..." your hand comes away and you stretch the crotch and the front of the thong again so that I can see it - stained and almost sodden with your fluids. "This is pretty much ruined!" you laugh, "I mean, for now. I meant to tell you that I tend to get... very, very wet."

"I can see that."

"Yeah I mean - some days I have to wear like... panty-liners just... in case. I was going to tell you at dinner, y'know, after it became obvious that you were the sort of boy that I could truss up naked in my living room, but I forgot."

"Well, I know now," I offer helpfully, stupidly. And now in your eyes I can see the teasing bitch coming back again. For the third time you hook your thumbs into your waistband, and this time you push down your panties. The movement is so simple and unselfconscious that for a second I don't even realise that I'm staring at the small, blonde tangle of your bush and the wet, pink lips of your pussy. My cock bucks and throbs at the sight - all this time and you've still kept me hard as a rock. I want, more than anything, to slip my prick between those delicate lips and fuck you till you're sore.

"Hey," your waving hand drags my attention back from your crotch to your face, "eye's up soldier."

"Sorry, just... your pussy looks so gorgeous."

"Well, thanks," this seems to catch you a little off balance, and you give me a quick, cute, lop-sided smile. "Anyway back to the matter in hand," you lift the other hand and show me a tangled ball of wet, pink fabric. Your thong. "Where do you think these are going?"

"Oh, hey now," I know exactly what you're thinking, "what about my sparkling wit?"

"I guess I'll live without the nervous wisecracks," you shrug, stepping towards me, "now open wide. I thought you said you liked the taste anyway?"

"That's not the point," I stammer. The point is that I had been reigning things in for a few minutes, calming myself and getting things under control - inside myself at least. With your dirty panties in my mouth... things would feel a lot more out of control.

"Shut up, and open up," you command, and the steel in your voice compels me to obey. The wad of strappy pink underwear is forced between my teeth and I taste your juices again, along with your sweat. That thong has been riding down in the valley of your ass at least all evening, possibly all day. God, things are starting to move faster. "Spit that out and I'll make your night hell," you say, again in the light girly voice which throws me even more. That you can be so flirty and fun, but still be controlling me so completely. I can't even talk back anymore.

"Mmmff."

You kneel in front of me and for a second I think you're going to have mercy on me and actually suck my impossibly rigid member. God, I'm so turned on that if I let myself go with it now - don't fight it at all - I'll probably shoot in no time at all. Go on. Wrap your lips around it.

Naked from the waist down (still in that tight, sexy shirt and still with your bra on) you look up at me. That smile could be decribed as either devilish or malevolent, very little else. "Now," you start, "if you had shown some self restraint earlier and not got all hard and ready-to-fuck like you are now, I would probably have given you a nice, firm hand job to make you spray all your yummy boy-juice in the air."

"Mmmff!!" I nod enthusiastically. I vote for that.

"But, you lost round one, so instead you just get a finger-and-thumb-job," a what? You answer quickly enough, reaching out your hand and gently taking hold of my member with nothing but the tip of you thumb on one side and the tip of your forefinger on the other. You hold it there just below the swollen head. The lightest touch makes my prick twitch hungrily, but you are very careful to hold on and keep me from slipping out of the delicate grip. I realise I'm breathing very loudly through my nose, like a rutting animal. "Same rules apply - if you can restrain yourself then you get nicer treatment later. If you explode... something mean."

And with that you start to jerk me off. Except it's not really a jerk-off at all. Your grip is so delicate that you can't move fast or I'll slip out of your fingertips, so you just go painstakingly slowly. You pinch my cock so that you're holding my so, so sensitive foreskin, then you drag it down. You drag it down, as far from the gleaming, crimson head of my cock as you can and then you hold the skin there until I whine and squirm, and then you come back up again.

It's agonising. It's stimulation, but again, it'll take me so long to come this way, and if I do climax, I think it'll probably be the most disappointing orgasm of my life. But I can't deny that the torture is exquisite, you're focussing my mind so much on the limits of where my tight skin can stretch to, and the sensations that arise only from that stimulation. I'd think it was fascinating if I wasn't fucking hating it so much.

I look down, and now I know I'm dripping with sweat because it's starting to sting my eyes. You're perfect, using your free hand to push your bangs behind your ears as your tongue sticks out between your lips in concentration. You seem to be as fascinated by what's happening to my cock as I am.

"Oh wow, it's, like, writhing and twitching!" you comment.

"Mmmmmfff!" I groan, exasperated, and my head goes limp on my chest. Pleasure isn't rising from my cock in waves anymore, I'm just constantly buzzing like a refrigerator, and the feeling is as much dull pain as pleasure. I just need release, I just need you to curl your fingers... around my shaft and give me one good pump... "Mmmm, mmmmfff..."

"I can't understand a word you're saying baby. You've got a mouth full of dirty panties."

"Mmmmfff!" I wail, and you don't stop for a second, your fingers just inexorably pulling at my skin, working me towards what might be a climax, sometime next century perhaps. Suddenly you release me.

"I have an idea." Oh God, that doesn't sound good. "I refuse to let you take a two-one lead, but I don't think you're going to come like this are you?" I'm not sure whether to answer that. "But also, you didn't deserve the full hand job..." your logic is amazing, it's like a sex-romp by Kafka "... so I need something else..." You start to look around the room.

I take the chance to try and steady my breathing. I hadn't noticed, but my chest seems to be heaving, and my ass is getting sore from the hard wood. This is... this might be too much for me. My cock is aching now, all the time, even without your fingers stroking it. It's not a craving for pleasure that is dominating my mind anymore, it's a need - a need for release. God, I'll let you beat me, beat me ten-zero, beat me with a belt - anything if you'll make me come... But I can't spit these panties out and tell you that.

"Look what I found." I open my eyes dumbly and blink the sweat away. What? It's a sneaker. One of the beat-up blue and white Adidas you were wearing earlier on. "You don't have a foot fetish do you?" your voice is cautious, but prying. I make my eyebrows into an arch of disbelief and shake my head vehemently. I like wearing sneakers, I don't really think about them much more than that. "Perfect!" you beam. Oh no.

This time you kneel to one side of me, and for a moment you just seem to be inspecting my rigid, swollen, shaft in profile for the first time. I look down at you, my eyes imploring you for some kind of mercy. "I'm going to shoe-fuck you," you explain simply. Shoe-fuck!? What the hell? Is that even a fetish? You read the sceptical disbelief in my eyes, "Maybe I'm making that term up. The point is that this is a... hole right?" You hold up the sneaker, pointing at the opening where - of course - your foot should go. "As far as I can tell, give a boy a hole to fuck and they'll be happy."

Ok, this is getting really humiliating, and I feel my cheeks start to flush with blood. You can do whatever you want with me can't you?

"Of course," you continue, your voice smooth and ever-so reasonable, "if you were to ejaculate inside my shoe that would really be... kind of pathetic." Your other hand brings my chin up so I'm looking back into your beautiful grey eyes again. "I mean, if you can't control yourself enough to keep from spurting your spunk in a shoe then you really don't have any dignity do you?" I try to swallow, but can't. "Well, do you?" you prompt again. I shake my head. "You agree then? If you come inside my shoe then... you're just totally humiliated aren't you?" I give a tiny nod. "Once more," you won't let me escape, "I will have totally humiliated you won't I?" I feel dizzy, my heart is pounding, my prick is begging for you, and I feel my eyes start to water. I nod savagely, and I know that there's no way I'm getting out of this with my dignity intact. Still, I try to convince my body the opposite of its instincts - I don't want release, I want control, I don't want release, I want control...

"Well then, this one's kind of the decider then isn't it?" You angle the sneaker so that my shaft slips inside - pointing towards the toe, not touching the sides or the tongue or anything yet. "I mean, show me you can control yourself now, or..." once again you gently take my chin and turn my face to yours, "you're fucking mine."

I feel the inner sole of the shoe first, as you press it against the front of my manhood. Grinning like a devil, and looking up into my face you start to drag it. I shudder. First it goes up my shaft, the rough material dragging my flesh and skin up towards the head of my cock; then it comes back down again, pulling my sensitive sheath back and I know that I'm already smearing my come inside your sneakers. But fuck, that's what you want right?

This first sensation is rough, and if you keep it up I'll end up sore and chafed, I know it. But it's satisfying... I-I can't deny it. I close my eyes and try to go back to the sad news that was helping me keep control earlier, but now all the headlines seem to be about how pink and perfect your pussy-lips are. The scrolling news feeds are nothing but descriptions of how your tits seemed on the verge of bursting out of that bra when you leaned against me. I risk opening my eyes, and watch how you manipulate the sneaker with both hands, following the curve of my prick by touch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't look at that.

"So," you interrupt my thought process again, "that's the inner, against the... what would you call that? The front of your dick? But these sneakers have nice, puffy tongues too..." I look down again quickly, and you're right. The tongue is a large, cushioned pad, probably designed to make the sneakers super-comfortable. "And this is how that feels against back of your dick."

I close my eyes, but I can't escape this time. The tongue is the perfect balance - soft enough not to hurt, but tough enough to really grip that side of my shaft. Grip it and work it. My hips shift and my breathing speeds. Oh God, this is... this is actually good.

"Oh my God? You're not actually enjoying this are you?" you've added extra scorn to your tone, and in my delicate, suggestible state, your words sting me. "I'm just rubbing one side of your stupid prick with the tongue of a sneaker! Don't you have any pride?"

God, I-I wish you wouldn't talk about my pride! I'm fighting this, really I am, but the way you're... chasing my dick, making sure that no matter how I shift my hips you're still pulling gently and pressing that fucking shoe against me. And always grinding, always pulling up and down. I shift my hips again, but I'm at the limits of my movement given the cuffs that I'm wearing. I can't get away.

"You are enjoying this aren't you? Jesus Christ, you dirty fucking boy." I try my seventeen times table - once seventeen is seventeen, twice seventeen is thirty... cock-in-a-shoe... FUCK! "You really are pathetic! Oh, you should see yourself, I think you're going to have a heart attack!" My whole body is shaking, my whole body is stretched and taught against my bonds, my whole body feels like it's cooking itself from within. And the dull ache in the meat of my penis has spread; now it's in my balls, in the flesh of my body, and it's hurting... more and more... hurting in the best possible way.

"You're going to come in my old sneaker aren't you?" Your voice is suddenly soft, gentle, caressing. Caressing like the fat tongue of the shoe is caressing the back of my dick, pulling and dragging up and down, up and down...

"Mmmmff!" I shake my head.

"It's ok, you can admit it," you whisper. I can't look at your face, you're too fucking cute... "You're being such a brave man, fighting your body like this... but it's ok! You can just give in! Let me win," you're moving your hand, the shoe, faster now. I try to breathe, but forget that your panties are stuffed in my mouth for a moment and my whole body shakes with a massive, heaving sob. "Are you ok?" you ask, but your hand never stops moving. I feel the soft fabric of the tongue getting damp from my cream being smeared into it again and again. I feel that, but I don't think I feel my legs anymore.

"Mmff." I'm not ok, but I'm ok. I don't even know what your question means, - if you even mean it. Christ. Oh no. Oh God no. I groan, long, low and bestial.

"One more time," I can't open my eyes, but you seem to be whispering right into my ear, "You're going to shoot all your creamy come into my old sneaker, aren't you?" I barely have the strength to shake my head. "Yes you are, and you're going to do it because you're my little slut-boy aren't you?" I sob again, my whole body shaking. God it would be better if you were tugging on my nipples, tickling my ass or something. As it is you've got me in this state with almost nothing but an old shoe and your dirty fucking mind. "You're my slut," you hiss again, and I can't... I can't disagree. I think I nod, but I don't know because at that moment the wall of buzzing, numbing sensation that has been creeping out across my body cracks.

It cracks, and then it all comes tumbling down, and there's a feeling like my very fucking soul is rushing out of me. I'm in spasm, I'm thrusting and heaving, and inside that fucking shoe my sore, twitching manhood is sending out spurting, splashing jets of my come. But the shoe doesn't hold me like your pussy would, like your mouth would, like your hand would. My prick is just bucking and twitching and shooting in the empty space inside your sneaker. Pathetic. Fuck, I lost, I lost.

"Oh my God," your voice is filled with sheer delight. "Oh my fucking God, you're actually coming in my shoe, you horny little slut. You dirty boy, you're..." I don't fucking care. I don't care what you're saying anymore, I just know that the longing, burning pain that had become almost unbearable is lessening with every kick and jerk that lifts my hips off the hard, dark wood of the chair. Now I'm touching the sides again, and the inside of your shoe feels sticky and wet with the deposit I'm making. "I actually thought you had more dignity than that, but..." and you sound so very disappointed in me, "... you just couldn't control yourself could you? Wait, are you still coming? Oh my God!" I am, just tiny clenches now, dribbling the last of my seed down the side of my shaft to soak into my pubic hair.

I let my head slump forward onto my chest, and start trying to fill my lungs, taking huge breaths through my nose. What the hell did I just do? What did you make me do?

"Do you remember," you pull the Adidas sneaker off me at last, leaving my still rigid prick bobbing and smeared with my own juices, "what we said earlier?"

I don't answer, I can't.

"If you came in my shoe then I would have really humiliated you?" You reach out and one again raise my head, pinning me with those endless grey eyes. "Well, this is what humiliation feels like." I flinch at that, but the stabbing shame doesn't hurt any more than I want it to. God, that was horrible. Horrible and amazing. You lift the sneaker to your nose and sniff it, then peer inside.




Shutting Me Up



"Oh God, you made such a mess. Naughty slut." God, I wish you'd stop calling me a slut. "I'm going to clean this up with a damp cloth," you peer inside again, "With a couple of damp cloths."

You disappear through the archway into the kitchen and I slump there, mostly supported by my arms which are cuffed behind my back. What the hell just happened? I stare unthinkingly at my spent, sore prick as it starts to bob lower, then rest against me, then shrink.

"Well," you reappear, "I'm going to have a sneaker that smells like come for a while, but that was a small price to pay for how beautiful that was." I look up, and your hand flies to your face in embarrassment. "Oh my God! I left my panties in your mouth, I'm sorry!" You reach out and gently pull them out, wet with my spit now too. I gasp for breath all over again, my chest heaving, my throat burning. "How was that for you?"

"Humiliating," I manage at last, and you giggle.

"Good! I won though, remember."

"You changed the rules," I growl.

"Well, next time you can tie me to the chair, and you can change the rules all you like." Your fingers sweep across and for a split second you're stroking those soft, wet lips between your gorgeous thighs. Oh, fuck yes I'm going to tie you to the chair alright. You grin at the animal fire you've ignited in my eyes. "But for now, I won and I say you've got to get hard again so I can ride the shit out of that dirty fucking slut prick, and this time - you can't come until I say so." Finally you're unbuttoning that shirt and slipping it off your shoulders. "Do you think you can get it up..." Your voice tails off as you look down into my lap.

I'm already getting hard again.



Shuttle Bus



I knew that my wife was in a flirty mood when she came out of the 7/11 restroom. She had just finished a training session in Florida for her job and we were headed down the interstate to the airport. We stopped to get some beverages and to let her change out of her blue dress so she would be more comfortable on the airplane.

The sharply dressed professional woman who went into that restroom, was replaced by a sexy babe. Slinging her backpack containing her dress over her shoulder, she exited the washroom, and my eyes widened at the sight of her. In place of the flowing dress was a pair of blue-denim short-shorts, and a tight black tank-top with the words "Bad girl" on the front, stretched by her lovely breasts. The combination of the form fitting shirt and it's low cut neckline exposed a delightful amount of cleavage, guaranteed to catch the eye of any passerby.

We got our drinks and loaded back into the rental car, making our way to the car return. After the surly check-in person finished with us, we made our way to the shuttle bus. It was a small group waiting for the bus, all business travelers, easy to identify because of the ubiquitous laptop cases. When the bus pulled in five of us got on. Two dark haired men traveling together, both in white dress shirts and dark slacks, a blond in polo shirt and khakis and another guy with sandy hair with jeans and a polo. The driver of the bus was a slender black man. Other than my wife the bus was entirely male, and all of us were between 30-45. This situation did not escape my wife's notice as the bus pulled out into traffic, as she looked me in the eye and said, " I never thought I'd be writing to Penthouse but…" with a big grin. I smiled in return, and made a mock look of shock and scandal as she made reference to the possibility of a fantasy of hers, a group of men all lavishing her with attention. 

I don't think she meant for anyone else to hear her comment, but the sudden turn of the head and look of surprise on the face of the nearest bus rider, the blond, made it obvious that there was no problem with his hearing. I expected my wife to turn red with embarrassment, but instead she met his gaze, peering over the top of her sunglasses and boldly winking at him. She glanced at me, noting the stunned look on my face was changing into a big grin. As blondie continued to stare at her, my wife shifted in her seat, turning toward him , and bending forward, elbows on knees, causing her breasts to spill further over the top of her shirt. 

Nervously, he left his seat, and walked back to where we were seated in the back. My wife continued to smile at him as I continued to smile at her. As he reached our seats, supporting himself on the swaying bus by holding the overhead rail, he tried to strike up a conversation."

"Hi, I, uhh, where are you…"

"Hi," responded my wife, putting an end to his verbal fumbling as she reached out her hand and fondled his cock through his khakis. 

His look of complete amazement was priceless. She discretely, turned him so that his back blocked the view of those in the front of the bus. Without unbuttoning, she unzipped his pants and slid his hardened cock past the waistband of his briefs. Her soft hands stroked the length of his cock a couple of times, and then gently wrapped her hot lips just around the head. He exhaled and stiffened as she delicately worked her tongue and lips around the end of his member. She gave me a smoldering look, sunglasses halfway down her nose, and I winked my approval as she slowly moved further down the shaft of blondie's dick.

She began to slowly slide her amazing mouth up and down his penis, one hand holding firmly to the base. As this continued, blondie relaxed a little and reached out one fumbling hand to lightly touch my wife's head. She immediately grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on her tits. He began to hesitantly rub them, and growing bolder, slipped the hand inside the tank top and bra to fondle the delicate flesh therein.

I sat across the aisle and was becoming very turned on by the spectacle of my wife's head bobbing up and down on his cock, periodically pulling off the now slick and glistening head to run her tongue along the underside or lightly tickle his balls. It was becoming obvious from his breathing and motions that her ministrations were going to bring him to climax in very short order. This made me realize our present location and the lack of privacy it afforded. Glancing toward the front of the bus, I was greeted by the lustful gazes of three more pairs of eyes. Apparently our discretion had not been sufficient as the activity in the back of the bus was obviously noted by those in front. One of the dark haired guys was stroking himself as he watched, his hand down his dress slacks.

I looked at my wife and gestured with my head, trying to signal to her the situation at the front. Rather than stop or glance around her playmate, she instead turned blondie, leaving his cock in her mouth and affording the boys a better view. Seeing this as encouragement, the seating in the back of the bus became very crowded in a hurry as they raced back to watch this cock-sucking angel. The dark haired businessman who had both of his hands free moved to sit behind my wife and began kissing her neck and fondling her full breasts. All the while, she kept up the same slow rhythmic slide up and down the cock in her mouth. 

As the level of excitement among the group built, it became necessary to find a way to get everybody involved. Raising her arms above her head, my wife indicated to the breast groper her desire to be freed of her top. He pulled the clinging tank up and over her head as she briefly pulled away from the nearly finished blondie. Removing her bra, the businessman dropped to his knees in front of the bench seat and began to lick and suck on her now exposed tits. The other dark haired businessman had removed his hand from his pants by unfastening them and letting them drop to his ankles and was now stroking away on his rigid pole. Reaching out her right hand, she replaced his hand with hers and was now stroking sucking and having her boobs licked all at the same time. Sandy hair guy and I sat nearby on the opposite bench, admiring the spectacle before us.

Temporarily removing her hand from her third playmate, my wife deftly reached down and loosened the pants of the man licking her breasts and freed his cock. It was noticeably larger than the other two currently in her possession, which led to a look of determination on her face. Pulling her lips away from blondie's cock, my wife abruptly stood up, unfastened her denim shorts, dropping them to the bus floor and exposing her neatly trimmed pussy. Pulling the businessman up onto the bench seat, and straddling his huge cock, she reached down to check her level of stimulation. When her hand came away soaked with her juices, she was confident that she was ready to ride. Gently and slowly she settled on top of his cock, engulfing its entire length in her tight pussy. As she sat there, adjusting to the sensation of fullness she recalled her other two playmates, trading places, stroking blondie's slick cock and sucking on the other. As everyone involved moved to comfortable and manageable angles, my wife began to ride up and down on the big dick in her wet snatch, moaning and mumbling around her mouthful of cock. She pulled away briefly to take a deep breath and speak out.

"Oh shit, oh yeah. That's fabulous." she gasped as she ground her pussy and clit against the lower belly and groin of the businessman.

She resumed the cock sucking now alternating between her playmates sucking one and then the other, back and forth, holding their cocks so close together in front of her face that they nearly touched. At one point, licking the tips of both at the same time.

As she bounced up and down on the large dick, she began to climax, first evident by her breathing and then the way that her hips bucked and bounced. This was too much for blondie who she had in her mouth at the time. He tensed and shot his load of cum deep into her throat, with a look of tremendous satisfaction on his face, and then sank to the bench to recover.

Now freed of any blockage, her mouth expressed the ecstasy of her orgasm.

"Fuck me, oh yeah fuck yeah, that's it, I'm coming, oh god… oh god.. ahhh ahhh ahh, oh yes!"

As she came down from the heights of her orgasm, the big-dicked businessman pulled out from under her and moved her onto her back, head resting up against the seat back, legs up over his shoulders. He began to pound his cock into her at a remarkable speed. The motion of his cock pistoning in and out of her was a blur. I began to worry that such speed and ferocity would injure my delicate flower, but my concerns were assuaged by the look of absolute rapture on her face, and the view I had of her pussy as his cock pounded into her. She was so turned on that actual drops of her juices were falling to the floor. She was wetter than she had ever been before and this allowed her to fully enjoy the tremendous onslaught of that massive tool. 

The businessman's dark haired partner moved around to make himself available, and she again engulfed his cock in her mouth, but this time, instead of slow deliberate sucking, she matched the velocity of the fucking she was receiving with a sucking of tremendous speed. She stroked and sucked that cock so hard and so fast that he was taken completely by surprise and began to orgasm in just moments. He had a huge load of spunk, more that she could swallow easily, and a little dribbled out the corners of her mouth. She immediately reached up, seizing the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers, and gave him a taste of the large deposit of sperm he had just given her. When she finally released him he staggered backwards, stunned and with the excess semen no adorning his lips and chin.

All the while, the impressive fucking continued, and she began to moan and grind once more under the businessman. He was definitely giving her the business, and true to philosophy, the customer was completely satisfied. This time however, as she reached the climax of their transaction, he also began to tense, and curse as the reached a mutually satisfying end to their enterprise.

"Oh baby, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna shoot my load deep in your pussy, here it comes, oh fuck, fuck, goldsmith oh yeah, oh shit yeah!"

"Yes, yes, oh fill me up, fill me with your hot cum!"

Her eyes widened as she felt his load explode into her wet pussy. He let out one final unintelligible grunt and collapsed on top of her. Regaining his balance a moment later, he lifted himself off her and crumpled into a seat.

At this point, she looked at the two of us who had been watching the whole time.

"This ain't no free-show, time for you two to get busy."

Sandy haired guy dropped to his knees in the bus aisle and she stood straddling his face. He began to lightly tongue her pussy, lapping up the mingled juice of her previous activity. His initial touches caused her to jump and jerk because of the heightened sensitivity of her clit, but as he continued lighter and more delicate caresses, she settled into a comfortable rhythm, sliding back and forth on his now-glistening face.

I moved around behind her and began licking her ass, kissing and lightly biting at the perfect, round flesh. Every so often I would push my tongue up against her crack and tease her puckered anus. The flow from her juices earlier had left the area extremely wet. As her movement betrayed Sandy's successful efforts, she made her wishes known.

"Lick my ass, lick it and stick your tongue in my ass." she ordered. " I want both my holes licked."

I tilted her forward to allow for deeper penetration and pushed my tongue up her tight channel. This caused her to increase her movements, making it a real challenge for us to keep up the licking. She was obviously stimulated beyond any previous measure. As I tongue-fucked her ass I noticed that she was incredibly wet from all the activities.

Moaning now, only forming words sporadically, she rode the two tongues in her love holes to another unbelievable climax, twisting and bouncing, she was held by our four hands so that we could give her the fullest pleasure. As she gasped and grunted down from the latest orgasm. I had an overwhelming desire.

I bent my wife a little further forward, and placing my cock against her sopping asshole, I slowly drove the length into that tight passage. Initial surprise was met with a delighted moan as the tightness of her ass gave way before my well lubricated cock. Recognizing new arousal, Sandy returned to licking her pussy, and she gripped the metal bars of the luggage area with white-knuckled intensity as her tight ass was fucked and pussy licked in a delightful collaboration.

"You love this don't you."

"Oh yeah!"

"Are you a 'bad girl' now?"

"Yesss!"

"Tell me what a bad girl you are."

"I'm bad, I'm a little slut."

"Do like me fucking you in the ass while your pussy is licked?"

"Yeah, Yeah!"

"Tell me how much you like it."

"Shit, it's fucking fabulous. Fuck my ass, fuck me, I want to feel your hard cock in my tight ass. I love this, I love being a slut." she started to express herself without any need for more encouragement. "Lick my pussy , stick your tongue in me."

We continued this way for a couple more minutes until she grabbed Sandy by his hair, pulling him away from the world class tongue lashing he had been providing.

"I want you to fuck me."

She guided him onto the bus seat, slid her ass off my cock and straddled him. In the blink of an eye, embedded the entire length of his penis into her wet folds and began to rock and grind against him.

Casting a lustful look over her shoulder, she summoned me. " What are you waiting for Mr. Talk, I have an empty hole and you don't seem to be doing anybody any good over there."

This time she was calling the shots. I barely got back into that tight, wet, warm hole before she began giving instructions.

"Just hold still, we're going to do this my way."

She began to slowly undulate and sway, as we held still. She was moving to maximize the stimulation of her pleasure centers and was obviously very adept. Then she began to talk back.

"You're the one who loves this aren't you?" she asked while riding two cocks. " You love that I'm a bad girl."

"Yes yes yes."

"You like to watch me fuck and suck other guys, you want to see their big cocks in my wet pussy, to watch me suck their dicks." 

"I love it, I love that you're so naughty."

She continued to move her hips in a gentle but insistent manner, feeling the fullness of the men in her tight orifices.

"Why do you love it?"

"Because you're so hot, I love to watch you have sex, I love to watch you fuck because you are so incredible. I love the thought of all your holes being filled, of you having orgasm after orgasm, of all the slutty and naughty things that are being done to you."

The talk was obviously having an effect on both of us, as she started to move more purposefully, driving toward yet another orgasm. This caused me to feel a familiar sensation rising from my balls and Sandy must have felt the same because suddenly we all began gasping and cumming, both cocks bouncing in their berths as she was racked by waves of delight, flooding out their milky white fluid.

We three collapsed in a jumble on the bench, gently and tenderly disengaging all the sensitive parts. After a short recovery, we located all the right clothes for all the right people, and accomplished all of this just in time for our arrival at the airport terminal. I imagine the car rental agency might have gained some extra business that day from the huge smiles of the people who disembarked from the bus that day, but the customer service that day had nothing to do with them.



Shuttle Secret



The sex was easy in this position, soft, gentle motions in zero-gravity left them both floating together like on a gently rippled waterbed. Jeanette's pistoning motion on Alexi's cock got them revolving in a head-over-heels spin, a spin only slightly slowed by his licking of her clit in the opposite direction. If anyone could have seen them they would have been amazed at the grace of their motions as they locked in a beautiful orbital ballet.

Alexi and Jeanette had first met shortly after the shuttle docked at the station and the supplies were transferred. Once the initial work was complete, the crew of the shuttle formally introduced themselves to the sparse crew of the station. Alexi had been on the station for about three months as was scheduled to return to earth on the next mission. Jeanette was the pilot of the shuttle, so she would only be on the station for a few days before flying it back to earth. 

When the two astronauts were introduced they immediately were drawn to each other, Jeanette was captivated by Alexi's dark, deep set eyes and the way he seemed to look into the depths of her soul when they talked. Alexi was drawn to her proud confidence, unassuming but very evident. Had they met on earth, their coupling would have been a forgone conclusion, unfortunately, on the station, with their busy schedules, noting was certain.

Of course that very uncertainty fired their desire for each other, to the point that they were willing to risk their careers in an effort to get closer. The thought of being the first couple to have sex in space was also enticing, so when the rest of the crew prepared themselves for a television feed back to earth, they were able to slip away into a corner of the station. Although it was a bit awkward as they removed their clothing, banging into each other as they bounced off the surrounding walls.

Once naked, Alexi kissed her on the mouth and then slowly hovered down to her breasts, which seemed to float up to meet him. He sucked her nipples for a while and then, wanting to taste this beautiful American, he ran his tongue down her stomach, careful not to move too quickly and send them into an uncontrollable tumble. In a few moments he slipped his tongue into her wet opening, tasting the moist, tangy flavor of an American woman.

Jeanette leaned back, enjoying Alexi's tongue as it plunged into her, but wanting more, she pulled his head up and as he floated over her, she grabbed his cock and guided it as he docked himself inside her. Unfortunately, as Alexi began to thrust into Jeanette, they started tumbling uncontrollably, banging off one wall and then another. They quickly abandoned the effort, steadying themselves by grabbing at the handholds near the passage corridor.

After they regained a balance, they slipped together in the position that seemed to have worked best for them, Alexi with his head tucked between her legs and Jeanette with a firm hold of his cock. They slipped into an easy motion in their interstellar 69 position. Even as the two got closer and closer to orgasm, the increased speed of their licking and head bobbing only caused them to spin around faster and faster.

It was only when Jeanette, in the throes of her climax, arched her back and pumped her hips, did they slow down, finally coming to a complete stop as her pussy, pulsated in her ecstasy. She moved her mouth off Alexi, afraid she might bite him in her passion, just as he came, spurting his white jism to float through their compartment toward the passage corridor. The two of them floated slowly in the opposite direction, content in each other's arms.

Suddenly Alexi said, "The television feed!"

The two of them looked up watching the cum as it slowly rocketed down the corridor toward the large compartment where the rest of the crew was in the middle of their interviews and conversations with the people back on earth. Grabbing a drawer, Jeanette pulled out a towel and then braced her legs on Alexi. When he leaned against the outer walls, staunching himself, he gave her a hard push as she kicked off of him, launching herself toward the rocketing sperm.

She shot out of their compartment into the corridor and caught the cum in her towel just as she flashed into the large center compartment of the station. Unfortunately, once she slipped out of the narrow corridor, she couldn't reach any of the handholds or walls to slow down her motion, so she continued to swoosh through the space. Closing her eyes, she crashed into the crew midway through their television feed, basically streaking before the entire world, giving the viewing audience a wonderful close up of her floating breasts and then her glistening pussy.

Of course the collision sent the rest of the crew tumbling into the compartment in a wild and chaotic commotion. Grabbing one of the other astronaut's feet, Jeanette was able to steady herself and catch a handhold just as she noticed Alexi shyly peek his head from the narrow corridor. She blew him a kiss and then shrugged her shoulders as they watched the rest of the crew crash about. Yes, it seemed their little secret wasn't all that secret anymore.